Composition in Black and White (part two) 3/
2/
After nearly four days of watching her husband tear at himself day in day out, Elizabeth was dreading the moment when he’d call her, or look at her and she’d know that his searching had finally reached it’s end. A part of her was dreading it more than anything, because with every day that passed so too did her own hopes for Neal’s safe return.
Elizabeth was not a foolish woman; she knew the risks in Peter’s line of work. She’d made a point of knowing, of knowing more than Peter consciously wanted her to.
She’d known first hand the anxiety of knowing there was a possibility that their friend wouldn’t be returned to them, it had, after all, happened to Peter and there was nothing in the world that she wouldn’t have done to get him back.
Peter had been wearing himself thin trying to get to Neal, and Mozzie had been a wisp of smoke and still, Neal had been missing for four days.
With children, the first twenty four hours were critical. She didn’t have a clue if that was entirely different with criminal informants for the FBI, especially ones like Neal. Invaluable assets.
Turncoats, so to speak.
But twenty four hours had turned into 48 and before she knew it, 48 had turned into 93 and all of a sudden Jones was standing in the doorway of Burke Premier Events and Elizabeth’s heart was in her throat.
Standing up the facts and figures she’d been perusing to distract her addled brain disappeared in an instant.
“Tell me you found him,” she said. Jones looked pensive and in pain.
“They found him,” he replied. Elizabeth sighed with relief, reaching for her bag.
“Where are they?”
She’d expected Jones to tell her a hospital. She’d had four days for her brain to remedy her to the fact Neal could not have escaped completely unharmed. Not given the way he was taken. What had been worse was that a small part of her had even been readying herself for the news Neal hadn’t made it at all.
For the small mercy she’d received knowing he was alive, it faded under the gravity of the situation all the same.
“Lenox Hill. He’s touch and go.”
“Peter?”
“Peter’s gone,” Jones said, wincing slightly as he held the door open for her, his other plastered arm lightly guarding his ribs. Elizabeth turned to face him.
“Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“I wouldn’t want to be Nikolai Volkov right now,” Jones said wryly as he let the door swing closed.
***
Diana had spent more time in hospitals than she was ever really willing to admit.
Between a mother with cancer dominating her early years and dating a Doctor in her later - there was a lot of hospital lobby loitering in the corners of her memory.
None of it had ever been like this.
This was a million times different and so much worse.
When her mother had been in and out of hospital Diana had been young enough to believe it was normal. It happened all the time, between check ups and chemotherapy and then in those last few weeks when her mother had been admitted - well, it had all been a part of her normal life and she’d been too young to remember the routine and the panic of it running in tandem. She’d been too young to really understand it all.
She understood it now. She understood the restlessness she’d witnessed time and again when she’d come to wait for Christie. She understood the real panic she’d seen in people’s eyes and the demanding results that came from the realization there was nothing anyone could do but wait.
She’d seen it in the old and the young, the families and the friends. She’d been to the hospital because of work before. With Peter, with fellow probies and then fellow agents and then with Peter again. She’d been admitted herself once, but even when Peter had been admitted after being poisoned - it had never been like this. This was panic wrapped up in desperation, tied with a bow of helplessness. This was a damn vigil and it was entirely new to her and actually genuinely frightening.
When her mother had died it had been at home, in her sleep. Diana had been eight. When Charlie had died it had been on the scene, against the wall, with Diana tucked under his arm, his body shielding her as she wrapped her arms around him. His blood had seeped out through his coat and onto her hands and the twinkle in his eye had shone as he’d murmured stupid Charlie-like jokes into her hair as he’d kept watch over her until he couldn’t anymore and then it had been her turn to keep watch over him.
Both times there had been no hope, no waiting, no chance of salvation; the time had come.
This was so damn different and so damn difficult and she’d never felt so useless in her life as she did now. Because Peter had told her to wait. Told her to look after Neal while he went rampant and determined to break Nikolai Volkov into pieces and have the Russian put himself back together while Peter watched. Diana had never seen revenge glinting in her bosses eyes the way it had for just a second while the slam of the ambulance doors still cut through the air and they stood and watched as Neal was rushed to the nearest Emergency room for the second time in six months. Diana had glanced at Peter and as the doors had closed on Neal she’d seen guilt and terror stare back at her and then a flash of anger so startling she’d been clueless to do any more than he’d asked.
As she’d slid into her car and asked herself whether obeying was the right thing to do, she’d argued it out in the time it had taken to drive from warehouse thirteen and out of the dock. Neal had been offered up like a prize, and while they’d only just got him back - there was nothing to suggest that taking him away for good wouldn’t be on the agenda either.
And so she’d went and here she was, trying not to pace up and down the waiting room, trying not to snap Mozzie’s fingers every time the small man sat down and started up his furious tapping or barking at him to sit down when the tapping was too little and he had started pacing.
There was nothing she or anyone could do, and so when Elizabeth stood up and asked the room if anyone else wanted coffee for the third time, Diana had murmured her assent with reasonable decorum and once again glanced at the clock. It had been over an hour since she’d got there herself. Elizabeth and Jones had arrived just after she had and bursting with annoyance at knowing nothing. Mozzie had arrived just after that, and been spouting statistics and horror stories about the health system almost the entire time.
In all that time no one had got any information out of anyone.
But when Diana looked over towards the doorway where the doctor was standing with his clipboard under one arm and information written all over his face she knew the time had come where they were finally going to get something out of someone.
“Neal Caffrey?” the old man asked the room and the four of them perked up, either standing up or sitting in attention. The doctor nodded and walked closer, his face pensive.
“Yes?” Elizabeth asked and it was like she was the voice for everyone because Mozzie’s fell silent and Diana didn’t know if she was really quite the person to be asking about Neal. Not considering the company. Not between Elizabeth Burke who had a heart and a shoulder for just about everyone, and Mozzie, who had a vault full of Neal’s secrets and always kept his back.
“Let me start by just saying he’s stable. He’s incredibly lucky, but he’s stable,” the doctor said and Diana felt the four of them breathe a sigh of relief. The doctor continued.
Diana warily glanced her way. Neither Mozzie nor Elizabeth knew the circumstances of Neal’s rescue. She hadn’t been able to tell them and a part of her didn’t want the doctor to either. But she couldn’t stop them from hearing it.
“We had to take him straight up to surgery, where we repaired his spleen. He has some extensive bruising; several cracked ribs as well as a bad concussion that’s caused some swelling on the brain that we’re monitoring. We’ve got him sedated at the moment, give his body a little time to recuperate, take stock of itself. But we’re keeping a sharp eye on him and we’ll let you know if anything develops further.”
“But he’ll be okay?”
The doctor frowned. “He’s got this far on his own. He’s strong, so I’m cautiously optimistic,” he said solemnly.
“Is there any chance we can see him?” Elizabeth asked, perking up.
The Doctor sighed, like he’d known it was coming. He probably did. Did anyone in this sort of situation ever listen?
“He’s currently in post op but he’ll be moved through to ICU in the next few hours for monitoring, and I can let one in at a time then. But as I said, he’s sedated. I highly suggest you go home and get some rest yourself. It’s going to be a long few days.”
Elizabeth still looked pensive, Mozzie looked depreciative and Jones’ expression was grave. Diana stepped forward.
“Thankyou, Doctor. If I can have a word?”
Diana eyed Jones, who nodded. Mozzie’s gaze narrowed.
“It’s about his protection detail,” Diana said to the little man and Mozzie straightened his shoulders, and for a moment, Diana was sure she was about to be told that there was nothing the US Government could offer Neal that he couldn’t. In that moment, Diana’s ill guided affection for the small man made itself known again. There must have been something in her expression, because Mozzie backed down. He let Elizabeth rest a hand on his shoulder and guide him back to his seat.
Diana heard him say something about talking to June before she led the Doctor just outside into the hallway and out of their range.
“I’m Agent Berrigan, I’ll be in control of Neal Caffrey’s protection detail. I assume you were briefed?”
The Doctor nodded.
“The nurse passed on the information when he arrived. I believe that the ward has been informed of Mr Caffrey’s status already.”
Diana nodded. Good, she’d caused enough fuss when she arrived; she wasn’t really in the mood to do it again. Not now.
“Protocol dictates we have 24 hour visual range on Caffrey.”
“He’ll be moved into a private room in the ICU, Agent Berrigan. I’ll let you know as soon as everything is settled and have you taken down. Until then, I suggest you go back inside.”
“Thankyou, Doctor Regent. I’ll need names of any attending nurses as well. For security reasons. Anyone with access.”
“I’ll have the names brought down to you. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Diana let the man go, but she watched him all the way down the corridor. It was basic protocol. The hospital probably knew it already, but there was something in the genuine concern for a friend that had her genuinely anxious and desperate to know everything she could. It was a strange feeling. Considering everything that had happened over the last four years. Considering everything about to happen in the next few months. The end of parole. The end of Neal’s work with them - or perhaps the real beginning of working against him. Nothing had been decided, and that had been obvious in Neal’s expressions almost every day anyway.
But out of everything anyone had contemplated about what was going to happen when the tracker was officially removed… well, no one had ever thought that maybe Neal wouldn’t even reach that point.
No one had ever thought that maybe, working for the bureau would get him killed.
Except maybe Mozzie, and there was a line between Mozzie being right and proving Mozzie right.
Conspiracy never looked good on anyone.
Diana took a deep breath and glanced back after the doctor, before she sighed and walked back into the waiting room.
***
Peter stared through the glass at Volkov. The man was wearing a smug smile on his face, his shoulders relaxed; he was completely at ease. A self-satisfied sort of calm, one that rarely came to a man in federal custody, especially one looking at being charged with art theft, forgery, attempted murder, kidnapping and assault as a starter sheet. Nicholai Volkov was a man who had known he was going to get caught and completely satisfied with the results he attained before he did.
