(Dedicated to Wondo~ Thank you for your support and encouragement. It's helped me more than you know.
Note to all: I'm going to be writing a collection of short fics and if there's any movie, show, song, book, anything you can think of that you'd like me to write a chapter for, do share. Just know that I will be using White Collar characters, and only borrowing elements from the other works. If you've got ideas, let me hear them. Just know that if I'm not familiar with what you choose, I may not use it.)
Peter opened his eyes to grey walls and iron bars. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he'd somehow wound up in a dank prison somewhere, but luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it) he knew better.
He'd gotten on the wrong side of the
wrong people, some group who called themselves Tirade. No one had ever come close to catching them, until now anyway.
Peter looked down to see that his hands were cuffed together and chained to the wall behind him. His feet were free, though, so at least there was that. The cell wasn't small, but it wasn't spacious either. There were also cells on his left and right. The place looked like a dungeon.
"You've been out for two hours," a voice spoke, startling him. Peter snapped his head to the right, spotting a man leaning against the wall by a door that presumably led out of the jail-like area. He was well-dressed, his hair coiffed perfectly, and from what Peter could tell, he was probably Tirade. The man stepped into view and stood on the other side of the door to Peter's cell. "You should count yourself lucky. They don't usually take prisoners."
Peter snorted. "You speak like you're not one of them."
There was a strange glint in the stranger's eye when he replied, "Would I be here if I weren't?" He seemed to be sizing Peter up, and Peter did the same. This guy looked about as dangerous as a puppy, but it was never wise to make assumptions. Especially with Tirade.
"Who are you?" Peter asked eventually, shifting on the floor. "What's your name?"
"Nick," the stranger said. "And you are..." He pulled Peter's badge from his pocket and tilted his head at it. "Special Agent Peter Burke, FBI. That's quite the title."
"So, Nick," Peter started, "What do you want with me?"
"Me, personally? Nothing," Nick replied. "But my boss has some bone to pick with you. Probably about you and your team interfering with his business."
"Why are you here then?" Peter asked, curious.
Nick gestured to the door he'd been standing by. "Guard duty. Someone's gotta do it."
Peter narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. There had to be some angle here, whether it was Nick doing the angling, or him. "Guard duty, huh? Something tells me you aren't exactly the boss' favorite henchman to be stuck on guard duty."
Nick almost seemed amused by that. "You'd be correct But that's what I'm looking to change." He paused, glancing at the door. He said nothing more, backing up to lean against the wall again. A second later, three men strolled in, two more guards and one that was clearly in charge.
He was a tall man, blond hair slicked back with a pair of sunglasses pushed up on his head. His suit was probably as expensive as they came. Peter held an instant dislike towards him.
Sharp blue eyes met his and the boss hummed. "Peter Burke." He glanced at Nick and jerked his head. Nick tossed over the badge, saying nothing and seeming to eye the other two guards almost warily.
"You know my name but I don't know yours," Peter said.
"You can call me Ace," the man said. "You've already met Nick." He gestured to the other two on either side of him. "This is Russ, and Jimmy. You're going to be spending a lot of quality time with them."
"I assume you're not talking about a tea party," Peter shot back. Behind Ace, Nick hid a smile.
"No," Ace smirked. "No tea parties." With that, he deemed the conversation over, turning to walk out the door again and leaving his two lapdogs behind. The one he'd introduced as Russ pulled a key from his pocket. Jimmy stood by, looking at Nick, who kept his place against the wall. The size difference between him and the other two guards was almost comical and Peter wondered why Ace had even included such a person in his group. Nick must have more to him than met the eye.
Russ and Jimmy dragged Peter out of his cell and Peter didn't fight. The odds were stacked too high against him. For now, he'd bide his time, wait for an opportunity to escape.
They took him to a room away from the cells, one that looked like it had been used as a large office once. Now it was empty. Well, mostly empty. There was blood on the floor in one corner.
Peter closed his eyes, preparing himself for what he knew was about to happen, and that was when the first punch hit him.
-)()(-
"You didn't give them what they wanted, I take it," Nick said after Peter was deposited roughly back in his cell and the other two guards had left.
