WC Fic: "Loyalties" (part 3 of 4)
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Title: Loyalties (part 3 of 4)
Author: Ivorysilk
Rating: R
Summary: Organized Crime wants to borrow Neal. Peter has no objections to Neal being out of his hair and someone else’s problem for a while. Neal, on the other hand, is dragging his heels and reluctant to cooperate, but won’t explain exactly why. (Cleaned up slightly from a fic written for this prompt (spoilers) at the anonymous kink meme.)
Spoilers: Somewhere post Point Blank.
Warnings (highlight to read): Lack of beta. Language. References to physical brutality, torture, or rape. (not seen on-screen). Adult themes and suchlike.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or this universe. I am writing this for my own self-indulgent fun, and because, like Neal, I clearly covet other people's things, even as I know they will never be my own.
Comments, positive or negative, are treasured. Thanks for reading.
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Back to part one.
Back to part two.
On to part four.
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Neal had been missing for almost 72 hours before they finally found him.
They found him via one of Haggerty’s cronies, who sang like a bird when they arrested him, when they told him that they’d heard his voice and his name over the feed, when they explained that Neal was working for the FBI and that if Neal was harmed-well, everyone knew how the courts treated someone who had injured or killed an officer. After both internal and external haggling that took far too long, in Peter’s opinion, they got a location and a warehouse listing for a plea bargain on a lesser charge, a non-custodial sentence, and the promise of protection. It was a damned good deal, and Rivera knew it.
It was near dark on the third day when they found Neal, in one of the warehouses that Haggerty apparently used as an office rather than a holding facility. Haggerty had spooked and fled, apparently, because except for Neal, the rest of the place had been emptied and wiped clean. Neal was in a small dark office-exactly as Rivera had described, because apparently Haggerty liked to keep his playthings close--chained to an honest to god ring in the wall near a boring wooden desk. The room smelled like human waste and sweat and fear. Neal winced and turned away when Peter hit the lights.
“Neal?” Peter’s voice was clipped as he scanned the room. Except for Neal’s presence, the rest of the room was very prosaic-it could have belonged to a small time accountant, or a lawyer. The ring in the wall seemed extremely idiosyncratic, unless it was to be used for a pet.
And then, Peter realized, it kind of had been.
“Peter! How are you?” Neal’s voice was hollow and gravelly, as if he’d spent his day eating ground glass, but his tone was as casual as if Peter was just dropping by for a chat.
“More to the point, how are you?” Peter asked gently as he holstered his gun. He glanced around the room, looking for threats. “Diana, would you …”
Neal shrank back abruptly, jerking painfully as his chain stopped him. In the light, Peter was able to get a better look at him. One eye was bruised and swollen, with a dark bruise marring that cheek. There was blood at the left corner of his mouth. He was sitting on the floor, slightly hunched over, but he looked like he was in pain. His hair was messy, his clothes were stained and in disarray. He was shivering constantly.
Diana glanced at Peter before taking a step toward Neal. “Neal, I’m just going to take off the handcuffs. All right?”
“Do you have the key?” Neal’s tone remained even and casual, but he still kept well back.
Diana smiled. “Even better. Wire cutters.”
Neal smiled, or it looked like it. “Nah, it’s okay. Maybe if you had a hair pin, you could give me five minutes? I’ll just … “
“Neal, why don’t you let us …” Peter began.
“Peter, I’ve got it. Really. Just give me … “ There was something not quite right about the tone of Caffrey’s voice, and when Peter looked more closely, he noticed that Neal’s gaze wasn’t exactly focused, his eyes darting around the room.
Peter gestured at Diana, who cast a worried look at Neal but obediently left the room. “All right, Neal. I’ve got a set of lockpicks. Here.”
“You could go. I’ll come out when I’m done.” The words weren’t a suggestion. Neal’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely open the case. Peter didn’t move.
“Neal?” asked Peter gently.
“I’ll be fine, Peter. I’m good at this, remember?” The words were right, and his voice didn’t shake, but Peter knew Neal too well to be fooled.
“I know you are, Neal,” said Peter, still so gently. He knew better, he knew he knew better, but found himself blurting out anyway, “Neal, what happened?”
“Nothing. Haggerty … Tom, Tom and I, we’re old friends. That’s all. He didn’t want me to get in trouble, so he put me here. It was so I wouldn’t … I … I’m fine, Peter. I just have to get out of these cuffs.” Neal wasn’t able to get the pick to fit into the keyhole, although he was trying, utterly focused on the cuffs. He wouldn’t look at Peter.
“Neal, I’m just going to wait here, all right? Is that okay?”
“Don’t you … aren’t there things you should be … I mean, Diana and …” Now Neal’s voice was fracturing, and he was still shaking badly.
“No. I’m not busy right now. I’m just going to wait here. You need something, you tell me, all right?” Peter kept his voice calm and unthreatening, not allowing the rage he was feeling to show.
“I’m fine, Peter,” Neal repeated. “I just have to get out of these cuffs.” At the rate Neal was going, he was never getting out of the cuffs, Peter thought, but he didn’t say anything.
