Archive of Our Own ^beta

Neal couldn't remember the fall, but sometimes, he swore that he dreamed about it.

He woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest, like it might break right through his ribs. He took a few slow, deep breaths before sitting up on his elbows. He was awake, and he was safe. Stifling a yawn, Neal reached over and grabbed his phone to check the time. It was half past five, but that wasn't what caught his attention. June 11th.

There had been a time when Neal marked the days on his cell wall, counting down until his release. Every line was another day closer to freedom. The same habit applied, except he wasn't counting down to anything anymore. He marked off each month, every day he'd been in the chair. Now, June 11th, marked exactly eleven months. It had almost been a year, except there was no freedom at the end. There was no end.

He tossed the phone back onto the night stand and pulled his wheelchair closer to the bed. He wasn't going back to sleep now.

Neal transferred out of the bed and into the chair. Each transfer was a little smoother than the last, and took less time, but he'd only been out of rehab for three months. There was still a long way to go.

It took Neal more than two hours to get ready, even in the beautifully remodeled bathroom June had set up for him while he had been in the hospital. The sink had been lowered, the toilet raised up, with metal handrails on the walls, and there was a shower stall where the old claw foot tub used to be. It wasn't a roll-in, but there was a seat built into the stall that he could easily transfer into, complete with more rails.

Neal was dressed and ready to go, waiting with a cup of coffee in his hands when Peter showed up. Ever since the accident, Peter had driven uptown every day to pick him up. It wasn't easy getting around in the city in a wheelchair, and having a car made everything easier.

"You want a cup?" Neal asked, holding up his mug. "It's French roast."

"No, well..." Peter glanced over at the metal percolator. "Just one cup." He got a mug out of the cabinet and filled it to the brim with coffee. "Do you have any of those muffin things?"

"No, but we can pick some up. Actually, why don't you ever bring anything over?" Neal smiled and drained the last of his coffee.

"Everything tastes better when you don't have to make it yourself," Peter replied brightly. Maybe a little too brightly. He knew of Neal's habit of counting the days, so he had to be aware that they had passed another month.

Peter hadn't looked him the same way since the accident. Neal knew that Peter felt guilty, that he should have been him on the fire escape that day. Neal couldn't bring himself to talk about it, and he figured Peter felt the same way. Besides, Peter had Elizabeth if he needed to talk. That had to make it easier for him.

Neal tried not to dwell on the fact that he didn't have anyone, not like that. He had Mozzie and June, but that wasn't the same as a wife or a girlfriend. He hadn't let the wheelchair stop him from flirting, and the women he talked to didn't seem to mind, though he hadn't brought any of them home. It was all still a bit too personal to share with a stranger.

"That's good," Peter muttered after taking a sip of the coffee. He leaned against the counter and didn't make eye contact with Neal, but Neal was used to it at this point. "I don't know if we'll have time to pick up muffins, but maybe I could send a probie out for them."

Neal laughed. "That's definitely not an abuse of power."

"No, not at all," Peter agreed with a chuckle. He took a long drink and poured the rest of the coffee down the drain. "Let's go."

On the street, Peter had pulled the car right up to the curb in front of the house. Neal opened the door after he heard the locks click and transferred into the passenger seat while Peter waited on the sidewalk, just in case he needed help, but he didn't look. He never looked. He watched the early morning traffic, and smiled at a passing dog-walker while Neal removed the wheels from his chair and stowed everything in the back seat.

At every stoplight on the drive down, Peter glanced over at him, until finally Neal asked, "What is it?"

"It's... it's nothing," Peter said, but Neal didn't buy it. However, there wasn't much he could do in getting Peter to talk when he didn't want to. Maybe before, but not anymore.

Neal frowned as they made the turn, but he didn't push. A year ago, he would have, but things were different now, and there was a part of him that felt like he had to respect that, only because he respected Peter. They parked right by the door and Peter hung the blue handicapped placard on the review mirror.

In the office, they went their separate ways, Peter to his office and Neal at his desk by the door.

Neal's work with the FBI these days was a lot more consulting and a lot less undercover work. He still went in from time to time when it would be conceivable that a man in a wheelchair would be in those positions They didn't want to draw unwanted attention and scrutiny to Neal, and he understood that. The bright side was that he couldn't move around inside the van, even if he were able to get into it, so he didn't go on too many late night stakeouts, either.

He hadn't been at his desk for ten minutes when the glass door opened and Sara Ellis walked into the bullpen. Well, at least Neal figured out what it was Peter had been trying to tell him on the car ride over. It had been more than a year since Sara had broken up with him, and he hadn't seen her since. She had sent a lovely bouquet of flowers when he was in the hospital, but that was all he'd heard from her.

Neal rolled back away from the desk. He grinned. "Hey, Sara."

She turned to him and her eyes rested on the chair for only a moment before she glanced up at his face. "Neal. Hi. You look... you look great."

"Except not as tall," he replied, and she laughed, a little uncomfortably. "You look amazing," he added, and she did. Her hair was shorter and curlier than it had been a year ago, but it was still the soft auburn color that complimented her blue dress.

"Thank you," she said, and if he wasn't mistaken, he caught the hint of a blush. He wasn't sure if he'd ever made Sara blush before.

"Are you bringing us our next case?" Neal asked. It was the only thing that made sense, if Peter knew about it in advance.

"Actually, it's a case for you." Sara held up her sleek, black briefcase. "I need some discretion and someone I trusted. You were the first person I thought of."

"I'm honored," he replied, which may have been an exaggeration, but he liked it that she thought of him. It was also nice to be trusted.

He wheeled all the way out from behind the desk. "I can walk you to the conference room, if you don't mind taking the long way."

Sara raised an eyebrow at the word walk, but she didn't comment on it. "Not at all," she said and followed him to the ramp on the far side of the bullpen. It was another one of the new things in Neal's life that appeared while he had been in rehab.

Neal felt like it took up an embarrassing amount of room, but a straight ramp would have been too steep and in the workplace, it had to be at a certain standard, so it zig-zagged around with two turns until it reached the second level where the conference rooms and offices were.

He wheeled up to Peter's office and knocked on the door before pushing it open without waiting for a response. "Hey, we have a visitor." He tried to give Peter a glare for not giving him the head's up about Sara when he clearly meant to, but for as much as he would have liked to have been prepared, it was a pleasant surprise.

"Oh, good," Peter said, and he seemed to sense Neal's feelings and gave him a bit of an apologetic expression. He got up from behind his desk and walked out of the office. "Hi, Sara. It's good to see you."

"You too, Peter," she replied, and held up her briefcase again. "You mind if I go ahead and set up?"

"Go right ahead," Peter said. "It'll just be us until we figure out if we have case."

Sara nodded and headed into the conference room. Neal followed her, and parked himself in the empty space near the head of the table. He watched as Sara, wearing white cotton gloves, removed a black velvet bag from her briefcase. She reached into the bag and pulled out a tiara, glittering with--

"Are those blue diamonds?" Neal asked. His eyes widened as he studied the jewels with white gold twisting around them into intricate swirls.

"I think so," she replied. "My client is convinced that someone broke into her apartment, got into her safe, and replaced her tiara with this fake."

Neal raised his eyebrows. "You sound skeptical."

"That's because I am. She has a lot of other valuables that were easier to get to than this, and I can't even imagine why someone would put in a fake. However, she's an old client who pays us lots of money, so I'm looking into it."

He put on his own pair of gloves and carefully to the tiara from her. "Where'd she get it? It's beautiful. You don't see a lot of tiaras these days."

"This is no time for shopping," Sara said, and when Neal looked up at her, she was smiling down at him. "It's been in her family for years," she continued. "It's a debutante thing."

"So it's not just an old client, it's old money," Neal said.

"Exactly." She handed him the loupe. "Please tell me what I want to hear."

Neal brought the loupe to his eye and studied the diamonds carefully. He took a deep breath and looked up, pulling the loupe away. "I'm afraid I can't do that. These are some nice forgeries, but the diamonds are fake. The rest of the tiara is real, but the diamonds aren't."

"Shit," Sara muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She dropped her hand and looked across the table at Peter. "It looks like I have a case. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

"Be my guest," Peter replied. "There's not a lot going on around here."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Neal asked, looking back and forth between them. He was still holding onto the tiara, and even though it was a fake, it was evidence. He usually had that sort of thing snatched away from him.

Sara rested a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to work with me?"

He grinned and held the forged tiara up to her. "Of course I do."

She took it and put it back in the velvet bag. She pulled off her gloves and sat down at the table so they were on eye-level. Peter sat down across from her as she started pulling files from her briefcase.

"Since this was just a routine check-up, there's not a lot of information about the family or the household staff. I don't have any profiles, but I can tell you that there are four regular staff members. Two different maids. One that works during the week and another on the weekends, along and a butler and a chef."

Peter whistled. "Must be nice."

"Tell me about it."

Neal shook his head. "It's probably not the staff. That's a pricey fake. There's no way any of them could afford it. If they needed the money, they'd have stolen it outright, not replaced the diamonds with forgeries. Two dozen diamonds of this clarity are probably worth around eighty grand."

"Eighty-seven," Sara quickly corrected.

"Damn inflation," Neal muttered. He usually got the price of anything right on the nose. "Odds are, they replaced it with the forgery with the hopes that she'd never notice the difference."

"They must have known that she's a paranoid old bat," Sara said. She looked up from the paper in her hands, her eyes wide. "I didn't just say that."

Neal brought his hand up over his mouth to cover up his chuckling. He looked over at Peter, and he was doing the exact same thing. Their eyes met and Neal grinned. For a moment, it felt like old times, getting the joke at exactly the same time.

"Two of her sons live in the city, along with three adult grandchildren," Sara continued. "They're in and out of the house all the time. They're easy suspects, except, well, they're all loaded. College educated, professional. None of them stand out as obvious."

"Unless they've got something on the side going on," Peter said. "Gambling debts, or addictions. Mistresses."

She nodded. "Then each one is as likely a suspect as the next."

Neal raised his eyebrows in Sara's direction. "This seems like a lot of work for seventeen hundred dollars."

"No kidding," she replied under her breath, and Neal smiled. Clearly, a paranoid old client wasn't the only downside of taking on this job.

She tapped the papers into a neat stack and placed them carefully back into her briefcase. She glanced up at Neal and said, "I'm going to narrow down the suspects and I'll give you a call when it's two or three instead of five."

"I can help," Neal said casually. "It's like Peter said, there's not a lot going on around here." What Peter had meant, of course, was that there wasn't a lot for Neal to do. The rest of the team had been working on an embezzling case, and while Neal offered occasional insight, there wasn't anything he could do in the field.

Sara looked up and she smiled. "I don't know about that. I'll give you a call. It's the same number, right?"

Neal blinked, not expecting her to turn him down, and then he nodded. "Same number."

"I'll call you," she said again, snapping the briefcase closed. She stood up and looked across the table at Peter, who rose in time with her (while there was still a part of Neal that felt a little rude to stay seated, even when he knew there was nothing he could do about it). "Thank you, Peter," she said, and picked up the briefcase. "I appreciate it. I'll keep you posted."

As Peter nodded, Neal quickly backed away from the table. "I'll walk you out," he said, wheeling along side of Sara.

She pursed her lips, but she nodded. She opened the conference room door, and he followed her out.

"You don't seem too happy," Neal said as they started back down the ramp. "And not just about the case. You don't want to spend time with me?"

"It's not that." Sara shifted the briefcase into her left hand, her right hand dangling next to Neal's shoulder. "I'm just..."

He raised his chin to get a look at her face. "Are you seeing someone?" It felt like a strange question to ask, like they couldn't work together if she was dating someone, but maybe that's how it was. Maybe that's how she wanted it.

"No, nothing like that. You know me. Married to my work."

"So, it's just me that you find to be personally offensive," Neal said lightly, and she laughed.

"It's not that." Sara's smile faded as they reached the bottom of the ramp. She stopped and turned to him. "I heard about your accident and... Neal, we were supposed to be friends and I didn't visit or even call. You wouldn't have done that to me. If something had happened to me, you would have been there."

He smiled. "That's because I always know what to say."

"I'm serious. I should have been there. I was..." Sara looked around, like she just realized they were having this conversation in the middle of the bullpen, surrounded by agents milling around them, though none of them seemed to be paying attention to them. "I was scared. It scared me to see you like that. I couldn't even step inside the hospital. I didn't want to see you hooked up to all those machines and... maybe it wasn't like that, but that's how it was in my head, and it terrifying."

Neal frowned as he reached up to take her hand. Her skin was as soft as he'd remembered it. "It's okay. It was a long time ago, and I don't know that I wanted anyone around then. It was hard enough trying to keep up with everything else."

"But I was a jerk. I disappeared, and not because you didn't want me there, but because I wasn't up to it."

"Would you feel better if I was mad at you?"

"A little bit, yeah," Sara replied, and she laughed like she could barely believe she was saying it.

"Then let's pretend that I was mad, and I resented you, but eventually, and it took almost a year, I forgave you. And then after that I thought that I really wanted to work with you and maybe take you out to dinner sometime."

"Dinner," she said flatly.

A slow grin spread across Neal's face. "We could go. We could talk about work, or anything you wanted. You could pay and it make everything up to me."

Sara laughed. "One dinner is all it takes?"

"Well, there's dinner, and then there's after dinner." Neal winked, and this time when she laughed, there was no mistaking the blush. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen that before today, and he knew he liked it. He squeezed her hand, and though she was still smiling, Sara pulled her hand away.

"I could do dinner," she said. "We could talk about the case."

That wasn't exactly what Neal wanted to hear, but she was giving him an opportunity, and that was all he needed. "Tonight?"

She pursed her lips, and then she nodded. "I'll text you with the details."

"Perfect."

"I'll see you tonight, Caffrey."

