A lot could happen in a two mile radius. A lot of pain, for instance. Neal slammed back into a brick wall, head connecting violently with a corner. Dazed and seeing stars, he couldn’t avoid the sucker-punch and doubled over in agony as something cracked inside, probably two or three ribs. He went down with gurgling breath, which really, that couldn’t be a good thing.
It wasn’t a good thing, because a few seconds later, a boot just about lifted him off the ground with the force of its kick. Air became a non-existent commodity as Neal tried to breathe and couldn’t. Darkness tinged his vision and the world faded away around the edges. When it came rushing back, a hand tangled in his hair and a voice said against his ear, guttural and enraged, “The next time you betray one of your own, you die.”
That wasn’t enough of a warning, apparently, because the guy he never got a look at slammed his head against the pavement and the world disappeared for real.
* * * *
Peter wished with a kind of bittersweet wistfulness for the days BNC…Before Neal Caffrey. Before he knew that smart and funny and a good heart were enough to overcome Peter’s previous black and white morality. Before he’d wound up divorced from a good woman who looked at him with hurt, but understanding, eyes. Before he’d understood that he wasn’t just a one-woman man, but his wife was definitely a one-man woman.
Sighing, Peter swirled the beer around the bottom of his glass and then drank the dregs of it with a grimace. Most law enforcement types got divorced because of the long hours, the horrors seen on the job, even due to alcoholism and violence bleeding into their married life. Not Peter. No, Peter wound up divorced because he’d fallen in love with his parolee and his wife hadn’t been inclined to settle for a man who didn’t love her completely.
“God I’m an idiot,” he muttered for the millionth time.
Because who gave up a really good marriage for a half-life with a man who was an unrepentant thief? One that had all but admitted he was sticking around for the betterment of Peter’s career and could disappear at any moment. The business with Kate hadn’t ended well, but then, Peter hadn’t really expected it would. Most of the time, he thought that Neal stuck around because he had nothing better to do. That staying with Peter amused him.
When his cell phone rang, he sighed and pulled it out. Peter frowned when he saw Jones on the ID and answered with a sharp, “I’m off-duty.”
“Caffrey got the shit kicked out of him,” Jones reported immediately. “He’s in intensive care at St. Joe’s.”
Peter instantly jumped to his
feet and tossed a twenty on the bar counter, grabbing his coat and jogging out
of the bar as he said, “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” and then hung up. He grabbed the first cab he saw, leaving his
car due to his not-quite drunk alcohol level. He’d been on his fifth beer on a
night when the whole team, including Neal, knew better than to interrupt him.
It was the day that had been his anniversary with
He left the window open in an effort to sober up and it worked a little. By the time he reached the hospital, he’d chewed up a couple of mints, splashed some water on his face by way of a water bottle, and straightened his ever-present tie.
Jones waited in the lobby for him looking subtly angry, his jaw tight and his dark brow pulled in somewhat. “Just got an update. Bastards broke his hands. Every finger on each hand. He has four broken ribs, one of which punctured a lung, which is what they were fighting with most. Major concussion, too. Never woke up from when the EMTs arrived on the scene until now.”
“He’s awake now?” Peter demanded.
Jones grimaced and self-corrected, “No, he never woke up period. Doc says there’s no bleeding or swelling in the brain, but that’s all they know.”
Peter’s stomach rebelled at the rapid change of events, too much alcohol sloshing around in it for any sense of comfort.
“You going to puke?”
Peter shook his head. “I’m good. Crime scene?”
Jones told him, “Manhattan PD had it taped off until we got there. Cruz is there now going over it with a fine-toothed comb.”
“Good, that’s good,” Peter muttered, trying to think. “Okay. You go join Cruz and I’ll stick around here for when Neal wakes up, try to get a description of the attacker if I can.”
Jones nodded and said, “Tell him we’re pulling for him.” Peter must have looked surprised, because Jones continued matter-of-factly, “He’s one of us now,” before leaving.