Watching Neal carefully, but not moving any closer, and careful not to crowd him, Peter sat down on the floor and waited silently. After a good ten minutes of watching Neal struggle and fail, Peter said quietly, “Maybe I could try.”
“I just … I almost had it. Peter, why don’t you …” Neal sounded utterly focused and in control, but Peter caught the shake in it. Peter moved towards Neal and when he was in reach, he put an arm out, slowly, before placing his hand lightly on Neal’s wrist. There were dark bruises on the skin there, where it wasn’t swollen and bleeding sluggishly. Neal flinched violently at the contact. Frightened blue eyes flicked up to Peter’s face before looking back down, hidden again by the unkempt hair.
“Neal. Let me help,” said Peter.
After a tense moment, Neal’s shoulders finally slumped slightly and he nodded, holding out the lockpick. He smiled slightly, trying to tease, but it was painfully forced. “You’re always so impatient.”
“I know,” said Peter, teasing back, slowly working the lock. “Elizabeth is always saying I should be more patient. Peter, she’ll say …”
“That Peter, he should be more patient.” And Neal smiled, slightly, and it was less forced, and then the cuffs fell away.
“Neal,” asked Peter, “what happened? What did he do?” He couldn’t help the note of urgency in his voice, a small hint of his desperation to know.
But Neal’s eyes flicked away from his own. “I told you Peter. I’m fine. Can we go?”
And sensing that he shouldn’t push Neal, not right now, seeing the tenuous hold on his emotions that Neal was so desperately trying to maintain, Peter let it go. “Sure, Neal. Sure. Can you stand?”
“Of course. Don’t be silly. I’ll just …” Neal struggled, but when Peter offered a hand, he refused to take it. “I’ve got it,” he gritted out. “I just need a moment.”
“Neal,” Peter tried, “the EMT’s are on their way. Diana radioed for them. Why don’t we just wait a couple minutes until ….”
“No! Peter, no. I am fine. I don’t want …” Neal’s voice was rising.
“Neal … Neal, be reasonable,” Peter cajoled. “You-“
“I’m being reasonable! I am --“ Neal put one hand on the wall and levered himself violently up. His face went gray and he swayed, listing badly to the right. Peter was over at his side in a flash, propping him up with one arm and drawing the other over his shoulders. Neal went stiff and tried to pull away, but Peter wouldn’t let him go.
“Neal, Neal, just take it easy. I’m right here, all right? It’s just me. Peter. Just you and me.” Peter kept his voice low and soothing, kept repeating the words until he felt Neal relax a little into the hold.
“Peter?” Neal’s voice was strained, tired and filled with pain.
“Yeah, Neal. We’re going to walk out of here, all right? Nice and slow. If you need to stop, you just tell me.”
Neal nodded. “Ok.” His forehead was beaded with sweat, and his lips were bloodless.
Outside the room, it was chaos, but when Peter and Neal emerged, everyone went still. Peter waved them all off with a look, and they quickly began finishing up what they were doing and filing out of the room.
“Boss?” said Diana. “The EMT’s will be here in five. Maybe Neal could sit down over there until they get here.”
Neal, to his credit, tried to smile. “It’s ok. I’ll just take a cab home. I - “
“Neal, you need to get checked out,” Peter said patiently.
“No, Peter, I’m-“ Peter had no idea where he was getting the energy to argue.
“Neal, you really-“ started Diana.
“No! I don’t want to. You can’t make-“ Neal was getting more agitated.
“Neal,” said Peter, feeling like a monster, “after this kind of incident, you need to have medical clearance before you can go back into the field. And since this was an official op, they need the medical for evidence. And given your status, if you refuse to have the medical-“
“I can’t get clearance, I’m non-cooperative, and I can’t go back to work,” said Neal wearily. “And I’m on work release, where the only rights I have-" he bit off the words, and paused, and then said, out of the blue. “Peter, I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“That’s not the point,” said Peter, confused. Who’d ever said he’d done anything wrong? Peter hated this situation, hated putting Neal in this situation, almost as much as Neal did. Didn’t Neal know that?
Now Diana was glaring, but at Peter. To Neal she said gently, “No, Neal, you haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing. Would you prefer to go to your own doctor?”
Peter could see Neal listen intently to Diana’s words, as if he’d really needed to hear them. “No, I don’t want-“ he paused, and cut himself off, before saying, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go tomorrow. Would that be okay?”
“I’m sorry, Neal. You can’t. You were possibly injured on the job. You need to get medical clearance, and an incident report needs to be completed. Your clothes, your face, it’s all evidence and needs to be documented. The forensic team needs to preserve it. I’m sorry, Neal.” Diana was making her unhappiness with Peter known, but he was still, technically, superior to her. He had a department to run, and procedures to follow. And if Neal hadn’t been a criminal, he probably could have gotten away with not having a forensic medical exam-but as it was, when he testified his criminal background would be thrown in his face, and so the independent evidence was necessary. As much as Peter might have wanted to let Neal get away with whatever he wanted this time, especially given the circumstances--he couldn’t allow it, ironically in large part because of those same circumstances that made him want to give in.