He had intended to walk her to the elevators, but she gave him a smile and a wave, and she seemed content to see herself out. He knew she liked manners and being treated like a lady -- when so many people saw her as a hardass and a bitch -- but she liked an exit, too. So he sat back and watched as she didn't give him a second look, not even through the glass doors as she waited for the elevator.

"So, you have a date," Peter said.

Neal looked over his shoulder and spotted Peter standing at the last turn of the ramp. "It's not a date," Neal replied. Sara had made that much clear. "It's just dinner. A work dinner. You're not going to make a big deal out of it, are you?"

"Of course not," Peter said, and then he grinned as he walked down to where Neal was. "Where are you taking her?"

Rolling his eyes, Neal rested his hands on his wheels and pushed himself toward his desk. "She's picking," he said, knowing that Peter was following him, "or didn't you hear that part?" He glanced up at Peter and shook his head. Peter seemed so genuinely pleased by this turn of events. Neal knew how much Peter liked Sara, and when they had dated the first time, Peter made it clear he thought it was a good match.

Peter didn't answer about eavesdropping. "Well, I'm just glad to see you getting back out there. I hate to think of you spending every night at home, drinking wine with Mozzie."

"Hey, now. Moz is great company."

"But he's not a woman," Peter said.

"No, he's not," Neal agreed. He rolled behind his desk and waited until Peter perched himself on the corner of the desk. "But it's not a date. It's just dinner. It hasn't even been a year. I don't even know if I'm ready to go on a date."

"Yeah, but you can... I mean..." Peter's face turned pink. He motioned to Neal's lower half. "You can still..."

Neal laughed. "Yeah, I can, but it's not just that. There's a lot more to this than just not being able to walk." He coughed loudly. "Don't we have work to do?"

"Yes, we do," Peter replied, but he didn't get up. He considered Neal for a long moment and said, "If you ever want to talk about anything, you know I'm here, right?"

"I know," Neal said. "Thanks."

Peter nodded, like that solved everything, and got up, heading toward the stairs.

Neal looked down at the file he'd had open before Sara had walked into the office, but he wasn't actually reading it. It was nice of Peter to offer, but Neal wasn't sure what they would actually talk about. Peter still felt guilty, and Neal couldn't do anything about that. He wasn't sure if they could have a real conversation with Peter's guilt weighing over them.

The first few days after Neal's accident had been a blur. He had three different surgeries, each one with a new anesthesia and another round of pain medication. There were flashes of things, though sometimes, Neal wasn't sure what had happened or what was a dream, or something he'd made up without realizing it.

The first thing he remembered clearly was waking up in the middle of the night to find Peter sitting at his bedside. The room was dark, but the door was open and the light from the hall poured inside. Neal blinked, watching Peter for a few long minutes, seeing the wet tracks of tears on his cheeks.

"Peter?" Neal had asked. "Are you okay?" He knew something was wrong with him, but at that point, he hadn't known his back was broken. He hadn't known he was paralyzed.

When Peter looked up, his hands folded together, he looked more pathetic and broken than Neal had ever seen him, even more than when Elizabeth had been taken. "I'm so sorry," he said hoarsely.

"You didn't do anything," Neal replied, his words slurring together a little bit.

"I know, I know. I should have... I have been there." Peter's eyes closed and a few tears slipped from the corners, rolling down his face. "It should have been me. I should have been..." His words stopped as he tried to stifle a sob.

"Peter?" Neal asked again. He reached out with his hand to touch Peter's shoulder, but he wasn't close enough. Instead, his hand hung in the air for a moment and it fell onto the bed.

"I'm sorry," Peter said again. "I'm sorry."

The next morning, Neal talked to the doctors and he felt like crying, too.

*

Neal wheeled into the restaurant and spoke cheerfully to the bored hostess who seemed to appreciate the attention. She directed him to Sara's table and he gave her a wink before heading back to the table. The trendy little bistro was crowded and the tables were close together, not making it easy for him to get around. His wheels scraped against chairs, pulling them away from their tables.

Slowly, he made it back to where Sara was waiting for him.

"Sorry," she said as he rolled into the empty space across from her. She must have told the hostess she was waiting for someone in a wheelchair. "I guess I should have found somewhere more spacious."

"At least you didn't pick a place with stairs," Neal replied with a smile. "That's where we'd run into trouble."

"There's seating upstairs," she said, "but when I called ahead, I asked for a table down here."

Neal continued to smile. He thought it might have been easy to forget, but today had been the first time Sara had seen him in the wheelchair. She probably wasn't likely to forget it anytime soon. "Thank you," he said.

"It seemed counterproductive to have a table upstairs if I wanted to see you." Sara grinned and picked up the menu. "I've been here before. They have an amazing martini for only seven bucks."

Neal raised his eyebrows and picked up his own menu. "Good to know."

A few moments later, their waitress appeared and while Sara ordered the martini, Neal asked for a glass of red wine. She disappeared and Sara set her menu down. She studied him, her brow creased together seriously before she spoke.

"So, other than being in a wheelchair, how are you?"

The truth was, being in the chair had pretty much taken up Neal's entire life. Two months in the hospital and another six weeks in rehab. He spent the next four months back at home, adjusting, and then he went back to work, where everyone looked at him differently. To his relief, the team didn't treat him differently, and they got used to the changes. Now, Jones made jokes about how they should get a wheelchair lift for the van, if they wanted to be fair, and Diana never even looked at him like anything was different. Everyone else in the office, however, tried to avoid him when they could. He could read their eyes when they saw him coming into the office. Were they supposed to hold the door open for him, or let him do it himself? What was being nice? What was offensive? They skirted around the words "walk" and "run", and cringed when they slipped up.

Neal figured -- he hoped -- that they would get used to it, too, but there was no way to explain it to her.

"I'm great," Neal replied, but from the look on Sara's face she didn't buy it. "How are you? Besides being married to your work."

She lifted an eyebrow. "I'm great," she said coolly.

Neal made a face, but he had to smile. He wanted to ask her about personal things, but she was the one who had said it was about work. "Did you get anywhere on the case today?"

"I did, actually," Sara said. She gave her menu one last look and then turned her gaze up at him. "Her grandson, Preston, he's twenty-two, and he has some holes in financial history."

"What kind of holes?"

"He's been pulling money out of his accounts like crazy. He's the only one raising red flags. With the amount of money he's withdrawing, he'll be out of money in a few months. There's no record of where the money's going."

Neal didn't ask how she obtained Preston's financial records, especially so quickly. Sara walked some fine lines, and for all he knew, it was perfectly legal, but it might have been more fun if he thought it wasn't.

"What's the next step?" Neal asked instead.

"I'll keep an eye on him. The odds are, he's already sold the diamonds and the best I can do for Mrs. Delaney is the payout. Loose diamonds are almost impossible to get back." Sara paused when the waitress brought back their drinks. They ordered their food (medium rare steak with the seasonal asparagus for Sara, chicken penne for Neal, and salads for both) and she took a sip of her martini, leaving a half-moon print of dark pink lipstick on the glass. "But with you on the case, I can at least get Peter to arrest him in the end."

"You don't usually go for the arrest," Neal said.

She turned one side of her mouth up in a smile. "This guy pisses me off. He completely upset my day."

He laughed and straightened his back. He could feel his gaze softening as he looked across the table at her. He'd done a lot of flirting since his accident, but none of it had felt nearly as good as just sitting at the table with Sara, talking about a case they were working on together.

"What?" Sara asked, and Neal realized he'd been staring.

"Nothing." He picked up his glass and looked at her over the rim. "I was just thinking about how beautiful you look."

She laughed, maybe a little bit uncomfortably. "That's inappropriate for a work dinner, don't you think?"

Neal grinned. "Who said I thought this was a work dinner?"

Sara opened her mouth and then closed it. She laughed again and said, "It's been too long, Caffrey. I guess I should have remembered that you wouldn't play by the rules."

"I didn't realize there were rules."

The tip of Sara's tongue slipped out of her mouth to lick her lower lip. Neal was fascinated by it, remembering how her lipstick tasted, how it would smear against his mouth and he wouldn't notice it until the next morning when he looked in the mirror. She never wiped it away, but just let it sit there, and he knew she had to have seen it. It was never quite dark in his apartment, even at night, with all the lights from the city below casting a warm glow inside. He didn't know if she thought it was funny, or if she just liked the way it looked on him. It wasn't the sort of thing they ever discussed.

Really, they never discussed anything. They'd had a lot of fun, but when Sara found out that he had been hoarding billions of dollars of stolen art, it was bit too much for her to overlook. Neal could accept that, even if he didn't have to like it. They agreed they were different people and left it at that.

A month after they worked on the Stradivarius case together and decided to be friends, Neal fell off a third floor fire escape.

"Neal?"

He looked up and Sara was staring at him. "What?"

She smiled. "I lost you for a second, there. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. What were you saying?" Neal picked up his wine and took a long drink.

Sara finished off her martini and tilted the glass to the side, fishing out the olive with her fingers. She didn't look up at him as she said, "I was just saying that if there weren't any rules, then there wasn't anything stopping us from sleeping together."

Neal, in a uncharacteristic moment of not being on top of everything, nearly choked on his wine mid-sip. He set the glass down and he was about to speak, but the waitress brought their salads over to them. Sara ordered another drink, and she demurely cut into her salad, like she hadn't just suggested they have sex.

"You want to sleep together?" Neal asked when the waitress disappeared.

Sara speared a grape tomato with her fork. "Don't you?"

He hadn't exaggerated to Peter when he said there was more to it than not being able to walk. There were things he had to prepare and think about that he wouldn't have had to if he'd still been able-bodied. This was a completely different level of vulnerability, and while he wasn't sure he was ready for it, if there was anyone he'd like to give a shot with, Sara would be the one.

"I do," Neal said before she thought he was lying about it. People tended to assume that around him, even when he was telling the truth. Occupational hazard. He did want to sleep with her and he wanted to wake up with lipstick on his mouth.

"Then what's the problem?" Sara asked. "It's the one thing we always knew how to do. And since you're not angry with me, we could make this the most inappropriate work dinner ever."

Neal paused when the waitress brought by Sara's drink. "There's no problem," he said when they were alone again. If this were anyone else, he would have smiled and flirted and been charming, but this was Sara. He destroyed things once with her by not telling her the truth. He might as well put it out there. "I haven't been with anyone since the accident, but I can tell you that it'll be different than it was before."

Sara nodded. "I know, but then again, I always liked to be on top."

He threw his head back, laughing. "I never had a problem with that, either."

"This is probably a stupid question, or offensive, but would you be able to--"

"I can do it," Neal interrupted, knowing exactly how defensive he sounded. "I don't know how long it'll last, but I can do it."

She laughed. "That wasn't what I was going to ask." Her smile faded and she looked across the table at him seriously. "You wouldn't be able to feel it, right?"

He swallowed. He hadn't expected to have this conversation, not tonight, anyway. "I have sensation in random places, but I honestly don't know what I'll feel." He grinned. "But it'll be fun to find out."

Sara smiled, too, and she looked almost shy. It was nearly as strange as seeing her blush. "I just want to make sure that you'll enjoy it."

Neal pushed his plate aside to reach over and take her hand. "There is no part of you being naked and in my bed that I won't enjoy."

"I am pretty good," Sara agreed, and Neal laughed.

After dinner, they shared a slice of cheesecake and Sara insisted on picking up the check, even though he said he'd pay, but Neal didn't try to stop her -- she wasn't the type to want to fight over it. If she offered to pay, she meant to pay. He hoped that there would be more dinners in the future where he'd have the opportunity to pick up the check.

"So," Neal said once they were out on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, "do you want to come back to my place?"

"That was what I had in mind," Sara replied. "How hard is it to hail a cab in that thing?"

"It's not easy," Neal admitted. "Cab drivers don't want to stop to pick up the guy in the wheelchair, and I have to get them to put the chair in the trunk. Most of them don't want bother with it, even though they're supposed to. I take the bus a lot if Peter doesn't give me a lift."

"Neal Caffrey, taking the bus? I thought that sort of thing was below you."

He laughed as they started toward the end of the block. "Eventually, you run out of options. But getting a cab is a little easier with another person."

"Ahh, I stand in the street to hail the cab while you hide on the sidewalk and then we get in as fast as we can."

"That's the gist of it."

So, Sara hailed a cab, and the driver grumbled in Arabic while Neal transferred into the back seat. He instructed Sara on folding up the chair, and she only swore at it once, and then she and the driver put it in the trunk.

"This guy really hates us," Sara muttered as they were on their way. "He's probably going to take us the extra long way."

"We'll tip him well, and he'll get over it," Neal replied.

Sara smiled when they pulled in front of June's house. "I can't believe you're still staying here. Did you move downstairs?"

Neal shook his head as he paid the driver. Getting the chair out of the truck and assembled once again wasn't as difficult, as Sara seemed to pick up on it easily. She stood back, letting Neal get out of the cab on his own.

He lead her up to the house, and they went inside. He wheeled to the back of the house where June had installed an elevator, another one of the additions to her wheelchair accessible renovations.

"This is fantastic," Sara said as they got into the elevator. "June did all of this for you?"

"I was so pissed off, too," Neal said as he nodded. "This house is beautiful and classic, and she gutted it for me. Her husband built this house himself, you know."

"I don't know if an elevator is actually gutting. It's in the back of the house and it may actually help with some resale value, if wheelchair users wanted to buy it someday." Sara rested her hand on Neal's shoulder. "But is it about the house or about June doing something so selflessly for you?"

Neal looked down at his hands. "Something like that."

To her credit, Sara didn't push him. She stayed silent until they got to the third floor and into Neal's apartment.

"You know where the wine is," Neal said, motioning around. "Help yourself, and I'll be right back." He wheeled back into the bathroom and washed his hands before getting his supplies out of the drawer.

Since he could no longer feel when he had to go to the bathroom, he went on a schedule. He was still learning how to balance going extra times with how much he'd had to drink in a day, and sometimes he could feel it when his bladder was really full, but it was better not to let it get to that. A doctor he'd seen when he was still in the hospital made bladder infections sound like a death sentence.

