He fixes on Doc while still hip-deep in delirium, too weak to resist Doc's hold on his shoulders. Neal subsides, slowly, exhaustion rolling through him in waves, one-half the enervation of blood loss and one-half the weight of drugs in his system.

"Peter--" He starts, voice slightly slurred, but he stops. Peter doesn't have a mustache like that. Or he hasn't since Neal met him, anyway. With the half-conscious focus of someone who has no impulse control at the best of times, he reaches up to try and touch Doc's mustache, make sure it's really there.