Although truth be told, Peter didn’t really want to allow it. He had no doubt that Neal could and would, given half the chance, forge a medical report if need be, and not think anything of it. But Neal was moving stiffly, and was clearly in pain. Whatever else was going on, he needed medical attention. Peter couldn’t stand this, couldn’t stand seeing Neal looking like he did. Peter needed to make sure Neal was okay. He needed someone to tell him that Neal was and would be okay.
“Boss, if he wants, why don’t you just take him to the nearest hospital? They can do the exam there,” Diana suggested, giving Peter an out, a reason to leave. “I’ll clean up here.”
“Thanks, Diana.” Peter tried to put his gratitude into his voice; he couldn’t bring himself to smile. “Neal, you okay with that?”
“Yeah, Peter, sure.” Neal sounded like he was barely paying attention. When Peter looked at him, he did his best mock-surprised innocent look and said, “It’s fine.”
Diana looked as unconvinced as Peter did. Peter was still holding Neal up, and Neal looked more and more like he was going to collapse at any second, but all she said was, “Go. I’ll meet you there.”
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It was difficult getting Neal in the car. As was his habit, Peter opened the car door and put a hand on Neal’s head and started to push him in, but Neal made a pained sound and Peter stopped immediately. He could hear Neal panting.
“Neal?” he asked, concerned. Maybe he should have forced Neal to go with the EMT’s.
“It’s fine, Peter. Just give me a second. I must have pulled a muscle.” Neal’s voice was strained, and Peter forced himself not to say anything, not to call Neal on his bullshit. Not now.
It took a long time-or at least those few minutes seemed long-for Neal to manage to force his long body to bend into the car seat. Once seated, he leaned his head back on the headrest and went silent.
“Neal?” Peter asked, still holding the car door.
“Yeah, Peter. I’m fine. Let’s go.” Neal’s voice was barely above a whisper. “But we really don’t need to do this. You could just take me home; I promise I’ll get checked out by tomorrow. Please, Peter, I just need to sleep for a bit, I - “
Peter cut off the babble. “You buckled in?”
“Yeah, Peter-“
“Then let’s go.” Peter closed the door.
Peter didn’t waste time. He drove like a mad man to the nearest E.R. Neal was uncharacteristically silent as he drove, although his eyes never closed, until Peter slowed his car in front of the entrance and Neal seemed to rouse slightly.
“Why don’t you just drop me off and I can take a cab back? You know how those wait times can be, Peter. What time is it, 6? Elizabeth’s probably waiting on dinner for you. There’s no point in - “
“It’s after 8, Neal, and Elizabeth would have my head if I left you. I’m staying. The forensic team is on its way too.”
“Right. Of course.” Neal sounded anything but thrilled, and Peter smiled just slightly, but there was no amusement in it.
“Is it Tuesday?” Neal asked, suddenly, apropos of nothing.
“No, Neal. It’s Thursday. Why do you ask?”
“Oh. I missed cinnamon bagels. Cindy visits on Wednesdays; she likes cinnamon.”
“Right,” said Peter, at a loss, then realizing. “Are you hungry, Neal? We can get you something if - “
“It’s okay. I just missed breakfast. Tomorrow, right? Is tomorrow Thursday?”
“Friday, Neal. Tomorrow will be Friday.” Peter tried not to sound worried.
Inside, Peter flashed his badge at the receptionist and explained the situation. They waited for a bit, in the uncomfortable waiting room, filled with a crying child and a woman moaning in pain and holding her stomach. They sat for a while, before Neal asked, “So, does the report just get filed?”
“Which report?” Neal gestured around them, and Peter said, “Oh, the medical? It gets sent to me, and I have to prepare an incident report. It’s procedure, Neal.” Peter was starting to hate saying those words.
“Do you have to read it?” Neal asked. He was clearly going for casual, but his voice to Peter’s ears seemed small and scared.
“Yeah, Neal. I’m your handler. But only me, and Hughes.” Peter paused. “If you want, Neal, I won’t read it until after you’ve seen it first. Do you want me to wait? They usually give us a verbal, but I can wait until I get the written report, most probably on Monday. Do you want me to do that?”
“Is there any way you don’t have to read it?” Neal asked, and the look in his eyes was pleading.
“No, Neal. The only other option is Ruiz, because it was technically his op, but if you’d rather-“
“No! No, in that case, I’d rather it be you. No one else?” Neal reminded Peter of Satchmo, at the shelter, when they’d first seen him. An animal cornered and scared but wanting so badly to trust someone not to hurt him more than he’d already suffered.
Peter wanted to scream, to fight, to throw up. It was so wrong to see Caffrey, of all people, reduced to this.
“No one else, Neal, except Hughes. It’ll be classified. All right?” He forced his voice to remain gentle, not to betray any of the anger boiling inside.
“All right.” And Neal lapsed back to silence, and Peter didn’t know what to say.
It wasn’t long before forensics arrived and they were shown to a small private room. Neal was fading, and Peter was getting increasingly worried. The agent they’d sent asked Neal to remove his clothing and put each item in a separate plastic bags before donning the hospital gown.