Peter huffed shortly and didn't reply, spitting off to the side. His lower lip was swollen and bleeding. His face was bruised.
"What is it you know that they want so bad, anyway?" Nick asked, tossing something from hand to hand. It looked like a rubber stress ball.
"Oh, like I'd be stupid enough to tell you," Peter snorted. "Nice try. But I know a bad guy, good guy routine when I see one."
Nick actually looked offended by that, but he said nothing more, leaning back against the wall again and continuing to play with the ball in his hands. Peter sat there and listened to the small noises of the rubber smacking his hand.
"Could you stop that?" he snapped finally.
Nick shot him a sour look, but stopped. He tossed the ball through the bars and into Peter's cell. It bounced off the wall, the floor, then landed in Peter's lap. Peter glared and threw it out.
Nick caught it in the air with a small smile, then tossed it right back in.
This time Peter caught it as well and he held onto it, shooting Nick a hard look. "I'm not playing catch with you."
Nick grinned and raised an eyebrow. "That's what it looked like to me. Come on, toss it back."
Peter pointedly stuck the ball on the floor beside him and left it there.
Nick made a face, but didn't argue. He just shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed, looking out the window next to him.
After a long silence, he spoke again. "I'm sorry they hurt you."
"That doesn't mean much coming from you, I hope you know that," Peter replied.
Nick shrugged. "Well, I am."
Neither spoke again for a long time. Peter leaned back against the back wall of his cell, and Nick tapped his fingers against the edge of the window.
Only an hour passed before Russ and Jimmy returned. Nick watched them with an unreadable expression as they dragged Peter from his cell again, but Peter could see a hardness he hadn't noticed before. Maybe it hadn't been there before, but it was now. Still, he didn't intervene. Peter was taken back to the room with the blood in the corner.
This time, they didn't even ask him questions, only threw punches and kicks until Peter was on the brink of passing out.
He didn't even recall them taking him back to the cell.
-)()(-
Nick stood there after the other two guards left with the agent. He frowned. There was a reason Ace had taken them in, specifically. They knew what buttons to push to get information. And, unfortunately, they enjoyed it too much.
He had joined Tirade with plans to get on Ace's good side. He had no interest in the group itself or what they did. All he was after was the safe in the boss' office. But now, it looked like his plans of double crossing were on hold. He couldn't stop thinking about Peter. It was clear that he was a good man, a good agent. He didn't deserve to be held here just for doing his job.
Nick sighed, brow furrowed as his thoughts raced. He could get Peter out of here, but then all his hard work would have been for naught. The safe in the office would be out of reach forever. He went back and forth, considering all his options. He knew what the right thing was, it just wasn't easy to admit it.
In the beginning, Tirade hadn't been so willing to go these lengths for anything. They were controlled and level-headed, not as rash or cruel as they were now. He would have never joined if he knew the kind of things they'd end up doing, things they'd end up making him do.
Sighing, he tilted his head back until it touched the wall. Then he made a decision.
-)()(-
Peter woke and it was dark. The only light was faint, a few rays of moonlight that shone through the window. His body was sore and he winced, sitting up slowly. He coughed a little and looked around, but there was no sign of Nick, Ace, or the other guards. It gave him a moment to think.
He inspected himself the best he could. Split lip, swollen eye, possible cracked ribs, and one shoulder was painful to move.
The situation was becoming more serious every minute he stayed here, wherever here was. He wondered if anyone was looking for him. Of course they were. El wouldn't let them rest until he was back home. He smiled at the thought of her, at the thought of being able to see her again. But he quickly shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. They'd do him no good now. Instead, he began to brainstorm, trying to think up a plan of escape.
He didn't get far with that before the door opened and a figure slipped through. Nick was easily recognizable, even in the dark.
"You really don't have anything better to do, do you?" Peter snorted.
Nick ignored that statement. He seemed to ignore Peter completely as he stood by the window, glancing at his watch. Peter couldn't see his face, but he could see that the man's shoulders were tense. Something was going on, that was for sure.
