Fic: Trapped (White Collar, general audiences)
Title: Trapped
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Diana
Rating: General audiences
Contains: Physical peril
Word count: 2142
Summary: Peter receives an SOS text from Neal, and has to hurry to get him out of a dangerous situation.
Notes: Written for the lightning round of run-the-con, for the prompt "falling softly."
Peter was at his desk when his phone chimed. He reached for it absently, not taking his eyes off the computer screen until he had his phone in front of his face.
It was a text from Neal. It said: at warhouse sos
Peter assumed that Neal meant "warehouse," but that didn't make much more sense. He texted him back.
What warehouse? What's wrong?
He set his phone down and started to bring up Neal's tracking data on the computer. While he waited for it to load, his phone chimed again.
moz come now. trappped
Peter froze. Moz? So the message wasn't meant for him at all. If Neal was trying to pull something behind his back, he could at least be more careful about who he texted.
Not that Peter minded. Whatever was going on, it was probably something he should know about.
This isn't Mozzie. It's Peter. You texted me. What's wrong?
He waited a minute, but there was no reply. Putting his phone aside, he turned back to the computer. The tracking data had loaded, showing Neal near the edge of his radius. It took Peter a moment to read the map and figure out where he was. Then it clicked.
There was a knock on the door. "I have that report for you. Hey, everything all right, Boss?"
Peter looked up. Diana was in the doorway.
"No," he said. "I just got a text from Neal, saying he's in some sort of trouble. I brought up his tracking data, and it looks like he's at Hanson's building."
"If he gets caught...."
"I know. The case would be blown. Or worse. Hanson might not react well to a trespasser. I need to get down there before Neal gets himself in serious trouble."
If he hadn't already.
"I'll come with you," Diana said. "You might need some backup."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
They took Peter's car. Peter drove as fast as he could, but it seemed to take forever. He hadn't gotten any more texts from Neal, and he hoped that wasn't a bad sign.
Dammit. He'd told Neal to stay away from that warehouse. One of their suspects in a gem forgery case, Jeremy Hanson, owned a few properties in Manhattan, including an old warehouse. They thought he might be using it as a base of operations, but without a warrant, there wasn't much they could do to prove it. Of course, Neal had to take that as a challenge. Peter had warned him to stay away....
There was no sign of anyone near the warehouse. Peter parked the car and he and Diana approached carefully. The padlock that had secured the front door was hanging open. Picked, perhaps.
The door creaked as Peter inched it open.
"Hello?" he called out. "FBI. I'm investigating a possible break-in. If anyone's in here, come out slowly."
There was no response. Peter drew his gun and entered the building slowly. Diana was at his heels.
It was an old building that hadn't been used in years. Peter wasn't even sure if it was up to code. The floors and beams were made of old wood that looked like it could be rotten. If they did get a warrant, they would need to be careful.
There was still no sign of anyone, including Neal. There was a second room on the ground floor, and Peter headed for it. There had been double doors once, but they'd been taken off and now there were just rusted hinges on a worn wooden entryway.
As he stepped inside, Peter's heart jumped. There was a pair of legs hanging in the air, and for a second Peter thought he was looking at a hanged body. But the body was actually stuck in the floorboards above. Peter couldn't see the man's face, but the anklet on the left leg didn't leave much doubt.
"Neal?"
There was a pause, and then Neal said, "Peter? Is that you?" His voice was muted, but he sounded okay.
Peter sighed with relief. "Yeah. And Diana."
"Did Mozzie get you?"
"Mozzie never got your texts. You texted me by mistake."
"Oh. Yeah, I couldn't really see my phone. Had to use it by touch."
Peter took a closer look at Neal's position. It looked like he'd been walking upstairs when the floorboards broke. There was splintered wood on the floor below Neal's feet. One arm was trapped against his side, and he still held his phone in his hand. His other arm was above the floor. It looked like his shoulders were lodged in the opening. His jacket was bunched up around his chest, and his shirt was partially pulled up. Peter could see fresh scrapes on his abdomen.
"Are you all right?" Peter asked. "What happened?"
"I decided to take a look around, and I stepped on some rotten boards. I'm fine. I think my ego is more bruised than anything else."