Peter swallowed, hoping to swallow down his own anger but not quite managing it. It still twitched his fingers, itching to slam his hands on the table and demand to know what they did to Neal. Why they’d taken him. He was fighting his internal battle when he heard the door open and the careful paced steps of a man with authority.
“Peter,” hearing his bosses voice was enough to make Peter turn. Reese was staring at him with a dark sense of clout. Peter turned back to Volkov.
“He hasn’t moved since Ruiz left.”
“You haven’t been in yet?”
“No. I wanted to really see who he was first.”
Peter didn’t actually know how long he’d been staring at Nikolai Volkov. He didn’t know, and apart of him didn’t care. Time didn’t really matter anymore.
Figuring this out did.
Hughes was quiet a moment.
“I don’t want you in there, Peter.” Peter turned to look at the old man again; Hughes didn’t turn away.
“He'll only speak to me.”
“Which is exactly my problem. His damn intention is to gloat. We don't give in to the whims of fugitives.”
“He's a walk in, Reese, how can we hold him? Everything we have is circumstantial.”
“We have Caffrey, that's enough to keep him. That’s more than circumstantial, Peter. Kidnapping to start and assault as a follow up. As soon as Caffrey wakes up then we'll have his testimony and Volkov will go down with bricks tied to his ankles. We don't need to play his game. We played it once and we got Caffrey back. We won’t play again.”
“How long is it going to be before Neal wakes up, though? And he might not even remember anything. They hit him hard, Reese, we can't rely on him to make our case.”
And that was if Neal survived at all.
Peter swallowed.
“He confessed to holding Caffrey, we found him where Volkov instructed, Peter. The case is fine; it's you I'm damn well worried about. The man will gloat; that's why he only wants to talk to you. He’s laid the groundwork by telling you were you could find the boy, and now he wants to gloat about what he's done to an audience who will give him the greatest satisfaction. Leave the interrogation to Ruiz.”
“You want to give this to Ruiz?”
“He's head of Organised Crime, Peter, and Nikolai Volkov falls into Organised Crime's jurisdiction.”
“I handed that file over six years ago.”
“And it was passed over, Peter. Leave it. I'm not letting you in that interrogation, and that’s final.”
“You can’t keep me off this.”
“I can and I will, Agent Burke.” Hughes breathed in deep and seemed to relax his stance. Peter looked away, back at the man in on the other side of the glass. Everything Reese had said was right - but it didn’t stop the thrumming desire running through him to punish Nikolai Volkov any way he could.
“Reese - “ Peter murmured, looking back at the older man. Hughes frowned again. But this time it was softer, edging with the compassion of a man hardened under the grindstone and put in charge of the people who had been his brethren. Reese Hughes understood. He was a friend.
“Don’t make me put you on leave, Peter. I will, and I’ll damn well put you through a psych eval as well if you push it any further. You should be damn well suspended and going through one right now if I was going by any sort of protocol.”
It was Peter’s turn to sigh, breathing out through his nose and trying to let the tension seep out of him. It didn’t work very well.
When Reese spoke again there was an edge of compassion in his voice and Peter let it sink through him.
“We have what we need, Peter. Now go back to Lenox Hill and see your damn partner.”
***
Mozzie was sure he was dreaming.
It was the only way he could rationalize this nightmare.
Beside him the heart monitor let out a short static run of loud beeping over the sound of the constant steady blip, but Neal didn’t stir and no one came in to check. It was just the two of them, and it was like being stuck in this giant sucking black hole of Government Suits and entrapment and Neal wasn’t getting out of it.
Nearly eight years ago Neal had disappeared into the clutches of the prison system, only to work his way from that prison into a four year work sentence with the bureau - that a year before his parole ended could have killed him. Now, six months later and four months shy of his freedom, they were back. Back to the same square, where his friend’s life was measured out in a steady blipping machine and the electronic rise and fall of the respirator, as air was forced into Neal’s intubated system.
Mozzie wasn’t very good at hospitals. He was good at waiting, but that patience all but disappeared out the door the moment he stepped foot inside. Hospitals made him uneasy, but there was no chance he could leave Neal behind. Not on his own. He was having a hard time entertaining the idea of letting the damn kid out of his sight. It was something that made Mozzie want to laugh, but he knew the sound would be bitter and he didn’t want Neal hearing that condescension. He didn’t need it. Not that he needed Mozzie hovering either, but they had to work with what they had.
Hope was, after all one of man’s great evils, as it prolonged the torments of man. Or So Nietzsche as said. Mozzie had never paid it much mind; he’d never had to rely on hope alone. Now, now he understood it worse than ever. They had got Neal back, but there was still the chance they could lose him again, and Mozzie was shy to even step outside the damn room now he’d entered it for the fear that his friend would disappear as if he’d never been found at all. Or worse still, he’d leave and Neal would find the chance to die on him just when they thought he was safe.
Mozzie glanced across the room at the large windows overseeing the room. The blinds were half open and he could see the shadow of Diana and Elizabeth outside. The Suits had told him Neal was going to be under 24hour supervision until they had this whole thing sorted, which even if Neal was awake, he knew his friend wouldn’t be happy about. He’d cock his head and look disgruntled and voice a useless rhetorical question like ‘Really?’ or ‘are you sure this is necessary?’
Mozzie felt a pang of concern spike somewhere in his chest and he dragged his chair a little closer to the bed. He wasn’t going to hold Neal’s hand. He wasn’t that desperate for comfort yet. But he was going to stand watch (or sit and watch) for as long as was physically possible. Because as much as he trusted the Suits to keep their word and keep watch, they hadn’t done a very good job of keeping Neal safe so far.
And while Mozzie hadn’t really done a very good job himself, either; he sure as hell wasn’t going to let anything escape his notice now.
He’d been wearing glasses since he was found on the doorstep of a group home in 1969, but half blind or not, there was no room for being shortsighted now. Not when Neal needed them the most.
***
Peter did as he was told; he went back to Lenox Hill.
But he didn’t go back right away, and it didn’t force him to stay.
One look at Neal in ICU, Mozzie sitting in the chair to Neal’s immediate right, the fingers on his left hand tapping in continuous rhythm that seemed to echo through Peter’s skull even from outside the room was enough to enough to tell him he wasn’t needed.
There was a mess of coffee cups on the little side table in various sizes and different companies that was enough to tell Peter Mozzie wasn’t the only one at the hospital.
“Agent Burke, I’m guessing?” Peter tensed as he turned towards the middle aged man tucking his ledger under one arm.
“Yes.”
“Your wife warned me you’d be here eventually. She’s waiting down the hall, in the visitor’s lounge. I don’t believe she’s alone either.”
“Thank you,” Peter eyed the man’s identification badge.
“Steven Regent,” the man said with a smile, saving Peter the trouble.
“How is he?” Peter asked, glancing back through the glass at Neal.
Doctor Regent sighed.
“He’s lucky, I have to tell you that, Agent Burke. He’s heavily sedated at the moment, which we’re going to maintain for a few days, give him some time to heal. But given the circumstances, he’s doing well.”
Peter nodded, trying to think of something to say. The doctor seemed to understand and sighed.
“You have friends down the hall, Agent Burke. I’m afraid we’re only allowing one visitor at a time, so you’ll have to wait until your friend is finished keeping watch before you see him yourself. I suggest joining the party and getting some coffee. If you’re intending to stay it’s going to be a long night.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Peter finally managed and the man offered him a smile.
Peter continued to stare at Neal and Mozzie through the glass. Mozzie had tensed and looked up during Peter’s conversation with the doctor and the moment Peter met Mozzie’s gaze, he lost every intention he had of finding his wife and holding her close.
As much as he needed that consolation, right at that second, he needed to fix this.
He needed to know that Nikolai Volkov was going away.
He needed to know what they’d done to Neal.
***
In all the years that Mozzie had known Neal, the kid had been admitted four times. Once, when he’d broken his left wrist in Chicago, once after he’d pissed off Wilkes the first time and escaped with a minor stab wound. That had felt like an oxymoron; minor stab wound. He’d given Neal hell for that, and he’d deserved every moment of it. The third time was Peter Burke’s fault, the Thompson case had gone to hell and Neal wound up in the middle of it with emergency surgery and nearly three weeks off work that turned into minor house arrest.
And now this.
This was the second time Mozzie had to endure late nights under glaring hospital lighting and this painful pounding in his chest every time he looked at his prone friend. During the Thompson case Mozzie had come to realize how Neal had felt after he’d been shot. His friend’s dedicated mission and almost-betrayals to keep him out of harm’s way had made a lot of sense afterwards. Now, now it had happened again and everything Mozzie had been doing to keep him safe in the last six months had seemingly been for nothing, because here they were again. This time it was even worse.
Mozzie looked on from the hallway as the nurses prepped him. They were taking him down for an MRI, finally comfortable with how stable Neal’s vitals were and ready to check the extent of the damage the accident had really made. A part of Mozzie was angry they had taken this long for them to get to it. But he knew there was a process, and he understood they were working as hard as they could to save him. But he was anxious to know as much as he could, anxious that there was nothing he could do himself. He couldn’t even be out figuring why everything had happened, because for the first time he really was more comfortable with the Suit dealing with it. They had their mastermind, apparently. He was singing like a canary and Lady Suit was like a juggernaut in heeled boots and he knew they’d figure it all out. Mozzie had to stick around for Neal. There was a Baby Suit keeping watch a few seats down. There had been one there at all hours and Mozzie was thankful for Peter’s vigilance but it felt wrong now. The damage had already been done. Still, it was nice to have them there. If anything did go wrong there was at least one extra line of defense.
