This story is now beta'd by Larura. Thank you Larura!
This story takes place sometime before Neal goes to jail the first time.
Warning: blood and graphic description of the removal of a bullet.
Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar.
Enjoy!
Neal was in the apartment he and Mozzie were holding up in, waiting for Mozzie to come back, when the door opened and Neal stood up.
A man with a very large hat and a trench coat walked in and said, "Bonjour, mon frer."
"Hey Moz, you get the stuff?" Neal asked his strange friend.
"Yep, all set," he said as he took off his coat and hat and went over to the kitchenette, looking for some of the wine they might still have.
That's when he saw the gun; it was sticking out of the waistband of Mozzie's pants. "Mozzie, what the hell is that?"
"What?! What?!" Mozzie asked, looking around for a threat and the nearest exit.
"The gun! Why do you have a gun?" Neal said, pointing at the offending object.
"Oh - I need it for protection. This part of town's not safe," Mozzie said, pulling out the gun.
"Ok, fine, just don't point it at me."
"It's not even loaded, look," Mozzie said, taking out the magazine and showing it to Neal.
"Ok, I believe you - just put it away."
"You're so paranoid." Neal just raised his eyebrow at that. "Right, never mind." Mozzie continued to play with the gun while Neal backed up a few steps.
Soon something happened that Neal was afraid of and that Mozzie never expected. The gun went off.
The sound echoed though the apartment as did Neal's cry of pain. He fell to the floor and clutched the bullet wound on his thigh. It felt like it was on fire. But Mozzie just stood there, staring at the gun in shock.
"Moz," Neal said in a strained voice, trying to get the man's attention. But Mozzie didn't move.
The blood seemed to be everywhere, soaking through Neal's jeans and pooling on the floor, his hand not doing enough to stop it. "Mozzie!" he yelled, and Mozzie finally moved.
He looked at Neal with wide eyes full of panic. "Oh my god! What did I do? It wasn't loaded!"
"It's ok, just get me a towel and call Dustin, he'll help," Neal ordered.
"Ok, ok. Towel and phone," Mozzie said as he left to get the items.
Neal was starting to feel light headed and the pain was almost unbearable. He leaned back against the wall and tried to take deep breaths.
Mozzie came back with three towels and his phone. He gave the towels to Neal, who put them on the bullet wound, set his jaw and pressed down on the wound. He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned in pain.
Mozzie was on the phone, trying to explain the situation to Dustin in the highest-pitched voice Neal had ever heard from the man.
He must have dozed off because the next thing he remembered was Mozzie yelling his name over and over. "What?"
"Thank God! Don't do that again!" Mozzie ordered.
"Ok. Dustin coming?" Neal noticed that Mozzie was a lot blurrier than the last time he saw him.
"He'll be here in ten minutes, so stay awake, ok?" Mozzie said. Then he crouched down and moved Neal's hand and pressed down on the wound, hard.
Neal let out a cry as the pain in his leg doubled. He wanted to move away, hit Mozzie or yell at him, but he knew he was just trying to help. "Sorry! Just uh ... breathe, ok?" Neal just nodded jerkily and tried to listen to Mozzie's instructions.
By the time Dustin arrived, Neal was sweating, shaking and was just trying to stay awake and control the pain.
Dustin knocked on the door. "Stay alive," Mozzie instructed and got up to open the door. He came back with Dustin in tow.
"Oh my god!" Dustin said. He turned to Mozzie. "You said it was a flesh wound!"
"It is! It's in his flesh."
Dustin kneeled down next to Neal and opened up the bag he brought, taking out gauze, gloves and an IV. He put the gloves on and sat the other things aside. "I need to see if it's a through-and-through. Can you lift up your leg?"
Neal nodded and lifted his leg about an inch. It was enough for Dustin to get his hand under, but the movement sent more pain up and down his leg.
"Damn," Dustin said, then put gauze on the wound and applied pressure. Neal winced and stifled a cry of pain.
"Damn?! What's wrong?!" Mozzie said from behind Dustin.
"The bullet is still in his leg. He needs to go to the hospital," Dustin said.
"No hospital," Neal said as he shook his head.
"I can't help you. I'm not equipped to do this," Dustin said, upset that he couldn't help his friend.
"He can't go to the hospital! The Feds would find him there!" Mozzie said.
"Can you get it out?" Neal asked.
Dustin hesitated. He could in theory, but he'd never done it before. He was just a med school dropout. "I can try."
"You can try?! That's not reassuring," Mozzie piped in.
"Reassuring would be a hospital. I do discrete." Dustin turned to Neal and said, "What do you want me to do?"
"Get it out," Neal said, nodding his head.
"Ok," Dustin said, then he got out more gauze, tweezers and a tourniquet. "Mozzie, I'm going to need your help," he said to the nervous man behind him.
