BEST READ IN STORY WIDTH 1/2, OPTION/BUTTON FOUND AT TOP RIGHT, BECAUSE THE STORY WAS WRITTEN IN SAID WIDTH
A/N- Take place after season 3 episode 10. Please read in requested story width, because i'v realized that in it's original FF setting it messes up the way I structure my writing.
The original purpose of this story was going to be entirely different. But I settled to this instead. A lot of angst. Heart wrenching really. A lot of Neal suffering.
I re-read to check for typos, but my games been off as if late. If you see any, I apologize.
Disclaimer- You know how it goes.
Neal missed their conversations.
Not that he and Peter didn't talk anymore. Because they did, there was plenty of talking, just not the way Neal found comfort in, not the casual chit chat about nothing in particular, or sometimes past scams, where one would brag about something he forged or stole and the other would retort with his own bragging about how he figured that specific case out and how he knew is was Neal's doing, et cetera.
But now, it was completely different.
Now it was like walking on a thin bridge, and the con man knew they weren't going to walk this one together, as Peter would formally enforce, to ensure of Neal's safety, and that of everyone they cared for.
This time, Neal was not only crossing the bridge alone, but was also blindfolded, with a gun to his back- his every move calculated, every breath nearly hitched as the agent demanded and spat, cursed and yelled.
They had taken Elizabeth. And that was the last straw.
Neal wondered if perhaps he should have ever dared the agent to figure this game out in the beginning, to prove that he was right- full well knowing that Peter was in fact correct all along.
Only this time, Neal was there, in the same room, work space, almost consistently, under a watchful eye thanks to the tracking anklet that Peter checked every day, and the game was playing against him, in circles, brown eyes glaring, watching, noting every change of the muscle in Neal's calculated expressions.
But during those moments, Neal would casually smile, would use his wit, his charm, to change the games patterns, the path, to throw Peter off, to keep him at bay- and though sans simple, it was still something that one would compare as light, in contrast to the situation as of now.
Now this was serious. Neal had only realized that he saw the past cat and mouse chase as some simple maze, but now this was a hostage situation, now the tables had turned, now Keller had used his mind, and out of the few people Neal greatly cared for, the criminal mastermind chose the wife of the agent who vaguely trusted Caffrey.
Keller had chosen the right bait to not only get the treasure and frighten Neal for the well being of a loved one, but the man had also kidnapped the person that was married to the agent who was trying to catch Neal again, and one can only laugh if they were to ask if Peter was mad, angry, because those were beyond the right choice of words.
Peter was furious, blind with rage, and if he wasn't the kind of man with his feet steadily placed on the ground, he'd probably murder Neal where he stood, without so much as blinking. He'd pull out his hand gun and shoot the man square in the forehead like Jimmy Burger was done in by the mob.
Keller had done just as Neal had hoped he wouldn't do, had achieved something the con man hoped he would never achieve. He had won the game.
Neal realized just that as he stood in the Burke's kitchen, watching as Peter slowly made his way towards the oven, brown eyes to the ground looking at the mess that flooded the floor- his face fallen with fear, until he trailed the red up towards the fallen pot of sauce, a small sigh of relief leaving him as he realized it wasn't the blood of his wife.
The con man stood by the window of the kitchen, watching his, -what he knew was now former-, friend sway and search with his eyes, there but not, something that one could clearly tell in the way he blinked, breathed, walked, the agents mind was swimming, those around him not there, just blurs, as good as figments of his imagination, as well as the voices that drifted into his skull, as Diana called him, as Jones talked to him. His eyes closed, and he stood there, stiff, still.
All seemed to collect itself. Everything in the room sharpened, the blurs in his mind became figures, the softened tunnel in his vision gone, the echoed slew of voices gathering and becoming clear as he focused, as his brown eyes lifted towards the only person that stood at the corner of his eyes, that long slender stand unmistakable, that dark suit, somewhat messy from the run, unforgettable, those crystal blue eyes and lightly tussled black curled hair; Peter looked to Neal Caffrey.
The con man took a single hand out from his pocket to hold towards Peter, and the agent couldn't tell if it was to defend himself, explain himself, or hold Peter as he slowly turned his body towards Neal, perhaps frightened about getting hit, or the agent falling. "Peter," Neal started, gently, as if calling him back from whatever place in his mind he was temporarily lost in, brows knotted, head tilted, as if forsaken for words, reasons, explanations.
That's all he said, all he uttered as he watched Peter with concern, letting the words that collected drift as the mans eyes weren't glaring at him, but were rather dim, the light gone, as the world around him became too real, as the situation began to hit him hard.
But the agent didn't step towards him, he only looked to Neal, eyes soft, lost. "He took," He paused, gathering himself, the anger collecting, nearly breaking from its calm and edging towards yelling, screaming out the words. He breathed in lightly, and continued. "My wife…" He muttered, voice breaking eyes still towards Neal.
And Neal was smart, he didn't say anything, didn't reply, didn't state the obvious, realizing that his voice alone could ripple the calm surface that lightly trembled. Instead he flexed his jaw, teeth gritted behind closed lips, eyes still to the agent, brows still knotted, head still tilted lightly, the hand that he held out retracted and now falling to his side. He hoped his body language alone could state that he was sorry, that they had to work together to find her, that he knew- but not that he expected it to happen.
But, -Neal wanted to curse out loud, break the window behind him, let Peter punch him until he lost himself to the darkness behind his lids-, he knew. He knew it might come to this. He knew Keller was mischievous, the game he played at.
And he was just as dangerous as Adler, if not, was becoming more.
It was Adler who had killed Kate and who had shot Mozzie, but Keller was just as bad, jumping in as soon as Adler opted out- as if the former man had never left to begin with, almost silently slipping in for the other man.