“How is he?” June’s voice was quiet as she came to a stop next to him and they watched as the nurses unhooked Neal’s IV drip and unlocked the wheels on his bed.
“They’re taking him up now,” Mozzie said. June had flown back as soon as he’d told her they’d found him and it was strangely calming to have her there. Like an extra soldier from the other side. There were too many Suits around; even Elizabeth was one of them, no matter how much Mozzie and Neal liked her. She was Peter’s wife, and her loyalty was always to him and with him, the law.
June on the other hand, was all theirs.
“He’ll be okay,” June said softly, her voice ringing with the conviction Mozzie needed. Because despite it all, despite the doctors calm assurances and his faith in his friend, he needed someone else to believe it too. Someone he could believe and hang on to. Someone who would tell him it was okay and who he could believe. Because without Neal… well, there was nothing Mozzie could imagine without Neal.
***
Peter was still awake when Elizabeth let herself inside near midnight.
Their house was silent and it was only when she set down her keys and looked up to find Peter leaning over their kitchen table, his files spilled out around the table and chairs that she realized he wasn’t at the office like she’d thought. Like she’d assumed when he hadn’t shown up at the hospital, and that had confused her.
A part of her had thought that Peter would be very much like Mozzie, and unable to tear himself away from keeping an eye on Neal. Trying to make sure he wouldn’t disappear again, even though there was nothing that Neal could do, pumped full of drugs and sleeping like the dead. He had been like that last time, wandering the hospital corridors with his hands on his hips and this faraway look in his eyes underlined by a crease in his brows. It had been bad last time, but it had been simpler somehow. Neal had been shot and then had been through surgery and they waited out his anesthetics and then it was a week of scheduled visits to stop him going mad or breaking himself out. This was worse. There were levels and there were complications both in apprehending those who had hurt him, and in healing. Neal had outdone himself this time and watching him had made her anxious, but she had been unable to leave. She’d needed to be there, as much for Mozzie as for Neal. And her husband. Only Peter hadn’t shown up this time. When 11pm had clicked over on her watch and Mozzie had emerged from Neal’s room after hours of attempted convincing, she had finally come to the conclusion Peter wasn’t going to show up.
Now she knew why.
Instead of bedside vigil, Peter was in a whole other gear. He was in vigilante mode instead; airtight, unbreakable-case mode. He was out for revenge the only way Peter knew how: proving a wrongdoing had been made and making them pay under the full weight of the law he upheld.
“Peter?” she called, pulling off her coat and setting it down on the couch as she walked over. Peter stood up straight and looked at her.
“You didn’t come to the hospital?” she asked, tentative. She wasn’t sure on his mood yet. She couldn’t tell how to approach this, not yet. First she had to test the water, and the best way to do that, was straight to the source of it.
Neal.
“I came by about three. He was sleeping. We’re missing something, El. We’re missing something huge.”
“How long have you been working, Hon?”
“Since I got back. Hughes wont let me talk to Volkov. He’s taken me off this.”
Elizabeth sighed and took another step closer.
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” she ventured. Peter turned back down to his files. Looking frustrated.
“I need to know, El. I need to know why.”
“Who did Hughes give it to?”
“Ruiz, Volkov’s operation is Organized Crime’s jurisdiction. There’s nothing I can do there.” Peter looked frustrated and annoyed and desperate and that’s when she saw her point of weakness. Her poor, poor man.
“Then maybe let Ruiz do his job,” she said softly.
“I can’t do that, El. I need to figure this out.”
She stepped closer.
“You need to get some sleep, is what I think.”
Peter sighed and turned to look at her. His eyes heavy and his mouth sloping down in a solemn frown. He was wilting.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see you at the hospital.”
“Why didn’t you stay?”
She knew the answer. Peter’s shoulders slumped. He looked forlorn, now. Scared. Angry.
A million different emotions clambering for space over her husband’s tired and still bruised face.
“He would only tell me where Neal was. Ruiz had him for three hours and he’d only tell me.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing Ruiz is taking it from here. Honey, Neal needs you.”
“He needs this guy put to justice. He needs to wake up, El. He doesn’t need me standing around being useless in that place when I can help out here.”
“He doesn’t need you running yourself any more into the ground. You found him, Peter. That’s enough for now. Let Organized Crime take care of it from now. Please?”
It was the please that did it, of that she was sure. It was a word she barely used on her husband. They were independent enough not to ask permission, stable enough not to need desperation. This was a time of neither. Tonight she needed words like please, because as Elizabeth took those final steps across the room to wrap her arms around her husband and hold him to her tightly, she needed to feel his arms around her just as much as she needed to hold him.
In all their years of marriage, Neal Caffrey had - for reasons she still didn’t understand in the slightest - always been the greatest of their trials.
But she could not hold it against him, and strangely enough, for all his trials and tribulations he was also one of the best things to happen as well.
And now, he needed them.
***
Neal was by no means an easy man to beat. He had a mind like a super-computer and a body built to obey his every whim. He’d built himself up over the years and he loved nothing if not a challenge.
It seemed to fit so perfectly that the weakness to the man had always been his heart. Kate had been wrapped in that boy’s breast for more than a decade. The fact she was dead held nothing on that fact. Kate had been his weakness from the start, from the moment he laid eyes on her.
It still perplexed Mozzie somewhat, how attached Neal was to Peter. He liked the Suit; if in some wild universe Peter had been on their side he’d have loved the guy. But the world was as it was, and Neal had always had this strange weakness for the man who had chased him, caught him and spent the last three and a half years trying to tame him.
And it seemed to have worked somewhat. Neal had, after all, decided to stay his term out, and that weakness in his wild and whimsical desires to own anything he fancied was enough to prove it.
Neal had embraced the Suit into a part of him that there was no escape. It had taken longer than it had for Kate, and for June. Mozzie knew the old woman was one reason keeping his friend tethered to New York, and that one Mozzie understood. He’d never had anyone he counted as family bar Neal and Mr Jeffries. No one he’d come across in his own adventures he’d like to keep until the end, except June.
And possibly Mrs Suit.
Okay, so he understood Neal’s attachment a little bit.
But he didn’t approve of it all in the slightest.
Because if Neal wasn’t so damn attached then they wouldn’t be here.
He wouldn’t be waiting it out until the nurses let him back into Neal’s private room so Mozzie could hover a little more and sate the anxiety tying his stomach in knots.
If Neal hadn’t been so attached to the Suit he wouldn’t have been so conflicted in the last week and then, just maybe, he’d have been better equipped to breaking himself out.
Or maybe they’d have been on an island beach they owned already, sipping mojito’s and playing Hypothetical Heist. (Or not-so Hypothetical Heist.)
Mozzie shook himself and glanced at the clock on the wall.
He knew he was being stupid and selfish, but he didn’t care. He just wanted his friend back.
It was late. Far too late.
He should go, but he didn’t really want to.
He glanced at the clock again.
It had been an hour since Elizabeth had left, since he’d been coaxed out of Neal’s rooms and told to go home. Since he’d said he would. He’d fully intended to lurk and sneak back in, but given the state of things, he should probably go home. There had been two Suits on Neal’s door anyway. Diana had made sure of it before she’d left. Mozzie had tried not to feel grateful for the extra security at the time, but now it was going to be a menace. Elizabeth Burke had the whole bureau under her thumb and had no likely informed the two of them to keep Mozzie out.
Neal would find that funny.
A small smile perked Mozzie’s lips for the briefest second and in the moment following he made up his mind, pushing himself wearily to his feet.
If he caught a taxi then September was only fifteen minutes South East…
And that way, he’d be close enough to get to the hospital early enough to set up camp in that horrible chair again before anyone else.
Decision made, Mozzie headed towards the elevators.
***
Hughes hadn’t said it the day before, not directly, but Peter knew through implication alone that the man wasn’t expecting him in the office.
He wasn’t supposed to be there anyway. They’d called it significant circumstances that had allowed Peter back into the field to find Neal in the first place. To go back properly he knew he was going to need to be signed off by the resident doctor, and that was if he was lucky. He knew he was half a step away from being required to go through a series of long draining therapy sessions and psych evaluations before he was allowed back properly and that was something he was desperate to avoid. Even the one he was required to go through before he was cleared was going to be hell in high water and he wasn’t looking for anything that could prolong the torture of being able to do nothing.
Jones was going to have to go through hoop after hoop like a show dog before he was let back into the office, let alone the field. Hell, just the fact the man was walking around seemed like a miracle to Peter. It was nothing short of one.
Still, no matter which way Peter looked at it, as he sat at his kitchen table the next morning, staring aimlessly at the files spread out on every available surface, he couldn’t seem to figure out why everything had happened. Couldn’t make the connections, couldn’t see the paths.
And he didn’t see Ruiz turning up on his doorstep either.
That wasn’t something he’d been expecting at all.
“Ruiz,” he greeted, throwing the door open and walking back towards the kitchen. The man wasn’t someone Peter wanted to openly invite into his home, but he was clearly there with a reason and Peter wanted the high ground. They’d never got on, but this was beyond them. And apparently even Andre Ruiz could see that.
“Burke,” Ruiz said in greeting as he followed him into the kitchen. He didn’t say anything as he looked around, taking in the spread of files.
“You got a nice place, Petey.”
“There a reason you’re here, Ruiz?” he asked, keeping his tone even. There wasn’t much due reason for the animosity between them. Nothing important for Peter to keep holding a grudge on. No, these days it was more a lacking sense of respect for the other man that kept him cool. Ruiz was a dedicated agent, he cut corners occasionally and he had a mouth on him that needed wiring shut more often than not, but he got results as was required from him. He put the bad guys away, and given the nature of the world he worked in, Peter had to give it to him that every now and again, sometimes your hands couldn’t stay clean. Working with Neal had proved that.