Knowing that Sara was waiting for him, Neal lubed up the catheter and went through the process as quickly as possible.

After he finished and cleaned up, he looked up at the mirror. He could only see the tops of his shoulder and up, but it was enough. He ran a hand through his hair and loosened his tie. Once, he would have sauntered back into the room (actually, he never would have left alone in the first place), but now he could only roll. There had to be some way to translate his walk to chair.

When he wheeled back out into the main room of the apartment, Sara was sitting on the bed with her bare feet pulled up under her. There was a wine glass sitting on the night stand. "You look comfortable," he said.

"I am," Sara said. She picked up the glass and took a sip. "You ready to show me all your moves?"

Neal laughed. "I don't know if I still have moves." He thought back to the things he liked to do. She always responded well when he'd crowd her space and push her up against a wall. It was best when she was hearing a two-piece outfit, and he could slip is fingers under her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin. He definitely couldn't do that anymore.

She set the glass back down on the table and scooted toward the edge of the bed. She reached over and took Neal's hands. "Your best move was always the constant bullshit coming out of your mouth."

"It wasn't all bullshit," he replied, but he grinned. "Move back so I can get up there."

Sara moved out of his way and Neal transferred onto the bed. He didn't make eye contact with her as he pulled one leg after the other onto the bed, arranging them casually in front of him. He patted his lap, a sensation that was still strange to him, because he couldn't feel his hands on the tops of his legs.

She didn't waste any time, leaning over and pressing her lips to his neck. Neal tilted his head back, giving her more room to do whatever she wanted. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling. It was so strange to know he was aroused, but not to be able to feel it past his stomach that was teeming with butterflies. His hands reached around her and pulled her closer.

Straddling Neal's lap, Sara pulled her skirt up to her hips. She ran a finger down the length of his face, and his arms broke out in gooseflesh. "I have to admit," she said, kissing his mouth, "that I missed this."

Neal's hands slid up her thighs. "Glad to know you were thinking of me." His hands moved up further and around her backside, only to find that she wasn't wearing any underwear. He raised his eyebrows and grinned. "You were thinking of me."

"I just took them off," Sara replied with a laugh. She pushed her fingers through his hair. "Shut up and kiss me."

Neal had been right when he said the sex would be different. In some ways, it was like watching it happening to someone else, but Sara's body was beautiful, and he put his hands all over it, feeling every inch of her that he could. He could only feel with half his body, but he was going to make the most of what he could use. She responded in kind, barely taking her lips off his skin at any point, whether it was neck, shoulders, or his ear.

"So, that wasn't very good, was it?" Neal said after Sara had rolled off of him. He looked over at her, and she laughed. "I don't think you even came."

She shook her head. "No, I didn't, but it was still pretty fun."

He reached over and fingered one of her curls. "We could try it again sometime if you wanted."

"Sometime soon," Sara replied. She grinned and kissed him. "I should go. I have to work tomorrow, and I'm going to need a shower and a real change of clothes."

"I could come to work with you," Neal suggested brightly. "We are working together, after all."

"Mmm, yeah, I don't know about that. My next move is to go dig around in Preston Delaney's trash. I think I'll spend the day gluing together shredded documents that smell like rotten food."

"Your job sounds so... glamorous."

Sara turned onto her side and tucked her hand into her hair. She grinned. "Oh, I'm not afraid to get dirty, Caffrey. I just keep hand sanitizer in my purse."

Neal took her free hand and pressed a kiss against the back of her fingers. "Hey, did you tell Mrs. Delaney that the diamonds were fakes?"

"I had to," Sara replied. "Why?"

"What was her reaction?"

"I have never seen anyone so happy to find out they'd been robbed. Her paranoid delusions had finally been validated."

Neal narrowed his eyes. "Do you think that's all it is?"

"I do. She's been trying to convince me that people have been stealing her things for years. What are you trying to say? Mrs. Delaney robbed herself?"

"If her grandson was in trouble. He gets the money, she gets the insurance payout, everyone wins. You said it yourself that loose diamonds are hard to retrieve."

Sara shook her head. "No way, not the tiara. If she was in on it, she'd have him take something else. There are more valuable things that would be just as difficult for me to find--"

"I doubt that."

She smiled, acknowledging the compliment. "There are other things they could have taken. And why go to all the trouble to make the forgeries if she was involved?"

Neal shrugged with one shoulder. "Just a thought."

"I really need to go." Sara sat up, letting the blankets fall away from her, and Neal couldn't take his eyes off her body as she crawled out of the bed. She got dressed and then leaned over to kiss him. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

She left and Neal smiled. It was almost like it used to be.

*

Neal didn't hear from Sara for three days. He didn't try to call her, but let her have her space, whether she needed it for the case, or if she wanted the break after they had slept together. They were both experienced at casual sex (they'd practically built a relationship on it a year and a half before), but Neal wasn't sure if sex was casual anymore. He hated his questionable stamina, and revealing his rubbery legs to anyone except for Mozzie, who'd seen it all from the earliest days of Neal's injuries. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have slept with them right away, but he knew Sara. He trusted her. But that didn't mean he was suddenly bursting with the confidence he'd lost after the fall.

As willing as he'd been to give Sara her space, for whatever reason, Neal was happy to see his phone light up with a call from her. Not only did she finally call, but it gave him a break from the pile of corporate expense reports he'd been given to search for any irregularities.

"Have you cracked the case?" Neal asked after he answered.

"Believe it or not, I have," Sara replied. "I have a few of your favorite words."

"Full immunity?"

She laughed. "Not those words. How do you like the sound of me saying you were right?"

"Oh, I like that a lot. What was I right about?"

"Mrs. Delaney. She's in on it, it's fraud."

Neal sat up a little straighter. "How'd you figure that out? Was it in the trash?"

"The trash reveals all," Sara said with a laugh. "I found a bag of shredded faxes that I put together. It wasn't fun, and I have about twenty paper cuts, but there were all these faxes from Preston Delaney about how he needed money. Apparently, he had some nasty gambling debts and mommy cut him off, so he went to grandma."

"That doesn't prove that he did it. Except that he's a person who communicates through faxes. Is he aware that it's not 1997 anymore? Who does that?"

"Someone who sold his iPhone. I'd guess his bookie was calling too much for his liking anyway. He told Mrs. Delaney that he could get money from her without losing anything, and..." She laughed bitterly. "That she'd be able to show the insurance company that her concerns were valid."

The worst possible thing Preston Delaney could have done was inadvertently mock Sara while planning a crime. The second he made it personal, she was going to hunt him down. Neal grinned and hoped the smile wasn't evident in his voice when he said, "How'd he do it?"

"The diamonds were fakes, we know, but Preston didn't sell the diamonds. I knew there was no way Mrs. Delaney would allow him to destroy her precious tiara."

"They're waiting on the insurance payout after you're unable to recover the diamonds," Neal realized.

"Exactly. I'm sure those diamonds are just sitting in her home, probably in the same safe where she keeps the tiara. Once we give her the tiara back, she can just put them back." Sara sighed. "I don't know if I should just recover the diamonds and savor the look on his face, or do what I need to do and just have him nailed for fraud."

Neal laughed. "I'm sure Peter would love to help you nail him fraud."

"That's my next phone call," she replied, sounding almost disappointed that she couldn't just beat them at their own game. "But I wanted to call you and tell you that you called it."

"I appreciate the call," he said. "I was starting to think that maybe you were avoiding me."

She chuckled. "No, I was just wanting to get the work done. You know how I can get. Married to my work. But I have been thinking about you. You want to make some plans?"

Neal smiled. "We should. You want to have dinner tonight?"

"I can't, I have a lot of loose ends to tie up here. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's great," he replied. They said their goodbyes and ended the call. Neal looked up toward Peter's office and after a moment, he saw Peter answer his phone. Sara calling.

Neal glanced back at his stack of expense reports and felt a surge of envy. Peter got to talk to Sara while he had to go through more papers. He was tired of the desk work, but there wasn't much else he could do. As much as he hated having guns, or the occasional crossbow, in his face, he missed the excitement of undercover work.

They had postponed his commutation hearing while he had been in the hospital, and had it soon after he came out of rehab. Neal told them that he wanted to stay in New York, that he wanted to keep working with the FBI, but only that he wanted to do it because it was his choice. He knew Peter had spoken on his behalf, that Neal had given up enough in the course of his work release.

They disagreed, however, and said that Neal should complete the rest of his sentence. He had broken his back and it wasn't enough for them. Neal assumed that they never really intended to end his sentence early, that it had all be a formality after they "recovered" the treasure and put Keller away.

He didn't know what was worse. Having the chance to have his sentence end early and not getting it, or the idea that they were never going to give it to him at all.

*

As the days passed, Neal became accustomed to Sara coming over nearly every night. She never stayed until morning, not even over the weekend, and Neal had to admit, at the moment, he appreciated it. He was afraid, and part of him thought Sara might agree, that they jumped into this too fast. He still needed space and time to take care of the things he wasn't ready to share with her. He didn't know when he would be ready.

Neal set down his book when he heard the door open. "Mozzie?"

"It's me," Sara said, and Neal smiled. He hadn't expected her over tonight, but he was glad to hear her voice. It was still daytime, but the sky had grown dark with clouds, and he could hear the rain pounding against the roof and skylights.

The door closed and she stepped around the corner, taking in the sight of Neal sitting on the couch, his right leg pulled up over his left knee, book in hand. There was a glass of wine on the table with a half-empty bottle next to it. She smiled. "You look comfortable."

"I am," Neal replied. He looked up at her and laughed. "You look wet. Did you get caught in the rain?"

Sara ran a hand through her hair, her curls matted together. "Your powers of observation are amazing, Caffrey. It's dumping out there and I'm freezing. I didn't think to bring a jacket in June and then I couldn't catch a cab, and you were only a couple blocks away. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not." He smiled patted the seat next to him. "Well, come here and I'll warm you up."

She kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot over to the kitchen to grab her own wine glass before coming back to the couch. She poured herself a glass and settled down next to him. Her clothes were wet and he could feel her shivering just a little. "So, how was your day, darling?"

He laughed at the pet name. "It was great. You should check out what I found out I could do today."

"Did you become a wizard, Harry Potter?"

"Only if you count being able to wiggle my big toe magic." Neal pulled off his hard-soled slipper. He'd done it earlier and there was a part of him that didn't want to stop, just in case it wouldn't work anymore. He hoped, after the big build-up, that it would work again. He held his breath as he willed his toe to move -- and it did.

"That's amazing." Sara threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "How'd you do it? How'd you figure it out?"

"It just happened. I was doing some exercise with Moz--"

"Mozzie exercises?"

Neal grinned. "He was helping me. I have to keep the muscles in my legs active or they'll atrophy and I can't do it alone. I used to have a caretaker who came in twice a day, in the morning and at night, but... anyway, we were stretching my legs and Moz noticed my toe moving. We thought it might have been a spasm, but it turned out I could control it."

Sara pushed her wet hair away from her face. "What does it mean? Is it a good sign?"

"It's not a bad one," he replied. "They told me that most of the improvements I'd make would happen in the first six months, but it could maybe take two or three years." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We should get you out of those wet clothes."

"And then what?" she asked, her lips turning up into a smile.

He ran his thumb over her cheek. "And then we'll get warm. Isn't there something about getting naked together that's supposed to prevent hypothermia?"

"I doubt I'm going into hypothermia," Sara said. She paused, her brow crinkling. "Do you go into hypothermia or do you just have it? That's going to bother me all night."

"I'll try to keep you too occupied to think about it." Neal unwound his arms from around her and pulled his chair closer to the couch. Sara stayed back as he transferred into the chair. "Come on, I'll get you warmed up," he said, arranging his feet on the footrests.

It didn't take long after Sara had stripped out of her wet things and they crawled into bed together for things to lead to sex. Though, much to his frustration, Neal's body refused to cooperate, but with Sara taking the lead, that didn't stop them from enjoying themselves.

When they finished, both sweaty and panting, Sara pulled the sheet out from under the comforter and wrapped it around her body. "I'll be right back," she said, kissing Neal's cheek. She got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom.

Neal smiled and closed his eyes. It hadn't been what he expected, but he had always stood by the philosophy that you should always have a backup plan.

He must have dozed off, because he started when he heard the door open. He looked up at Sara crossing the apartment, the long trail of the sheet dragging across the floor. She crawled back into bed, climbing over Neal and snuggling under the heavy comforter. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer, and she rested her head on his chest.

"Neal?" she asked quietly, and he could barely hear her over the rain outside.

"Hmm?"

"I've been wanting to ask, and there never seems to be the right time or the right way, and maybe there's no right way to ask, but--"

He ran a hand through her hair, his fingers pulling at the tangles. "Just ask."

"How'd your accident happen?" For someone who had seemed nervous about asking, she didn't mince words. Neal liked that about her, and her stammering before hadn't seemed right. This was better, even if was hard to talk about. He was pretty sure he could decline to answer and she wouldn't push the issue, because that's how she was, but he found himself wanting to share this with her. He liked it that she never tried to ignore that he was paralyzed. She never forgot about the chair, and that was comforting. It made everything easier without the elephant in the room that they refused to talk about, or even acknowledge.

After dealing with that with Peter, Neal could say with confidence that this was better.

"Peter was pursing a suspect into this empty apartment building where they were doing all this renovation. I was in the car, and Peter told me to stay there, but I saw our guy running around the back of the building, so I got up and started chasing him. He climbed up this fire escape and followed him." Neal paused. He'd talked about how it happened with the therapist at the rehab facility, but it was still weird to relive it. It was sometimes strange to think of himself as a person who could run and climb a fire escape. "We got up to the third floor and I'd caught up to him. I grabbed his jacket and he swung around and we struggled for a minutes, and then shoved me over the railing."

