(I'm not quite happy with this, but I've restarted it twice already so I give up. Some of you might enjoy it as it is)
Neal had been so busy looking at the water running alongside the trail in the park that he almost missed the sudden movement up ahead as a boy, about eight years old, tripped and stumbled.
He'd been walking by a slightly older girl who looked about twelve or so, an older sister probably, and Neal had only noticed them in passing as he walked along.
Now, however, his sharp eyes were drawn to the boy as he yelped, falling sideways and down the steep bank. Neal heard a heavy splash and didn't pause to think, darting towards the edge of the water while the girl shouted, "Steven!"
The boy surfaced a second later, eyes wide and startled as the current pulled him downstream. Neal thought quickly, already removing his jacket and shoes, and keeping one hand on the girl's arm to keep her from jumping in. The river was moving too fast. He didn't want her getting swept away as well.
"Stay!" he barked, then dove into the cold water. He fought the urge to gasp, surfacing easily, and spotted the boy a few yards away. Grimly, Neal cut through the water, swimming with the current while the boy fought against it.
It was easy to reach him, but once he was safe in Neal's arms, they faced a new problem. They were practically in the middle of the river, far from the bank.
Neal kept his grip on Steven with one arm, the other splashing in the water while he kicked strongly for the bank. He knew Peter was here somewhere. Hopefully he'd be waiting once they reached the edge.
In his arms, Steven was crying, struggling instinctively to try and claw his way further out of the water.
"Hey, settle down," Neal panted, keeping his voice as calm as he could manage. "It's okay. I got you."
Steven's struggles quieted some, though Neal could feel him trembling hard with cold and fear.
It seemed like they weren't making any progress at all, but Neal knew it was just their position in the water that made it difficult to tell. All he had to do was keep swimming for the bank and they'd reach it eventually.
On the bank, Steven's sister ran along the edge, shouting something Neal couldn't hear. He couldn't hear, he realized, because there was a steadily growing sound, a roaring noise. He turned to look over his shoulder and felt his heart skip a beat. The dam. He'd forgotten about the dam.
He swam more desperately towards the bank, and now he could see that they were getting close, but not close enough. He glanced at the fast approaching lip of the dam, which appeared as a smooth line.
By now, there was quite the crowd on the shore and one man even slid down the bank, standing just near the water. He held one arm outstretched, reaching for them with wide eyes.
Neal fought against the current, keeping his goal in sight. In his arms, Steven reached for the outstretched hand that meant safety and deliverance from the river.
He missed.
Neal gritted his teeth, feeling the pull of the water going over the dam near his feet. Plan B. Along the side of the river was a string of orange buoys, put there for exactly this purpose. With one final effort, he surged against the water, simultaneously throwing the boy toward the line.
He had time to see Steven grab the thick rope tightly, then the water pulled him over the edge of the dam.
There was the sickening feel of falling, and in that brief second, Neal heard a familiar voice cut through the roaring of the water. "Neal!"
Then he was underwater, the force of the fall shoving him down to the bottom and spinning him in circles so that he had no idea which way was up. The breath was knocked from his lungs and he couldn't stop himself from gasping involuntarily. Water surged down his throat and he choked, thrashing aimlessly if only to fight, to do something.
He felt rock scrape his face and quickly twisted around, kicking in the direction he now knew was up. His lungs burned and screamed for air, but he couldn't find it. How deep was this river?
The surface came suddenly and his face only breached it for a second before he slipped back under again, lost in the sea of foam and spray. More water invaded his lungs and he fought that much more. He found air again, but couldn't breathe it, coughing up river water until his head dipped under once more.
He was getting dizzy, and he couldn't make his legs kick out as strongly as before. His hands no longer searched for something to grab onto, they flailed clumsily, finding nothing but water in all directions.
With a jolt of fear, he realized he was drowning. The water was still churning around him, not allowing him to find the surface for more than a few seconds. He made one final effort, thrashing wildly.
His foot hit rock and he twisted sharply in the water, finding leverage. He kicked away from the rocks and found the surface again, coughing some more. He glimpsed tree branches overhead and lunged toward those.
His feet finally found the bottom and he kept it under him, his head thankfully staying above the water as he half swam, half stumbled in the direction of the shore.
He made it most of the way onto the muddy shore before his body refused to hold him up anymore. He collapsed onto the bank, his lower half still trailing in the water. He coughed hard, choking as he expelled more foul-tasting water from his lungs.
Finally he could breathe, though it was in quick, wheezing gasps. It was air.
He didn't budge, lying where he was like a waterlogged animal. His eyes remained closed and honestly, he didn't think he could open them if he tried. He was exhausted.
Slowly, despite the cold, he drifted off, hardly noticing the mud beneath him or the sound of the river behind. He was just so tired. Besides, he assured himself, Peter would find him.
Peter always found him.
-)()(-
Peter couldn't find Neal.