All the same, he didn’t really like Ruiz.
But the man was here, and he was working Neal’s case and Peter forced himself into a semblance of civility.
“We’ve been trying to talk to Volkov. Understand his motives and whatnot for the DA. He, er, well, he ain’t talking.”
“And this is my problem how?”
“See, he says he’ll only talk to you.”
“Hughes took me off the case. I can’t help you.” As much as I’d like to. As much as I’d like to crush the man - as much…
“I talked to Bancroft. He’s good with it. Seems to have some sort of soft spot for your pet con, Burke. Looks like you’re back on the job for the mean time.”
Peter stared at Ruiz, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the room.
“Not that you seem to have got off it - “ he said with that familiar hint of Ruiz-snark that was strangely comforting.
“He still in holding?”
“Refuses to move until he’s had a chat with you,” Ruiz shrugged and Peter reached for his coat.
El was back at the hospital with Mozzie and June, she wouldn’t miss him. Not for a few hours and he was half sure that she expected him to find a way back into the case regardless of what Hughes had said.
He had married a very smart woman, and he’d spent the better part of fifteen years trying to live up to her oh-so-high expectations of him. Be her Knight in Shining Armor as he’d promised her father all those years ago. To cherish her and keep her safe. He’d failed on more than one occasion, and the way she looked at him the night before, just staring at him with all that hurt in her eyes, he couldn’t stand seeing it again. He had to fix it. Finish it.
For Elizabeth and for Neal.
***
In the hours Peter had been suspended, the bureau had moved Neal’s return from a hope into a fact across every page of the appropriate paperwork. The whole nightmare was written up in a case file, and worse still - the hospital had sent over pictures from their first exam.
“Neal Caffrey,” Peter said, laying them out across the table. The interrogation room was brightly lit and the images glared in front of him. His stomach turned over at the sight of each abrasion in full focus. Nikolai Volkov’s expression hadn’t changed since Peter had walked into the room. As he’d watched the man on the other side of the glass for a few moments prior the older man had been wearing an expression of intense disdain, like he was expecting Ruiz to try and break him yet again. When Peter had been the one to walk through the door Volkov had sat up a little straighter in his chair and Peter had seen this spark in his eyes that made Peter’s gut churn. This had been the man’s aim, to have them here, together and the worst thing was, it was exactly what Peter had spent the night thinking about. Sitting across from the man and forcing answers from between those smirking lips. All the same, he felt uneasy.
He pushed a photograph of Neal further across the desk.
“What did you do to him?”
Volkov took a moment to look at the pictures, folding his hands in front of him, the tips of his fingers touching the middle picture, an image of Neal’s lower back, black and blue with a jagged cut running around his side. He said nothing.
“Let me rephrase that, then,” Peter said. “Why did you take him?”
Volkov took his time before he looked up at Peter this time and met his eyes, a content look on his face.
“To help him.”
“To help him?”
Volkov smiled.
“You of all people should know what has happened to him, Agent Burke. You were, after all, the one who chased him the longest. Who caught him in the end? You out of anyone on this planet must be aware of how much has happened to that man. I simply helped him realize what he has become. What has and will happen to him and that it is your fault.”
He sat back, his handcuffs clinking as he moved. Peter stopped himself from slamming the table forward against him. That’s if the damn bolted thing would have moved anyway. But he could tell, by the look in the man’s eyes his insanity hadn’t finished yet. His reasoning hadn’t ended.
“I helped him Agent Burke, so he could teach you a lesson.”
A lesson. A favor and a lesson. Peter forced himself to swallow. He had almost been ready to laugh before. Crow about the man’s delusions, but by the smirk on Volkov’s face, he had known as much. It had all been leading to this. There was took much glee over the man’s expression.
“Teach me a lesson, what lesson? Why me?”
This seemed to be the question Volkov had been waiting for. The man leant forward, his handcuffs clinking on the table again, his expression suddenly fixed and there was a venom in his voice as he spoke this time that made Peter’s skin crawl.
“Because, Peter Burke, I wanted you to know the pain of having someone who once cared for you - and that you cared for - wince at every touch, regret their every moment in your presence. I wanted to show you that burn of shattered trust, to know that the person who once loved you fears you. Hates you, blames you and righteously so. Knows that you are the cause of their pain. I want you to know that, Agent Burke.”
Peter got to his feet. He needed to get out. He needed to get out before he did something he’d regret. His brain was buzzing. I did it for you. I want you to know that. Fears you. Hates you. I did it for you.
But a single thought stopped him at the door, one hand on the handle, the air trapped in his lungs. He asked anyway.
“Why Neal?”
Volkov seemed to smile, like this was something he’d thought about saying for the entirety of his planning and Peter immediately wished he hadn’t asked, even before he had his answer. He knew it couldn’t possibly be a good one.
“Because, Agent Burke, one fierce woman has been broken in this torrid affair, and it would be a shame to break another.”
Peter felt the air leave his lungs in one effective gasp. But Volkov wasn’t finished.
“Do not worry, Agent Burke, your wife is safe. It's Neal Caffrey you should be worried about. I understand... he is not quite himself.”
Peter slammed the door behind him to the sound of Volkov’s echoing voice and his sneering smile calling after him.
“One, two three… check.”
***
When Samantha had finally been signed out that very last time with a donor kidney and the all clear, June had hoped beyond all doubt that the only person in her family she wanted to see in the inside of a hospital room in the next year was herself. There was no reason for anyone else to go near the place and all her midnight prayers went to that very cause, to keep her family safe and healthy.
It was the second time this year that June had found herself loitering in the doorway of Neal’s deserted loft finding herself wondering why on earth those prayers hadn’t gone as far as she’d thought. The boy had become family, and while her children may not have been completely happy with her renting out to a felon, there was no one in the world she could see living in her house except Neal. But once again, they were on the brink of losing him.
June let out a long sigh. Everything was exactly where he’d left it that morning before he’d been taken. The night he and Mozzie had asked her to go out of town for a few days and she hadn’t been able to resist the begging in those patent baby blues. She hadn’t been able to think that there was nothing he couldn’t overcome, that his request of her and Mozzie had been simple caution and nothing more.
How wrong she had been.
The suit jacket he’d been wearing when he’d wearily let himself in was still strung over the back of a chair, there was an empty glass still on the sink, a plate with toast crumbs right next to it. A scatter of files and scene photographs open on the table. There was a corner of his bed folded down like it had been caught as he’d breezed past and a discarded pencil sitting atop a small open sketchbook on his bedside dresser. Everything was exactly where he had left it, and it was like the poor boy haunted the place. It had been the same when his darling Kate had died. When there had been nothing for Peter to do to stop them putting him back away. The difference then had been that Neal had said goodbye. She had known he was leaving and so had the room.
This time, this time the room still expected him to come back. It expected him to finish the bottle of Bordeaux on the counter, expected him to send the jacket out for dry cleaning. Expected him to throw open the glass doors and wander out to stare longingly out at the Manhattan view.
The room expected him to return and so did June.
Taking a deep breath in she pottered over to the small wardrobe near his bed and set about filling a bag of familiar well-worn clothes. The boy was expected back, and she’d be damned if there was any talk otherwise.
***
Peter had left the house early that morning and Elizabeth had found herself following after him almost instinctively. Between Neal’s protection detail and the ongoing investigation, certain allowances had been involved, removing the curfew of normal visiting hours and she knew they had all been exploiting it. Mozzie had taken to lurking in the room as long as he could until June or El forced him out. There was an agent lurking outside during the day and two at night and it was a comfort as El bade her way through the door and into Neal’s private room. Neal was still as he was when she’d left the day before. His hands were still laid out beside him, his fingers limp and curling in just a little. The side of his face wasn’t as bruised as Peter’s was. There was a sharp cut hidden in his hairline and a scatter of smaller ones across the side of his face. He looked wrong against the backdrop of white and paisley green and pallid blue. Clear plastics and sharp clinical smells. Neal was black and blue, dark, sultry, suave. He was vibrant and he was darkness and he was spicy aftershave. His hair was in loose curls, smoothing out the lines in his face, the mask of perfection, of carefully played lies and half-truths. Neal was a performance, an artwork all his own and this place stripped him of it. It left him stripped of human function and it left this warm yearning in her gut as she settled into the chair by his bed. Mozzie hadn’t said a thing when she’d arrived, he’d simply met her at the door and he’d met her gaze as they’d passed and she’d rested her hand on his arm. He needed her almost as much as Neal did, but Neal was tearing at her.
Elizabeth leaned over and carefully brushed her hand through Neal’s hair, through the loose curls. He looked breakable and it was something she was still finding hard to accept. Even last time he hadn’t seemed this… wasted.
This stretched and vulnerable.
It was a thought that stuck with her far longer than she’d like, to the point where she wasn’t entirely ready to accept it for what it was when the Doctor came in and informed her that they were taking Neal off the sedatives and the ventilator.
He had come a long way.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but agreed once she was back in her position, holding his hand and watching the steady rise and fall of his chest an hour later.
He had come a long way.
He’d come a long way down, and there was so far to climb to get back where he was. So far to go when he’d only just got back up from before. It broke her heart a little.
As did the tiny unfocussed flickering of blue when he woke up for a moment and stared through her, his fingers tightening around hers as she stroked his hair and lulled him back to sleep again.
He’d only been awake for a moment, but it had been enough to spark a tiny flame of hope she’d been trying to keep alive for days and days.