Sara had propped her elbow up on the bed and was looking at him as he spoke, her eyes wide. "Wow, that's... that's not what I was expecting."

"What did you expect?"

"You always call it an accident, but that wasn't an accident. He shoved you on purpose. I was expecting, well, an accident."

Neal shrugged. "It's the easiest way to refer to it, so I don't have to explain it every time. Not everyone needs the full story."

"So I shouldn't have asked?"

He quickly shook his head and touched her cheek. "No, no, I'm glad you did. Didn't we have a discussion once a long time ago about being honest with each other? If you wanted to know, you should be able to ask. If I didn't want to tell you, I wouldn't have."

She nodded, understanding. "What was it like?"

"I don't know. I don't remember the actual fall, or my back breaking. A lot of crap has happened to me, and I remember it all, so this one must have been pretty bad. Apparently, I hit a dumpster and that's what broke my back, but it also saved my life. It was the only thing between me and the concrete. I would have probably split my skull open. Other than the back, I was fine. A few scratches and bruises, but nothing a band-aid couldn't fix."

"Did you fall in the dumpster?" Sara asked, a smile teasing at her lips.

Neal laughed. "I don't know, you'll have to ask Peter. Actually, don't. He doesn't like talking about that day. Or anything that has to do with me not being able to walk. He feels like it should have been him, even though there's nothing he could have done. He told me to stay in the car, and I didn't listen."

"It's been a year and you haven't talked about it? I would have thought you'd have some federal shrink in there making you talk about it."

"Peter talked to a shrink, I think. Elizabeth said something once that made me think that he did, and I talked to one in rehab. We've never talked to one together. That's a little couple's counseling-ish, don't you think?"

"I'm sure you and Peter wouldn't be the first partnership to walk through the door," Sara replied. She rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "A year is too long to avoid the subject. Believe me, I know."

"I'm good at avoiding subjects," Neal said. He reached up and cupped her cheek for a moment, running his thumb along the smooth skin of her face. "Now, are you going to stay the night or are you going to try again with a cab in the rain?"

She laughed, her lips turning up into a exasperated smile. "I think I'll stay. It's cold out there for summer, and it's late."

"Good. I'll fix you breakfast. When was the last time I made you breakfast?"

"It's been a while," she agreed. She rolled away from him, resting her head on her own pillow. "Neal?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever... do you think you'd ever be able to walk again?" She paused, and then quickly added, "You just impressed me so much with your ability to move your big toe, I had to ask."

Neal stared up at the ceiling, his eyes drawn to the skylight, and he could just barely see the outline of the raindrops on the glass. He wasn't sure how long he was silent for, but Sara didn't push him. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I don't know. I have to, figuratively, walk a line between acceptance and hope. I want to walk again someday, and it's not just walking. Being able to reach into my cabinets, or hail a cab without any drama. To have sex without worrying..."

"Hey," Sara said, when his voice trailed off. She propped herself up on an elbow and pushed the hair away from his forehead. "Your penis is not the center of the universe. It's not even the center of this bed. I had fun and an orgasm. And I'm pretty sure you also had fun."

He laughed. "I did, though I would have liked an orgasm, too."

"I'll see what I can do about that next time."

Neal touched what was left of her curls, most of them having been washed out in the rain. "Today was a good day. Sometimes accepting feels like giving up. If I let myself be okay with it, that it'll be more depressing than fighting it."

"I did some research," Sara said slowly, "about all the advances they're making with stem cells. Even if they wouldn't help regain the ability to walk, they could help in more movement and feeling. It's something to think about."

"I don't think the government would pay for that. They took care of all my medical bills since I'm in the system. I'm not sure if a trip to Peru or wherever I'd have to go for a stem cell surgery would be is exactly something they think of being in the budget. And that wouldn't count on my sentence, and I've wasted enough time in hospitals."

She blinked at him. "Your time in the hospital didn't count on your sentence?"

He shook his head. "Apparently, if I'm not actively helping the FBI, then I'm not pulling my weight."

"If you were in a prison hospital, it still would have counted on your time." Her eyes blazed. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of. Someone should have been protecting you."

Neal smiled. He liked that she was outraged on his behalf. "It doesn't matter now. Besides, when I was up for commutation, and I thought about what I wanted, it was to stay in New York. Work with the FBI. It'd be nice to do it without the tracking anklet. Do you know how hard it is to get my pants up over it when I can't move my foot?"

He'd meant it as a joke, but Sara didn't laugh, not that he really expected her to. She pulled the blanket up over her shoulder and curled up next to him. "I'm tired," she said.

Neal shifted so he could wrap his arm around her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm glad you're staying."

"Me, too," she replied. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and was quiet for so long that Neal thought she might have fallen asleep until she asked, "Did they catch the guy that pushed you?"

"He got away at the time. Peter was..." Neal paused and then laughed. "He was distracted when I fell, so McKee got away. Peter got him around Christmas. He's still awaiting trial."

"Shoving a Federal employee off a fire escape counts against him, right?"

"I don't know. I'm not an agent, but he laundered a lot of money, so even if what happened to me doesn't come into play, he'll go away for a long time."

"Good," Sara said, even though they both knew it would be some minimum security prison, but that didn't matter to Neal. It was just nice knowing she was on his side.

*

Neal woke to the feeling of lips against his neck. He smiled. "Better than an alarm clock."

"Not if you want to get to work on time," Sara replied with a little smirk. "It's after nine. Lucky for us, it's Saturday."

"Lucky," he muttered and pulled her on top of him. He kissed her and her mouth tasted of mint. He turned his head away and grinned up at her. The sun was shining through the skylight, and the bright light framed her face from behind. "You brushed your teeth. You cheated."

She laughed. "It's not cheating, it's just a trip to the bathroom." She sat back, letting the blanket fall back, revealing her naked body. Neal's grin spread as he reached up to touch her. He ran his hands up her rib cage and over her breasts. Sara's rolled her head back, her eyes fluttering shut. "Everything's working this morning. Looks like next time is now."

"Mmm, good to know," Neal replied. He wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her back down to kiss her. "You're beautiful," he mumbled.

"You're not so bad yourself." Sara reached over to the night stand and rooted around in the drawer until she came up with a condom. The overhead light picked up all the bright shades of red in the wild single hairs that didn't curl together with the rest of her matted hair. She touched his cheek and there was something in her eyes that Neal had never seen before, not from her. He sucked in a breath, waiting for her to speak, but instead the door opened.

"Neal, are you up? I brought bagels." Mozzie stopped three steps from the door with a white paper bag in his hand. "Oh. You're up."

"Not anymore," Neal muttered as Sara pulled the blankets over her breasts.

"God, Mozzie, have you ever thought about knocking?" She fell back on her side of the bed, still pulling the blankets up, even though she was already completely covered. "Or maybe you should wear one of those collars with a bell on it."

"I cannot even express how many points that would be missing," Mozzie replied. "And not that I feel I need to defend myself, but you shouldn't be here. You're never here this early."

"She stayed over last night during the storm," Neal said, propping himself up on his elbows. He didn't mind the blankets shifting away from his body as he moved (or perhaps it was Sara still gathering them around her collarbones). After the hours of physical therapy, and help in the shower back when he first came home, there wasn't a whole lot Mozzie hadn't seen at this point.

Sara pushed back the comforter finally, and she had the sheet wrapped around her like she had the night before. "I'm going to find something to wear," she muttered to Neal. She raised her voice and said, "Turn around."

Mozzie turned to face the door. "Don't get dressed on my account," he said, and Neal laughed. Mozzie was the only person he knew who could say those words with total sincerity and not as a ploy to see a naked woman.

"Don't encourage him," Sara said as she crawled over Neal's legs. She hurried across the apartment and disappeared behind the back hall door.

"Can you get me some pants?" Neal asked as he worked himself into a sitting position. "So, what's going on? You didn't say you were going to come over."

"I'm not going to eat five bagels by myself," Mozzie replied as he rooted around in the armoire. He tossed a pair of blue pajama bottoms onto the bed. "I didn't need a reason before you got a girlfriend."

Neal groaned. Mozzie hadn't like it the last time Neal and Sara dated, but Neal always thought that had more to do with the billions of dollars of art they were sitting on than Sara herself. Maybe he'd been wrong, or maybe Mozzie was just having a hard time letting go of the fact that they never did make their big island getaway. Neal had been content to stay in New York, so he didn't mind when the treasure went back to Russia, especially since they got away with it (as much as they could without being reclusive billionaires). Moz, on the other hand, could still be holding on.

Neal slowly got into pajama pants and then pulled his chair closer to the bed. He transferred over to the chair and wheeled over to the table where Mozzie had dropped the bag of bagels.

"I'll get the butter," Mozzie said. He dug around the fridge and came up with not only the butter, but a carton of orange juice and a package of cream cheese.

"Come on, Moz, tell me what's going on," Neal said as he pulled an everything bagel out of the bag. He peered into the bag and saw another everything, two plain, and an onion. Neither one of them ate onion bagels, but Sara did. Mozzie must have at least suspected that she might be there, or would be in the future. Neal smiled.

"I wasn't going to mention it with your lady friend present, but I wondered if you wanted to help me out with a project." Mozzie grabbed one of the plain bagels from the bag and popped it in the toaster.

"Is this project legal?" Neal asked with raised eyebrows.

Mozzie brought three glasses over to the table. "Not strictly, no."

"What do you need? A distraction? Crazy guy in a wheelchair? Because you're better at that than I am."

"I need to open a safe, and it requires a few..." Mozzie paused as the bagels popped up from the toaster. He pulled them out and dropped them onto a plate. "Heavy tools."

Neal grinned. "And you want to stash them in my wheelchair."

"It's ninety percent carrying, ten percent lookout. You can be my wheel man."

Neal, who had been spreading butter across his bagel, laughed, even though they'd made the wheel man joke before. "What about the anklet?"

"Oh, believe me, no one will blink an eye." Mozzie took the butter from Neal and spread an incredibly thin layer across the bagel. "Are you interested?"

Neal paused. He was just starting to rebuild things with Peter and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin things with Peter anymore than they were just from what had happened. Mozzie had been there for him over the last year, helping him with a lot of the day-to-day stuff. While Peter had avoided his gaze and could barely look the chair, Mozzie faced everything head-on and never once asked for anything in return.

"Are you sure it won't draw attention on the anklet?" Neal asked.

Mozzie shook his head. "It's somewhere you're going to be anyway."

"The office? That won't go over well."

"No, the hospital. You have the appointment next week and a friend of mine needs some old medical files." Mozzie poured himself a glass of orange juice.

Neal crinkled his brow. "Wouldn't you just need to pick a few locks? They don't usually keep medical records in safes."

"These are sensitive," Mozzie said, and Neal figured he could ask, but if Mozzie wasn't revealing the information, he probably didn't need to know. It made sense, since Moz was right. They'd be there anyway, and no one would be the wiser.

"I'm in," Neal said, just as the back hall door opened. He grinned up at Sara who had wet hair and was wearing a baggy red tee shirt and a pair of blue track pants. He'd forgotten they were in the back of his closet. Right after the accident, he'd collected a lot of clothes that were easy to put on and remove, but now he was comfortable putting together a suit, the tee shirts and and track pants were penned to go to the thrift store, but hadn't made it yet.

"Are you going to wear that with your heels?" Neal asked.

"I don't have a lot of options. It's either that or go barefoot. I can wear your drawstring pants, but not your shoes," she replied, sitting down at the table, smelling like Neal's soap.

"Here," Neal said, pushing the bag across the table. "There's an onion bagel."

"Thanks." Sara got the bagel out of the bag and then looked over at Neal with a little smile. "I guess cooking breakfast will have to wait for another day."

He smiled. "Then you'll just have to stay the night again."

"I'll bring clothes next time." She opened up the cream cheese and used the butter knife to slather it across her bagel.

"Okay." Mozzie got to his feet and jammed his bagel back together. "Now that we've descended into awkwardness for me, I'm going to leave. Neal, I will see you at the hospital."

"I'll see you," Neal replied and twisted around in his chair to watch Mozzie leave.

"What's going on at the hospital?" Sara asked before taking a bite of her bagel.

"Follow-up appointment on Monday," Neal replied. "I have a lot of those. They want to make sure everything is healing the right way, and my doctor will want to know about the toe development. Moz usually comes with me. Sometimes I'm sore and tired afterward, and he'll push me out."

It was the truth. It was mostly the truth, anyway.

Sara, however, wasn't buying it. She set the knife down and sprinkled some of the onions that had fallen off her bagel on top of the cream cheese. "So, what are you and Mozzie up to?" She picked up the bagel and took a bite, but her gaze never left Neal's face, her eyes wide with expectation.

"What makes you think we're up to something?" he asked.

"When aren't the two of you up to something?" She lifted an eyebrow, and when he didn't reply, she said, "You have a face."

Neal blinked. He had worked very hard over the years to never give anything away with his expressions. If he ever showed anyone anything, it was exactly what he wanted them to see. He reached over and grabbed Mozzie's untouched glass of orange juice. "Do I?"

She smiled lopsidedly. "No, but there was a flash of panic in your eyes when you thought I could read you. It's a process of elimination, Neal. If you and Mozzie aren't talking about wine or Rousseau, you're up to something."

"Well, that's not fair."

"No, it's not," she agreed. She took a bite of her bagel and chewed it thoughtfully. She swallowed and asked, "Do you want to tell me about it, or should I wait and read about it in the paper on Tuesday?"

Neal didn't hesitate. "It's a small favor, and Moz has done a lot for me over the last year. I owe him. It's my way of thanking him."

"How illegal is it?"

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"Sure."

He considered it. "Maybe a four?"

"So, all the museums in the city will be in tact?"

"I can't promise that, but if they aren't, I can assure you that it won't be my fault." Neal ripped his bagel in half. "I don't think I'd be too helpful on a heist these days, anyway. I wouldn't be able to reach the top of the frames, and not only would I be terrible for a quick getaway, I'd be easily recognizable. How many art thieves are there in wheelchairs?"

