A Minute

A/N: Hey there everyone! :D I hope you guys are doing great. I've been re-watching the show again and I just can't get enough with all the plot bunnies running around in my head! :) So I decided to give this one a shot too.

This story will be a three-shot covering both Neal's and Peter's POVs alternatively set during the fight scene of 03x11, Checkmate. It's always a what if I've wondered about and now that I have my creative juices floating, I gave in finally and wrote this piece down. I know that there are loads of amazing works out there on this plotline, but here's another one from my end as well.

Not keeping y'all for long now!

Happy Reading! :D :D

Chapter 1

"Not the Raphael. You wouldn't."

Neal knew that Keller was a lot of things but he wasn't somehow who'd destroy a priceless piece of art in a hand-to-hand combat.

It took a minute to be proved wrong as the painting came smashing down the side of the head, the impact making stars pop in his line of vision. He felt himself fall upon his stomach with the air rudely knocked out of his lungs.

It took a minute to absorb the shock.

Eyes shut and lungs trying to greedily force back the air it had lost, Neal knew had to get up before Keller struck him again. He could feel the heat burn the back of his head and metal drip down his face in a sticky trail, the sun burning his wounds even more. He wished for nothing more than to fall asleep, sleep that he'd not known since the moment El had been kidnapped.

El.

It took a minute to regain his will to get up.

Lips shivering and head hurting, Neal made to push himself up with trembling hands, gritting his teeth at the nausea and pain that intensified at the strain. Before he could turn his head though, something sharp make contact with his head once again. The pain made him nearly blind of everything else as he felt dry concrete meet his face, pulling at the already present wound in his face even more.

Head aching fit to explode and the metallic taste of blood now lining the insides of his mouth, Neal found himself getting sucked into an abyss of painless dark before something tugged at him. Something that twisted his head and brought him back to reality with such sharp focus that it made him cry out in pain. Except, the voice that escaped his throat was barely a whimper.

It took him a minute to let the air back into his lungs.

Letting the pain abate for a minute until he could move, Neal slowly turned himself onto his back in spite of every pore in his body convincing him otherwise, feeling blood now trickle from the back of his head. Desperate to open his eyes before Keller could assault him any further, Neal pushed open his uncooperative lids once, twice, thrice, until sunlight finally streamed into his sight along with a looming figure.

He could see the silhouette of Keller with the staff of Napoleon raised mid-air before it suddenly fell to his side with a hesitant clang. Neal nearly took a sigh a relief. Nearly. The same time as his vision grew clearer, Keller pulled something out of thin air, something that made Neal's slightly less throbbing head fall devoid of thoughts. Keller had his revolver pointed at him.

It took a minute to realize that he was a goner.

"You've been a pain in my ass for too long, Caffrey. It's time to go gently into the night," crooned Keller's voice cruelly, Neal too dazed to defend himself. Shuttling between the pain and the paralysis of the moment, eager to shut his eyes and slip into darkness yet afraid that if he shut his eyes, he'd never be opening them again, Neal knew that nobody was going to save him.

Not even Peter.

The sky flitting in and out of his sight, Neal knew that his head was on fire when he felt his world crumble with a resounding blast, the impact somehow not pushing him further behind like it had when the plane had blown up with Kate in it. He remained just where he was, suddenly distant from everything until a voice cut through the haze of his misty thoughts. He could barely discern the voice before he felt his chest get torn into half, trying to clutch at it and hold the pieces together.

Fingers tracing the rip point, Neal was unaware yet aware about the blood oozing from the wound and through his fingers, the sun now burning into his gaze in spite of two heavy shadows looming in and out of view. He tried to hold on to something, anything that would take away his pain until he felt his hands draw in something. Something that felt like a gun.

It took him a minute to decide it was do or die.

Fighting through the never-ceasing pain, Neal screamed as he pushed himself off the ground even though his voice was nothing more than a muffled moan. His body protested the ambitious movement. Forcing his eyes open one, two, three, four, five, six, damn it, seven, eight, nine times until his line of vision could get as clear as he could hope for it to, Neal saw Peter and Keller scuffle over something that shone brilliantly in the daylight, something awfully close to a dagger.

Forcing his mind back on task knowing he had only precious seconds before he lost control of his senses, Neal took aim at Keller, letting out a frustrated sigh at just how difficult the shot was going to be with Peter blocking him entirely. It was now or never. He had to take the risk.

Drawing in breath that eluded him even more, Neal could feel his chest ache with the desperation of air but it had to wait. He pulled the safety click of the revolver and took a quick glance at his target before pulling the trigger, the recoil nearly making him lose balance alongside. Movement came to a standstill for a second before Neal heard a thump and Keller swearing at the top of his voice.

Bull's eye.

Peter turned back and they met eyes for a moment before the former checked his trousers, only to find a hole in it. Neal laughed at the expression on Peter's face and yet somehow a gurgle resounded, suddenly grounding him to where he now slipped back to lay. He felt the ground thunder underneath him as Peter swam into his rapidly fading vision seconds later, his face first blown in concern and then into shock.

It took him a minute to accept that this time, Peter was too late.

Between snatches of pain and darkness, Neal could feel an incessant tapping and all he wanted to do was to shoo it away. But his hands wouldn't raise. He knew that if he had to get rid of the tapping, he had to delve into the world of pain again. It was the only way to reclaim his peaceful darkness.

And then back came Peter, looking frenzied as he spoke fast and unintelligibly.

"...don't you dare die on me! ...El has called you over to dinner this weekend... eyes open... stay with me..."

It took him a minute to register Peter's words.

Yet only one statement stuck to him. He needed answers. Peace or no, he needed to know that his sacrifice had been worth it. That the pain he was putting himself through at this point was worth it.

"El...?"

"She's fine, we found her!" completed Peter, looking almost petrified with his features pale. Neal found it incredibly amusing to see the ever-calm Special Agent Peter Burke look so rattled and he would have laughed had it not been for the fact that his chest nearly exploded in a fresh bout of agony, stealing away more air from his lungs. He wanted to fade, he needed to fade but Peter just seemed to be pulling at his leash, tethering him back to a world of pain.

"L'me go, P'tr…" he whispered insensibly, wanting nothing more than to slip Peter's tail as air now failed him completely. Peter took his job too seriously, Neal pondered, following him everywhere he went, including his peaceful oblivion.

It took him a minute to realize that he was dying for real.

As though electrocuted with survival instinct, Neal felt his eyes snap open, pain and disorientation now cast aside. Peter swam back into focus and Neal felt his hand in his. He squeezed it strongly when their eyes met; Peter seemed to have exhaled a breath he'd long since forgotten.

"You're going to get through this..." he reassured yet Neal heard him through waves of water. There was too much noise around him suddenly. He continued to keep his gaze glued to Peter, wanting the older agent to be the last sight he saw before he slipped towards wherever he was headed. He could barely breathe through the pain and certainly didn't have the strength to wheeze words into sentences, but he hoped that Peter would read between the lines like always.

"Thn'k you, P'tr… f'r bein' a... fr'nd…"

And it was in that minute that he felt the life slip out of him.

So, what do you think so far?

Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D