Peter had to admit that Jones
was right, although it hadn’t occurred to him. After almost two years of Neal
helping to put away criminal after criminal, it would look to the outside world
as if he’d changed sides for good. A couple of months ago, even Ruiz had asked
for Neal’s help on a suspected forgery that had made its way onto the
Shaking off the inertia which kept him rooted to the spot, Peter walked over to the admissions desk and took out his ID to say, “I need an update on Neal Caffrey. He’s still in surgery, I think.”
The man nodded and typed on a keyboard before relaying, “Still in surgery, sir. I’ll call to see how they’re doing.”
“Thank you,” Peter said, shifting awkwardly on his feet as he waited. He was tempted to call Cruz and check on what she found, but didn’t want to micro-manage his people. They were the best and he trusted them, even if he did like to be in control of everything.
“Sir, he’s out of surgery, but they’re setting his hands now,” the clerk said. “They should be bringing him to recovery in about an hour.”
Peter nodded and replied, “You’re going to find a room for him now so I can get a protective detail in place.”
The man’s mouth opened and then closed again as he apparently thought better of arguing. That was a good thing, because now that he’d dried out a little and the shock had wound down, Peter really wanted to punch someone.
It was actually two hours before he was led to the room where Neal lay unconscious in a bed looking far too small and motionless for Peter’s comfort. It just about killed him to see all the bandages and the tubes hooked up to the normally vibrant young man. Standing by the bed, he stared down at Neal and his fists curled up tight, the urge to do violence to whoever had hurt the younger man very, very strong.
“Agent?”
Peter turned and found a black man around his age at the door, holding a clipboard and wearing a white coat. Assuming him to be Neal’s doctor, he replied, “Agent Burke.”
They shook hands and the man said, “Dr. Johnson. I’ll be overseeing Mr. Caffrey’s treatment and recovery for while he’s in the hospital. He’s going to need extensive care even after he leaves us.”
Not what Peter wanted to hear, but he’d expected it. Nodding, Peter asked, “When do you think he’ll regain consciousness?”
”That’s anyone’s guess, I’m afraid,” Dr. Johnson replied, sounding regretful. “He’s got a skull fracture. Honestly, I’m surprised his brain didn’t swell or worse from the trauma it went through.”
The waves of nausea that he’d managed to banish earlier came back full force at that and Peter had to take a slow deep breath.
“Agent Burke? Are you all right?”
Peter nodded and opened his eyes. “Fine, sorry. It was supposed to be my night off, so I was out drinking earlier. Which I probably shouldn’t have just said, but don’t worry, I’m not impaired.”
Johnson gave him a sympathetic look. “Do you have any other questions?”
Shaking his head, Peter said, “No, but…I’ll be here for a while. Visiting hours don’t apply to me until we find out who tried to kill him.”
“Understood. Good luck, Agent Burke,” Johnson said before leaving.
Peter turned back to the bed and sighed as he looked at Neal and muttered, “What the hell did you get yourself into this time, huh, Neal?”
He pulled a chair over and got comfortable. It looked like he was going to be there a while.
* * * *
The next time that Neal could tell there was something more than darkness around him, it was due to the steady, soft beeping of something and the strong smell of disinfectant. He seemed to linger in that half-world for a long time, unable to open his eyes and unable to truly go back to the darkness. There was a low rumble of something soothing just outside his periphery, but he couldn’t quite understand it.
Something far too bright made him jerk away only to have pain shoot through his midsection. He mumbled a wordless protest and heard that familiar rumble of a voice again, still unable to understand the actual words said. Whatever it was, the light went away and something warm and soft pressed against his face.
“Neal? You awake in there finally?”
Words. Words he could hear and make out. His name, to start. And the voice. He really knew that voice.
“C’mon, Neal, open those eyes of yours, damn it. You’ve been out of it long enough already.”
Neal frowned at the irritation in the other man’s voice and finally managed to pry his eyes open. Squinting up against an overhead light, he found Peter blocking out most of it, the rest surrounding him like an odd halo effect. He tried to grin and rasped, “You look almost angelic,” but had to clear his throat a few times before getting it out.
Peter’s eyebrows rose and he commented dryly, “I know you have a head injury, but that’s a little out there even for you, Neal.”