And she’d held his hand then, and stroked his hair and murmured soft stories about Peter’s fumbling attentions over the years until he woke up for a second time for a little longer than before but no more coherent, and then she’d let the process began again.
next
After nearly four days of watching her husband tear at himself day in day out, Elizabeth was dreading the moment when he’d call her, or look at her and she’d know that his searching had finally reached it’s end. A part of her was dreading it more than anything, because with every day that passed so too did her own hopes for Neal’s safe return.
Elizabeth was not a foolish woman; she knew the risks in Peter’s line of work. She’d made a point of knowing, of knowing more than Peter consciously wanted her to.
She’d known first hand the anxiety of knowing there was a possibility that their friend wouldn’t be returned to them, it had, after all, happened to Peter and there was nothing in the world that she wouldn’t have done to get him back.
Peter had been wearing himself thin trying to get to Neal, and Mozzie had been a wisp of smoke and still, Neal had been missing for four days.
With children, the first twenty four hours were critical. She didn’t have a clue if that was entirely different with criminal informants for the FBI, especially ones like Neal. Invaluable assets.
Turncoats, so to speak.
But twenty four hours had turned into 48 and before she knew it, 48 had turned into 93 and all of a sudden Jones was standing in the doorway of Burke Premier Events and Elizabeth’s heart was in her throat.
Standing up the facts and figures she’d been perusing to distract her addled brain disappeared in an instant.
“Tell me you found him,” she said. Jones looked pensive and in pain.
“They found him,” he replied. Elizabeth sighed with relief, reaching for her bag.
“Where are they?”
She’d expected Jones to tell her a hospital. She’d had four days for her brain to remedy her to the fact Neal could not have escaped completely unharmed. Not given the way he was taken. What had been worse was that a small part of her had even been readying herself for the news Neal hadn’t made it at all.
For the small mercy she’d received knowing he was alive, it faded under the gravity of the situation all the same.
“Lenox Hill. He’s touch and go.”
“Peter?”
“Peter’s gone,” Jones said, wincing slightly as he held the door open for her, his other plastered arm lightly guarding his ribs. Elizabeth turned to face him.
“Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“I wouldn’t want to be Nikolai Volkov right now,” Jones said wryly as he let the door swing closed.
***
Diana had spent more time in hospitals than she was ever really willing to admit.
Between a mother with cancer dominating her early years and dating a Doctor in her later - there was a lot of hospital lobby loitering in the corners of her memory.
None of it had ever been like this.
This was a million times different and so much worse.
When her mother had been in and out of hospital Diana had been young enough to believe it was normal. It happened all the time, between check ups and chemotherapy and then in those last few weeks when her mother had been admitted - well, it had all been a part of her normal life and she’d been too young to remember the routine and the panic of it running in tandem. She’d been too young to really understand it all.
She understood it now. She understood the restlessness she’d witnessed time and again when she’d come to wait for Christie. She understood the real panic she’d seen in people’s eyes and the demanding results that came from the realization there was nothing anyone could do but wait.
She’d seen it in the old and the young, the families and the friends. She’d been to the hospital because of work before. With Peter, with fellow probies and then fellow agents and then with Peter again. She’d been admitted herself once, but even when Peter had been admitted after being poisoned - it had never been like this. This was panic wrapped up in desperation, tied with a bow of helplessness. This was a damn vigil and it was entirely new to her and actually genuinely frightening.
When her mother had died it had been at home, in her sleep. Diana had been eight. When Charlie had died it had been on the scene, against the wall, with Diana tucked under his arm, his body shielding her as she wrapped her arms around him. His blood had seeped out through his coat and onto her hands and the twinkle in his eye had shone as he’d murmured stupid Charlie-like jokes into her hair as he’d kept watch over her until he couldn’t anymore and then it had been her turn to keep watch over him.
Both times there had been no hope, no waiting, no chance of salvation; the time had come.
This was so damn different and so damn difficult and she’d never felt so useless in her life as she did now. Because Peter had told her to wait. Told her to look after Neal while he went rampant and determined to break Nikolai Volkov into pieces and have the Russian put himself back together while Peter watched. Diana had never seen revenge glinting in her bosses eyes the way it had for just a second while the slam of the ambulance doors still cut through the air and they stood and watched as Neal was rushed to the nearest Emergency room for the second time in six months. Diana had glanced at Peter and as the doors had closed on Neal she’d seen guilt and terror stare back at her and then a flash of anger so startling she’d been clueless to do any more than he’d asked.
As she’d slid into her car and asked herself whether obeying was the right thing to do, she’d argued it out in the time it had taken to drive from warehouse thirteen and out of the dock. Neal had been offered up like a prize, and while they’d only just got him back - there was nothing to suggest that taking him away for good wouldn’t be on the agenda either.
And so she’d went and here she was, trying not to pace up and down the waiting room, trying not to snap Mozzie’s fingers every time the small man sat down and started up his furious tapping or barking at him to sit down when the tapping was too little and he had started pacing.
There was nothing she or anyone could do, and so when Elizabeth stood up and asked the room if anyone else wanted coffee for the third time, Diana had murmured her assent with reasonable decorum and once again glanced at the clock. It had been over an hour since she’d got there herself. Elizabeth and Jones had arrived just after she had and bursting with annoyance at knowing nothing. Mozzie had arrived just after that, and been spouting statistics and horror stories about the health system almost the entire time.
In all that time no one had got any information out of anyone.
But when Diana looked over towards the doorway where the doctor was standing with his clipboard under one arm and information written all over his face she knew the time had come where they were finally going to get something out of someone.
“Neal Caffrey?” the old man asked the room and the four of them perked up, either standing up or sitting in attention. The doctor nodded and walked closer, his face pensive.
“Yes?” Elizabeth asked and it was like she was the voice for everyone because Mozzie’s fell silent and Diana didn’t know if she was really quite the person to be asking about Neal. Not considering the company. Not between Elizabeth Burke who had a heart and a shoulder for just about everyone, and Mozzie, who had a vault full of Neal’s secrets and always kept his back.
“Let me start by just saying he’s stable. He’s incredibly lucky, but he’s stable,” the doctor said and Diana felt the four of them breathe a sigh of relief. The doctor continued.
Diana warily glanced her way. Neither Mozzie nor Elizabeth knew the circumstances of Neal’s rescue. She hadn’t been able to tell them and a part of her didn’t want the doctor to either. But she couldn’t stop them from hearing it.
“We had to take him straight up to surgery, where we repaired his spleen. He has some extensive bruising; several cracked ribs as well as a bad concussion that’s caused some swelling on the brain that we’re monitoring. We’ve got him sedated at the moment, give his body a little time to recuperate, take stock of itself. But we’re keeping a sharp eye on him and we’ll let you know if anything develops further.”
“But he’ll be okay?”
The doctor frowned. “He’s got this far on his own. He’s strong, so I’m cautiously optimistic,” he said solemnly.
“Is there any chance we can see him?” Elizabeth asked, perking up.
The Doctor sighed, like he’d known it was coming. He probably did. Did anyone in this sort of situation ever listen?
“He’s currently in post op but he’ll be moved through to ICU in the next few hours for monitoring, and I can let one in at a time then. But as I said, he’s sedated. I highly suggest you go home and get some rest yourself. It’s going to be a long few days.”
Elizabeth still looked pensive, Mozzie looked depreciative and Jones’ expression was grave. Diana stepped forward.
“Thankyou, Doctor. If I can have a word?”
Diana eyed Jones, who nodded. Mozzie’s gaze narrowed.
“It’s about his protection detail,” Diana said to the little man and Mozzie straightened his shoulders, and for a moment, Diana was sure she was about to be told that there was nothing the US Government could offer Neal that he couldn’t. In that moment, Diana’s ill guided affection for the small man made itself known again. There must have been something in her expression, because Mozzie backed down. He let Elizabeth rest a hand on his shoulder and guide him back to his seat.
Diana heard him say something about talking to June before she led the Doctor just outside into the hallway and out of their range.
“I’m Agent Berrigan, I’ll be in control of Neal Caffrey’s protection detail. I assume you were briefed?”
The Doctor nodded.
“The nurse passed on the information when he arrived. I believe that the ward has been informed of Mr Caffrey’s status already.”
Diana nodded. Good, she’d caused enough fuss when she arrived; she wasn’t really in the mood to do it again. Not now.
“Protocol dictates we have 24 hour visual range on Caffrey.”
“He’ll be moved into a private room in the ICU, Agent Berrigan. I’ll let you know as soon as everything is settled and have you taken down. Until then, I suggest you go back inside.”
“Thankyou, Doctor Regent. I’ll need names of any attending nurses as well. For security reasons. Anyone with access.”
“I’ll have the names brought down to you. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Diana let the man go, but she watched him all the way down the corridor. It was basic protocol. The hospital probably knew it already, but there was something in the genuine concern for a friend that had her genuinely anxious and desperate to know everything she could. It was a strange feeling. Considering everything that had happened over the last four years. Considering everything about to happen in the next few months. The end of parole. The end of Neal’s work with them - or perhaps the real beginning of working against him. Nothing had been decided, and that had been obvious in Neal’s expressions almost every day anyway.
But out of everything anyone had contemplated about what was going to happen when the tracker was officially removed… well, no one had ever thought that maybe Neal wouldn’t even reach that point.
No one had ever thought that maybe, working for the bureau would get him killed.
Except maybe Mozzie, and there was a line between Mozzie being right and proving Mozzie right.
Conspiracy never looked good on anyone.
Diana took a deep breath and glanced back after the doctor, before she sighed and walked back into the waiting room.
***
Peter stared through the glass at Volkov. The man was wearing a smug smile on his face, his shoulders relaxed; he was completely at ease. A self-satisfied sort of calm, one that rarely came to a man in federal custody, especially one looking at being charged with art theft, forgery, attempted murder, kidnapping and assault as a starter sheet. Nicholai Volkov was a man who had known he was going to get caught and completely satisfied with the results he attained before he did.