After several minutes, Nick came forward, moving with sharp purpose as he reached into his jacket to bring out a small case. This he opened and Peter recognized it for what it was: a lock pick set.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting you out," Nick replied.
"I'm supposed to believe that?" Peter hissed.
Nick stopped what he was doing and shot Peter a firm glare. "Look, I don't have to bring you with me. But I'm leaving tonight, so unless you want to see what Wilson has planned for you, shut up and let me help you."
"Who's Wilson?" Peter questioned.
Nick shook his head, returning to his task. "Ace. It doesn't matter right now. We have to go."
The cell door clicked and swung open, and Nick darted inside, easily taking care of the cuffs on Peter's hands as well.
"How am I supposed to trust you?" Peter asked, though he followed the other man out of the cell and through the door.
Nick led the way down a long corridor, pausing at the end to peer around the corner. "I don't exactly trust you not to turn me in once were out of here," he whispered, "But I guess we don't really have a choice, do we?" He walked quickly down another short hallway, then paused next to a door and pressed his ear against it, listening. After a moment, he breathed, "Okay," and pushed it open.
Before them was a large room, a machine shop, it looked like. But all the machines were dark and all the lights were off. Nick whispered, "Hide in here. I'll be right back." Before Peter could protest, he was gone, running back down the hall.
Peter quickly walked further into the room, weaving between the large machines. He had to assume that Nick was going to fetch his boss, so that meant he had to get out of here as fast as possible. He didn't have time to wonder why the kid had broken him out in the first place. Maybe he just wanted to see Peter get his ass kicked for trying to escape. None of it made sense.
Near the back, it was almost pitch black, and Peter had to feel his way through the metal machinery and various scrap bins. He was curious as to what this place was used for.
When he reached the back wall, he couldn't find another door. No matter how far he felt along, there was nothing but cold concrete and shelves of junk. He spent maybe five minutes doing that before he gave up and started searching along the sides. His heart was beating fast, but he forced himself to remain level-headed. He just needed to find a door.
He almost jumped when the lights came on rather suddenly and he quickly ducked behind the nearest machine, listening. He could hear voices, one he recognized as Ace, or Wilson, and the other as one of the guards. He'd been right about Nick.
"Come on out, Halden!" Ace called, "We know you're in here. You took something of mine."
Peter narrowed his eyes. Halden? Were they talking about Nick? He could hear their footsteps, still a ways away from him but he knew he'd be discovered eventually unless he moved.
As quietly as possible, he crept through the maze of metal and plastic bins, searching for another way out of here. But the room was huge and he had no idea where he was anymore, or what direction the closest exit was.
Something hit him from the side, catching him off guard, and he stumbled, crashing into a bin full of scrap metal. Rough hands grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him up, slamming him back against the bin. Peter blinked in shock at Russ, who sneered and opened his mouth to shout for Ace, but then Peter heard a soft click and Nick was there, holding Peter's gun. "Let him go," he said quickly.
Russ shot him a harsh glare, but did as he was told. Nick kept the gun on him, jerking his head and saying, "Go, Peter. I'm right behind you."
Peter hesitated for only a second, but Nick snapped, "Run!" and he did. When he glanced back, Nick was right there. He shoved the gun into Peter's hands, along with his badge. "Those are yours, I believe," he smirked.
"I'll thank you when we're out of here," Peter replied.
"That way." Nick nudged him to the left.
Russ was shouting for Ace behind them and Peter really hoped neither of them had guns of their own. Somehow he doubted that.
As if on cue, gunfire started up behind them and he flinched, his legs only moving that much faster. He felt Nick stumble beside him once, but he quickly righted himself and together, they burst through another door and out into the cool night air.
Nick instantly spun around and slammed the door shut. Peter was quick to snatch a long wooden board from the ground and jam it through the handles. It wasn't perfect, but it would hold their pursuers off long enough.
"Come on!" Nick shouted, taking off once again. Peter followed him to a black car parked maybe five yards away. As he slid into the passenger seat, he began to ask, "How are you gonna get this thing started?"
