White Collar - "Desperate Deed" (3/6)
Title: Desperate Deed
Chapter: 3 of 6
Author: TeeJay
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Full header in chapter 1
Chapter 3
- Bullet Holes -
Previously on "Desperate Deed"...
Neal watched the scene unraveling in front of him as if it was a badly written movie. Benson was dragging him away and no one was doing anything. The elbow of Benson's arm holding the gun was digging into his ribcage, and nobody was stopping them.
Neal looked at Peter, shocked and helpless, and in his mind's eye saw Elizabeth shrinking away from him, her bruised face, the bullet hitting her, her falling to the floor. 'No!' his mind kept screaming. 'No, you can't let this happen!'
He struggled in Benson's grasp, but the guy was holding him too tight. It was an act of desperation, a completely unbridled impulse, and he couldn't even tell how his brain would let him go through with it, but he did the only thing he could think of. He took a hold of Benson's hand and moved it to his own belly, angling it upward. Benson was so focused on the FBI agents, he didn't realize what Neal was doing until...
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It was too late when Peter realized what Neal was doing, when his brain had caught up with what he was seeing. As if in slow motion, he watched Neal's hand taking Benson's, aiming the gun's barrel at his own abdomen. The look on Neal's face was determined, almost smug, which struck Peter as ironically absurd.
Before he could shout at Neal to stop, Neal's voice carried to his ears. "Peter, go save Elizabeth!"
The shot that rang out as Neal pulled the trigger was like a soft pop, and Peter could only helplessly watch at the bullet tore through Neal's flesh into Benson, could only stand and scream, "No!" as both went down.
After a moment of shock, Peter perceived the hectic movement around him, agents running towards Neal and Benson. Something in his mind stopped him, and after a second he realized it was Neal's last words. 'Go save Elizabeth!'
No! Something had happened, something bad! Sparing a last glance at where Neal and Benson had fallen, he sprinted towards the building, heading inside. He looked around the room frantically, not seeing Elizabeth.
He called out her name, panic barely contained in his voice. "El? El?!"
He heard a faint noise from the adjacent storage room. Elizabeth was stirring on the floor, an ugly, crimson stain marring the side of her blouse.
"No," Peter let out in a hollow whisper. "El."
He fell to his knees by her side, cupping her face in his hands. Her eyes fluttered open, confusion written all over them-then pain.
"Ow. Peter, he- He shot me," she croaked.
"Here, let me see."
He shoved her clothes upwards, exposing the naked skin of her torso. The bullet had ripped through part of her bra; it had entered through her ribcage just below her breast, barely an inch from her side. It was bleeding, but not heavily so. She moaned in pain and Peter was too afraid to check any further. She needed medical attention-and something to stop the bleeding.
She sucked in a sharp breath. "Damn, it hurts. How bad is it?"
"I think you got lucky."
He looked around for something akin to a towel, a piece of cloth, anything. There was a roll of paper towels standing on one of the desks, and for lack of anything better, he ripped off a few, making them into a wad. "This is gonna hurt," he said and pressed it onto the wound.
She let out a yelp, but Peter still kept the pressure on the wound. He took her hand, guiding it to the paper towels. "Keep pressing on it. I'll go get the paramedics."
"Neal," she suddenly let out. "Is Neal okay?"
Peter's face was a stony mask. For all he knew, Neal could be dead. "He- I don't know," he said. "Honey, I'll be right back with you, okay?"
He quickly ran to the front door, calling, "I need a paramedic in here!" One of the agents acknowledged and Peter went back inside.
Elizabeth had struggled upwards into a half lying, half sitting position against one of the file cabinets, her face still contorted in pain. Peter ripped off new paper towels, kneeling back down next to her, pressing the towels on her wound. "Just hang in there, paramedics are on the way."
Her brow creased just a little more. "It... hurts like hell," she said through clenched teeth. "Peter, what happened out there? What about Neal?"
He didn't want to go into it, didn't want to tell her. His voice choked in his throat, finally coming out flat. "He... he was shot. I don't know if he- He went down, I... He told me to save you, so I came to find you, and I-"
Despite her own pain, her eyes clouded over with shock and concern. Two EMTs rushed in at that moment and gently pushed Peter out of the way. He could only watch helplessly as they tended to his wife.