"Alleged art thieves," Sara corrected, and Neal grinned.

"Yes. Alleged."

"It might be fun to roll around in the Guggenheim," she suggested.

He laughed. "I've thought about that, but I'm technically not allowed in the Guggenheim without a Federal escort."

Sara ran her fingers through her wet hair, trying make a part down the middle of her head with her fingernails, and she laughed, too. "Is that technically not allowed or actually not allowed?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Maybe not." She reached over and took his hand, her fingers cold. "Please be careful. I'd hate to see you get busted for... a four."

Neal squeezed her hand and grinned. "Are you worried about me?"

Sara smiled. "Of course not. I was thinking of Mozzie." She winked. "Don't tell him I said so."

"Your secret is safe with me."

*

Mozzie still hadn't told Neal why they were smuggling a drill and a scope in the leather bag strapped the back of his chair. Neal didn't mind not knowing what they were doing, but he hadn't actually thought this through when he agreed. That space in his bag was usually reserved for a bottle of water, or maybe a sketchbook. The drill was considerably heavier and Neal could feel the extra weight in his arms as he wheeled himself down the sidewalk.

"How are we doing this?" Neal asked. If it was as simple as Mozzie taking the bag once they got inside, he could have done this on his own. There weren't metal detectors in the hospital, and the odds of anyone asking about a man with a backpack were pretty small. Unless maybe Moz didn't want to carry the heavy tools around himself. As they started uphill, Neal thought that might have been the real reason.

The truth was, Neal wasn't a fan of using a drill on a safe. It was easier for everyone to assume you'd never been there if there wasn't any evidence of a break-in. Then, when they found things missing, assuming they didn't check the safe every day, they would have no idea when their items were taken. Sometimes, however, drilling was a necessity and Neal knew that, even if it was considerably messier.

He also didn't like the idea of everyone knowing something had been stolen when he had been there, but for Mozzie, it was a risk he was willing to take.

"Simple is best," Mozzie said. "We do your appointment, pass by the records room -- it's on the fifth floor -- and if anyone stops by, you charm them away while I do my work."

"Cameras?"

"Taken care of."

That sounded ominous, but Mozzie was a pro, and he probably had someone on the inside. Neal nodded. "Sounds simple."

As per Mozzie's plan, they went to the sixth floor first, where Neal met with Dr. Barlow, who had been the one to do two of his three back surgeries. He liked her a lot and felt comfortable talking to her about any aspect of his injuries and how he was dealing with them in his life. She was tall with dark skin, and liked to flash her bright smile almost as much as he did. She kept her thick, black hair pulled back in a low ponytail, and smelled like clean antiseptic gel.

After Neal showed off his new ability to wiggle his toe, he looked up at her, and trying not to sound too hopeful, he asked, "Do you think it means anything? About maybe being able to walk again someday?"

Dr. Barlow frowned and sighed as she pushed her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat. "I really can't tell, Neal. The optimistic answer is maybe, but the realistic answer is probably not. You had a bad break, and you're lucky to have sensation or movement."

Neal was sick of people telling him how lucky he was. He knew he was. Lucky to be alive, and lucky to be able to feel anything, but most of the time, no matter the smiling face he put on, he didn't feel lucky.

"I know that not what you want to hear," she said.

"What about stem cells?" Neal asked, thinking back to his conversation with Sara. "They're making a lot of advances, right?"

"They are," Dr. Barlow agreed carefully, "but stem cell procedures don't guarantee that you'll be able to walk. You could get more mobility, or more feeling in in your legs. It could improve your sex life, even. And while a lot of the research happening is here in the US, even in New York, if you wanted to have a procedure done now, you'd probably have to leave the country. Guatemala or--"

"Places I can't go," Neal finished for her.

She nodded. "I'm sorry, Neal. But I can tell you that everything here looks good. You really are healing well, and you seem to adjusting quickly. It'd be easy to forget that it's been less than a year."

"I had to adjust quickly," he muttered, knowing he sounded bitter. At the time, he had just accepted that he needed to get back to work as soon as possible to start getting time off his sentence, but after Sara had been angry about it, maybe he should have been angry, too.

Dr. Barlow rested her hand on Neal's shoulder. "Have you thought about talking to your therapist? I remember you saying that you stopped after you left rehab."

Neal shook his head. "I'm fine. I started seeing someone, a woman I used to date before the injury and... I guess I want to be the guy she knew before." He was glad Mozzie was waiting outside. They shared a lot, but Moz had a sore spot around Sara, and there were things you didn't want even your best friend to know.

"Speaking to you as a woman, and not your doctor, my advice? Talk to her." She grinned, and Neal had to smile back at her.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, and took the renewed prescriptions for his painkillers and anti-spasm medication. After he changed back into his clothes (more difficult to do in the office than it was in his own home, in his bed), he wheeled out of the room and met Mozzie in the waiting room at the end of the hall.

Except Peter was sitting with Moz, thumbing through a battered copy of People.

"Peter," Neal said. He rolled closer and smiled. "What are you doing here?"

He looked up and tossed the magazine aside. "I knew you had the appointment, and you were going to come back to the office anyway, so I thought I'd give you a lift. How'd it go?"

"Still paralyzed," Neal replied, and instantly regretted it. He could make those comments to Mozzie, who laughed them off, but not to Peter. "I'm fine," he quickly added. "The doctor was impressed at how well I'm adjusting."

"Good to hear," Peter said. "You ready to go?"

Neal glanced over at Mozzie, who hadn't moved. He couldn't very well say that they had a stop to make in the hospital, and he would never turn down a ride in the car when he would have had to take the bus instead. He held up his two slips of paper. "I just need to stop at Duane Reade and get these filled. Good for another year."

"We can stop on the way," Peter replied.

Neal shook his head. "It's okay. I use the one over on 72nd."

Mozzie got to his feet, and he wordlessly took a hold of Neal's wheelchair and pushed him out of the room. "This will be where I leave you," he said as they started out into the hallway, toward the elevators. "An old friend is staying on the fifth floor. I told him I'd visit while I was here."

"Were you going to visit, too?" Peter asked, looking to Neal. "I can wait."

Neal looked over his shoulder at Mozzie. "I don't know him well."

The elevator doors opened and they piled in together. Neal pushed buttons for both the fifth and ground floors and sat back in his chair. He glanced at Mozzie in the distorted reflected in the elevator doors, but Moz didn't even look at him, busy telling Peter about the cancer-causing additives in the drinking water until the doors opened on the fifth floor.

"I'll see you later, Neal," Mozzie said and slipped out of the elevator.

"Was he acting strange to you?" Peter asked after they doors shut once again.

Neal twisted around in his chair to look up at Peter. "Stranger than usual?"

"Good point."

As much as he didn't want to admit it, out of loyalty to Mozzie, Neal was relieved that his part in the job was compromised out of his control. Things might not be where they used to be with Peter, but breaking into the hospital records room, especially for something that was locked in a safe, wasn't the way to get their friendship back. Sometimes, Neal missed being able to talk to Peter, to even joke with him, or talk about anything other that their latest case that Neal couldn't help out with anyway, or June's coffee. He missed being friends.

They reached the first floor, and when Neal pushed out of the elevator, his chair was considerably lighter. Well, Mozzie certainly wouldn't have been able to smuggle out the drill without anyone noticing, but Neal had a feeling his bag was gone.

He didn't mind Mozzie taking the bag, but he wondered how Moz intended to get it back to him. It wasn't just a way to carry his sunglasses, he kept his catheters and lube in the bag, for when he needed them during the day. His bathroom schedule was strict, and he wasn't sure what he'd do without them, and even though he'd just gone at the hospital, he didn't want to not have his things with him.

Thankfully, Peter didn't seem to notice that Neal was lacking his bag. Neal stowed the chair in the backseat and pulled out his phone.

I'm going to need the bag back when you're done. Asap. Even if I'm at the office.

"Sara?" Peter asked. He looked over as he brought the car to a stop in front of a red light.

"Moz," Neal replied, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "Finalizing some plans to meet up later."

"To give you your bag back?"

Shit. He should have given Peter the benefit of the doubt.

"Why'd he take it?" Peter asked when Neal didn't reply. "What were the two of you up to?"

Neal took a deep breath. While Sara might accept illegality at a four, Peter wouldn't. "Mozzie needed to get something, and I was helping him. I don't know what he was getting, and I didn't need to know. He stashed some supplies in my bag."

Peter tapped the steering wheel with his thumb and stepped on the gas when the light changed. "I don't know what to say, Neal."

He sounded like a disappointed father who just found out his kid had cheated on a math test, but Neal wasn't seven and Peter definitely wasn't his father. Neal looked over at Peter with a glare. "Why don't you say what you're thinking? You thought that the shenanigans would have been over when I broke my back, that I couldn't get into trouble as long as I was in a wheelchair."

"No, no, that's... that's not it," Peter muttered, not looking away from the road.

Neal knew he was rubbing salt in the wound, but he was suddenly sick of tip-toeing around Peter's guilt. "Sure it is. I can't jump out of windows onto bakery awnings or base jump off buildings anymore, so you don't have to worry about me. And you haven't had to. I was in the hospital and rehab, and then all that time I was at home before I came back to work. It must have been great for you to have whole seven months off from wondering how I was going to screw up your career. It was probably a big weight off your shoulders."

"I never thought that. I was worried about you." Peter had gone from mumbling denial to sounding almost as angry as Neal had.

"You had a funny way of showing it," Neal spat. "You barely saw me the entire time I was in the hospital, or when I came home. You could hardly look at me, and you never look at my chair. You know why I did this today for Mozzie? Because he's been there for me. I felt like I owed him one. When I needed someone, he was there. I needed you and you disappeared."

"Because it should have been me!" Peter roared. His voice seemed ten times louder in the confines of the car, and his eyes were blazing with pain. "I'm the agent. I'm the one who should have been on that fire escape. It's my job, I should have been the one. I should have been there. I should have at least been able to stop it from happening at all."

Neal knew that Peter felt that way, but he'd never said it like that before. "Peter -- Peter!"

The light ahead of them turned red and a cab had stopped, while Peter was still looking at Neal. Peter slammed on the brakes and the Taurus screeched to a stop, narrowly missing the back of the taxi as Peter swerved halfway into the bike lane, where they were, luckily, no cyclists. The horn from the car behind them blared.

"Maybe we should save the arguing for when we're not in a moving vehicle," Neal said quietly.

Peter didn't say anything right away. In fact, he didn't say anything until after the light had changed and they were back in their own lane and on their way.

"I'm sorry," Peter said finally. This time, he kept his eyes on the road ahead.

"For what?" Neal asked. Almost getting into an accident was enough to jar him out of his mood. He didn't want to fight with Peter. "For not... breaking your back? Believe me, Peter, I've thought about it. I could have stayed in the car like you told me to. If you'd been on that fire escape, there's no telling what would have happened. Maybe you wouldn't have fallen, or... you have died. That's what everyone told me. How lucky I was, because I could have died."

"I've thought about that, too," Peter muttered. "But it doesn't change anything."

"It could have been worse," Neal offered. He'd thought about the ways it could have gone. It would have been just as easy for him to lose the use of his hands and not be able to take care of himself, or he could have had a brain injury of some kind. "But that doesn't matter, Peter. I want my friend back. A year is too long to avoid the subject."

"Yeah," Peter agreed softly. "It is."

Neal knew he was repeating some of Sara's words, and he thought about other things she said. He took a deep breath. "I saw a therapist when I was in rehab. Maybe that's... it could be something we could do together."

"You'd have to be honest," Peter said right away. His lack of surprise at the suggestion made Neal wonder if this was something Elizabeth had been encouraging.

"I can be honest about this," Neal replied.

"About this," Peter repeated under his breath with a touch of laughter. He was quiet for a long time, and then said, "Maybe that's a good idea."

Neal nodded. "Yeah."

Peter turned the car into the garage at the Federal Plaza and they parked in the handicapped space. Neal got his chair out of the backseat and he was pleased to find that Peter didn't completely avoid looking at him as he put the wheels back on the chair and transferred out of the car.

"So, what was Mozzie doing?" Peter asked as they started toward the elevator.

"You don't what to know," Neal replied.

Peter pressed the arrow up button. "You're probably right."

*

Sara had the Fourth of July weekend off from work (even though the fourth wasn't actually until Wednesday, there was still something about setting up a three day weekend), and to Neal's surprise, she decided to actually step away from her cases for three whole days.

"I can stay the whole weekend," she had said a few days before over the phone. "If you want me to."

"Sure," Neal replied before he really thought about it. However, as the day went on, all he could think about were the things that he did in his daily life that he'd been able to avoid around Sara. She knew about his drawer of catheters, but that was considerably less embarrassing than explaining how he managed a bowel movement. He only did it three times a week, and saved one of those days for the weekend. The entire production could take more than an hour, so he had to schedule it like everything else, and there was nothing classy or glamorous about it. It was so much easier to just keep the everyday, personal things separate from the rest of his life.

There didn't seem to be any way to take it back without hurting her. Sara might be tough, but Neal figured she probably wouldn't appreciate him backing out of a weekend together. Especially after she mentioned that she turned down spending the weekend at a colleague's house in the Hamptons in favor of staying with him.

If he'd been a regular boyfriend, one who didn't wear a tracking anklet, they could have gone to the Hamptons together.

Late Friday afternoon, Sara showed up wearing fitted jeans and loose floral printed tank top. It was the most casually dressed he'd ever seen her that wasn't a pair of his sweatpants when she had no other options. She dragged a medium-sized suitcase on wheels behind her.

"Someone's ready for the weekend," Neal said. "And possibly the next week and a half."

She set her suitcase by the door and draped the garment bag over it. "I have things I need," she said as she walked over to where Neal was by the dining table and bent down to kiss him. She leaned against the dining table and held her hands out. "But check it out. I have no boxes of files, no folders, nothing. It's a real weekend off."