"I guess right now isn't the best time to say I warned you."
"No, I think I'd rather wait until I'm on solid ground for that."
Neal was right. He looked secure for the moment, but there was no guarantee he wouldn't slip, or that more boards wouldn't break under his weight. He wouldn't be able to break his fall, and while it wouldn't kill him, he'd probably end up with a broken leg or two.
"I'm going to call for help," Peter said. He holstered his gun and pulled out his phone.
"No!" Neal said. "Don't. If you do that, you'll have to explain why I was here."
"That doesn't matter right now. We need to get you down from there."
"I think I can get loose with some help. I've slipped a few inches since I texted you."
Diana came closer to inspect the scene. "One of the boards looks loose. If we had a ladder, one of us could try to pull it free. That would make more room."
"Listen," Neal said, "I think I saw a ladder downstairs."
"I'm on it," Peter said. Turning to Diana, he said, "Keep an eye on him. Let me know if he slips any more."
"Will do, Boss."
Peter went back to the first room. Quickly surveying it, he spotted a ladder leaning against the wall. It was wood, but seemed to be in decent shape. It was newer than the building, at least. He carried it back to where Neal was.
"You know," Diana was saying as Peter came in, "this is a real mess you got yourself in, Caffrey."
"I'm the one who probably needs a tetanus booster. I think I'm aware."
"All right," Peter said, "got the ladder."
He set it up under the loose board Diana had noticed. Then he stepped back and came up with a plan of action.
"Okay, Diana, do you think you could climb up and try to dislodge that board? I'll hold onto Neal's legs so he doesn't fall."
"No problem."
Peter walked behind Neal and wrapped his arms around his legs. Diana climbed the ladder, the steps creaking under her weight.
"Try to hoist him up," she said. "It should give me some more room to move the board."
Peter lifted up on Neal's legs.
"Ah, that feels better," Neal said. "Those boards have been digging into my back for ages."
"How long have you been trapped?" Peter asked.
"I spent a few minutes trying to pull myself up. Then it took me a minute to get my phone out."
It'd taken Peter over twenty minutes to reach the warehouse. So Neal had probably been trapped for at least a half hour.
With a grunt, Diana worked her fingers around the loose board and pulled down. After a couple tugs, it broke off.
Neal's weight suddenly bore down on Peter. With the board missing, there wasn't enough to support him anymore. Peter almost fell backward as Neal slid down into his arms. He regained his balance and lowered Neal to his feet.
Diana tossed the board aside and climbed down the ladder. She took a look at Neal and said, "You look pretty beaten up. You okay?"
Neal did look pretty battered. His suit was dirty, and his jacket was still bunched up. His shirt had a tear in the side, and there were red spots on the sides and front from where he'd bled.
Neal did his best to straighten out his clothes. He winced as he moved.
"Do you need to see a doctor?" Peter asked.
"No, I'll be fine. Just a little roughed up."
"Well, we can't take you back to the office like that. How about a ride home?"
"Yeah, a ride home would be good."
They dropped Diana off at FBI headquarters on the way. As she got out of the car, she looked back at Neal and said, "Next time I have to come to your rescue, Caffrey, it'd better not be from your own stupidity."
"Yeah," Neal said. "Got it."
Neal must have realized he'd messed up. He was unusually quiet and humble. He didn't even bring up what he'd found in the warehouse.
"So?" Peter asked.
"So what?"
"Did you find what you were looking for in there?"
"If you mean ovens and other equipment, then no. The place is obviously a disaster waiting to happen. I can't imagine you could run an operation out of there."
"Then I guess we should focus our attention on Hanson's riverfront property, instead. With any luck, Hanson won't notice the damage at the warehouse. It didn't look like he'd been there recently."
When they arrived at June's house, Peter insisted on going up with Neal. He sat at the dining room table while Neal went in the bathroom to get washed up.
Peter had told Diana to give an excuse for them, so as far as Peter was concerned, they had all day. He did need to get back to work eventually, but he had no intention of bringing Neal along. Neal needed time to recover from his ordeal-not to mention cool his heels and think about how stupid he'd been.
The door opened a crack, and Neal stuck his head out. "Hey, I could kind of use some help...."