“Kinky,” said Neal, almost in the same flirtatious tone that he had used a thousand times around the office, to tease him or Cruz or even Jones or Diana. (Not Reece, though. Neal was leery enough of Reece to be careful - well, he was always careful, but office respectful, maybe, was the better term - about what he said around the man.) But this time the delivery might have have been more effective if Neal didn’t look like a stiff breeze would knock him over, if his eye hadn’t completely swollen shut by now, if his voice had been just a little stronger.
“Will I get it back?”
But the agent they’d sent from forensics-Gupta he’d said his name was--smiled broadly as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “You have no idea,” he responded, “and yes, if you want, although that shirt looks ruined,” before adding, “You can use the smaller bags for items like your tie and underwear.”
“They want my underwear?” Neal seemed upset by this.
“Yeah. We need everything. Sorry, it’s procedure.” The man seemed truly apologetic.
“Peter?” Neal raised his eyes to Peter, begging for help, but Peter just shrugged helplessly.
“I’ll wait out here, Neal. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Peter felt like an ass for abandoning Neal, whose eyes still begged him -for protection, rescue, he didn’t even know what-but he couldn’t help Neal, and so he couldn’t stay and watch this.
Neal, damn him, understood the gesture for what it was. Another betrayal. “You really don’t have to wait,” said Neal. “I’ll be fine.” I don’t need you.
“I’m waiting out here.” To the other agent he said, “Let me know if there are any problems, okay? And send me your report as soon as you have it.”
“Will do,” said Gupta, cheerfully. Peter wondered how he could do the work he did and still remain so upbeat.
It was a long wait. He had no idea what was going on with Neal inside, but was hesitant to leave, not wanting Neal to come out and think Peter had left. After an hour, he did go to the vending machine for a minute to get coffee, but changed his mind when he got there. He came back, and he waited.
Neal came out, dressed in a set of scrubs, a little over two hours later. It was midnight. Neal looked terrible.
“I really think,” said the doctor loudly enough for Peter to hear, “that you should allow us to check you in overnight. I don’t like the look of - “
“No,” said Neal abruptly, all his charm gone. “I’m leaving. Peter?”
“You should at least follow up with your own doctor tomorrow. I’m also going to give you a prescription for Percoset, but if it doesn’t help with the pain, then you should come back here immediately, understand?”
Peter scrambled up. “I’m his partner. Neal, maybe you should-“
“No.” Neal said angrily. Peter exchanged a look with the doctor. “I want to go home. I want to go now.” He sounded like a little boy. Under different circumstances, it would have made Peter smile.
Another look exchanged with the doctor, and Peter said, “Why don’t you come and stay with me and El for a few days, huh, until you get back on your feet? It’s the weekend, and I know that El had insisted I invite you over for -“ Peter needed Neal in view. And this way, he could make sure he saw a real doctor the following day. He had no doubt that Neal could and would, given half the chance, forge a medical report if need be, and not think anything of it.
“No! Please, Peter, I’m just not very good company right now. I don’t - I’ll come over another time, all right? Please tell Elizabeth I’m very sorry.” He sounded lost and pleading, as if he would somehow be blamed for not going, blamed for doing something else wrong.
Helplessly, Peter said, “It’s okay, Neal. You don’t have to. Another time. Why don’t I drive you home?”
On the way home, Neal lay as still as marble in the passenger seat, except to cry out in pain when Peter slammed the brakes on because of a kid that ran into the street. When they arrived at June’s, Peter undid Neal’s belt, and then put a hand on Neal’s shoulder. Neal startled under his hand before blinking awake. “Neal? We’re here. I’ll take you upstairs, but is there anyone else you’d like me to call?”
“Why would you call anyone? I’m fine, Peter; you don’t need to come in. You are seriously acting very weird. I’ll just …” Neal gasped in pain as he turned to open the car door, going very still and very pale. His breathing was harsh, and his knuckles were white on the door handle.
Peter couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the pretence any more. “Okay, that’s it. I’m taking you to my place, and I don’t want to hear it Neal. No. You are hurt, and just for once, you are going to listen to me.”
“No! Please Peter, no, please. I … “ his voice caught, faded to a whisper. “I don’t want Elizabeth to see me like this. Please, Peter. Don’t do that. Just-please just help me upstairs.”
And when Neal asked like that, Peter couldn’t, couldn’t bring himself to refuse. And so he did as Neal asked. He helped him upstairs, refused to leave, waited (and called El) while Neal took a shower, and waited until Neal emerged, wearing long pyjama pants as he usually did for bed and a t-shirt for Peter’s benefit, to cover the bruises. Waited while Neal settled himself in bed, told Peter yet again that he could leave because he was fine fine fine, closed his eyes, and appeared to sleep.
And when the sky started to lighten over the city in the eastern sky, beautifully pictured through the French doors, when Neal didn’t move or speak even though he wasn’t asleep (because Peter knew to tell the difference), when the ticking of the clock and of Neal’s too even breathing somehow seemed too stifling and all he wanted was his bed and his wife and his dog and the comfort of his own home, Peter got up and closed the door quietly behind him and left.
Because he knew that Neal didn’t want him there and didn’t want his help. But more than that, Peter knew that it was over and done. There was nothing he could do. And the time for offering help had long past.
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Back to part one.
Back to part two.