"What about your phone?"

"It's on, but that's for emergencies only," Sara replied. She pulled it from her pocket to show him. "I promise to make no phone calls all weekend."

Neal shook his head. "I don't believe you." He snatched the phone away from her and tucked it into the pocket on the front of his vest. "I'm holding onto this."

She laughed. "Only so I can't call Peter and tell him that you stole my phone." She bumped his shin with the toe of her red high heeled shoe. "Speaking of, how's it going with you and Peter?"

"Good. It's good, it's... we had the first therapy session yesterday. It went well." Neal smiled. He rested his hands on his wheels and rolled forward and inch and bumped her back. "Are you ready to eat? The reservation's for six, and I don't know how easy it's going to be to get across town right now."

Sara nodded. "Is this too casual? I love my all of my clothes, you know I do, but the second I was off the clock, I changed. If I'm turning off work this weekend, I'm going all the way."

"So, what's in that?" Neal swiveled his chair around and pointed to the garment bag. "Tee shirts?"

"I might have brought a dress for if we did something fancy. That's why I'm asking. Is this appropriate for where we're going?"

"You look perfect," Neal replied, turning back around. He took her hand and grinned. "Let's go."

They took a cab to the restaurant, and once inside, the hostess led them to a table near the front, by a window. Neal had specified it, just in case it was hard for him to get around, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that not only were their wide, clear aisles, but they had already moved one of the chairs away so he could roll right in.

They ordered drinks and while Neal glanced over the menu, he really wasn't reading it. He'd been so focused on getting things right with Peter over the last week, he'd barely talked to Sara, except for planning the weekend. He hadn't had the chance to take Dr. Barlow's advice and talk to Sara.

"Do you know what you're getting?" Sara asked. "The stuffed chicken sounds good. I'm a sucker for sun dried tomatoes."

"I'll keep that in mind," Neal replied. "I still owe you that breakfast, you know."

She grinned. "Well, there's a whole weekend for you to make it up to me."

He smiled, too. "Yes, there is."

They both got the stuffed chicken, and once their waiter disappeared, Neal looked across the table, where Sara was sipping her martini. "You know, we've been seeing each other for almost three weeks now..."

Sara set down her glass. "I know. It seems like so much longer." She paused. "In a good way. It's been very good."

He laughed. "I know, it's been good for me, too."

"Is this our three week evaluation? Is this a thing we're doing now? If it is, I'm going to have to ask you about any crimes you've committed in the last three weeks. Just so I'm on top of things this time."

Neal grinned. "No, it's not. And there hasn't been anything. Except the hospital thing, but I ended up not being very involved in that."

"Did you ever find out what Mozzie got out of there?"

"It was a job for a friend," Neal replied, shaking his head. "We trade a lot of favors in this line of work, and that was Mozzie giving back where he was owed. It wasn't any of my business."

Sara nodded. "How many of those little debts do you have?"

"A few, though a lot of guys aren't as willing to cash them in now since I work with the FBI. And even less of them think I'm capable of doing anything now, I'm sure." Neal picked up his glass and took a sip of wine. "I've been thinking... what's it been like for you? Dating a guy in a wheelchair? I know what it's like to be me, but not to be you."

She blinked a few times. "I... I don't know. I guess I don't think of you as a guy in a wheelchair. I mean, I know you're in the chair. I can't ignore that or pretend it isn't there, and I wouldn't even want to, but when I look at you, that's not the only thing I see. Yes, you're in a wheelchair, but that's not nearly the most interesting thing about you. Maybe it's because I knew you before you were injured."

Neal narrowed his eyes just slightly as he looked at her. "So did Peter, but the injury changed everything between us."

"Peter also had a lot of issues surrounding your injury. He felt guilty because he wasn't there." Sara sat back in her seat. "Well, so was I, but that was different. You didn't expect me to be there for you the way you expected it out of Peter. I got away with one."

"We all should be able to get away with one here and there," Neal replied, and she laughed.

"You would be the one to think so."

He smiled and raised an eyebrow. "So, what is the most interesting thing about me?"

Sara held her mouth open in a smile. "I... I'll get back to you on that."

"I'll hold you to it," Neal replied with a wink. He looked down into his wine for a moment. He was going somewhere with this, and he just had to figure out where it was. He lifted his chin, and Sara was waiting patiently for him to speak. He swallowed. "The other day when you were asking if I'd be able to walk again..."

"What about it?" Sara asked when his words trailed off.

"If you're expecting me to walk someday--"

"Neal." She reached across the table and took his hand. "I'm not with you because I think you're going walk. If I thought that, I never would have gone out with you. I only asked because I was curious. I thought it was something you wanted."

"Of course that's what I want, but it's probably never going to happen." He shook his head. He hadn't mentioned this to anyone, not even Mozzie. "I talked to my doctor about it when I was at the hospital on Monday. It's most likely that a moving toe isn't anything except a moving toe."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry, Neal. I know that's not what you wanted to hear."

"It's not, but... maybe it's time to stop walking the figurative line. If I can accept it, I can move on with my life. Wheels attached. If you're interested in that."

Sara smiled, and she appeared to be thoroughly touched. "I am."

After dinner, they walked a few blocks down and Sara led them into a tiny bakery front. "I love this place," she said. "Have you ever been here?"

"No, I haven't. I own a bakery downtown," Neal replied. There was barely room inside for his chair, but he maneuvered it in sideways so they could both fit next to a table stacked with boxes of I ♥ NY cookies.

"You do not."

"Yes, I do. You can ask Peter. He'll tell you all about it."

She grinned. "You know that I will. But since we're here, we're picking up cupcakes."

Neal let her pick out the flavors (red velvet and chocolate mint), but he insisted on paying for them, since she got dinner. She opened her mouth to argue with him, but then closed it. She really didn't like to argue.

Sara set the box on his lap. "You can carry these, just in until we get a cab."

Once they were back at June's, Sara placed the cupcakes on a plate and a fork in Neal's hand. "Tell me, are they as good as the ones at your bakery?"

Neal took a bite of red velvet, and the cake seemed to melt in his mouth. He moaned and swallowed. "It's really good. Though, to be honest, I've never actually had anything from my bakery. It's out of my radius. We'll have to get Peter and go sometime."

"If you can't go there, why did you buy it?"

"I might have been part of an escape I had to make once."

"Why am I not surprised? That makes a lot more sense than the sudden urge to be a small business owner." Sara nudged his chair away from the table and slipped in so she could sit in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"So, this is your secret. Take one bite and then make out." Neal slid his hand around her hip. He was suddenly aware that they were both sitting in his chair, and there was something intimate and sexy about it. This was his space, but he liked her crowding him. Was this how it felt for her when he used to push her up against the wall? It seemed so natural to have her sitting on his lap. How had he never thought of this? Could they have sex in the chair? How would they go about it? It was definitely something they would have to try.

She grinned. "That's my diet plan. I only ever buy cupcakes on dates with pretty boys." She ran her fingers through his hair. "I think we should take those cupcakes over to the bed and..."

"Have some dessert with our dessert?" Neal asked, raising an eyebrow. "Cupcakes definitely taste even better in bed."

She tilted her head down and kissed his jaw. "And I can show you what else I packed in my big suitcase." Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, and Neal noticed that he could see right down her shirt at this angle.

"Dirty lingerie?"

"Maybe."

"Vibrating toys?" They'd talked about it briefly after he'd read an article about paraplegics and vibrators. She said she would look into it.

She pressed her lips to his neck. "Possibly."

Neal groaned. "Then what are we doing here when the bed is over there?"

"That's a very good question."

*

Neal woke up at six-thirty, his internal alarm clock overpowering his desire to sleep in. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked over at Sara. She was having no problem staying asleep, even snoring lightly. He smiled and brushed a curl away from her face. She didn't stir.

He managed to transfer out of the bed without disturbing her, though when he landed on the chair, a red vibrator fell onto the floor. He chuckled, the memories from the night before coming back to him.

Neal wheeled back to the bathroom and opened his drawer of medical supplies. He pulled out a disposable catheter and looked into the bottom of the drawer at the blister pack of glycerin suppositories. It really couldn't wait, but first things first.

He relieved himself before he turned on the shower. There was a long list of things he usually did on the weekends, and he'd have to find time for them, but he would have to find a way around Sara. There was sharing himself, and then there was sharing something gross. He couldn't talk about it with her. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

He was almost done in the shower when there was a knock on the door.

"Hey," Sara said, pushing the door open a couple inches. She poked her head in and grinned. "Do you want some company?"

He grinned, too. "I was just finishing up, but I can leave the water on for you. Did I wake you up?"

She laughed and pushed the door open wider. She was wearing his white shirt that he'd left on the floor the night before. She crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned against the door frame, revealing another inch of her thigh. "No, I woke up and you were gone. Do you mind if I brush my teeth?"

"Be my guest."

Sara stepped into the bathroom and picked up her toothbrush from the edge of the sink. Neal could feel her eyes watching him in the mirror as he turned off the water and pulled his chair closer.

"Enjoying the show?" he asked, after he'd dried himself off and transferred out of the shower and into the chair. It was always a little scary when everything was wet, even with the nice seat in the shower. He was still nervous that he would slip, no matter how many times he'd done it.

She spat into the sink and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. She turned, toothbrush still in hand, and smiled. "I have to admit, it amazes me how easy you make that look. I'd be afraid that I'd fall on my ass."

"Believe me, I've fallen on my ass." Neal leaned over to put his feet on the footrests. "On the bright side, I couldn't feel it."

Sara laughed. "So, what are we doing today?"

"Well, Peter invited me over to a cookout at their house this afternoon, but their house is hard for me to get around. The only bathroom is upstairs and I have to go in through the back because of those front steps."

"But you still want to go."

He smiled and wheeled closer to her. "Yeah, I do. I've only been over there once since the accident. I hardly ever see Elizabeth anymore."

"I don't know if Peter would like you talking about his wife while you're buck-ass naked," Sara replied with a little smirk.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Neal said. "Besides, I like thinking about you when I'm -- what's the term you used? Buck-ass naked?"

She leaned over and kissed him. "Glad to hear it. Good morning."

"Morning." He ran a hand up the inside of her thigh and wrapped his hand around it. "I've got a few things I need to do this morning. Is there anything you can do for... an hour, hour and a half?"

"Is this like... illegal, Mozzie's-coming-over kind of stuff?" Sara leaned against the sink, and Neal could see the inside of her lower lip wedged between her teeth.

Neal shook his head. "Nothing like that. It's a few personal things."

"Okay," she replied slowly. He could tell she was trying to be understanding, but she wasn't quite managing it. "What do you suggest I do for an hour or two? At seven in the morning."

He hesitated. He hadn't thought about that. He'd hoped that she would just sleep until ten like she had the weekend before, but now that she was awake, he should probably suggest something for her to do. "You could hang out with Mozzie," he suggested.

She laughed. "I don't think so. I'll got for a run now and take my shower when I get back. Then I can eat the rest of that cupcake we didn't get to last night."

Neal stroked her leg. "Thanks, Sara."

"You're lucky I packed sneakers in my giant suitcase. I'm ready for anything."

"I never expected anything less." He grinned.

He followed Sara in the main room of the apartment, and watched as she changed out of his shirt and into a lime green tank top that clashed horribly with her hair, and blue track pants that Neal recognized as being out of his own closet. He never asked for them back, and he liked the way the looked on her.

"I was going to have you fix me that breakfast you owe me, but I'll pick up something," Sara said, as she finished tying her sneakers. "We can have breakfast tomorrow."

"It's a date," Neal replied. He grabbed her hand. "Thanks."

She shrugged with one shoulder. "It's okay."

Sara was gone for nearly two hours, and that gave Neal plenty of the time and privacy he needed for the lengthy process of a bowel movement. It'd been almost a year now, and even though he going now do it alone (he remembered, with a cringe, when he had to use the help of a nurse or a caretaker, even though that was their job), it still felt demoralizing, and he had to do this every other day for the rest of his life.

There had been times, early on, that Neal had wondered if this was some kind of cosmic punishment. If maybe he listened to Peter and stayed in the car a few more times, maybe this wouldn't have happened. If he'd been a better person who didn't break the law, who didn't make the con a compulsion, that he'd still be walking. As time wore on, he realized that it wasn't a punishment. If anything, it was karma. He had been proud and vain for too long. Maybe now it was time for him to be humbled.

When Sara came back to the apartment, Neal was dressed and waiting for her with a cup of coffee.

"Oh, perfect," she said. She dropped a white paper bag on the table and took the mug from him. She sat down and took a sip. "Did you get done what you needed to?"

Neal nodded. He grabbed the bag and opened it up, reaching inside. "What'd you get?"

"Just some egg sandwiches. If we're going to this cookout, I didn't think we needed something heavy." Sara took a sip of the coffee. "This guy at the deli was hitting on me while I was waiting on the sandwiches. He said we should go running together. It was like this generic 'we're-both-in-work-out-gear' pick-up line. I had to stop myself from laughing in his face."

"Did you tell him that your boyfriend can move his toe?" Neal asked with a laugh. "That's almost like being able to go for a run."

"I did not," Sara replied, smiling. "I just told him I wasn't interested."

He took a bite of his sandwich and the burn of far too much pepper hit his tongue. He chewed quickly and swallowed before he said, "You could always have a boyfriend go running with."

She laughed. "The guy at the deli? I don't think so. He smelled like sweat and Polo. That's not attractive. But I probably smell like sweat and Chanel, so maybe that's why he thought we'd be a good match."

"That's not--"

"I know it's not what you meant." She smiled. "You could come running with me sometime if you wanted. This doesn't have to stop you. I did a 5k last year, and there were people in wheelchairs, and half of them had better times than I did. I'm skinny, but I'm slow. That run I just took? It was embarrassing. You would have laughed at me. I will be chasing after you uphill."