Looking around the room, he was surprised to find a bunch of flowers in vases at various points and cards all over the place. His head was killing him, the light was making it worse, but he asked, “Did you kick some poor guy out of his room?”
Peter looked surprised. “No. All of that’s for you.”
Neal had no response to that.
Thankfully, someone in a white coat, his doctor he assumed, stepped forward just then and greeted, “Good afternoon, Mr. Caffrey. I’m Dr. Johnson. I assume you know who this gentleman is?”
Probably a test to see if he had any memory problems. He almost messed with them, but Peter looked like his last rope had snapped a couple of weeks ago. He was rumpled and badly shaved and had dark circles under his eyes as if he’d gotten very little sleep. Taking pity on him, Neal answered, “Peter Burke, FBI agent extraordinaire.”
Peter rolled his eyes and said, “He’s fine.”
The doctor half-smiled as he replied, “We’ll just ask a few more questions to make sure.”
By the end of the verbal exam, Neal discovered that it had been fifteen days since his attack and he’d been out cold the entire time. Once the doctor was satisfied with his compos mentis, he explained to Neal about his hands and his lung. Neal looked down at his splinted hands and felt like crying. His life depended on his hands in a very real way. If he couldn’t use them to create forgeries, then he really would be nothing more than the FBI’s lapdog with no fallback.
As soon as the doctor was gone, Peter asked, “Did you recognize who attacked you?”
Neal barely heard him, still sickly fascinated by the well-bundled limbs that used to be his hands.
“Neal!”
Jolting back to reality if still feeling lost, Neal met Peter’s gaze and answered, “No, I didn’t even see him.”
“Did he say why?”
Neal heard that low, angry voice in his hand and shivered in a visceral fear he’d never before felt.
Peter’s hand descended on his shoulder and squeezed briefly, warm and solid and comforting. “Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to push. It’s just that the only forensics in that alley belonged to you. He didn’t leave a single thing behind.”
“Gloves and ski mask,” Neal told him.
Peter cursed under his breath and then forced a smile before saying, “All right. Well, what did he want?”
Glancing away, Neal evaded, “I’m kinda tired. Can we talk about this later?”
There was a pause, but Peter only squeezed his shoulder again and agreed, “Sure. No problem. Jones is on duty outside and then it’ll be Cruz overnight. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
It was on the tip of his tongue for Neal to beg Peter to stay, but he bit it back. Nodding instead, Neal teased half-heartedly, “Take a shower and shave before they arrest you for loitering.”
Peter flashed him a real grin and then left.
Neal missed him immediately and tried not to think about that voice.
* * * *
The most humiliating thing about having no hands was being unable to take a leak on his own. Not that the doctors even let him out of bed the first four days. Just when Neal thought he would go out of his mind with boredom, the doctor said he could take a short walk to the bathroom. That was, of course, when he realized that he would need assistance.
It amazed him that such a short excursion could wipe him out so badly, but when he got back, his head was pounding and his midsection throbbed painfully. He was all too happy to let the nurse help him into the bed and pull up the blankets.
“How long until I can use my hands again?” he asked for about the hundredth time. It was becoming almost a nervous tick, the need for constant reassurance that he’d be able to use them.
She smiled and promised, “In another week or so we’ll take a set of x-rays to see how they’re coming along. I’m sure they’ll be fine, Mr. Caffrey.
“Call me Neal,” he said, smiling back. “You’ve seen all of me, so I think we should be on a first name basis.”
She blushed a little and replied, “I’m Jackie.”
“And I’m Agent Burke,” Peter said unexpectedly from the door. That perpetual scowl was firmly in place.
Jackie blushed deeper and hurried from the room.
Shaking his head, glad for the minor amusement, Neal pointed out, “You’re going to remain single for a very long time if that’s how you treat pretty girls.”
Peter rolled his eyes and said firmly, “Dating isn’t high on my priority list.”
Neal countered, “It should be. You’re the type of guy who needs to be in a relationship. Keeps you human.”