On to part four.
Title: Loyalties (part 3 of 4)
Author: Ivorysilk
Rating: R
Summary: Organized Crime wants to borrow Neal. Peter has no objections to Neal being out of his hair and someone else’s problem for a while. Neal, on the other hand, is dragging his heels and reluctant to cooperate, but won’t explain exactly why. (Cleaned up slightly from a fic written for this prompt (spoilers) at the anonymous kink meme.)
Spoilers: Somewhere post Point Blank.
Warnings (highlight to read): Lack of beta. Language. References to physical brutality, torture, or rape. (not seen on-screen). Adult themes and suchlike.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or this universe. I am writing this for my own self-indulgent fun, and because, like Neal, I clearly covet other people's things, even as I know they will never be my own.
Comments, positive or negative, are treasured. Thanks for reading.
*************************************************
Back to part one.
Back to part two.
On to part four.
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Neal had been missing for almost 72 hours before they finally found him.
They found him via one of Haggerty’s cronies, who sang like a bird when they arrested him, when they told him that they’d heard his voice and his name over the feed, when they explained that Neal was working for the FBI and that if Neal was harmed-well, everyone knew how the courts treated someone who had injured or killed an officer. After both internal and external haggling that took far too long, in Peter’s opinion, they got a location and a warehouse listing for a plea bargain on a lesser charge, a non-custodial sentence, and the promise of protection. It was a damned good deal, and Rivera knew it.
It was near dark on the third day when they found Neal, in one of the warehouses that Haggerty apparently used as an office rather than a holding facility. Haggerty had spooked and fled, apparently, because except for Neal, the rest of the place had been emptied and wiped clean. Neal was in a small dark office-exactly as Rivera had described, because apparently Haggerty liked to keep his playthings close--chained to an honest to god ring in the wall near a boring wooden desk. The room smelled like human waste and sweat and fear. Neal winced and turned away when Peter hit the lights.
“Neal?” Peter’s voice was clipped as he scanned the room. Except for Neal’s presence, the rest of the room was very prosaic-it could have belonged to a small time accountant, or a lawyer. The ring in the wall seemed extremely idiosyncratic, unless it was to be used for a pet.
And then, Peter realized, it kind of had been.
“Peter! How are you?” Neal’s voice was hollow and gravelly, as if he’d spent his day eating ground glass, but his tone was as casual as if Peter was just dropping by for a chat.
“More to the point, how are you?” Peter asked gently as he holstered his gun. He glanced around the room, looking for threats. “Diana, would you …”
Neal shrank back abruptly, jerking painfully as his chain stopped him. In the light, Peter was able to get a better look at him. One eye was bruised and swollen, with a dark bruise marring that cheek. There was blood at the left corner of his mouth. He was sitting on the floor, slightly hunched over, but he looked like he was in pain. His hair was messy, his clothes were stained and in disarray. He was shivering constantly.
Diana glanced at Peter before taking a step toward Neal. “Neal, I’m just going to take off the handcuffs. All right?”
“Do you have the key?” Neal’s tone remained even and casual, but he still kept well back.
Diana smiled. “Even better. Wire cutters.”
Neal smiled, or it looked like it. “Nah, it’s okay. Maybe if you had a hair pin, you could give me five minutes? I’ll just … “
“Neal, why don’t you let us …” Peter began.
“Peter, I’ve got it. Really. Just give me … “ There was something not quite right about the tone of Caffrey’s voice, and when Peter looked more closely, he noticed that Neal’s gaze wasn’t exactly focused, his eyes darting around the room.
Peter gestured at Diana, who cast a worried look at Neal but obediently left the room. “All right, Neal. I’ve got a set of lockpicks. Here.”
“You could go. I’ll come out when I’m done.” The words weren’t a suggestion. Neal’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely open the case. Peter didn’t move.
“Neal?” asked Peter gently.
“I’ll be fine, Peter. I’m good at this, remember?” The words were right, and his voice didn’t shake, but Peter knew Neal too well to be fooled.
“I know you are, Neal,” said Peter, still so gently. He knew better, he knew he knew better, but found himself blurting out anyway, “Neal, what happened?”
“Nothing. Haggerty … Tom, Tom and I, we’re old friends. That’s all. He didn’t want me to get in trouble, so he put me here. It was so I wouldn’t … I … I’m fine, Peter. I just have to get out of these cuffs.” Neal wasn’t able to get the pick to fit into the keyhole, although he was trying, utterly focused on the cuffs. He wouldn’t look at Peter.
“Neal, I’m just going to wait here, all right? Is that okay?”
“Don’t you … aren’t there things you should be … I mean, Diana and …” Now Neal’s voice was fracturing, and he was still shaking badly.
“No. I’m not busy right now. I’m just going to wait here. You need something, you tell me, all right?” Peter kept his voice calm and unthreatening, not allowing the rage he was feeling to show.
“I’m fine, Peter,” Neal repeated. “I just have to get out of these cuffs.” At the rate Neal was going, he was never getting out of the cuffs, Peter thought, but he didn’t say anything.