Neal smiled, but he shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not ready for a 5k."

"You don't have to do a 5k. You could just come with me through the park. When you're ready." She took another drink of her coffee, then set the mug down as she got to her feet. "Don't eat my sandwich, or the cupcake. I'm going to take a shower so I just smell like Chanel in front of your friends."

Sara disappeared into the back hall and Neal sat back, his peppery egg sandwich still in his hand.

It was a strange feeling, being threatened by a stranger, and one Sara wasn't even remotely interested in, at that. She had just been telling him a story about her day, and suddenly he defensive and jealous. Neal had never noticed strange men who checked out his girlfriends in the past. He'd been that confident in his smile and his charm. The only threats before were worthy adversaries, like Keller had been with Kate.

Perhaps it wasn't pride or vanity that karma was coming back to haunt him with, but arrogance.

*

Neal and Sara were the first to arrive at the Burke's, just after noon, but that was all right right with him. He hadn't seen Elizabeth in nearly a month, and it was good to see Peter outside of the context of work. Neal couldn't just stop by anymore, and he missed that, and he thought Peter might miss it a little bit, too, by the way he clapped Neal and the shoulder and grinned, shoving a beer in his hand before Neal could even decline the offer of one.

"Uh, thanks," Neal said, blinking at the cold bottle in his hand. He knew that Peter was just trying to reconnect, but he could have at least done it with bad wine. It wasn't the best option, but he'd used it before.

"I'll take that," Elizabeth said, thankfully plucking the beer from his hand. "I have a project for you."

She set him up mixing two glass pitchers of summery, sweet sangria at the dining room table while she and Sara chopped up vegetables for skewers in the kitchen. Occasionally, Peter, who was out back trying to light the charcoal grill, would swear, and El would call out if he needed help with anything.

"I got it, hon!" Peter replied, in the same utterly patient, even tone every time she asked.

"He's never that calm with me," Neal muttered, and Elizabeth laughed.

"You're not married to him." She popped a piece of yellow bell pepper in her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. "Though I suppose you're his work wife."

"I object to that. I'm definitely a work co-husband." After he'd finished with a lemon, Neal used a paring knife to cut an orange, and he added the slices into the wine and sugar mixture. "We are in couple's counseling."

"It's not couple's counseling," Sara and Elizabeth said in unison. They looked at each other and both started to laugh. Despite himself, Neal grinned. They worked in silence, except for Peter's occasional loud swear, followed, eventually, by a cheer of triumph.

"I knew he'd get it," El said as there was a knock at the front door. "And just in time. Sara, you mind taking these out to him?"

"Sure," Sara replied, and she stole a swig of the beer before picking up the platter of vegetable skewers. She winked at Neal as she walked out the open back door, and he twisted around to watch her backside in her dark blue jeans. She really was taking the casual weekend seriously, even though she was still wearing six inch heels.

"I saw that, Caffrey."

He turned back around and grinned at Diana, who crossed the living room in front of Elizabeth with a foil-covered bowl in her hands. It looked strange to see her wearing anything except a suit, or the occasional dress for an undercover job, but this Diana wore fitted khaki shorts, a red tank top and flip flops.

Neal tossed another orange slice into a pitcher with a splash. "She's my girlfriend, I'm allowed to look. Speaking of, where's Christie?"

"She had to work. I told her I'd bring her back a plate." Diana held up her bowl. "I brought potato salad."

"I made sangria," Neal said. He added another splash of brandy to both pitchers and gave them each a stir with a wooden spoon. "And those should go in the fridge for a while, Elizabeth. Add the ginger ale when you're ready to serve."

Elizabeth picked up the pitchers and smiled. "Thanks, Neal. And Diana, you can put that bowl anywhere. Peter just got the fire started out there. It's going to be a while before we're ready to eat."

People slowly filed into the Burke's home over the next hour. There were a few neighbors, some of Elizabeth's co-workers, even a few of her clients, and a few people Neal knew from the office.

"Just the person you wanted to see on your weekend off, right?" Jones asked as he approached the table.

"I'm at Peter's house," Neal replied, grinning. "What was I supposed to expect? That he had other friends?"

Jones laughed and then quickly looked over his shoulder to make sure Peter wasn't standing right behind him. Luckily, for both of them, Peter was still manning the grill outside. Elizabeth, on the other hand, gave them a look, and then a smile -- she wouldn't tell on them.

Neal wasn't one for hamburgers and hot dogs, but he enjoyed the grilled vegetable skewers that Elizabeth and Sara had made, and the homemade sides that guests had brought: four different potato salads, glazed carrots, six bean salad, and watermelon that had been cut into squares and served with mint.

"Were we supposed to bring something?" Sara asked, plopping down next to him at the dining room table, where Neal had settled to get out of the July heat. "A dish or maybe a bottle of wine? Everyone here is telling me what they brought."

Neal shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about it. We helped when we got here, and we'll help them clean-up. Then maybe Peter can give us a ride back to June's."

"You really hate taking cabs, don't you?"

"I love cabs. I just hate cab drivers."

"Don't we all." Sara speared a patriotically themed dessert (pound caked layered with whipped cream, blueberries, and strawberries) with a plastic fork. "You want some?"

"No, thanks. Actually..." Neal paused and glanced around, looking for Peter or Elizabeth. He spotted Peter through the half-open back door, and then turned back to Sara. "I need to slip out for a minute to use the bathroom. There's a coffee shop on the corner."

Sara swallowed her mouthful of cake. "I can go with you."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't need a baby-sitter. I already have to tell Peter that I'm going, with the tracking anklet."

"I didn't mean that I wanted to join you in the stall. I could walk you to the corner. I've had three glasses of sangria, so maybe I could use a coffee."

"I can go by myself," Neal snapped, and he instantly regretted it, but he didn't apologize.

Sara stared at him, wide-eyed. "Okay. Jesus. What's your problem, Neal? You kick me out this morning and that's -- I don't know if that's okay. I went along with it, but now you're acting like I'm annoying you. Was the weekend a bad idea? You could have just said no when I mentioned it."

"Look, Sara, I don't--" He stopped when a woman from Elizabeth's work walked into the house, and lowered his voice. "I don't want you to feel like you have to take care of me. There's a line between 'nurse' and 'girlfriend', and I'm not ready for those lines to be blurred."

"Neal, I don't think of you as someone who needs to be taken care of. You take care of yourself just fine, you always have. You don't need me." She paused, as though the full weight of her own words just hit her. "You don't."

"What?"

"You don't need me at all. You have Peter to drive you places and Mozzie to take you to the doctor." She smiled sadly. "I don't mind just having sex, but I... I thought it was more than that this time."

"It is," Neal insisted.

"Then why does it feel like you're always shutting me out?"

He looked over into the kitchen where the woman from Elizabeth's work was standing at the island, intently mixing some kind of dip, but she was clearly trying to hear what they were saying. He lowered his voice and said, "I'm not ready. It's not you, Sara, I swear. It's complicated. There are parts of my life now that are... ugly and embarrassing."

"So what?" She hadn't noticed the woman, but her voice was quieter to match his. "That's life, Neal. It's ugly and embarrassing for all of us. There's always things we don't want other people to see."

"Are you ready to show me everything?" Neal asked. He knew he sounded irritated, but he didn't care this time. "It's been three weeks, Sara. How much are you willing to tell me?"

She paused, pressing her lips together. She swallowed and asked, "What do you want to know?"

He hadn't expected her to say that. She usually kept things as close to the chest as he did. He couldn't ask anything more from her than he was willing to reveal. It wouldn't be fair.

Finally, he shook his head. "Nothing. There's nothing."

"If that's what you want," Sara said slowly. She set down her fork and pushed her plate away. "Neal, it's okay that you're not comfortable right now. It's still really soon since your injury and that totally changed your life. I understand that. What I don't understand is why you seem to think so little of me. Whatever you're hiding, I can handle it."

"You?" Neal asked blankly. "It's not about you. I don't want anyone to know those things, to see them. Why do you think I got rid of the caretakers? They were strangers and I couldn't stand for them to see everything."

"But Mozzie can," Sara shot back. "Mozzie can be there for you, and you can show him all your vulnerabilities."

Neal's blood boiled. He pushed away from the table and rolled closer to her. "First, you don't know everything Mozzie's done for me since the accident, and that took time. It took a hell of a lot longer than three weeks. You're going to have to be a little more patient than that if you want results. And believe it or not, I haven't been screwing Mozzie."

"Well, that's a relief," Sara snapped.

"You think sleeping with you didn't make me vulnerable? You think that didn't scare me?"

She hesitated. "I'm going to go home. I'll get my things at your apartment later." She stood up and started for the front door.

"Sara, wait." His anger faded nearly as quickly as it had come upon him. She stopped in the empty living room and turned to face him. He sighed. "I just want to take it slower, that's all. I don't want you to leave."

"I know that," Sara said, "but you're right, we need space. I'll call you when the weekend's over, okay?"

It wasn't okay, but he nodded. "I'll talk to you then."

Neal watched her leave and then turned around, to find Peter standing in the dining room. "I don't want to talk about it," Neal said hastily. "I'm going to go down to the coffee shop on the corner to use the bathroom."

Peter nodded. "I'll be waiting."

By the time Neal returned from the coffee shop, the backyard was empty. He wheeled into the house where Peter and Elizabeth were stacking dishes by the sink. "Is the party over? I hope that's not on my account."

They turned to look at him, and Elizabeth smiled. "It was winding down anyway," she said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Neal said, putting on his best con man smile. "Things are fine with me and Sara."

Peter nodded, but clearly, Elizabeth wasn't buying it. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a long stare that would loosen the tongue of even the most hardened criminal. They should keep her on retainer down at the Bureau.

Neal dropped his shoulders. "I'm telling you the truth. I guess I didn't expect her to want to take things so fast. We're on the same page now, that's all. She's going to call me after the weekend."

"She didn't look very happy when she left," Peter said.

Neal glared at him, but then his gaze softened. He wasn't really angry, or even annoyed. Not with Peter and Elizabeth, anyway. "It's not Sara," he said finally. He was tired of saying how unready he was, but apparently he had to say it one more time. "It's me. There's a lot that goes into this life that I don't want to share. We haven't been together that long, and I'm not there, yet."

Elizabeth nodded. "I'm glad you were honest with her. It's not easy."

"It's especially not easy for someone who's used to lying," Peter added with a wry grin.

Neal had to smile too, despite himself. He sighed and looked around for something he do with his hands. However, none of the counters in the Burke's home were exactly wheelchair-friendly, and they seemed to have everything under control. "I think Sara and I always have bad timing. Maybe it's not meant to be."

"Or maybe it is," Elizabeth said. "Sometimes what's worth having isn't easy to get."

"Neal usually just steals the things worth having," Peter said.

"Funny," Neal replied drly. He sighed and his smile faded. "It's not about Sara," he said again. He paused, not sure where he wanted to go with this.

"Neal?" Elizabeth asked when he hadn't continued after nearly a full minute. He looked up and her fer face was nothing except compassion. Beyond her, Peter looked worried.

Neal shook his head. "I just have a lot on on my mind right now. It's almost been a year."

Peter paled a little, but Elizabeth nodded understandingly. "That's not a very long amount of time," she said. "Every day has to be a different kind of challenge. I can see how a relationship would be difficult to add to that."

"It's not the days," Neal said, suddenly hollow. "It's the year. It's this year. Every time I think about what I was doing this time last year, I was walking. After the 11th, every time last year is going to be hospital, rehab, and wheelchair. It's always going to be the wheelchair."

"Oh, sweetheart." Elizabeth leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Neal felt his body relax as he hugged her. He hadn't realized that he'd been holding that kind of tension in his shoulders since Sara had walked out the door. "Thanks," he whispered.

She pulled back and stood up straight. "Do you want to stay the night? You don't have to be alone. We can make the couch pretty comfortable."

Neal had never just crashed at the Burke's before, but as much as he might have liked to, it wasn't practical anymore. He only had supplies for the day with him, and he'd need more in the morning. He needed his things, and his bathroom. Or at least a bathroom he could get to that wasn't down the street.

He looked past Elizabeth at Peter, and the small smile on his face told Neal that he approved of the idea.

However, Neal shook his head. "I can't. I'll call Moz and have him over. He doesn't need an excuse to drink my wine."

Elizabeth chuckled. "There are a few leftovers. Should I fix him a plate? I invited him, but I suppose Mozzie doesn't celebrate the Fourth of July, does he?"

Neal grinned. "Probably not, but I'm sure he'll accept the food."

Packed up with Tupperware containers for Mozzie, Neal wheeled down the sidewalk with Peter at his side. "Sorry your cookout got cut short," he offered, and Peter laughed.

"It was Elizabeth's idea, and then it turned out she didn't want to have half the people she invited there, anyway."

Neal thought about the nosy woman who had been listening in on his fight with Sara. "You guys just like to be left alone, don't you?"

"Elizabeth acts like we don't, but outside of maybe half a dozen people, yeah, we really do." Peter laughed. He gave Neal a long, appraising look as they reached the car. "Are you really okay?"

Neal shrugged. "We'll see."

Peter unlocked the doors with a push of a button on his key chain. "There was something El and I had been throwing around, and with what you'd been talking about... maybe she should talk to you about it."

"What is it?" Neal asked. He opened the door and placed the Tupperware on the dashboard. He set the brake on his chair, and pushed himself forward so he could transfer into the car. "Just tell me."

"The 11th..." Peter started, but his voice trailed off.

"What about it?" Neal asked, shifting his weight out of the chair and into the car. He grabbed one leg after the other and pulled them into the car with him. He glanced up at Peter who still hadn't spoken as he began disassembling the chair.

"She thought it might be nice to have a dinner. Invite your friends..."

With a wheel in one hand, Neal raised his eyebrows. "Like a party? A broken back party?"

"A we're glad you're alive dinner," Peter corrected. "It was El's idea. She said maybe you should start the next year off with some good memories."