She sucked in another breath as they examined the bullet wound, and Peter clenched his fists. Her blue eyes were suddenly intent on his. "Peter, go and check on Neal."
"No, I'm staying right here."
"Please," she pleaded. "I- Ow!" she let out as one of the EMTs inspected the exit wound. "Neal. I need to know if he's okay."
Peter looked at one of the EMTs who gave him a nod. "We've got this, sir."
"Go," Elizabeth urged again, and Peter relented.
Outside, it was mayhem. FBI agents and SWAT were swarming the scene, ambulance and police car lights were flashing, painting red and blue reflections on the walls. Peter's eyes darted around, trying to find Neal. Paramedics were working on Benson where he had fallen, but Neal was not there anymore.
A gurney was being wheeled towards one of the rigs, and Peter jogged in that direction. Neal's eyes were closed, an IV was hooked up to his arm. His shirt was blood soaked where the bullet had entered and he looked incredibly fragile.
"Neal," Peter let out in a terrified whisper. He turned to one of the paramedics. "Is he going to make it?"
"His vitals are stable for now. We're not sure about the extent of the internal damage. He'll probably need surgery."
"Where are you taking him?"
"NYM. You wanna ride with us?"
"No, my wife is..." he pointed towards the doors to her office. "I'm gonna stay with her."
"All right," he acknowledged. "Look, sir, we need to go."
Peter nodded and watched as they loaded Neal into the ambulance, closing the doors behind them. 'My God,' he thought, 'Neal, what have you done?'
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Peter rode with Elizabeth to the hospital, holding her hand the entire time, flinching along with her with every bump in the road they hit. The IV they had hooked up to her was dangling above her head, but the morphine they had administered seemed to make it a little easier.
At New York Methodist, he reluctantly left her side as her gurney was wheeled into an exam room. At the front desk, he tried to get information about Neal, but the admitting nurse couldn't tell him anything other than that he'd been brought up to surgery.
Peter wanted to yell, scream, tear something apart, but he just barely kept it together and paced the waiting room. He needed to be close to El, and if Neal was in surgery, there wasn't anything he could do anyway.
It took over an hour before they let him see her. They had to perform minor surgery to stop the bleeding. The bullet had gone straight through, but luckily it hadn't damaged any lung tissue. The rib it had damaged would take a while to heal, and Elizabeth would have to be admitted for at least a day.
Peter never left her side, and when she came to, he squeezed her hand and spoke soft reassurances that he didn't think registered with her through the anesthetic- and painkiller-induced haze. The bruises on her face still disconcerted him, but he had been assured they looked worse than they were.
When Elizabeth dozed off again, he tried to find a nurse who could tell him about Neal. While she tried to be sympathetic, she couldn't help him, save for the advice to go to the general surgery waiting room since that was where people would usually wait for status updates.
Peter swiveled on his heels to look towards Elizabeth's room, then turned back to the nurse. "I can't leave my wife," he said desperately. "I... I just need to know if my partner's gonna be okay."
The nurse looked at him from apologetic, hazel doe-eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. I wish I could help you."
"Look, can I use my phone?" he suddenly asked.
She didn't look happy but nodded.
"Thank you," Peter said just above a whisper.
He dialed Diana's number who picked up almost right away. "Diana," he asked, his voice somewhere between plea and despair. "I need you at the hospital."
"Which one?" she simply asked.
"New York Methodist. 2nd floor. Room, uh," he looked around, reading off the number of El's room, "Two thirty-five."
Diana arrived not 20 minutes later, and Peter met her outside of El's room. Seeing a familiar face, he gave in to the smallest inkling of relief.
"How is Elizabeth?" Diana asked, her face marred by concern.
"She's going to be fine. Minor surgery, she's still a little out of it. Look," he said, "I need you to check on Neal. I can't leave, but I need to know if he's okay."
"Of course. Where?" she offered readily.
"There's a waiting room in General Surgery. Come get me if you hear anything."
"Sure, Boss."
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Diana found Peter almost three hours later, his head lolling to the side in the chair next to Elizabeth's bed. She lightly touched his shoulders and Peter jerked awake.
"Any news?" he asked, getting up from his chair to take a few steps away from the bed.
"He just came out of surgery. There was considerable internal damage, but the doctor was cautiously optimistic. They'll be able to say more tomorrow."