Watching Neal carefully, but not moving any closer, and careful not to crowd him, Peter sat down on the floor and waited silently. After a good ten minutes of watching Neal struggle and fail, Peter said quietly, “Maybe I could try.”
“I just … I almost had it. Peter, why don’t you …” Neal sounded utterly focused and in control, but Peter caught the shake in it. Peter moved towards Neal and when he was in reach, he put an arm out, slowly, before placing his hand lightly on Neal’s wrist. There were dark bruises on the skin there, where it wasn’t swollen and bleeding sluggishly. Neal flinched violently at the contact. Frightened blue eyes flicked up to Peter’s face before looking back down, hidden again by the unkempt hair.
“Neal. Let me help,” said Peter.
After a tense moment, Neal’s shoulders finally slumped slightly and he nodded, holding out the lockpick. He smiled slightly, trying to tease, but it was painfully forced. “You’re always so impatient.”
“I know,” said Peter, teasing back, slowly working the lock. “Elizabeth is always saying I should be more patient. Peter, she’ll say …”
“That Peter, he should be more patient.” And Neal smiled, slightly, and it was less forced, and then the cuffs fell away.
“Neal,” asked Peter, “what happened? What did he do?” He couldn’t help the note of urgency in his voice, a small hint of his desperation to know.
But Neal’s eyes flicked away from his own. “I told you Peter. I’m fine. Can we go?”
And sensing that he shouldn’t push Neal, not right now, seeing the tenuous hold on his emotions that Neal was so desperately trying to maintain, Peter let it go. “Sure, Neal. Sure. Can you stand?”
“Of course. Don’t be silly. I’ll just …” Neal struggled, but when Peter offered a hand, he refused to take it. “I’ve got it,” he gritted out. “I just need a moment.”
“Neal,” Peter tried, “the EMT’s are on their way. Diana radioed for them. Why don’t we just wait a couple minutes until ….”
“No! Peter, no. I am fine. I don’t want …” Neal’s voice was rising.
“Neal … Neal, be reasonable,” Peter cajoled. “You-“
“I’m being reasonable! I am --“ Neal put one hand on the wall and levered himself violently up. His face went gray and he swayed, listing badly to the right. Peter was over at his side in a flash, propping him up with one arm and drawing the other over his shoulders. Neal went stiff and tried to pull away, but Peter wouldn’t let him go.
“Neal, Neal, just take it easy. I’m right here, all right? It’s just me. Peter. Just you and me.” Peter kept his voice low and soothing, kept repeating the words until he felt Neal relax a little into the hold.
“Peter?” Neal’s voice was strained, tired and filled with pain.
“Yeah, Neal. We’re going to walk out of here, all right? Nice and slow. If you need to stop, you just tell me.”
Neal nodded. “Ok.” His forehead was beaded with sweat, and his lips were bloodless.
Outside the room, it was chaos, but when Peter and Neal emerged, everyone went still. Peter waved them all off with a look, and they quickly began finishing up what they were doing and filing out of the room.
“Boss?” said Diana. “The EMT’s will be here in five. Maybe Neal could sit down over there until they get here.”
Neal, to his credit, tried to smile. “It’s ok. I’ll just take a cab home. I - “
“Neal, you need to get checked out,” Peter said patiently.
“No, Peter, I’m-“ Peter had no idea where he was getting the energy to argue.
“Neal, you really-“ started Diana.
“No! I don’t want to. You can’t make-“ Neal was getting more agitated.
“Neal,” said Peter, feeling like a monster, “after this kind of incident, you need to have medical clearance before you can go back into the field. And since this was an official op, they need the medical for evidence. And given your status, if you refuse to have the medical-“
“I can’t get clearance, I’m non-cooperative, and I can’t go back to work,” said Neal wearily. “And I’m on work release, where the only rights I have-" he bit off the words, and paused, and then said, out of the blue. “Peter, I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“That’s not the point,” said Peter, confused. Who’d ever said he’d done anything wrong? Peter hated this situation, hated putting Neal in this situation, almost as much as Neal did. Didn’t Neal know that?
Now Diana was glaring, but at Peter. To Neal she said gently, “No, Neal, you haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing. Would you prefer to go to your own doctor?”
Peter could see Neal listen intently to Diana’s words, as if he’d really needed to hear them. “No, I don’t want-“ he paused, and cut himself off, before saying, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go tomorrow. Would that be okay?”
“I’m sorry, Neal. You can’t. You were possibly injured on the job. You need to get medical clearance, and an incident report needs to be completed. Your clothes, your face, it’s all evidence and needs to be documented. The forensic team needs to preserve it. I’m sorry, Neal.” Diana was making her unhappiness with Peter known, but he was still, technically, superior to her. He had a department to run, and procedures to follow. And if Neal hadn’t been a criminal, he probably could have gotten away with not having a forensic medical exam-but as it was, when he testified his criminal background would be thrown in his face, and so the independent evidence was necessary. As much as Peter might have wanted to let Neal get away with whatever he wanted this time, especially given the circumstances--he couldn’t allow it, ironically in large part because of those same circumstances that made him want to give in.