Nick was already pulling a key from his pocket and sticking it in the ignition. Whether they were his keys or he had taken them from someone else was a question Peter wasn't going to ask.
He ducked as bullets hit the glass, but the car was already tearing out of there, tires spitting gravel as they left their pursuers behind.
Peter stared back through the shattered back window until they were out of sight of the old building, then he sat forward and turned his attention to Nick. "Guess I owe you an apology." But then he noticed that Nick was still breathing heavily and one hand gripped the steering wheel tightly. The other was pressed against his side where Peter could already see blood staining through his shirt.
"Dammit, Nick!" he swore. "Come on, pull over. We're far enough away."
Nick shook his head. "Just a minute. It's right up here."
Peter wanted to argue, but he realized that Ace and his guards probably weren't far behind. If they stopped even to change places, they might very well be caught. Luckily, the place Nick had in mind was only a mile or so down the road, an old abandoned looking house just inside the city. He pulled the car all the way back into the garage and finally stopped, taking the key out and handing it to Peter.
They limped their way inside and Peter murmured, "Please tell me we're not trespassing on someone else's property."
"It belongs to a friend," Nick assured him. He sat heavily on the couch and Peter crouched next to him.
"Alright let me see that."
He was glad to see that the bullet had only grazed the skin, though it was still in need of stitches. "We need to get you to a hospital."
Nick shook his head. "No, no, I'm good. My friend can take care of everything. He's a doctor." He gave Peter a friendly nudge. "There's a phone in the kitchen. Call your wife."
"How do you know I'm married?" Peter questioned.
Nick wiggled his fingers. "You're not wearing a ring, but you've got the tan line."
"Okay, Sherlock," Peter smiled. He found the phone in a drawer, a burner, and he dialed Elizabeth first to let her know he was okay. She was relieved to hear from him. After that, he called Jones and told him to send the cavalry.
Nick was still sitting there when he came back, and Peter offered him the phone. "Got anyone you need to call?"
Nick shook his head. "Already did. He should be here soon. But thanks."
"I should be thanking you," Peter said. "I wouldn't have gotten away without you, Nick."
Nick smiled a bit. "Neal."
"What?"
"It's Neal."
Peter chuckled. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Well, Neal, thank you."
Neal's friend arrived a minute later, a short bald guy with an odd air about him. Peter found him intriguing right from the start.
"Who's this?" the guy asked, glancing at Peter incredulously before hissing, "Did you bring a Suit here? Did you bring a Suit to Friday?!"
"Relax, Moz," Neal said. "Just tell me you got your car outside."
"That I do," Moz replied. Peter wondered what kind of name that was. It had to be short for something. "Oh boy," the little guy murmured, catching sight of the blood on Neal's shirt. "That looks bad. I should have brought a seat cover. Do you know what blood will do to that kind of fabric? Not to mention my reputation."
"Taxi driver was never a good look for you," Neal said, standing up. He kept a hand over the wound in his side, but otherwise appeared okay.
"Wait," Peter said, "I thought you told me he was a doctor."
Neal and Moz exchanged a glance and Neal shrugged. "He could be one if he could stand the sight of blood."
Peter shook his head firmly. "You need a hospital, Neal. My team will be here in a few minutes. Just wait for them."
"Not gonna happen."
"Neal," Peter said more gently, "Let me help you. If you walk out that door, I'll have no choice but to hunt you down. But if you stay here, we can work something out. I promise. You saved me once, let me return the favor."
Neal looked away, to Moz, who shook his head just barely.
"Alright," he said eventually, sitting back down on the couch. Moz stared at him incredulously.
"Neal! What are you doing?! They're gonna stick you in jail!"
"I won't let that happen," Peter said to him, then looked back at Neal. "You said Ace's name is Wilson?"
Neal nodded, looking at him curiously.
"Then you know more about him than we do. How would you like to help me catch him in exchange for staying out of jail?"
Neal blinked up at him in surprise. "Like a partner?"
"No," Peter said, "Like a consultant. You don't need to go back in there. All I need is information."
Neal grinned. "When do we start?"
Outside, sirens approached, and flashing lights came into view.
"Right now."