Neal had to smile. It was so like Peter to shift the blame, even onto his own wife. Though it was possible Peter just thought Neal might accept it if he knew it was coming from Elizabeth.

"Who would be invited?" Neal asked. He picked up the chair and heaved it into the back seat.

"Anyone you want," Peter replied, sounding relieved that Neal wasn't biting his head off. He walked around the car and got in on the driver's side. "June, Mozzie... Sara. If you want."

Neal closed the door and sat back in the seat. He didn't want to celebrate, not even for his life. However, it might be less for him and more for the others. June had done so much for him, remolding her house to accommodate him and asking for nothing in return. Mozzie had been a better friend than Neal could have ever asked for and, like June, asked for nothing. Neal knew he never would have made it to this point without Mozzie.

He thought about the other people who had been there for him. There was Jones, who always knew the right moment to crack a wheelchair joke, and Diana who never treated him any differently, even on his first day back to work.

"My plans for the day were a few bottles of wine," Neal said. "This is probably a better option."

Peter smiled and started the car. "Good. That's good. El'll be glad to hear it."

Neal chuckled. He figured El wasn't the only one who'd be glad to hear it.

*

Neal remembered the way he used to count the passing days when he was in prison, the grease pencil marks on the walls of his cell. The countdown.

There was no countdown, now. Neal looked at his calendar, the red X over July the 11th. He woke up that morning a year ago and didn't think it would be any different from any other day.

"Stay in the car," Peter had said. Neal would never forget it. If he'd just listened, just that once, it would have been any other day. If Peter had found McKee on the fire escape, he wouldn't have been open the old windows. But they might have met on the roof, and maybe McKee would have shoved Peter from there. It could have been worse.

But there was no sense in wondering what could have been. Nothing could change it now.

With a sigh, Neal hung the calendar back on the wall. One year. He'd survived.

Now, all he had to do was make it through work and the dinner party.

There was a soft knock at the door and Peter poked his head in without waiting for Neal to respond. "Hey."

"Hey, come on in," Neal said. He wheeled away from the wall and smiled. He knew today was going to be just as hard on Peter as it would be for himself. "How're you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?" Peter laughed. "Neal, how are you?"

He lifted a shoulder in a non-committal shrug. "I thought it was going to be worse, that I'd wake up and not want to get out of bed, but it's just another day. And this one gets a party in my honor. You know how much I love a party."

Peter smiled and poured himself a cup of coffee. "It'll be a good one. El is fixing all your favorites. She's a little nervous about having June over to our house after having been here."

Neal shook his head. "She shouldn't worry. June doesn't care that you don't have a mansion. You wouldn't believe the places she and Mozzie will go. Your house is high class."

"I don't even want to know," Peter replied. He took a sip of coffee. "Have you heard from Sara?"

"No," Neal said. Even though she told him she was going to call after the weekend before, she didn't. He had left her a voicemail, telling her about the party, but she never responded. He was all for giving her the space she needed, but he hadn't thought it was actually going to be like this.

"Did you apologize?" Peter asked. "If you want to get anywhere with a woman, you have to apologize."

"I'm not apologizing. I didn't do anything wrong."

"That doesn't matter."

Neal laughed. "Maybe not for you, but it does for me. And I think that's why Sara's avoiding me. She knows she was wrong, and now she's just too proud to admit it."

"You sound too happy about being right," Peter said. "Let it go. Stubbornness is a cycle."

"Please, Peter. If I wanted a fortune cookie, I'd have gone out for Chinese."

Peter chuckled into his mug. "You know, you don't have to be sorry for being wrong. You can just be sorry that you were fighting, that you want it to be over."

"What do you know about fighting or apologizing?" Neal asked. "You and Elizabeth never fight."

"Just because I don't fight with my wife doesn't mean I don't have people to apologize to."

Neal looked down at his hands for a moment, knowing he was on the list of people Peter was talking about. They'd only been to two of their counseling sessions, but it was a slow process. They hadn't quite made it to apologies just yet. Finally, he looked back up to Peter. "What happened last year? What happened when I fell? I can't remember it."

He hadn't meant to say it. It had been there as the 11th approached, bubbling around the corners of his mind, and maybe he should have saved it for their next session with the therapist, but he couldn't. Today was the day, and now he had to know.

Peter's eyes widened, and he pulled his coffee closer to his chest. "Neal, we don't need to--"

"I need to," Neal insisted. "I need to talk about it. There's a hole in my memory, and there's only two people who can tell me what happened. I'd rather it be you."

Peter's silence continued, and for a moment, Neal thought he might try to talk him out of it again, but finally, Peter opened his mouth. "I didn't see when you were pushed. I was inside at the front of the building, so I don't know if I can tell you want you want to know. I didn't even known you weren't in the car until I heard you." He stared out the window, not even looking at Neal. "You were shouting something, I don't know what, but you sounded..."

"I was panicking," Neal supplied, and Peter's gaze darted down at him. "He had me shoved up against the railing, and I was trying to turn him around. Or take him down with me."

A smile flickered across Peter's face, but it disappeared just as quickly. "I started running through the building and up the stairs. I was halfway up the stairs to the third floor when I heard the crash. I turned around and ran back downstairs and outside. I ran around the corner and you were face down on the ground. I thought..." He took a shuddering breath. "I thought you were dead."

Neal stared up at Peter. He'd never considered what might have been going through Peter's mind in that moment. He'd only thought about the things he'd been missing. Now, however, looking at Peter's face, he could see the fear, even as he only recalled it.

"I, uh, I checked your pulse and I called it in," Peter continued. "I just stayed there, kneeling next to you while I waited for the ambulance."

"Was I awake at all?" Neal asked. This seemed so familiar, like he could remember Peter's hand in his hair, mumbling words to him, urging him to wake up, keeping him going.

Peter shook his head. "No."

Neal furrowed his brow. It must have been part of the dream that jerked him awake, or maybe he knew it had happened on some level. There was no way he could ask Peter was he'd said. Peter probably didn't even remember his exact words. "What happened next?"

"The ambulance arrived, and we went to the hospital. You went in for surgery right away."

Neal sat back in his chair. "It's weird," he said. "I can see it happening, but it's like it happened to someone else."

"I know what you mean," Peter replied. "I remember all of it, but sometimes it doesn't feel like I was there. It could have been a movie." He took a last sip of his coffee and poured the rest down the drain. "We should get going."

Glancing at the clock, Neal nodded. "Yeah... Peter." He paused as Peter looked at him for the first time since he'd begun recounting that day a year before. His eyes looked a little watery. "Thanks for this. I know it wasn't easy for you."

"Was it what you needed to know?" Peter asked.

"I don't know, but... it helped it. It did."

"Good. Let's go."

Neal had expected the day to be long, to drag on, torturing him with every minutes from the year before, remembering when he could walk. But instead, to Neal's relief, Peter kept him busy with more than just expense reports. Neal was able to sit in on a few witness interviews, and he helped put a very a shaken up bank worker at ease.

Before Neal knew it, it was five-thirty and Peter was standing in front of his desk. "You ready to go?"

"You bet I am," Neal replied. "Let's do it."

Elizabeth was already home when they arrived at the Burke's. "I just put the cake in the oven," she said as a way of greeting. She pressed a kissed to Peter's mouth. "You can help me with the salad."

"Is there anything I can do?" Neal asked, wheeling forward into the kitchen.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she leaned down and kissed Neal on the cheek. "Not a single thing. It's your party, so you get to relax."

"Well, then." Neal grinned. "You mind if I open a bottle of wine?"

"Help yourself."

While Peter and Elizabeth did the finishing touches on dinner, Neal sat at the end of dining table with a glass of Shiraz, folding cloth napkins into origami birds of paradise. He and Elizabeth were a little over halfway through the bottle (Peter preferring to have his own beer) when the guests began to arrive.

The house was less full than it had been during the cookout, with only a small group of people. June and Mozzie arrived first, with Jones soon after, while Diana and Christie were running a little late, but got there before they sat down to dinner.

As they began to eat, Neal realized that it didn't feel so much like a party, but more like it was Thanksgiving. He put down his fork and looked around the table, an emotion he couldn't quite place welling up inside of him. He leaned forward and picked up his wine glass. "I'd like to make a toast."

The chatter quieted as everyone looked down at the end of the table at Neal. There was the clatter of cutlery hitting plates, and glasses being lifted.

Neal took a slow breath. "It's been a long year. Longer for some of us than others. I know Elizabeth told you we were here to celebrate my life, but for me, we're here so I can celebrate you. It might sound cheesy, but I don't know if I would have made it without you. Every one of your has done something to help me, be it large or small, but all of them important, to help me reach this point. And I thank you." He raised his glass higher. "To you."

His looked across the table and his gaze met with Peter's. They shared a smile, and Peter tipped his glass before he took a sip.

There was a knock at the door and Satchmo gave a courtesy bark, but he didn't budge from his pillow on in the living room. Elizabeth glanced around the table, her brow furrowed. "Who could that be? You stay right there," she said, her words directed to Peter as he was about to stand. She got up and went to the door. "Oh, hi, I'm so glad you came. Come on in, sweetheart."

A moment later, Elizabeth appeared with Sara by her side. Neal's heart jumped in his chest, almost the way it had when she walked into the office a month ago. It had been over a week since he'd seen her, but it felt like it had been so much longer. She was beautiful in her olive green dress, but nervous as she looked at Neal.

"You got here just in time," Elizabeth said. "We were almost done with dinner, but if you're hungry, help yourself. I always make too much food. Have a seat."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm late," Sara said as she took the empty chair next to Christie on the far side of the table. "Things were crazy at work."

Peter sat up halfway and filled Sara's wine glass. "We're just glad you're here now," he said. He flashed Neal a significant look, and Neal read it as, See? She's here. Now apologize.

She smiled and took the glass. "Thanks. So, what'd I miss?"

There was red velvet cake after dinner, and while Peter and Elizabeth cleared the dishes, Neal sat back and watched as his friends -- his family -- interacted with each other, outside of every place he saw them in his life. It was strange, but nice. Christie was laughing at something Mozzie was saying, while Diana just rolled her eyes (but she looked pretty amused, too), and Jones danced with June to the Frank Sinatra that Elizabeth had put on earlier.

Neal looked around and realized Sara had disappeared. He looked over his shoulder and the back door was ajar. He certainly hadn't left it that way. He wheeled over to the door and opened it. Sure enough, Sara was standing on the patio, her back to the house. Neal rolled outside and closed the door behind him.

"Hey," he said softly, as not to startle her, but she jumped anyway.

She turned around and smiled. "Hi. I hope you don't mind that I came."

"You were invited," Neal said. He pushed himself closer to her, and she sat down in one of the patio chairs, so they were eye-level with each other. "And I'm glad you came," he continued. "This party's for all the important people in my life. I had a whole toast about it, but you missed it. Work, huh?"

Sara looked down at the ground and then back up at him. "I thought about not coming, but I wanted to be here for you. I thought it would be less weird if there were other people around. I wanted -- I wanted to call you, but I didn't know what to say. I'm not very good at apologies, but I know I shouldn't have tried to pick things up where we left them a year and a half ago. I mistook history for something else."

"I'm not good at apologies either," Neal replied. He took her hand, and smiled. He loved the softness of her skin. "Especially when I haven't done anything wrong."

"Oh, Neal, have you ever done anything wrong?" Her eyes lit up as she laughed.

"Nothing worth apologizing for," he said with raised eyebrows and a smirk. "But someone told me that sometimes that doesn't matter. Sometimes you apologize anyway."

"Are you sorry?" Sara asked, her eyes still bright with laughter. "Actually, truly sorry?"

Neal rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. "I'm sorry we fought. And that I couldn't share everything with you."

"I shouldn't have asked you to. You were right about that."

"Ahh, some of my favorite words."

She laughed and her gaze softened. "You don't owe me anything, Neal."

He reached up with his free hand and touched her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut, and he smiled. "Yes, I do," he said. "I owe you a lot. More than you even know."

Sara's eyes opened slowly. "How about a Raphael? You think you owe me that much?"

"Any Raphael or one in particular?" Neal grinned. "We'll see about that. I don't know how this works. Are we done apologizing yet?"

"I think so," she replied. "All this time apart, it gave me a chance to think about things. You. Us. Do you remember when you asked me what the most interesting thing about you was?"

"Did you come up with an answer?" Neal asked.

"It wasn't easy. There's a lot to choose from. I mean, you're a charming art thief who lives a life of intrigue and mystery. Who could resist that?" She looked up at him, batting her eyes flirtatiously.

He laughed. "Well, I was once. I don't know if I am anymore."

She smiled, and this time she was the one who touched his face. "I think you still are, because you're a mystery to me. You don't let me in. That's all I wanted. I know I pushed it too hard, too fast, but that's all I want with you, and you know how hard it is for me to tell you that. But I don't care if it's embarrassing or not up to the image you hold yourself to. I'm not here for the image of you, Neal. The con man, rat pack playboy isn't interesting to me. He's fun, sure, but that's not what I want. I want the real you. The most interesting thing about Neal Caffrey is that behind all the smoke and mirrors, he manages to be a good person. And that's the guy I want to know. That's the guy I could fall in love with."

Neal stared at her, and then gently tugged on her hand, pulling her closer to him. She leaned in and he pushed his hand into her hair as he kissed her. He pressed his forehead to hers and said, "I can't make any promises that I'll be an open book, but I'll try."

"That's better than an apology," Sara replied, and she kissed him again. "You want to go back to the party?"

Running his ran over her bare knee, Neal shook his head. "It's a beautiful night. Let's stay here for another minute. You know, I still owe you breakfast."

"Believe me, I haven't forgotten about it. I'm going to hold you to it, too." She grinned and squeezed his hand.

"I wouldn't expect anything less." He grinned, too. It'd been a long year, but for the first time, acceptance actually felt like hope.

He had a feeling that year two was going to be good.