There had never been a time that Mozzie had been more worried for Neal's life than when he had heard that his young compadre was willingly working for the enemy - not even when he was sentenced to super-max prison for four years.
Worse yet, it was the very man that had locked him away in the first place that now had him on a two-mile leash. Special Agent Peter Burke was his mortal enemy and was never one to be trusted or even fraternized with, but Neal did not seem to see that at all, no matter how many times Mozzie tried to point it out to him, mostly in his subtle way, but sometimes more directly when needed.
At first, Mozzie had thought that Neal would part with his electronic tether and disappear into the night with his loyal partner in crime and estranged lover once she was rescued from the clutches of a corrupt suit. But then what seemed to be the inevitable happened - Kate and the happily-ever-after Neal had always longed for vanished into a cloud of smoke and fire and Mozzie was left to pick up the shattered pieces of the young man's broken heart.
Whether it was Neal's quest for vengeance or the quickly forming Stockholm Syndrome that had him reinstating the deal with the devil in a Brooks Brothers suit, Mozzie never strayed from the side of his heartbroken friend. If Neal wished to search for Kate's killer while locked in a gilded cage, then all Mozzie could do was help him along the way.
With the new deal, Mozzie was forced to interact with the seemingly concerned agent that held his friend captive more than he ever wanted to. The man almost seemed like he cared for Neal's wellbeing, so Mozzie allowed the occasional rendezvous in the park to discuss their mutual concerns of the mental and physical health of one Neal Caffrey. It was against his every instinct and sense of survival, but it was for Neal and that overruled just about everything for some unknown reason.
They were making progress on the hunt of Kate's killer, but until then, Neal was on the beck-and-call of the suits to catch the baddie of the week, which was exactly what he was doing now instead of enjoying a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon with Mozzie while diligently tracking down the perpetrator of Kate's heinous murder.
Whether he liked to admit it or not, Mozzie knew that it really was only a matter of time before he saw Neal walk through the door to his apartment with disheveled hair, rumpled clothing and blossoming bruises marring his handsome face. Mozzie just about choked on the lovely wine that he was 'borrowing' from his friend when he caught the sight of the injuries that were visible. Who knew what his untidy clothes hid.
"What the hell happened to you?" Mozzie inelegantly croaked out, not sure how else to ask for a reason behind his friend's concerning state. Mozzie really wasn't a curser, but now seemed like an exception for his foul language.
Neal gave Mozzie a smile that was tired and strained and oh-so-very fake. "Things got a little out of hand at the office today," he said offhandedly as he limped his way to his bed, toeing off his shoes and loosening his tie while he was at it. Neal liked to play down his injuries to spare worry of those around him, but now was not the time to skimp out on the details.
Mozzie stared, open-mouthed, for several moments before he came up with what he wanted to say to that. "This is what you call 'a little out of hand'?" he asked, waving his hands at Neal and his uncharacteristically disheveled appearance, then almost automatically stood up and approached Neal to get a better look at the damage.
"It looks worse than it is," Neal said as he untucked his shirt and took off his belt much more carefully than usual, flat-out lying. Mozzie could tell that every movement was painful even if he was trying to hide it.
"And The Suit just let someone use you as a punching bag?" Mozzie asked, still wanting answers. It had to have been The Suit's fault - he was the one that put Neal in harrowing situations every other week.
"No, the surveillance van was just farther away than the guys' fists," Neal answered flippantly, disarming smirk in place. Apparently, his sense of humor was not damaged from the vicious beating he obviously took.
Neal then grabbed a nice pair of silk pajamas from the cabinet near his bed and started walking towards the bathroom as if he was leaving to change and not planning on allowing Mozzie to see his injuries.
Mozzie moved in front of Neal's path, easily intercepting him. "Let's see it, then," Mozzie said as he gestured with his hands, needing to assess the damage.
Neal looked affronted for some reason. "Excuse me?" he asked, then looked past Mozzie as if he was deciding whether or not to try to get around him. With the way Neal had been moving before, Mozzie would have no problem blocking Neal from getting away. Neal seemed to have come to the same conclusion, a sigh of defeat leaving his mouth.
"You heard me. Strip," Mozzie said in a business-like tone.
"I'm not stripping," Neal said indignantly, taking a step back as if the distance would change anything. For a man that had spent four years showering in front of twenty other men, he had his moments of modesty.
Mozzie rolled all four of his eyes. "I'm not letting you be until I take a look at the damage The Suit easily could have avoided."
"It wasn't Peter's fault. He even took me to the emergency room," Neal defended, always ready to fall on the metaphorical sword for that man. Why Neal thought that he owed his loyalty to the suit, Mozzie would never know. Sure, he got him out of prison after Neal had foolishly escaped to run after Kate - something that Mozzie had tried to talk Neal out of, then helped with when that didn't work - but he was the one that put him in there in the first place. That didn't make them even in Mozzie's book.
"I'm sure that's what he said, but I still need confirmation that you're not going to die on me," Mozzie said, determined to make sure his friend would survive the night. There had been a few too many close calls through the years and Mozzie made sure to keep a close eye on Neal since he tended to make light of his own injuries, or even hide them completely if he could.
Neal sighed the sigh of a man suffering, then relented by putting his pajamas on the bed. He then slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt, which seemed to hurt him so much that Mozzie almost regretted asking in the first place. However, he needed to see how bad the damage was. Mozzie waited patiently for Neal to finish, then baulked as he saw the handful of fist-shaped bruises covering the left side of Neal's ridiculously chiseled abdomen. Like the bruises on Neal's face, the ones on his abdomen were still darkening.