“When I need advice on my love life, I’ll call Miss Lonely Hearts,” Peter returned caustically.
Neal waved at him and said, “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Angry isn’t good for you, Peter.”
“Neither is you not telling me what happened.”
Neal immediately looked away from those too-knowing blue eyes. The last thing he needed was Peter reading his mind like he always somehow did.
Peter stood b the bed and said quietly, “I know this scared you, Neal, it would’ve anyone. The only way I’ll catch him, though, is if you tell me everything.”
“I told you he wore a ski mask. I never saw his face,” Neal evaded.
“Right. And gloves. But was he big? What was his voice like? Okay, why did you just flinch when I asked about his voice? Would you recognize it again?”
Neal would never forget that voice for as long as he lived. He couldn’t tell Peter what had been said, or the other man would fly off the handle and get himself in trouble. He lied smoothly, “Muscle spasm, not a flinch.”
Peter grunted, clearly unconvinced, but only said, “So what can you tell me?”
“Just that he was about your size and had bad breath.”
“That’s helpful, thanks Neal.”
Neal shrugged. “That’s all I can tell you.”
“Look at me.”
He didn’t want to, but there were very few direct orders from Peter that he could disobey these days. Mos called him co-dependent and it was something of both an annoyance and a surprise for Neal to know that he was right. He’d been glued to Peter for almost two years and they’d been playing tag for three years before that, so maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise at all.
Looking up at last, he found a somber expression on Peter’s face that made him want to look away again.
Peter asked, “Do you trust me?”
That was easy. “Yes.’
“Do you trust me to protect you.”
Almost as easy. “I know you’ll try.”
Peter’s mouth tightened, obviously displeased by the amendment, and he said, “I will always keep you safe, Neal. Always. No matter what.”
Neal wanted to believe it was that simple, but there were a lot of very bad people out there and the good guys didn’t always win. All he could do was repeat apologetically, “”I know that you’ll try.”
Peter scowled, but only said, “We’ll come back to that later. Am I good at my job?”
Another easy one, thankfully. He gave Peter a cheeky grin and said, “You caught me, didn’t you?”
Peter snorted and finished, “Then let me do my job and find this bastard. Let me put him away. Help me put him away, Neal.
Neal flinched again and silently cursed the automatic response.
Gaze narrowed, Peter stated, “That was definitely a flinch. He threatened you, didn’t he? Warned you away from helping me.”
Neal sighed, giving in to the inevitable. “Yes.”
What did he say, Neal? Tell me his exact words.”
Neal didn’t want to remember that voice, but answered, ““The next time you betray one of your own, you die,” hearing it in his head as he spoke.
Peter gripped his shoulder. “Thank you. I know that was difficult.”
“Peter, what’s going after him going to solve? It’s not like I make a sympathetic victim with my history. You don’t have any forensics, so it’s my word against his.,” Neal point out. “I doubt that he’d get convicted and even if he did, it would probably only be a couple of years. There’s no real point.”
Still gripping his shoulder, Peter bent in close and told him, “No one hurts you and gets away with it. I’ll find the son of a bitch who did this to you and make sure he doesn’t see daylight for a very long time. Trust me, Neal, okay?”
Neal could see that Peter had no doubts about finding his attacker and, knowing what the man was like when he sunk his teeth into something, Neal nodded.
Peter smiled and rubbed his back. “Good. Okay Enjoy the green jello. I hear it’s really good today. I’ll see you tonight.”
Neal watched him leave and felt strangely forlorn once he was gone.
* * * *
As soon as he was out of the hospital room, Peter cursed inventively
Jones’ eyes widened in surprise and he asked, “What’s up, Boss? What did he say?”
Peter glared at him and said, “His attacker knew that Neal works with us.”
“Well, he has put away a lot of criminals with us. Word was bound to get out,” Jones said.
Peter shook his head and asked, “How many of them know where he lives, huh? He doesn’t have any regular haunts except the office and his apartment. No girlfriend to betray him and no family to be bought off. So how in this great big city, id they find him?”
Jones thought about it and then offered, “Hacked into his anklet?? Followed him from the office?”