Although truth be told, Peter didn’t really want to allow it. He had no doubt that Neal could and would, given half the chance, forge a medical report if need be, and not think anything of it. But Neal was moving stiffly, and was clearly in pain. Whatever else was going on, he needed medical attention. Peter couldn’t stand this, couldn’t stand seeing Neal looking like he did. Peter needed to make sure Neal was okay. He needed someone to tell him that Neal was and would be okay.
“Boss, if he wants, why don’t you just take him to the nearest hospital? They can do the exam there,” Diana suggested, giving Peter an out, a reason to leave. “I’ll clean up here.”
“Thanks, Diana.” Peter tried to put his gratitude into his voice; he couldn’t bring himself to smile. “Neal, you okay with that?”
“Yeah, Peter, sure.” Neal sounded like he was barely paying attention. When Peter looked at him, he did his best mock-surprised innocent look and said, “It’s fine.”
Diana looked as unconvinced as Peter did. Peter was still holding Neal up, and Neal looked more and more like he was going to collapse at any second, but all she said was, “Go. I’ll meet you there.”
***************************
It was difficult getting Neal in the car. As was his habit, Peter opened the car door and put a hand on Neal’s head and started to push him in, but Neal made a pained sound and Peter stopped immediately. He could hear Neal panting.
“Neal?” he asked, concerned. Maybe he should have forced Neal to go with the EMT’s.
“It’s fine, Peter. Just give me a second. I must have pulled a muscle.” Neal’s voice was strained, and Peter forced himself not to say anything, not to call Neal on his bullshit. Not now.
It took a long time-or at least those few minutes seemed long-for Neal to manage to force his long body to bend into the car seat. Once seated, he leaned his head back on the headrest and went silent.
“Neal?” Peter asked, still holding the car door.
“Yeah, Peter. I’m fine. Let’s go.” Neal’s voice was barely above a whisper. “But we really don’t need to do this. You could just take me home; I promise I’ll get checked out by tomorrow. Please, Peter, I just need to sleep for a bit, I - “
Peter cut off the babble. “You buckled in?”
“Yeah, Peter-“
“Then let’s go.” Peter closed the door.
Peter didn’t waste time. He drove like a mad man to the nearest E.R. Neal was uncharacteristically silent as he drove, although his eyes never closed, until Peter slowed his car in front of the entrance and Neal seemed to rouse slightly.
“Why don’t you just drop me off and I can take a cab back? You know how those wait times can be, Peter. What time is it, 6? Elizabeth’s probably waiting on dinner for you. There’s no point in - “
“It’s after 8, Neal, and Elizabeth would have my head if I left you. I’m staying. The forensic team is on its way too.”
“Right. Of course.” Neal sounded anything but thrilled, and Peter smiled just slightly, but there was no amusement in it.
“Is it Tuesday?” Neal asked, suddenly, apropos of nothing.
“No, Neal. It’s Thursday. Why do you ask?”
“Oh. I missed cinnamon bagels. Cindy visits on Wednesdays; she likes cinnamon.”
“Right,” said Peter, at a loss, then realizing. “Are you hungry, Neal? We can get you something if - “
“It’s okay. I just missed breakfast. Tomorrow, right? Is tomorrow Thursday?”
“Friday, Neal. Tomorrow will be Friday.” Peter tried not to sound worried.
Inside, Peter flashed his badge at the receptionist and explained the situation. They waited for a bit, in the uncomfortable waiting room, filled with a crying child and a woman moaning in pain and holding her stomach. They sat for a while, before Neal asked, “So, does the report just get filed?”
“Which report?” Neal gestured around them, and Peter said, “Oh, the medical? It gets sent to me, and I have to prepare an incident report. It’s procedure, Neal.” Peter was starting to hate saying those words.
“Do you have to read it?” Neal asked. He was clearly going for casual, but his voice to Peter’s ears seemed small and scared.
“Yeah, Neal. I’m your handler. But only me, and Hughes.” Peter paused. “If you want, Neal, I won’t read it until after you’ve seen it first. Do you want me to wait? They usually give us a verbal, but I can wait until I get the written report, most probably on Monday. Do you want me to do that?”
“Is there any way you don’t have to read it?” Neal asked, and the look in his eyes was pleading.
“No, Neal. The only other option is Ruiz, because it was technically his op, but if you’d rather-“
“No! No, in that case, I’d rather it be you. No one else?” Neal reminded Peter of Satchmo, at the shelter, when they’d first seen him. An animal cornered and scared but wanting so badly to trust someone not to hurt him more than he’d already suffered.
Peter wanted to scream, to fight, to throw up. It was so wrong to see Caffrey, of all people, reduced to this.
“No one else, Neal, except Hughes. It’ll be classified. All right?” He forced his voice to remain gentle, not to betray any of the anger boiling inside.
“All right.” And Neal lapsed back to silence, and Peter didn’t know what to say.
It wasn’t long before forensics arrived and they were shown to a small private room. Neal was fading, and Peter was getting increasingly worried. The agent they’d sent asked Neal to remove his clothing and put each item in a separate plastic bags before donning the hospital gown.