Peter swallowed, hoping to swallow down his own anger but not quite managing it. It still twitched his fingers, itching to slam his hands on the table and demand to know what they did to Neal. Why they’d taken him. He was fighting his internal battle when he heard the door open and the careful paced steps of a man with authority.
“Peter,” hearing his bosses voice was enough to make Peter turn. Reese was staring at him with a dark sense of clout. Peter turned back to Volkov.
“He hasn’t moved since Ruiz left.”
“You haven’t been in yet?”
“No. I wanted to really see who he was first.”
Peter didn’t actually know how long he’d been staring at Nikolai Volkov. He didn’t know, and apart of him didn’t care. Time didn’t really matter anymore.
Figuring this out did.
Hughes was quiet a moment.
“I don’t want you in there, Peter.” Peter turned to look at the old man again; Hughes didn’t turn away.
“He'll only speak to me.”
“Which is exactly my problem. His damn intention is to gloat. We don't give in to the whims of fugitives.”
“He's a walk in, Reese, how can we hold him? Everything we have is circumstantial.”
“We have Caffrey, that's enough to keep him. That’s more than circumstantial, Peter. Kidnapping to start and assault as a follow up. As soon as Caffrey wakes up then we'll have his testimony and Volkov will go down with bricks tied to his ankles. We don't need to play his game. We played it once and we got Caffrey back. We won’t play again.”
“How long is it going to be before Neal wakes up, though? And he might not even remember anything. They hit him hard, Reese, we can't rely on him to make our case.”
And that was if Neal survived at all.
Peter swallowed.
“He confessed to holding Caffrey, we found him where Volkov instructed, Peter. The case is fine; it's you I'm damn well worried about. The man will gloat; that's why he only wants to talk to you. He’s laid the groundwork by telling you were you could find the boy, and now he wants to gloat about what he's done to an audience who will give him the greatest satisfaction. Leave the interrogation to Ruiz.”
“You want to give this to Ruiz?”
“He's head of Organised Crime, Peter, and Nikolai Volkov falls into Organised Crime's jurisdiction.”
“I handed that file over six years ago.”
“And it was passed over, Peter. Leave it. I'm not letting you in that interrogation, and that’s final.”
“You can’t keep me off this.”
“I can and I will, Agent Burke.” Hughes breathed in deep and seemed to relax his stance. Peter looked away, back at the man in on the other side of the glass. Everything Reese had said was right - but it didn’t stop the thrumming desire running through him to punish Nikolai Volkov any way he could.
“Reese - “ Peter murmured, looking back at the older man. Hughes frowned again. But this time it was softer, edging with the compassion of a man hardened under the grindstone and put in charge of the people who had been his brethren. Reese Hughes understood. He was a friend.
“Don’t make me put you on leave, Peter. I will, and I’ll damn well put you through a psych eval as well if you push it any further. You should be damn well suspended and going through one right now if I was going by any sort of protocol.”
It was Peter’s turn to sigh, breathing out through his nose and trying to let the tension seep out of him. It didn’t work very well.
When Reese spoke again there was an edge of compassion in his voice and Peter let it sink through him.
“We have what we need, Peter. Now go back to Lenox Hill and see your damn partner.”
***
Mozzie was sure he was dreaming.
It was the only way he could rationalize this nightmare.
Beside him the heart monitor let out a short static run of loud beeping over the sound of the constant steady blip, but Neal didn’t stir and no one came in to check. It was just the two of them, and it was like being stuck in this giant sucking black hole of Government Suits and entrapment and Neal wasn’t getting out of it.
Nearly eight years ago Neal had disappeared into the clutches of the prison system, only to work his way from that prison into a four year work sentence with the bureau - that a year before his parole ended could have killed him. Now, six months later and four months shy of his freedom, they were back. Back to the same square, where his friend’s life was measured out in a steady blipping machine and the electronic rise and fall of the respirator, as air was forced into Neal’s intubated system.
Mozzie wasn’t very good at hospitals. He was good at waiting, but that patience all but disappeared out the door the moment he stepped foot inside. Hospitals made him uneasy, but there was no chance he could leave Neal behind. Not on his own. He was having a hard time entertaining the idea of letting the damn kid out of his sight. It was something that made Mozzie want to laugh, but he knew the sound would be bitter and he didn’t want Neal hearing that condescension. He didn’t need it. Not that he needed Mozzie hovering either, but they had to work with what they had.
Hope was, after all one of man’s great evils, as it prolonged the torments of man. Or So Nietzsche as said. Mozzie had never paid it much mind; he’d never had to rely on hope alone. Now, now he understood it worse than ever. They had got Neal back, but there was still the chance they could lose him again, and Mozzie was shy to even step outside the damn room now he’d entered it for the fear that his friend would disappear as if he’d never been found at all. Or worse still, he’d leave and Neal would find the chance to die on him just when they thought he was safe.
Mozzie glanced across the room at the large windows overseeing the room. The blinds were half open and he could see the shadow of Diana and Elizabeth outside. The Suits had told him Neal was going to be under 24hour supervision until they had this whole thing sorted, which even if Neal was awake, he knew his friend wouldn’t be happy about. He’d cock his head and look disgruntled and voice a useless rhetorical question like ‘Really?’ or ‘are you sure this is necessary?’
Mozzie felt a pang of concern spike somewhere in his chest and he dragged his chair a little closer to the bed. He wasn’t going to hold Neal’s hand. He wasn’t that desperate for comfort yet. But he was going to stand watch (or sit and watch) for as long as was physically possible. Because as much as he trusted the Suits to keep their word and keep watch, they hadn’t done a very good job of keeping Neal safe so far.
And while Mozzie hadn’t really done a very good job himself, either; he sure as hell wasn’t going to let anything escape his notice now.
He’d been wearing glasses since he was found on the doorstep of a group home in 1969, but half blind or not, there was no room for being shortsighted now. Not when Neal needed them the most.
***
Peter did as he was told; he went back to Lenox Hill.
But he didn’t go back right away, and it didn’t force him to stay.
One look at Neal in ICU, Mozzie sitting in the chair to Neal’s immediate right, the fingers on his left hand tapping in continuous rhythm that seemed to echo through Peter’s skull even from outside the room was enough to enough to tell him he wasn’t needed.
There was a mess of coffee cups on the little side table in various sizes and different companies that was enough to tell Peter Mozzie wasn’t the only one at the hospital.
“Agent Burke, I’m guessing?” Peter tensed as he turned towards the middle aged man tucking his ledger under one arm.
“Yes.”
“Your wife warned me you’d be here eventually. She’s waiting down the hall, in the visitor’s lounge. I don’t believe she’s alone either.”
“Thank you,” Peter eyed the man’s identification badge.
“Steven Regent,” the man said with a smile, saving Peter the trouble.
“How is he?” Peter asked, glancing back through the glass at Neal.
Doctor Regent sighed.
“He’s lucky, I have to tell you that, Agent Burke. He’s heavily sedated at the moment, which we’re going to maintain for a few days, give him some time to heal. But given the circumstances, he’s doing well.”
Peter nodded, trying to think of something to say. The doctor seemed to understand and sighed.
“You have friends down the hall, Agent Burke. I’m afraid we’re only allowing one visitor at a time, so you’ll have to wait until your friend is finished keeping watch before you see him yourself. I suggest joining the party and getting some coffee. If you’re intending to stay it’s going to be a long night.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Peter finally managed and the man offered him a smile.
Peter continued to stare at Neal and Mozzie through the glass. Mozzie had tensed and looked up during Peter’s conversation with the doctor and the moment Peter met Mozzie’s gaze, he lost every intention he had of finding his wife and holding her close.
As much as he needed that consolation, right at that second, he needed to fix this.
He needed to know that Nikolai Volkov was going away.
He needed to know what they’d done to Neal.
***
In all the years that Mozzie had known Neal, the kid had been admitted four times. Once, when he’d broken his left wrist in Chicago, once after he’d pissed off Wilkes the first time and escaped with a minor stab wound. That had felt like an oxymoron; minor stab wound. He’d given Neal hell for that, and he’d deserved every moment of it. The third time was Peter Burke’s fault, the Thompson case had gone to hell and Neal wound up in the middle of it with emergency surgery and nearly three weeks off work that turned into minor house arrest.
And now this.
This was the second time Mozzie had to endure late nights under glaring hospital lighting and this painful pounding in his chest every time he looked at his prone friend. During the Thompson case Mozzie had come to realize how Neal had felt after he’d been shot. His friend’s dedicated mission and almost-betrayals to keep him out of harm’s way had made a lot of sense afterwards. Now, now it had happened again and everything Mozzie had been doing to keep him safe in the last six months had seemingly been for nothing, because here they were again. This time it was even worse.
Mozzie looked on from the hallway as the nurses prepped him. They were taking him down for an MRI, finally comfortable with how stable Neal’s vitals were and ready to check the extent of the damage the accident had really made. A part of Mozzie was angry they had taken this long for them to get to it. But he knew there was a process, and he understood they were working as hard as they could to save him. But he was anxious to know as much as he could, anxious that there was nothing he could do himself. He couldn’t even be out figuring why everything had happened, because for the first time he really was more comfortable with the Suit dealing with it. They had their mastermind, apparently. He was singing like a canary and Lady Suit was like a juggernaut in heeled boots and he knew they’d figure it all out. Mozzie had to stick around for Neal. There was a Baby Suit keeping watch a few seats down. There had been one there at all hours and Mozzie was thankful for Peter’s vigilance but it felt wrong now. The damage had already been done. Still, it was nice to have them there. If anything did go wrong there was at least one extra line of defense.
