Even in the crowded waiting room at Angel Memorial, Peter though they made for an eclectic little group. He and Jones were in their shirt sleeves and ties, having shed their bullet proof vests when other people in the room had been staring. El looked neat but ruffled in her dress and heels, while June looked like someone who'd somehow wandered into their midst from her penthouse. Chrissy was in with Diana in a treatment room and Mozzie was shooting suspicious glances at the various members of the hospital staff as they passed by.

While a doctor had informed them that Diana and Emma were both fine, being treated with oxygen due to all the crap they'd inhaled and having various cuts stitched and cleaned, Neal was still being assessed. Peter wasn't sure what was taking so long. Sure, his consultant had take a whack to the head, but it certainly wasn't the first time and probably wouldn't be the last. He'd been a bit off, but he'd been talking and that had to be a good sign.

Peter always worried when Neal got too quiet.

Finally, a young, tired looking man came striding out and said, "Who's here for a Neal Caffrey?"

All five of them converged on the young man, who stepped back, clearly unused to having such a large group bear down on him quite so intensely. "Well?" Peter asked the man, who needed a little prompting. "How is he?"

"Mr. Caffrey said it was all right to speak with you all, so I can tell you that he has suffered a Grade 3 concussion. He's displaying many of the signs of traumatic brain injuries, such as dizziness, vomiting, nausea, lack of motor coordination, difficulty balancing, blurred vision and tinnitus. His cognitive function tests came back without any red flags, just some confusion, disorientation and some minor post-traumatic amnesia…"

"Amnesia!" El interrupted unhappily. "That doesn't sound like something minor."

The doctor shook his head. "No, no, it's not as bad as it sounds. Mr. Caffrey simply can't recall the moments leading up to the injury itself. This is not at all uncommon after a concussion. I have no reason to doubt he'll make a full recovery."

That was a relief.

"Will you be keeping him here or sending him home?" This was a question from June and the doctor looked at her, clearly thinking she'd be less scary than the grumpy FBI agent. He was wrong.

"Considering what he went through, we're going to keep him for the night before releasing him to the care of someone who can monitor him for worsening symptoms," the doctor glances around at them. "I'm assuming that won't be an issue."

He was met by a chorus of no's and he tossed a thumb back towards the treatment room. "It'll be a while until we can get him up to a room. Two of you at a time can visit him till then."

June gave a little nod and a small smile. Then she looked at Peter. "You all can go in first. I think I'll go look at the wing Byron and I donated to the hospital a few years ago."

The doctor paled and Peter held in a smirk. June really knew how to take over a situation. Mozzie had already puttered off towards Neal's room, so Peter ambled along behind him, leaving El and June to scare the doctor some more. Jones would keep them from doing anything too…much.

Or at least he'd try.

Neal was sitting, propped up in his bed, pale and still a bit dusty, though clearly someone had made an attempt to clean him up. Without the figurative armor of his suits, Neal looked smaller than he usually did, and his skin seemed to nearly blend into the sheets. There were splotches of color here and there, bruises and small contusions. Peter wasn't sure what was in the IV dripping into Neal's veins, but his eyes were a bit unfocused.

"Hey, Neal," Peter said, then waited till the con man was at least partially looking at him. Mozzie was busily flipping through the medical chart and muttering to himself. "How you feeling?"

"Okay," he said, then cricked his neck. "Bit of a headache, but noting too bad. I really want to sleep, but they won't let me…What happened?"

Peter frowned. While it wasn't the clear, studied speech he was used to hearing coming from Neal, it wasn't too bad. He supposed it couldn't hurt to let him know what was going on. "Some anti-government militia group from east of nowhere North Dakota is claiming to be behind the bombing, but we really don't know yet."

"Oh," was the reply, then he brightened a little and said, "The doctor cut off my tracker. I didn't."

Peter chuckled. "I'll worry about that when you can walk without falling over."

"Okay, just thought you should know." He fell quiet. "Everyone else all right?"

Heaving a sigh, Peter replied honestly. "In a blast that size…we lost some people, but our division came out pretty lucky. You and Diana were the only ones injured."

"Silver lining," Neal mused and Peter saw his eyes droop, so he continued.

"Hey, El punched Ruiz!"

"What!" That got his attention and a bit of a smile. "Oh, I wish I got to see that."

"It was pretty awesome," Mozzie added, looking up to grin. "Just bam! And down he went."

Neal grinned a little and said, "Bet you were jealous, Peter."

"I think everyone who's ever met the man would be jealous," Peter laughed, then nodded out toward the waiting room. "No El and June are ganging up on your doctor. Poor kid doesn't stand a chance."

"No chance," Moz and Neal agreed and Peter took a seat by Neal's bed in order to make sure his consultant didn't nod off. Mozzie leaned against a wall, keeping one eye fixed on the door in his paranoid little way.

Peter began telling Neal all that had gone down outside the building, Moz adding color commentary about his viewpoint. In an instant, Peter almost laughed. Sitting in a hospital room with a world class con man/art thief/forger and…well, whatever Mozzie was, while his wife and June browbeat some random doctor into submission…that was not something that would have seemed normal a few years ago.

This was his life.

It was crazy…but he had to admit it was usually kinda fun.


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