“Kinky,” said Neal, almost in the same flirtatious tone that he had used a thousand times around the office, to tease him or Cruz or even Jones or Diana. (Not Reece, though. Neal was leery enough of Reece to be careful - well, he was always careful, but office respectful, maybe, was the better term - about what he said around the man.) But this time the delivery might have have been more effective if Neal didn’t look like a stiff breeze would knock him over, if his eye hadn’t completely swollen shut by now, if his voice had been just a little stronger.
“Will I get it back?”
But the agent they’d sent from forensics-Gupta he’d said his name was--smiled broadly as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “You have no idea,” he responded, “and yes, if you want, although that shirt looks ruined,” before adding, “You can use the smaller bags for items like your tie and underwear.”
“They want my underwear?” Neal seemed upset by this.
“Yeah. We need everything. Sorry, it’s procedure.” The man seemed truly apologetic.
“Peter?” Neal raised his eyes to Peter, begging for help, but Peter just shrugged helplessly.
“I’ll wait out here, Neal. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Peter felt like an ass for abandoning Neal, whose eyes still begged him -for protection, rescue, he didn’t even know what-but he couldn’t help Neal, and so he couldn’t stay and watch this.
Neal, damn him, understood the gesture for what it was. Another betrayal. “You really don’t have to wait,” said Neal. “I’ll be fine.” I don’t need you.
“I’m waiting out here.” To the other agent he said, “Let me know if there are any problems, okay? And send me your report as soon as you have it.”
“Will do,” said Gupta, cheerfully. Peter wondered how he could do the work he did and still remain so upbeat.
It was a long wait. He had no idea what was going on with Neal inside, but was hesitant to leave, not wanting Neal to come out and think Peter had left. After an hour, he did go to the vending machine for a minute to get coffee, but changed his mind when he got there. He came back, and he waited.
Neal came out, dressed in a set of scrubs, a little over two hours later. It was midnight. Neal looked terrible.
“I really think,” said the doctor loudly enough for Peter to hear, “that you should allow us to check you in overnight. I don’t like the look of - “
“No,” said Neal abruptly, all his charm gone. “I’m leaving. Peter?”
“You should at least follow up with your own doctor tomorrow. I’m also going to give you a prescription for Percoset, but if it doesn’t help with the pain, then you should come back here immediately, understand?”
Peter scrambled up. “I’m his partner. Neal, maybe you should-“
“No.” Neal said angrily. Peter exchanged a look with the doctor. “I want to go home. I want to go now.” He sounded like a little boy. Under different circumstances, it would have made Peter smile.
Another look exchanged with the doctor, and Peter said, “Why don’t you come and stay with me and El for a few days, huh, until you get back on your feet? It’s the weekend, and I know that El had insisted I invite you over for -“ Peter needed Neal in view. And this way, he could make sure he saw a real doctor the following day. He had no doubt that Neal could and would, given half the chance, forge a medical report if need be, and not think anything of it.
“No! Please, Peter, I’m just not very good company right now. I don’t - I’ll come over another time, all right? Please tell Elizabeth I’m very sorry.” He sounded lost and pleading, as if he would somehow be blamed for not going, blamed for doing something else wrong.
Helplessly, Peter said, “It’s okay, Neal. You don’t have to. Another time. Why don’t I drive you home?”
On the way home, Neal lay as still as marble in the passenger seat, except to cry out in pain when Peter slammed the brakes on because of a kid that ran into the street. When they arrived at June’s, Peter undid Neal’s belt, and then put a hand on Neal’s shoulder. Neal startled under his hand before blinking awake. “Neal? We’re here. I’ll take you upstairs, but is there anyone else you’d like me to call?”
“Why would you call anyone? I’m fine, Peter; you don’t need to come in. You are seriously acting very weird. I’ll just …” Neal gasped in pain as he turned to open the car door, going very still and very pale. His breathing was harsh, and his knuckles were white on the door handle.
Peter couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the pretence any more. “Okay, that’s it. I’m taking you to my place, and I don’t want to hear it Neal. No. You are hurt, and just for once, you are going to listen to me.”
“No! Please Peter, no, please. I … “ his voice caught, faded to a whisper. “I don’t want Elizabeth to see me like this. Please, Peter. Don’t do that. Just-please just help me upstairs.”
And when Neal asked like that, Peter couldn’t, couldn’t bring himself to refuse. And so he did as Neal asked. He helped him upstairs, refused to leave, waited (and called El) while Neal took a shower, and waited until Neal emerged, wearing long pyjama pants as he usually did for bed and a t-shirt for Peter’s benefit, to cover the bruises. Waited while Neal settled himself in bed, told Peter yet again that he could leave because he was fine fine fine, closed his eyes, and appeared to sleep.
And when the sky started to lighten over the city in the eastern sky, beautifully pictured through the French doors, when Neal didn’t move or speak even though he wasn’t asleep (because Peter knew to tell the difference), when the ticking of the clock and of Neal’s too even breathing somehow seemed too stifling and all he wanted was his bed and his wife and his dog and the comfort of his own home, Peter got up and closed the door quietly behind him and left.
Because he knew that Neal didn’t want him there and didn’t want his help. But more than that, Peter knew that it was over and done. There was nothing he could do. And the time for offering help had long past.
*********************************************
Back to part one.
Back to part two.
On to part four.