Peter got up and followed him back into the bathroom. Neal had put on a clean pair of pants, but he was still barefoot and shirtless. He had several scrapes on his arms, chest, and sides. They were a harsh red, but didn't look too deep. There was some antibiotic ointment and a box of bandages by the sink, and most of the scrapes already shone from being coated with ointment.
"What do you need?" Peter asked.
"I can't reach my back very well. Would you mind...?"
Neal turned around. His upper back had been protected by his jacket, but his lower back was cut up. His stomach and lower back and taken the worst of it, it seemed.
"Stand still," Peter said. "I'll get you cleaned up."
"Thanks," Neal said quietly.
Peter knew it was tough for him to ask for help, so he worked quickly. There was a bottle of rubbing alcohol by the sink. Peter put some of it on a cotton swab and dabbed Neal's cuts. Neal sucked in his breath, but didn't move.
"You know," Peter said, "you're lucky you can't text well when you can't see your phone. I don't know how your little friend would have managed to get you down."
"Oh, I'm sure Mozzie would have figured out a way."
Peter dried off Neal's back and started to apply some ointment.
"But for the record," Neal said, "I'm glad you came. And Diana. I didn't know what I was going to do if someone didn't come soon. So thanks."
"Don't mention it." He grabbed a couple bandages to put over the worst of the scrapes. "Just consider this a lesson about going into dilapidated buildings."
"Seriously? Do we need to do the lecture now?"
Peter paused. "No. We don't." He stood up straight and backed up. "There, all done. You're good as new. Well, almost."
Neal reached for a white cotton t-shirt he'd set aside. He gingerly pulled it over his head.
"Thanks for the help."
"Sure. If you're okay, I should probably get back to the office."
Neal waved him off. "Yeah, I'm fine. Think I'll take some Tylenol and sit down."
Neal walked him to the door. Peter reached for the doorknob, but before he turned it, he looked over his shoulder.
"Oh, and Neal? For the record, I don't know what I would have done if I didn't find you, either. Take care of yourself, okay?"
Neal nodded. "Will do."
As Peter walked down the stairs, he pulled out his phone to call Diana. But first, he breathed a long sigh of relief.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/105718.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, Diana
Rating: General audiences
Contains: Physical peril
Word count: 2142
Summary: Peter receives an SOS text from Neal, and has to hurry to get him out of a dangerous situation.
Notes: Written for the lightning round of run-the-con, for the prompt "falling softly."
Peter was at his desk when his phone chimed. He reached for it absently, not taking his eyes off the computer screen until he had his phone in front of his face.
It was a text from Neal. It said: at warhouse sos
Peter assumed that Neal meant "warehouse," but that didn't make much more sense. He texted him back.
What warehouse? What's wrong?
He set his phone down and started to bring up Neal's tracking data on the computer. While he waited for it to load, his phone chimed again.
moz come now. trappped
Peter froze. Moz? So the message wasn't meant for him at all. If Neal was trying to pull something behind his back, he could at least be more careful about who he texted.
Not that Peter minded. Whatever was going on, it was probably something he should know about.
This isn't Mozzie. It's Peter. You texted me. What's wrong?
He waited a minute, but there was no reply. Putting his phone aside, he turned back to the computer. The tracking data had loaded, showing Neal near the edge of his radius. It took Peter a moment to read the map and figure out where he was. Then it clicked.
There was a knock on the door. "I have that report for you. Hey, everything all right, Boss?"
Peter looked up. Diana was in the doorway.
"No," he said. "I just got a text from Neal, saying he's in some sort of trouble. I brought up his tracking data, and it looks like he's at Hanson's building."
"If he gets caught...."
"I know. The case would be blown. Or worse. Hanson might not react well to a trespasser. I need to get down there before Neal gets himself in serious trouble."
If he hadn't already.
"I'll come with you," Diana said. "You might need some backup."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
They took Peter's car. Peter drove as fast as he could, but it seemed to take forever. He hadn't gotten any more texts from Neal, and he hoped that wasn't a bad sign.
Dammit. He'd told Neal to stay away from that warehouse. One of their suspects in a gem forgery case, Jeremy Hanson, owned a few properties in Manhattan, including an old warehouse. They thought he might be using it as a base of operations, but without a warrant, there wasn't much they could do to prove it. Of course, Neal had to take that as a challenge. Peter had warned him to stay away....