Peter couldn’t shake the disturbing feeling that there was something worse, and easier, than either explanation. He said, “No, I think we’re looking at someone closer to home.”
Jones’ eyes widened and his voice lowered as he exclaimed, “You think an agent did this?”
Peter nodded. “I do.”
But why? Jones questioned.
Grim, Peter answered, “When we find that out, we’ll know who did this. You stay put until Cruz relieves you.”
Jones nodded and sat back down in his chair outside Neal’s room. The other agent, Brown, wasn’t one he knew well, which was why he’d kept the conversation between himself and Jones. He nodded to the man on his way to the elevator and got one in return.
Peter didn’t want to believe that anyone in his office was capable of what had been done to Neal, but he wasn’t as naïve as Neal thought. He would explore every other option, since it was possible that Neal’s anklet had been compromised or he’d been followed him. That last one wsn’t as likely in his mind, but still possible.
He got stuck in traffic on the way and vented his frustration with a lot more cursing. He wasn’t really angry about the traffic, as irritating as it was; he was pissed that one of his people could be dirty. It was bad enough that they had to worry about the bad guys, they shouldn’t have to worry about coworkers. Peer made a mental lis of how to proceed. First was bringing his suspicions to his boss so he didn’t trample all over anyone’s career but his own.
He didn’t fool himself; Peter knew that going forward would make him very unpopular. People liked Neal, but he didn’t know if they felt the same as Jones. Two years could be a very short amount of time, not long enough for a convicted criminal to overcome the stigma of his previous career.
At the department, he pulled Cruz into his office and told her, “Someone here attacked Neal.”
Her eyes widened in shock and she exclaimed, “Did Neal say that?”
Petr shook his head. “Neal wants me to drop te investigation. Doesn’t think that he’s worth it.”
“Well that’s stupid,” she said, instantly becoming his new favorite person. “So how do you know then?”
“I just do.”
She half-smiled and pointed out, “As good as your gut is, it’s not evidence.”
Peter sat at his desk as he agreed, “And don’t I know it. I’m going to get on Smith’s calendar and let him know that I’ll be checking into everyone.”
She hesitated and then said, “Can I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“Why not point out that personnel reviews are coming up? You can do the interviews and it won’t look like an actual investigation.”
Peter eyed her for a long moment and then commented, “You’ve been spending too much time with Neal if you think I’ll investigate coworkers without letting them know. Even if it wasn’t against regulation.”
She said hastily, “Wouldn’t you be asking a lot of the same questions? It’s not as if you wouldn’t be doing actual reviews. You’d probably save everyone’s supervisors a lot of time and paperwork.”
Peter snorted. “Nice try but
no. You did just remind me, though, that we have an IA department. I’ll bring
this to
Cruz grinned at him. “Right away, Sir.”
Peter rolled his eyes and ordered, “Go relieve Jones. I’ll be there later.”
She mock-saluted and left the office.
Chuckling, Peter picked up the
phone to call
* * * *
When Peter got back to the
hospital, it was almost
Nodding to Cruz, he said, “Go home. I’ve got him.”
“How’d it go?” she asked gathering her things.
Loosening his tie, Peter
answered, “
Cruz pulled on her coat as she said, “I’ve been thinking about that. What if Neal saw someone doing something illegal and doesn’t know it? What if this person is trying to cover their tracks because he or she doesn’t know that Neal didn’t recognize them?”
It made a hell of a lot more
sense than some criminal buying off an agent. They could be bought, but doing
so just to get to Neal was overly complicated. Peter complimented, “Good
thinking. Put together a list of the new agents and see if you can get vocal
samples from
Cruz nodded and said, “Will do. Night, Boss.”
“Night, Cruz,” Peter replied.
He went inside the room to find Neal sound asleep, a small frown marring his forehead. Peter had to restrain himself from soothing it away. He shouldn’t have given in to the urge to comfort earlier, but Neal had looked so scared but trying not to be that he couldn’t help himself.