"Uh... I don't do so good around blood," Mozzie said, not wanting to get near the unsanitary red stuff that was coming out of his friend.
"Mozzie, get over here and help me - now!" Dustin said in a no-nonsense tone. He got a pair scissors and cut Neal's pants around the wound.
Mozzie reluctantly came over and kneeled down on the other side of Neal. "What do you need me to do?"
Dustin wrapped the tourniquet above the wound and tightened it, causing Neal to wince in pain. "You need to hold him still."
"Hold him still?" Mozzie questioned. He looked to Neal and said "You're going to hold still, right?"
"I'll try," Neal said.
"He's not going to be able to," Dustin said grimly as he started an IV of fluids, then pulled out some more gloves and handed them to Mozzie. "You'll need those." Mozzie took the gloves and put them on. Dustin pulled out a bowl, filled it with alcohol and put the tweezers and a scalpel in it. The whole time Neal was watching with a half-lidded pained and fearful look.
Dustin grabbed the scalpel and said, "Hold him down," to Mozzie.
Mozzie hesitated for a second, but complied by putting one hand on Neal's shoulder and the other on his uninjured leg. "Just ... stay as still as you can, ok?" Mozzie said to Neal and Neal nodded jerkily.
Dustin looked at Neal and said, "I'm sorry," and made a cut over the wound to make the opening bigger. Neal screamed, but held still. He didn't bother to try to stifle any sounds of pain as he knew no one in that neighborhood would report any sounds like screaming or gunshots. No one would want the police coming around and spotting any illicit activity that they may be part of, so they just kept to themselves.
Dustin then got the tweezers and used the other side of the scalpel to move back the flesh to see the bullet.
Neal couldn't help but make noise whenever Dustin made an adjustment and sent fire down his leg. He moved a few times, but Mozzie helped hold him still.
Dustin had a little trouble getting to the bullet with the tweezers, but he finally got it and pulled it out. "Ok, got it." Dustin looked up at his patient. He was sweating, shaking, and taking fast, shallow breaths.
Neal looked up at Dustin with half-lidded eyes. "Got it?"
Dustin nodded and held up the tweezers that had the bullet. "Got it."
Neal nodded and said, "Good." Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.
"Is he ok?" Mozzie asked. He was really getting worried.
Dustin checked Neal's pulse and breathing. "Yeah, he's ok; he just passed out." He then applied gauze to the wound to stop the bleeding.
After a few seconds Mozzie asked, "Is he going to be ok?"
"If he rests and takes antibiotics he should be." Dustin got out a suture kit and closed the wound, then put a bandage over the wound. "We need to get him on a bed or something."
"We'll move him to the couch. I can keep an eye on him there." He looked to Neal then back to Dustin. "Should we try to wake him?" Mozzie asked.
Dustin nodded. "Yeah, but he might not wake up." Dustin took off his gloves and tapped Neal's cheek with his hand. "Neal, can you wake up? We need to get you on the couch," he said.
Neal moaned, opened his eyes and looked around. His eyes landed on Mozzie. "Moz?" He asked.
"Hey man, do you think you could help us get you to the couch?"
"Yeah, I can try," he said.
Dustin and Mozzie each took an arm and hulled him up to his feet. The pain in Neal's leg doubled and the world went grey around the edges for a second. When everything came back to focus he was laying on the couch with two pairs of concerned eyes watching him. "Did I pass out?" He asked and they both nodded.
Dustin turned to Mozzie and said, "Just make sure he takes those pills and gets plenty of rest." Then he faced Neal and said "No trouble making," with a point of his finger.
"Me? Never," Neal said with a sleepier version of his usual smile.
"Call me if you need me," Dustin said as he left.
Mozzie looked back at Neal, but he was sleeping again. Mozzie went over and checked his pulse just to make sure, then sat down on a chair next to his friend and watched him, making sure he was ok.
Neal woke up a few hours later feeling like crap, but not as lightheaded as before and if he didn't move his leg, then it didn't hurt as bad. Neal looked at Mozzie and he could see he still felt guilty about shooting him. "It's not your fault, not really," he said, trying to console his friend.
Suddenly Mozzie was out of his chair and started pacing. "I shot you! You should be yelling at me. Why aren't you mad at me?" Mozzie turned to Neal, his eyes pleading to answer him.
"Because it's not your fault. You didn't know it was loaded."
Mozzie still seemed unsure.
"Ok, how about this? You take care of me and I'll forgive you." Neal knew that Mozzie was going to take care of him anyway, but this way he might be able to accept Neal's forgiveness.
Mozzie knew that Neal forgave him, but this way it would be easier to accept his forgiveness.
"Wait, there's one more condition," Neal said.
"What's that?" Mozzie asked.
"You get rid of that gun," Neal said with a smile on his face.
Mozzie smiled back and nodded. "Deal."