"Why wasn't I informed of this immediately?" Mozzie asked indignantly, still examining the bruises closely.
"Probably because I'm the only one that can contact you easily and I was a little busy trying not to get my head bashed in," Neal retorted, making Mozzie realize that his tense stance was not only because of the pain. Mozzie knew that Neal was a passive man and violence was something he avoided whenever possible, but when he couldn't, he didn't do too well with the aftermath. He needed alcohol, but first, Mozzie needed to know that Neal was going to make it through the night.
"And what did the highly payed and often corrupt medical personnel have to say about your chances of death?" Mozzie asked, finally straightening again to peer at Neal's face.
"They said I'll be fine after some time and rest," Neal informed Mozzie.
"Ha! Exactly what's expected from those that claim to know all, then throw non-liability claims in your face when someone inevitably drops dead from a curable disease," Mozzie ranted, waving his hands around for emphasis.
Neal gave Mozzie a look of amusement and clear doubt - the naïve man.
"Don't look at me like that. There are endless true stories that the government you now work for try to sweep under the rug of deceit and secrets, which, by the way, is getting quite full," Mozzie said as he pointed a finger in the air.
"Are you done?" Neal asked patiently.
Mozzie gave the question some thought, then nodded. "Yes."
"Good. Now, since you're insistent on seeing everything, can you help me?"
Mozzie looked Neal up and down, not sure what he'd be able to help with. The most likely corrupt doctors seemed to have actually done a pretty good job patching Neal up, considering. "With what?"
Neal seemed embarrassed all of a sudden, like he didn't want to say what clearly needed to be said. "I, uh, I think I may need your help after all," he eventually said, being uncharacteristically shy.
"Oh...Oh!" Mozzie said as comprehension dawned on him. "Uh, sure I'll help," he said, then looked at Neal's remaining clothes as the puzzle they now were.
As it were, it was not the first time Neal had needed help undressing. There were times, few and far in between, when his friend was too injured or, more often, too drunk to help himself and Mozzie was forced to assist.
Back when Kate first disappeared and all of the leads had dried up, Neal went on a slight binge for a few dark weeks to drown his sorrows and self-hatred for driving her away with his half-truths and omissions that had become second nature to him.
Mozzie helped him back to the land of the sober, like he always did, but that involved many nights of essentially tucking the kid in, making sure he didn't choke himself with his tie or get his bed dirty from not bothering to take his shoes off before slipping under the covers. Then there was the coffee and pain medication waiting for him in the morning to stave off the nasty hangovers a whole night of drinking brought on. It really was a lot of work being Neal's friend.
Neal's shirt was just about off and his shoes and tie had been slipped off as well, so all that really needed to be removed was his slacks, then the pajamas needed to be put on. That should be easy enough.
"I think I only really need help with my shirt," Neal said, much to Mozzie's relief. Not that he wouldn't have helped Neal, but it was much better that he stayed north of the equator, for everyone's sake.
Mozzie helped unbutton Neal's cuffs, then slid his dress shirt off. The top Neal had picked out was also a button-up, so Neal didn't have to reach his arms high to put it on. Mozzie helped him slip that on, then buttoned up the front for him, Neal giving his friend a smile of thanks.
Then Mozzie allowed Neal to have his space while he changed his pants, making sure to be ready to help if the kid really did need it. He grabbed another wine glass for his friend and poured a generous amount for him, staying at the counter so he could keep his back to Neal to allow some privacy.
Neal sidled up to Mozzie once he was finished, grabbing for the glass of wine Mozzie had poured, but the older man pulled it away before Neal could take it. "Are you medicated?" he asked, not allowing Neal to mix alcohol and drugs - not ever again.
Neal seemed a bit annoyed for being denied the alcohol he so clearly needed to unwind, but amused Mozzie with an answer. "No, Moz, I didn't take anything," he said, though the way he held himself said that he needed some.
"You probably should, but I won't make you," Mozzie said, handing the glass over to Neal. He wasn't Neal's mother, just a friend that wouldn't force him one way or another, not unless it was paramount to his health.
Neal nodded, then took a long sip of the burgundy liquid. He then grabbed the bottle and took a seat at the table in the center of the apartment, Mozzie joining him on the opposite side.
Neal studied his wine as he slowly swirled the dark liquid around in his glass, then took another sip, a contemplative expression on his face. "Thanks, Moz. I needed this," he said quietly, not talking about the wine, or even about helping him change, but for being that steady rock that he needed now, when his nerves were raw and his masks cracked. He just needed some time to pull himself back together, and Mozzie was going to be there for him while he did, a dutiful sentinel guarding his ward, which, Mozzie supposed, was not unlike Agent Burke.
"You know I'll always be here to help, so as long as you keep your wine rack full," Mozzie said, smiling when Neal did. It wasn't one of his dazzling smiles that threatened to blind, but one of those shy, sincere ones that Mozzie didn't often see. It reminded him that Neal was just a little kid at heart, and needed reassurance and someone to help him along when times got tough.
Agent Burke might have his hold on Neal, but Mozzie knew that Neal would come to him when he really needed a friend that wouldn't judge or question, much. At least he wouldn't lock him up if he said something incriminating. That was a true friend, and Neal knew that he had that with Mozzie.