Neal was surprised that Keller didn't hurt Sarah when she was confronted, and was more over confused if not at ease when Peter would come to work every morning with that usual air of kindness yet strategic calloused sharpness- confused because Peter seemed alright with the world despite Keller running around killing and taking, at ease because he knew that it was because Peter and Elizabeth weren't in immediate danger, because the news that morning wasn't - 'Peter isn't coming into work today, because he sustained a serious injury in result of the impact to his skull and is currently in treatment', - or - 'Peter didn't call in, we can't contact or find him, we think he or Elizabeth's been taken'.
And yet he had been so blind to not see it coming, because he expected it, because he knew that Peter was concentrating on taking care of himself, and his friends, while keeping an eye on the con man to prevent him endangering his young life in attempts to run with the treasure, or put Keller down with a gun in his trembling hands meant to forge, paint, seduce, not kill.
And a fool, to not tell Peter to keep an eye on El, to make sure she was protected at all times.
Now with this simple move, Keller had taken down the pawns, the bishop, the knights, and held the queen hostage. Adler had been the man who had killed a young woman in flames, who sent someone else to shoot Mozzie in the heart- and Keller was just as bad, if not worse, his true colors finally beginning to show- so why would he find the need to ultimately spare Elizabeth? How could one assume that after the treasure was found from Mozzie's fleeing hands, that the agents wife would be given back alive? If not remotely well?
Everything spiraled out of control and fast, in less then an hour that night.
Peter looked away and back towards the pot that lay on its side, the sauce that slid down the surface, and lay in a puddle around the ground where Elizabeth once stood, eerily resembling blood. "He took my wife." He whispered, fists clenching.
Caffrey didn't think it through, taking a cautious step forward in attempts to comfort the man. He didn't watch as Jones' brows raise in that incredulous manner, looking form the con man to the agent who was at the edge of berserk. Didn't catch Diana's grip on the taser gun tucked in the belt on her right in case the situation got bad, all the while glaring at Neal as if the man held a weapon himself.
He didn't think it through.
Because in less then registering moments, Neal found himself on the ground, on all fours, face towards the tile, nose nearly touching it, eyes wide, breathing heavy.
The con man hitched his breath as he lifted his head to look forward, the movement dizzying, making him sick to his stomach, eyes towards Peter's shoes, and he wondered, why he was on the ground, and how he got there.
The moment came to him as the pain shot through him, the left side of his head aching with an implacable hot sensation, almost as if burned. He hissed lightly as he spared a hand that was holding him up to touch the side of his, his trembling fingers coming back towards his line of vision, his eyes going wide with the sight of blood.
Neal's world turned, those around him blurring, the only sound was the pounding in his skull, his heart at a rather calm tempo, and his labored breathing. He didn't notice or hear as Peter's feet shuffled against the ground in attempts to near him but was being pulled back, or hear as the agent yelled and cursed at him. Only his name was echoed as it was being shouted, and called by those who immediately came to his side.
His blue eyes searched the ground in attempts to find something, but he didn't know what.
The red that stained the ground was the sauce, he knew that. He didn't wonder why he was close to the oven, if the sauce was near him, he only realized that he was hit by the fist of non other then Peter Burke in a fit or reasonable rage, and was on the ground as a result.
It wasn't until Diana kneeled in front of him, lifting his face by cupping his chin, that he realized there were people around him. She looked towards his eyes, brows furrowed, her mouth moved, there was no sound, just white noise, and he could hardly read her lips, she stopped and glanced towards the side of his head, then towards the ground, Neal following her line of vision before she turned her head to look somewhere else, yelling again, but short words.
The con man looked towards the ground, the pain overwhelming him, taking his senses, his ability to register anything, but there he spotted the pan that was once on the stove, on the floor by his right hand, the hollow inside facing towards him. He looked towards the ground again, and he realized he wasn't near the stove, and the stain that covered the ovens face, collecting near it's base on the ground, was no where near him.
This red wasn't from the sauce, he realized, not feeling the light shaking as his shoulder was gripped by a male hand in attempts to rouse him towards awareness. This red was his red.
And there was a lot.
A lot of his blood.
Diana grabbed him by the chin again, and he looked passed her shoulder as she glared towards him, he looking for Peter, who should have been standing there but wasn't.
Everything began to spin, his blinking elongated, world fading to black- he didn't realize he was closing his eyes in attempts to sleep until a female hand slapped him across the face. His eyes drifting, swam, he looked from Diana to Jones who held him up. The world faded with another blink.
He opened his eyes again.
He didn't remember when he decided to lay on his right side, his arms sprawled out before him, extending towards nothing, as Diana held her hand on the left side of his head, but he felt something soft in place of her fingers, Jones shouting at him and over his shoulder towards others, holding his radio to his mouth as he looked back to Neal.
The echoes came, his vision tunneling, his eyes staring at nothing, he could vaguely hear them shouting, demanding that he stay awake and hold on, because help was on the way.
He didn't care, couldn't, because now all he wanted more then anything was rest.
Neal wanted to sleep.
If aware he would realize why that was a bad thing, he would care enough to keep himself awake in the case of a head injury. But he couldn't. He needed to rest.
He allowed his eyelids to slowly shut, the blue of his eyes beginning to fade as his pupils began to grow. He heard distant sound of another slap in attempts to keep him awake, felt the light swimming from the urgent shake of a shoulder, that lulled him further to sleep as it felt like the slow rock of a boat on the steady ocean waves.
He didn't realize when or why he could only see black. He wondered for a moment, but then, felt his breath leave him, and let the world around him drift away as he succumbed to the nothingness in his fading conscious.
Please review. I've had a lot on my life as of late, and I need the support to continue writing stories as much as possible. I'd really appreciate it, anon or not, rude or kind, etc. Well, maybe not rude :\.. :)