Peter sucked in a breath that he held briefly. "That's- I guess that's good news."
"Yeah," Diana nodded. "Want me to go back, sit with Neal?"
"No," Peter shook his head. "I... I think they only let family in there anyway." He lightly touched her arm. "Thanks, Diana. It's been a hell of a day. Go home, get some rest."
Her gaze on him was worried as he rubbed his face in a tired gesture. "I wish I could tell you to take your own advice."
"Yeah," he sighed. "But you know I can't."
"You sure you want me to go? I can stick around a while longer."
"No," he shook his head. "It's fine. Go home."
"I should go back to the office."
"You don't have to."
"I know. But still."
"Okay," he confirmed. "Any news on Benson?"
"No, he's still in surgery. They wouldn't tell me anything." Diana held up her hand that was holding Neal's tracking anklet. "Oh, uhm, they gave me this. Said they had to cut it off when they ran some tests. They asked if they needed to notify NYPD. I told them I'd take care of it."
"You know what to do?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I'll talk to the Marshals. I don't think Neal is a flight risk right now."
"Thanks, Diana. Keep me updated?" he asked.
"Of course."
After she left, Peter walked over to the window, closing his eyes as he rubbed his forehead. The relief upon hearing Neal had made it through surgery was short-lived. If Benson died, it would mean he had killed someone. Neal, who didn't like guns. Neal, who had been ready to sacrifice his own life for Elizabeth's, for Peter's. It was... inconceivable.
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Some time around 3 AM, Peter was pulled from his slumber by one of the night nurses who was checking on Elizabeth's IV. Groggily, he asked if everything was okay, and the nurse attested in a hushed voice that everything was fine.
She also told him to go home, which Peter respectfully declined to do.
"At least let me show you how to make yourself more comfortable," she smiled at him. Peter watched in wonder as she made the visitor's chair into what could almost pass for a bed, with a footrest that came up and a reclining backrest.
"Wow, that's pretty cool," he commented.
She gave him a winning smile. "Well, you're not the first family member to keep vigil."
"Thank you," he told her and settled back in the chair. The nurse came back a minute later with a blanket that she handed him. Peter gratefully accepted it and draped it over his legs. Elizabeth never woke during any of it.
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Elizabeth seemed a little more alert in the morning, though the meds were still making her sleepy. She asked for an update on Neal, and Peter could only tell her what Diana had delivered the evening before.
"Go and check on him. Please," she asked, and Peter acquiesced.
It took a while to figure out how to get to the ICU. After some careful persuasion, they let him see Neal. He had to don a see-through, disposable gown and purple gloves before they led him to a room with a large glass front. He was reassured that Neal was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. He hadn't regained consciousness yet, but Peter was told that was not unusual after major trauma.
Peter's heart plummeted just a little bit further into his stomach upon seeing Neal lying in the ICU bed, hooked up to monitors, machines, tubes, IVs, blood transfusions. There was no outward sign of physical damage underneath the white sheets that covered him, but he looked so pale, so fragile.
"You can go in if you like," the nurse said in a soft voice, and Peter carefully inched closer.
The nurse went around the bed as one of the machines started beeping. Peter watched helplessly as she studied the readouts, then adjusted the plastic clip on Neal's index finger. The beeping stopped. "Just the pulse oximeter. It's pretty sensitive," she said by way of explanation.
Peter hovered next to the bed, and the nurse gave him a sympathetic look. "You can touch him, talk to him." With a reassuring smile, she added, "I'll leave you alone for a few minutes, but I'm gonna have to ask you to leave after that."
Peter just nodded, his throat dry. His fingers hovered over the bed's railing for a few seconds, unsure, before they finally found their way to Neal's arm. It felt strangely unreal through the nitrile gloves. He tried to overcome the sensation of self-consciousness as he spoke.
"Neal? I... Well, I feel kinda silly, talking to you like this, but, uh-"
He stopped there. Shit, what was he doing? He swallowed, then tried again. "El says hi, she wanted me to check on you. She's doing okay, she's gonna be fine. I know you were worried about her, and..."
He suddenly choked, unexpected tears prickling behind his eyelids. "Dammit, Neal, why did you have to do this?"
He sniffled, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes to wipe away the stray tear that had dislodged. "Listen, I have to go back. You just... You just hang in there, okay?"
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continued in
Chapter 4
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