“How is he?” June’s voice was quiet as she came to a stop next to him and they watched as the nurses unhooked Neal’s IV drip and unlocked the wheels on his bed.
“They’re taking him up now,” Mozzie said. June had flown back as soon as he’d told her they’d found him and it was strangely calming to have her there. Like an extra soldier from the other side. There were too many Suits around; even Elizabeth was one of them, no matter how much Mozzie and Neal liked her. She was Peter’s wife, and her loyalty was always to him and with him, the law.
June on the other hand, was all theirs.
“He’ll be okay,” June said softly, her voice ringing with the conviction Mozzie needed. Because despite it all, despite the doctors calm assurances and his faith in his friend, he needed someone else to believe it too. Someone he could believe and hang on to. Someone who would tell him it was okay and who he could believe. Because without Neal… well, there was nothing Mozzie could imagine without Neal.
***
Peter was still awake when Elizabeth let herself inside near midnight.
Their house was silent and it was only when she set down her keys and looked up to find Peter leaning over their kitchen table, his files spilled out around the table and chairs that she realized he wasn’t at the office like she’d thought. Like she’d assumed when he hadn’t shown up at the hospital, and that had confused her.
A part of her had thought that Peter would be very much like Mozzie, and unable to tear himself away from keeping an eye on Neal. Trying to make sure he wouldn’t disappear again, even though there was nothing that Neal could do, pumped full of drugs and sleeping like the dead. He had been like that last time, wandering the hospital corridors with his hands on his hips and this faraway look in his eyes underlined by a crease in his brows. It had been bad last time, but it had been simpler somehow. Neal had been shot and then had been through surgery and they waited out his anesthetics and then it was a week of scheduled visits to stop him going mad or breaking himself out. This was worse. There were levels and there were complications both in apprehending those who had hurt him, and in healing. Neal had outdone himself this time and watching him had made her anxious, but she had been unable to leave. She’d needed to be there, as much for Mozzie as for Neal. And her husband. Only Peter hadn’t shown up this time. When 11pm had clicked over on her watch and Mozzie had emerged from Neal’s room after hours of attempted convincing, she had finally come to the conclusion Peter wasn’t going to show up.
Now she knew why.
Instead of bedside vigil, Peter was in a whole other gear. He was in vigilante mode instead; airtight, unbreakable-case mode. He was out for revenge the only way Peter knew how: proving a wrongdoing had been made and making them pay under the full weight of the law he upheld.
“Peter?” she called, pulling off her coat and setting it down on the couch as she walked over. Peter stood up straight and looked at her.
“You didn’t come to the hospital?” she asked, tentative. She wasn’t sure on his mood yet. She couldn’t tell how to approach this, not yet. First she had to test the water, and the best way to do that, was straight to the source of it.
Neal.
“I came by about three. He was sleeping. We’re missing something, El. We’re missing something huge.”
“How long have you been working, Hon?”
“Since I got back. Hughes wont let me talk to Volkov. He’s taken me off this.”
Elizabeth sighed and took another step closer.
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” she ventured. Peter turned back down to his files. Looking frustrated.
“I need to know, El. I need to know why.”
“Who did Hughes give it to?”
“Ruiz, Volkov’s operation is Organized Crime’s jurisdiction. There’s nothing I can do there.” Peter looked frustrated and annoyed and desperate and that’s when she saw her point of weakness. Her poor, poor man.
“Then maybe let Ruiz do his job,” she said softly.
“I can’t do that, El. I need to figure this out.”
She stepped closer.
“You need to get some sleep, is what I think.”
Peter sighed and turned to look at her. His eyes heavy and his mouth sloping down in a solemn frown. He was wilting.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see you at the hospital.”
“Why didn’t you stay?”
She knew the answer. Peter’s shoulders slumped. He looked forlorn, now. Scared. Angry.
A million different emotions clambering for space over her husband’s tired and still bruised face.
“He would only tell me where Neal was. Ruiz had him for three hours and he’d only tell me.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing Ruiz is taking it from here. Honey, Neal needs you.”
“He needs this guy put to justice. He needs to wake up, El. He doesn’t need me standing around being useless in that place when I can help out here.”
“He doesn’t need you running yourself any more into the ground. You found him, Peter. That’s enough for now. Let Organized Crime take care of it from now. Please?”
It was the please that did it, of that she was sure. It was a word she barely used on her husband. They were independent enough not to ask permission, stable enough not to need desperation. This was a time of neither. Tonight she needed words like please, because as Elizabeth took those final steps across the room to wrap her arms around her husband and hold him to her tightly, she needed to feel his arms around her just as much as she needed to hold him.
In all their years of marriage, Neal Caffrey had - for reasons she still didn’t understand in the slightest - always been the greatest of their trials.
But she could not hold it against him, and strangely enough, for all his trials and tribulations he was also one of the best things to happen as well.
And now, he needed them.
***
Neal was by no means an easy man to beat. He had a mind like a super-computer and a body built to obey his every whim. He’d built himself up over the years and he loved nothing if not a challenge.
It seemed to fit so perfectly that the weakness to the man had always been his heart. Kate had been wrapped in that boy’s breast for more than a decade. The fact she was dead held nothing on that fact. Kate had been his weakness from the start, from the moment he laid eyes on her.
It still perplexed Mozzie somewhat, how attached Neal was to Peter. He liked the Suit; if in some wild universe Peter had been on their side he’d have loved the guy. But the world was as it was, and Neal had always had this strange weakness for the man who had chased him, caught him and spent the last three and a half years trying to tame him.
And it seemed to have worked somewhat. Neal had, after all, decided to stay his term out, and that weakness in his wild and whimsical desires to own anything he fancied was enough to prove it.
Neal had embraced the Suit into a part of him that there was no escape. It had taken longer than it had for Kate, and for June. Mozzie knew the old woman was one reason keeping his friend tethered to New York, and that one Mozzie understood. He’d never had anyone he counted as family bar Neal and Mr Jeffries. No one he’d come across in his own adventures he’d like to keep until the end, except June.
And possibly Mrs Suit.
Okay, so he understood Neal’s attachment a little bit.
But he didn’t approve of it all in the slightest.
Because if Neal wasn’t so damn attached then they wouldn’t be here.
He wouldn’t be waiting it out until the nurses let him back into Neal’s private room so Mozzie could hover a little more and sate the anxiety tying his stomach in knots.
If Neal hadn’t been so attached to the Suit he wouldn’t have been so conflicted in the last week and then, just maybe, he’d have been better equipped to breaking himself out.
Or maybe they’d have been on an island beach they owned already, sipping mojito’s and playing Hypothetical Heist. (Or not-so Hypothetical Heist.)
Mozzie shook himself and glanced at the clock on the wall.
He knew he was being stupid and selfish, but he didn’t care. He just wanted his friend back.
It was late. Far too late.
He should go, but he didn’t really want to.
He glanced at the clock again.
It had been an hour since Elizabeth had left, since he’d been coaxed out of Neal’s rooms and told to go home. Since he’d said he would. He’d fully intended to lurk and sneak back in, but given the state of things, he should probably go home. There had been two Suits on Neal’s door anyway. Diana had made sure of it before she’d left. Mozzie had tried not to feel grateful for the extra security at the time, but now it was going to be a menace. Elizabeth Burke had the whole bureau under her thumb and had no likely informed the two of them to keep Mozzie out.
Neal would find that funny.
A small smile perked Mozzie’s lips for the briefest second and in the moment following he made up his mind, pushing himself wearily to his feet.
If he caught a taxi then September was only fifteen minutes South East…
And that way, he’d be close enough to get to the hospital early enough to set up camp in that horrible chair again before anyone else.
Decision made, Mozzie headed towards the elevators.
***
Hughes hadn’t said it the day before, not directly, but Peter knew through implication alone that the man wasn’t expecting him in the office.
He wasn’t supposed to be there anyway. They’d called it significant circumstances that had allowed Peter back into the field to find Neal in the first place. To go back properly he knew he was going to need to be signed off by the resident doctor, and that was if he was lucky. He knew he was half a step away from being required to go through a series of long draining therapy sessions and psych evaluations before he was allowed back properly and that was something he was desperate to avoid. Even the one he was required to go through before he was cleared was going to be hell in high water and he wasn’t looking for anything that could prolong the torture of being able to do nothing.
Jones was going to have to go through hoop after hoop like a show dog before he was let back into the office, let alone the field. Hell, just the fact the man was walking around seemed like a miracle to Peter. It was nothing short of one.
Still, no matter which way Peter looked at it, as he sat at his kitchen table the next morning, staring aimlessly at the files spread out on every available surface, he couldn’t seem to figure out why everything had happened. Couldn’t make the connections, couldn’t see the paths.
And he didn’t see Ruiz turning up on his doorstep either.
That wasn’t something he’d been expecting at all.
“Ruiz,” he greeted, throwing the door open and walking back towards the kitchen. The man wasn’t someone Peter wanted to openly invite into his home, but he was clearly there with a reason and Peter wanted the high ground. They’d never got on, but this was beyond them. And apparently even Andre Ruiz could see that.
“Burke,” Ruiz said in greeting as he followed him into the kitchen. He didn’t say anything as he looked around, taking in the spread of files.
“You got a nice place, Petey.”
“There a reason you’re here, Ruiz?” he asked, keeping his tone even. There wasn’t much due reason for the animosity between them. Nothing important for Peter to keep holding a grudge on. No, these days it was more a lacking sense of respect for the other man that kept him cool. Ruiz was a dedicated agent, he cut corners occasionally and he had a mouth on him that needed wiring shut more often than not, but he got results as was required from him. He put the bad guys away, and given the nature of the world he worked in, Peter had to give it to him that every now and again, sometimes your hands couldn’t stay clean. Working with Neal had proved that.