The last he'd seen of his CI had been a few minutes ago when he'd wandered off. Peter had been talking to Elizabeth on the phone, so he'd hardly paid attention. Now, however, there was no sign of Neal, though Peter had seen which direction he'd gone in, so he walked that way, muttering under his breath.
It wasn't long before he heard the buzz of an excited crowd and spotted several people over by the river. Curious and a bit concerned, Peter hurried over, hearing snatches of fearful conversation that made him nervous. There was someone in the water, it sounded like.
Peter pushed through just in time to spot a young boy splashing around near the dam, though luckily, he held onto the rope by the edge.
He also saw Neal. Really, all he could glimpse were wide blue eyes as he disappeared over the edge and was lost to the swirling water below. It wasn't a huge fall, but it didn't have to be. Peter knew enough to see that the force of the drop would take Neal right under, and then it was only a matter of if he was able to get out of there and back up to the surface.
Peter didn't waste a second, running down to the edge of the river below the dam and straining his eyes to see. Seconds passed and there was nothing.
"Neal!" Peter shouted, but he knew it was useless. Neal wasn't likely to be able to hear him, much less reply.
"Hey!" a man called out, hurrying down to where Peter was standing. "Head downstream. The water slows down so he might be able to swim."
Peter nodded, and the two of them moved quickly, both looking closely out over the river for any sign of Caffrey. There was nothing.
Minutes went by. They walked up and down the bank, going further and further every time. Peter's heart sank down into his stomach. Neal was gone.
Saving a kid, of all things. Damn it, why had he gone out like that? Like some tragic novel. He was supposed to serve his sentence and go free. Peter was supposed to help him get his freedom back.
He bit his lip, fiercely determined not to give up just yet. Not until there was no way that Neal Caffrey was alive.
"Hey! Over here!"
Peter snapped his attention to the man ahead of him, who was now racing along the bank, jumping over sticks and brush. Peter rushed after him, hope fluttering in his chest.
That hope flickered some when he skidded to a halt and saw Neal.
The other man had grabbed the limp form under his arms and was dragging him the rest of the way out of the river.
Black mud covered one side of Neal's face and a sleeve of his wet suit, which was most certainly ruined now. His face was white as a sheet and water trickled off him in streams.
"Neal!" Peter called, kneeling beside his friend and not caring that he was getting his pants dirty. "Neal? Hey, come on." He placed two fingers over Neal's neck, relieved to feel a pulse, fast and thready as it was. "Come on, Neal. Wake up. Breathe. Is he breathing?"
The other man nodded. "Yeah, yeah. He's breathing. I'll call an ambulance."
While he did that, Peter shook his friend again. "Neal," he repeated, cupping his face, which was cold to the touch and peppered with scratches. "Look at me. You gotta give me something, alright? Wake up."
To his relief, Neal's brow furrowed and he coughed hard, spitting water. He looked up at Peter, dazed, and then coughed some more when he tried to speak.
Peter shushed him. "Easy now. An ambulance is on its way. Just sit tight."
Neal rubbed his hands over his face, smearing mud there, and he rasped, "How's the kid?"
"He's fine," the other man spoke, having just hung up the phone. "You saved his life."
Neal cracked a smile, sitting up despite Peter's hand on his chest. He glanced down at himself and almost looked more upset by the loss of a perfectly good suit than the near loss of his own life.
After that, it was a good two hours of EMTs, hospital staff, and a very uncooperative Neal who kept insisting he was okay. A lungful of water begged to differ, so he had to endure the process of draining it while Peter called Elizabeth to let her know what had happened. By the sound of it, Neal would have a get well basket in his lap in no time at all.
Neal only had to stay in the hospital for a couple hours, and when he was finally released, Peter offered to take him home.
"Excuse me," a woman's voice called, and both Neal and Peter turned to see a dark-haired lady trotting over. Neal's face brightened into a smile when he saw the little boy alongside her.
"Thank you so much," the woman said, her eyes red from crying. "You saved my boy's life."
Neal shook his head. "I was happy to." He crouched to Steven's level and gave the kid's hair a gentle ruffle. "Just don't go falling into any more rivers, okay?"
Steven nodded shyly, smiling a little. "I won't, sir," he said quietly.
"Neal," Neal corrected him. He stood again and Steven's mother gave him a warm hug, saying again, "Thank you, Neal."
As she and her son walked away, Neal smiled after them and Peter patted his friend's back. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Does now," Neal joked, "For a minute there I was seriously regretting it. That suit was one of my favorites."
Peter rolled his eyes. "A tragedy, I know. But you saved a life today."
"Typical Tuesday," Neal hummed, but Peter knew he was practically gushing with pride.
"Come on, hero. Let's get you home."
"Hero," Neal smirked. "That might actually be better than Partner."
"Yeah, well, it won't stick. Give it a week."
"Do you think I'll make the paper?" Neal asked.
Peter shook his head. "Give it a rest."