Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar
A/n: Just a little brain fart that kept me up all night.
Neal remained rigid. The only indication he was even alive was the blinking of his eyes and the short quick way his chest was rising ever slightly. Peter continued to pace back and forth, the knuckle of his thumb placed against his mouth, which was in a grim line.
"How you doing, Neal," He asked.
"Great," Neal, however quiet it was, replied sarcastically remaining still as possible. His limbs were stiffening and he could feel the muscles in his neck beginning to spazz. How ever uncomfortable though he dared not moved else he blow everyone up. Think of all that paperwork, Neal thought half heartedly. They couldn't even afford to place a blanket over Neal to protect him against the bitter cold of New York in fear that the pressure sensors his butt was currently on would detect the change in weight. The wind blew as if on cue and Neal clenched his face resisting the urge to move it out of the way of the biting cold.
"Just a bit longer buddy," Peter said glancing at his watch again. Neal made some sort of noise in the back of his throat but gave no other type of response. The two remained silent and Peter stared down at the conman who hadn't moved once since Peter had run in guns blazing.
When he had gotten the phone call telling him Caffrey's anklet had been cut Peter - regretfully - had believed Neal ran, taking advantage of the holiday distraction. But then they had finally found the conman and the look of absolute terror in Neal's blue eyes smacked Peter like a high speed snow plow.
Five hours they had been sitting there together.
"I'm sorry, Peter," Neal's soft whisper brought the agent back from his muses. Raising his eyebrows, Peter frowned. "Didn't mean to pull you from your party."
Leave it to Neal to worry about Peter's image in a situation like this one.
"The in-laws are here till New Year's. I'm not missing much," He replied in a gentle tone at his slow realization. While he had a party with relatives Peter had neglected to ask what Neal had been doing this Christmas Eve. Peter shook his head. Neal was rubbing off on him. Worrying about Neal's Christmas arrangements was not the most productive train of thought.
He would kill Calhoun with his own bare hands.
It was so unnatural for Neal to be this quiet. He had never heard Neal this quiet even when the shock of Kate's death had hit the young man. The silence was practically unsettling.
"You don't have to stay, Peter," Neal suddenly said. His voice betrayed him but Peter didn't say anything to that effect. In reality Neal wasn't sure if he would have been able to stick through this whole situation without Peter being there. Neal wouldn't mention this to the agent, ever, but he felt effectively safer with Peter mere presence close by.
"I'm not going anywhere." Peter replied leaving no room for argument. Where the hell were Diana and Jones? If the bomb didn't kill both of them hypothermia would certainly do Neal in.
"'m cold." Neal muttered in a small defeated voice making Peter stop in his pace. That had been the first time the conman had admitted to any type of discomfort. Neal on most occasions made noise but rarely did he downright complain. The wind blew again and Peter winced sympathetically. If he could feel the low temperature with his heavy jacket and layering of clothing he couldn't image what Neal was feeling in his flimsy undershirt. It marveled the FBI agent how he had made it this far.
"I know, Neal, I know. Just a bit longer,"
"Boss," It was a voice of an angel answering all their prayers as Diana appeared in the doorframe. "We got him. Bomb's been deactivated!"
As if released from tight strings, Neal fell limply to the ground. Peter and Diana rushed forward, Peter ripping his jacket off and wrapping the conman with the thick material. Neal broke out into a dry sob; his body trembling as all his nerves came crashing down. The sound and Neal's tremors were enough to shock Peter into overdrive and he quickly gathered the younger man in his arms, Neal's stiff fingers gripping Peter's sweater in a firm but weak grip. Placing a comforting hand on the gun metal hair Peter let out a sigh of relief he didn't know he had been holding.
"It's over, Neal. I got you. It's alright."
Nice good ol' character study. Not the deepest of poetry but it filled my Caffrey fix. *bows*