There was no sign of anyone near the warehouse. Peter parked the car and he and Diana approached carefully. The padlock that had secured the front door was hanging open. Picked, perhaps.
The door creaked as Peter inched it open.
"Hello?" he called out. "FBI. I'm investigating a possible break-in. If anyone's in here, come out slowly."
There was no response. Peter drew his gun and entered the building slowly. Diana was at his heels.
It was an old building that hadn't been used in years. Peter wasn't even sure if it was up to code. The floors and beams were made of old wood that looked like it could be rotten. If they did get a warrant, they would need to be careful.
There was still no sign of anyone, including Neal. There was a second room on the ground floor, and Peter headed for it. There had been double doors once, but they'd been taken off and now there were just rusted hinges on a worn wooden entryway.
As he stepped inside, Peter's heart jumped. There was a pair of legs hanging in the air, and for a second Peter thought he was looking at a hanged body. But the body was actually stuck in the floorboards above. Peter couldn't see the man's face, but the anklet on the left leg didn't leave much doubt.
"Neal?"
There was a pause, and then Neal said, "Peter? Is that you?" His voice was muted, but he sounded okay.
Peter sighed with relief. "Yeah. And Diana."
"Did Mozzie get you?"
"Mozzie never got your texts. You texted me by mistake."
"Oh. Yeah, I couldn't really see my phone. Had to use it by touch."
Peter took a closer look at Neal's position. It looked like he'd been walking upstairs when the floorboards broke. There was splintered wood on the floor below Neal's feet. One arm was trapped against his side, and he still held his phone in his hand. His other arm was above the floor. It looked like his shoulders were lodged in the opening. His jacket was bunched up around his chest, and his shirt was partially pulled up. Peter could see fresh scrapes on his abdomen.
"Are you all right?" Peter asked. "What happened?"
"I decided to take a look around, and I stepped on some rotten boards. I'm fine. I think my ego is more bruised than anything else."
"I guess right now isn't the best time to say I warned you."
"No, I think I'd rather wait until I'm on solid ground for that."
Neal was right. He looked secure for the moment, but there was no guarantee he wouldn't slip, or that more boards wouldn't break under his weight. He wouldn't be able to break his fall, and while it wouldn't kill him, he'd probably end up with a broken leg or two.
"I'm going to call for help," Peter said. He holstered his gun and pulled out his phone.
"No!" Neal said. "Don't. If you do that, you'll have to explain why I was here."
"That doesn't matter right now. We need to get you down from there."
"I think I can get loose with some help. I've slipped a few inches since I texted you."
Diana came closer to inspect the scene. "One of the boards looks loose. If we had a ladder, one of us could try to pull it free. That would make more room."
"Listen," Neal said, "I think I saw a ladder downstairs."
"I'm on it," Peter said. Turning to Diana, he said, "Keep an eye on him. Let me know if he slips any more."
"Will do, Boss."
Peter went back to the first room. Quickly surveying it, he spotted a ladder leaning against the wall. It was wood, but seemed to be in decent shape. It was newer than the building, at least. He carried it back to where Neal was.
"You know," Diana was saying as Peter came in, "this is a real mess you got yourself in, Caffrey."
"I'm the one who probably needs a tetanus booster. I think I'm aware."
"All right," Peter said, "got the ladder."
He set it up under the loose board Diana had noticed. Then he stepped back and came up with a plan of action.
"Okay, Diana, do you think you could climb up and try to dislodge that board? I'll hold onto Neal's legs so he doesn't fall."
"No problem."
Peter walked behind Neal and wrapped his arms around his legs. Diana climbed the ladder, the steps creaking under her weight.
"Try to hoist him up," she said. "It should give me some more room to move the board."
Peter lifted up on Neal's legs.
"Ah, that feels better," Neal said. "Those boards have been digging into my back for ages."
"How long have you been trapped?" Peter asked.
"I spent a few minutes trying to pull myself up. Then it took me a minute to get my phone out."
It'd taken Peter over twenty minutes to reach the warehouse. So Neal had probably been trapped for at least a half hour.