All the same, he didn’t really like Ruiz.
But the man was here, and he was working Neal’s case and Peter forced himself into a semblance of civility.
“We’ve been trying to talk to Volkov. Understand his motives and whatnot for the DA. He, er, well, he ain’t talking.”
“And this is my problem how?”
“See, he says he’ll only talk to you.”
“Hughes took me off the case. I can’t help you.” As much as I’d like to. As much as I’d like to crush the man - as much…
“I talked to Bancroft. He’s good with it. Seems to have some sort of soft spot for your pet con, Burke. Looks like you’re back on the job for the mean time.”
Peter stared at Ruiz, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the room.
“Not that you seem to have got off it - “ he said with that familiar hint of Ruiz-snark that was strangely comforting.
“He still in holding?”
“Refuses to move until he’s had a chat with you,” Ruiz shrugged and Peter reached for his coat.
El was back at the hospital with Mozzie and June, she wouldn’t miss him. Not for a few hours and he was half sure that she expected him to find a way back into the case regardless of what Hughes had said.
He had married a very smart woman, and he’d spent the better part of fifteen years trying to live up to her oh-so-high expectations of him. Be her Knight in Shining Armor as he’d promised her father all those years ago. To cherish her and keep her safe. He’d failed on more than one occasion, and the way she looked at him the night before, just staring at him with all that hurt in her eyes, he couldn’t stand seeing it again. He had to fix it. Finish it.
For Elizabeth and for Neal.
***
In the hours Peter had been suspended, the bureau had moved Neal’s return from a hope into a fact across every page of the appropriate paperwork. The whole nightmare was written up in a case file, and worse still - the hospital had sent over pictures from their first exam.
“Neal Caffrey,” Peter said, laying them out across the table. The interrogation room was brightly lit and the images glared in front of him. His stomach turned over at the sight of each abrasion in full focus. Nikolai Volkov’s expression hadn’t changed since Peter had walked into the room. As he’d watched the man on the other side of the glass for a few moments prior the older man had been wearing an expression of intense disdain, like he was expecting Ruiz to try and break him yet again. When Peter had been the one to walk through the door Volkov had sat up a little straighter in his chair and Peter had seen this spark in his eyes that made Peter’s gut churn. This had been the man’s aim, to have them here, together and the worst thing was, it was exactly what Peter had spent the night thinking about. Sitting across from the man and forcing answers from between those smirking lips. All the same, he felt uneasy.
He pushed a photograph of Neal further across the desk.
“What did you do to him?”
Volkov took a moment to look at the pictures, folding his hands in front of him, the tips of his fingers touching the middle picture, an image of Neal’s lower back, black and blue with a jagged cut running around his side. He said nothing.
“Let me rephrase that, then,” Peter said. “Why did you take him?”
Volkov took his time before he looked up at Peter this time and met his eyes, a content look on his face.
“To help him.”
“To help him?”
Volkov smiled.
“You of all people should know what has happened to him, Agent Burke. You were, after all, the one who chased him the longest. Who caught him in the end? You out of anyone on this planet must be aware of how much has happened to that man. I simply helped him realize what he has become. What has and will happen to him and that it is your fault.”
He sat back, his handcuffs clinking as he moved. Peter stopped himself from slamming the table forward against him. That’s if the damn bolted thing would have moved anyway. But he could tell, by the look in the man’s eyes his insanity hadn’t finished yet. His reasoning hadn’t ended.
“I helped him Agent Burke, so he could teach you a lesson.”
A lesson. A favor and a lesson. Peter forced himself to swallow. He had almost been ready to laugh before. Crow about the man’s delusions, but by the smirk on Volkov’s face, he had known as much. It had all been leading to this. There was took much glee over the man’s expression.
“Teach me a lesson, what lesson? Why me?”
This seemed to be the question Volkov had been waiting for. The man leant forward, his handcuffs clinking on the table again, his expression suddenly fixed and there was a venom in his voice as he spoke this time that made Peter’s skin crawl.
“Because, Peter Burke, I wanted you to know the pain of having someone who once cared for you - and that you cared for - wince at every touch, regret their every moment in your presence. I wanted to show you that burn of shattered trust, to know that the person who once loved you fears you. Hates you, blames you and righteously so. Knows that you are the cause of their pain. I want you to know that, Agent Burke.”
Peter got to his feet. He needed to get out. He needed to get out before he did something he’d regret. His brain was buzzing. I did it for you. I want you to know that. Fears you. Hates you. I did it for you.
But a single thought stopped him at the door, one hand on the handle, the air trapped in his lungs. He asked anyway.
“Why Neal?”
Volkov seemed to smile, like this was something he’d thought about saying for the entirety of his planning and Peter immediately wished he hadn’t asked, even before he had his answer. He knew it couldn’t possibly be a good one.
“Because, Agent Burke, one fierce woman has been broken in this torrid affair, and it would be a shame to break another.”
Peter felt the air leave his lungs in one effective gasp. But Volkov wasn’t finished.
“Do not worry, Agent Burke, your wife is safe. It's Neal Caffrey you should be worried about. I understand... he is not quite himself.”
Peter slammed the door behind him to the sound of Volkov’s echoing voice and his sneering smile calling after him.
“One, two three… check.”
***
When Samantha had finally been signed out that very last time with a donor kidney and the all clear, June had hoped beyond all doubt that the only person in her family she wanted to see in the inside of a hospital room in the next year was herself. There was no reason for anyone else to go near the place and all her midnight prayers went to that very cause, to keep her family safe and healthy.
It was the second time this year that June had found herself loitering in the doorway of Neal’s deserted loft finding herself wondering why on earth those prayers hadn’t gone as far as she’d thought. The boy had become family, and while her children may not have been completely happy with her renting out to a felon, there was no one in the world she could see living in her house except Neal. But once again, they were on the brink of losing him.
June let out a long sigh. Everything was exactly where he’d left it that morning before he’d been taken. The night he and Mozzie had asked her to go out of town for a few days and she hadn’t been able to resist the begging in those patent baby blues. She hadn’t been able to think that there was nothing he couldn’t overcome, that his request of her and Mozzie had been simple caution and nothing more.
How wrong she had been.
The suit jacket he’d been wearing when he’d wearily let himself in was still strung over the back of a chair, there was an empty glass still on the sink, a plate with toast crumbs right next to it. A scatter of files and scene photographs open on the table. There was a corner of his bed folded down like it had been caught as he’d breezed past and a discarded pencil sitting atop a small open sketchbook on his bedside dresser. Everything was exactly where he had left it, and it was like the poor boy haunted the place. It had been the same when his darling Kate had died. When there had been nothing for Peter to do to stop them putting him back away. The difference then had been that Neal had said goodbye. She had known he was leaving and so had the room.
This time, this time the room still expected him to come back. It expected him to finish the bottle of Bordeaux on the counter, expected him to send the jacket out for dry cleaning. Expected him to throw open the glass doors and wander out to stare longingly out at the Manhattan view.
The room expected him to return and so did June.
Taking a deep breath in she pottered over to the small wardrobe near his bed and set about filling a bag of familiar well-worn clothes. The boy was expected back, and she’d be damned if there was any talk otherwise.
***
Peter had left the house early that morning and Elizabeth had found herself following after him almost instinctively. Between Neal’s protection detail and the ongoing investigation, certain allowances had been involved, removing the curfew of normal visiting hours and she knew they had all been exploiting it. Mozzie had taken to lurking in the room as long as he could until June or El forced him out. There was an agent lurking outside during the day and two at night and it was a comfort as El bade her way through the door and into Neal’s private room. Neal was still as he was when she’d left the day before. His hands were still laid out beside him, his fingers limp and curling in just a little. The side of his face wasn’t as bruised as Peter’s was. There was a sharp cut hidden in his hairline and a scatter of smaller ones across the side of his face. He looked wrong against the backdrop of white and paisley green and pallid blue. Clear plastics and sharp clinical smells. Neal was black and blue, dark, sultry, suave. He was vibrant and he was darkness and he was spicy aftershave. His hair was in loose curls, smoothing out the lines in his face, the mask of perfection, of carefully played lies and half-truths. Neal was a performance, an artwork all his own and this place stripped him of it. It left him stripped of human function and it left this warm yearning in her gut as she settled into the chair by his bed. Mozzie hadn’t said a thing when she’d arrived, he’d simply met her at the door and he’d met her gaze as they’d passed and she’d rested her hand on his arm. He needed her almost as much as Neal did, but Neal was tearing at her.
Elizabeth leaned over and carefully brushed her hand through Neal’s hair, through the loose curls. He looked breakable and it was something she was still finding hard to accept. Even last time he hadn’t seemed this… wasted.
This stretched and vulnerable.
It was a thought that stuck with her far longer than she’d like, to the point where she wasn’t entirely ready to accept it for what it was when the Doctor came in and informed her that they were taking Neal off the sedatives and the ventilator.
He had come a long way.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but agreed once she was back in her position, holding his hand and watching the steady rise and fall of his chest an hour later.
He had come a long way.
He’d come a long way down, and there was so far to climb to get back where he was. So far to go when he’d only just got back up from before. It broke her heart a little.
As did the tiny unfocussed flickering of blue when he woke up for a moment and stared through her, his fingers tightening around hers as she stroked his hair and lulled him back to sleep again.
He’d only been awake for a moment, but it had been enough to spark a tiny flame of hope she’d been trying to keep alive for days and days.
And she’d held his hand then, and stroked his hair and murmured soft stories about Peter’s fumbling attentions over the years until he woke up for a second time for a little longer than before but no more coherent, and then she’d let the process began again.
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