Peter sat quietly on the chair beside the bed and pulled out his laptop to get some work done. It was just him at night and he was a very light sleeper, especially while sitting up. Officially, there was no one on duty at night, but Peter hadn’t felt comfortable leaving Neal on his own. Now that he knew a threat had definitely been made, there was no way Peter would leave him alone.
“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Neal murmured.
Peter looked over at him and said, “Can’t get rid of me that easy. I’m like a bad penny that way. Bad Penny Peter, that’s me.”
Peter felt like kicking his own ass for sounding so stupid, but it made Neal smile; an honest-to-God Neal Caffrey special. The kind that made Peter think many inappropriate things. Like if Neal often wore that smile in bed and nothing else.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Neal replied, still smiling. “Want to play cards? You’d have to hold my cards for me, of course.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”
“I didn’t say you could look at them.”
Peter grinned and observed, “Well there goes the motivation to say yes.”
They wound up playing poker and even though Neal couldn’t touch any of the cards, somehow he won the first three hands. The confident Neal was back, grinning and teasing, which was about the only reason Peter tolerated losing every hand.
Part way through the fourth hand, Neal suddenly muttered, “Crap.”
“Bad hand?” Peter teased.
Shaking his head, Neal said, “I need to take a leak.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
Neal held up his heavily bandaged hands and asked, “Can you get the nurse for me?”
It wasn’t until Neal looked away that Peter figured out why. Awkward, he offered, “I’ll ah, help you out.”
Neal blinked at him a few times before saying, “You do know that ‘helping’ means your hand aiming my dick, right?”
“I think as long as number two is off the table, I can handle it,” Peter replied, dry.
Nodding, Neal said, “Okay. Well, okay.”
Peter moved the tray table out of the way and Neal slowly climbed down off the bed. He had to resist the urge to offer to help, trailed just behind the other man on the short distance to the bathroom. Neal was moving a little easier than before, but still slow and careful overall. Once in the small room, Peter hesitantly asked, “So…how do you want to do this? Pants down or just reach in and…”
“Oh just do it, Peter!” Neal exclaimed, not looking at him and flushing darker.
Peter cleared his throat and muttered, “Right,” before reaching into the slit in the pants for Neal’s dick. There was only the one layer of material, fortunately; he didn’t need to go digging through boxers or briefs. He stepped up close to Neal, just behind him. Looking over his shoulder at the toilet to aim, with as light a hold as possible between fingertips, he said, “Okay, go for it.”
It took a several seconds before Neal starting urinating, the two of them standing there, back to chest, close enough in the awkward silence that Peter heard Neal breathing. Finally the stream started and he paid attention to where he was aiming and trying not to actually feel Neal’s warm shaft under his fingers. When the stream filtered down to drips, he hesitantly shook it a little and then, not sure what Neal’s routine was, just put the dick back under the pajama bottoms.
Neal’s voice was a little strangled as he said, “Thanks,” and moved as quickly as he could out of the bathroom.
Peter stayed to slowly wash his hands and catch his breath. Looking at himself in the mirror, he muttered, “You’re a dirty old man, Burke.”
Because a part of him had enjoyed taking care of Neal so intimately.
Going back to the room, he found Neal under the blankets and saw the other’s color had returned to normal. He smiled at the closed eyes and asked, “Ready for sleep, I gather.”
“Beating you at poker seems to wear me out,” Neal said, glancing at him from under barely-closed eyelids.
Peter snorted and said, “Yeah, yeah. Go on, get some sleep.”
“Night, Peter. And thanks.”
“No problem.”
Peter went about getting his trundle bed ready for the night, which consisted of pulling it out from under the empty bed and sliding it partially in front of the door. Not enough to seriously block it, but enough to alert him if someone opened it. The nurses all knew of the arrangement and Neal was passed the stage where he needed constant monitoring anyhow.
Peter put away his laptop and then took off his suit jacket, shirt, and tie, then toed off his shoes, abruptly too tired to untie them. Shutting off the overhead light, Peter dropped back on the small mattress, yawning and tossing an arm over his face. Tomorrow would be here soon enough and he needed what sleep he could get to deal with whatever came.