With a grunt, Diana worked her fingers around the loose board and pulled down. After a couple tugs, it broke off.
Neal's weight suddenly bore down on Peter. With the board missing, there wasn't enough to support him anymore. Peter almost fell backward as Neal slid down into his arms. He regained his balance and lowered Neal to his feet.
Diana tossed the board aside and climbed down the ladder. She took a look at Neal and said, "You look pretty beaten up. You okay?"
Neal did look pretty battered. His suit was dirty, and his jacket was still bunched up. His shirt had a tear in the side, and there were red spots on the sides and front from where he'd bled.
Neal did his best to straighten out his clothes. He winced as he moved.
"Do you need to see a doctor?" Peter asked.
"No, I'll be fine. Just a little roughed up."
"Well, we can't take you back to the office like that. How about a ride home?"
"Yeah, a ride home would be good."
They dropped Diana off at FBI headquarters on the way. As she got out of the car, she looked back at Neal and said, "Next time I have to come to your rescue, Caffrey, it'd better not be from your own stupidity."
"Yeah," Neal said. "Got it."
Neal must have realized he'd messed up. He was unusually quiet and humble. He didn't even bring up what he'd found in the warehouse.
"So?" Peter asked.
"So what?"
"Did you find what you were looking for in there?"
"If you mean ovens and other equipment, then no. The place is obviously a disaster waiting to happen. I can't imagine you could run an operation out of there."
"Then I guess we should focus our attention on Hanson's riverfront property, instead. With any luck, Hanson won't notice the damage at the warehouse. It didn't look like he'd been there recently."
When they arrived at June's house, Peter insisted on going up with Neal. He sat at the dining room table while Neal went in the bathroom to get washed up.
Peter had told Diana to give an excuse for them, so as far as Peter was concerned, they had all day. He did need to get back to work eventually, but he had no intention of bringing Neal along. Neal needed time to recover from his ordeal-not to mention cool his heels and think about how stupid he'd been.
The door opened a crack, and Neal stuck his head out. "Hey, I could kind of use some help...."
Peter got up and followed him back into the bathroom. Neal had put on a clean pair of pants, but he was still barefoot and shirtless. He had several scrapes on his arms, chest, and sides. They were a harsh red, but didn't look too deep. There was some antibiotic ointment and a box of bandages by the sink, and most of the scrapes already shone from being coated with ointment.
"What do you need?" Peter asked.
"I can't reach my back very well. Would you mind...?"
Neal turned around. His upper back had been protected by his jacket, but his lower back was cut up. His stomach and lower back and taken the worst of it, it seemed.
"Stand still," Peter said. "I'll get you cleaned up."
"Thanks," Neal said quietly.
Peter knew it was tough for him to ask for help, so he worked quickly. There was a bottle of rubbing alcohol by the sink. Peter put some of it on a cotton swab and dabbed Neal's cuts. Neal sucked in his breath, but didn't move.
"You know," Peter said, "you're lucky you can't text well when you can't see your phone. I don't know how your little friend would have managed to get you down."
"Oh, I'm sure Mozzie would have figured out a way."
Peter dried off Neal's back and started to apply some ointment.
"But for the record," Neal said, "I'm glad you came. And Diana. I didn't know what I was going to do if someone didn't come soon. So thanks."
"Don't mention it." He grabbed a couple bandages to put over the worst of the scrapes. "Just consider this a lesson about going into dilapidated buildings."
"Seriously? Do we need to do the lecture now?"
Peter paused. "No. We don't." He stood up straight and backed up. "There, all done. You're good as new. Well, almost."
Neal reached for a white cotton t-shirt he'd set aside. He gingerly pulled it over his head.
"Thanks for the help."
"Sure. If you're okay, I should probably get back to the office."
Neal waved him off. "Yeah, I'm fine. Think I'll take some Tylenol and sit down."
Neal walked him to the door. Peter reached for the doorknob, but before he turned it, he looked over his shoulder.
"Oh, and Neal? For the record, I don't know what I would have done if I didn't find you, either. Take care of yourself, okay?"
Neal nodded. "Will do."
As Peter walked down the stairs, he pulled out his phone to call Diana. But first, he breathed a long sigh of relief.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/105718.html. Please comment there using OpenID.