Hello! I am so sorry I haven't posted anything in a while, but I have been rather busy.
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Rating: STRONG T
Characters: Neal, Peter, Neal's doctor/ EMT Dixie Isles, no Violet or Isla yet, we will get to them later.
Parings: None
Warnings: Mentions of torture. Oodles of blood. BS doctor stuff. Real happy stuff. You have been warned, I do watch House… haha
Inspiration tunes:
Disclaimer: My writing could never compare to the works of the marvelous Jeff Eastin.
Question for Readers: Do you honestly think that Neal and Mozzie will run? Leave me a review, and tell me what you think!
As always, reviews are lovely.
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The bright yellow line that danced like a delicate ballerina across the blinking EKG machine reminded Peter that there was still hope left for the broken body laid out in front of him on a gurney. Peter's stomach twisted painfully at the sight of an oozing stab wound to the stomach, a bullet hole piercing the shoulder, and cuts an bruises as numerous as stars in the sky were impossible not to look at. Pain seemed to radiate from his broken body. His skin seemed almost translucent against the white paper the doctor's had laid him on. His eyelids were a purply colour, and his lips were turning blue. Neal looked like he had been through the seven circles of hell and back multiple times, and Peter knew he had done just that. These images in front of him burned holes into his eyes, tattooing themselves into his memory. He forced himself not to look away. The imperfections marred the usually cool and sophisticated demeanor of the young con. Peter knew that this outcome of torture forced him to think of his friend as a victim of a terrible crime.
Peter watched on the sidelines as his friend gripped at straws to remain alive in this dimension. If someone where to ask him if Neal would make it right now, he honestly did not have an answer for them. For they had not seen what Peter had seen, the watery grave that Neal had been kept in for hours, enduring torture that would leave him broken an scarred as a human being. A feeling of helplessness settled in his gut as he realized that there was nothing he could do to ease the physical as well as emotional pain that Neal was experiencing. There was no tracking anklet that could save him now.
Adler better thank his lucky stars that he was dead, for Peter knew that the wrath he would have inflicted upon the low life bastard, also known as the man who made Neal the way he was today, was millions of times worse then the bullet to the skull that he had received. He watched, rage boiling inside of him as a mortician zipped up black body bag, and loaded Adler into the truck. Vincent Adler had gotten off easily, and there was no way in hell he had deserved it.
Peter refocused his attention to his friend. He held Neal's limp hand delicately in his.
"Neal, you need to hold on for a little while longer for me buddy." Peter whispered. "They are going to patch you up, but it may take time. You are going to be fine."
Peter shut his eyes for a moment, and quietly prayed to every God he new existed. He believed that Neal was more than just a friend. He was like a brother, or a son even, and there was no one in the world that could take him away from Peter. His murmurs were interrupted by the insistent bleeping of the machine, demanding the EMT's attention. Neal's heart had flatlined.
He looked up, refusing to believe the man in front of him was at Death's door.
"Neal, come on buddy, stay with me." Tears pricked his eyes, he swallowed hard. He gripped Neal's hand tighter.
"Back up, give me room!" A red-haired EMT shouted, breaking the connection between the FBI agent and his Criminal Consultant. She checked a for a pulse, and shined a miniature flashlight in Neal's eyes.
She jumped into the ambulance, and grabbed a defibrillator. She ripped open Neal's shirt, ignoring his muscular abdomen and chest. She placed the box She spread gel like goo on the the two pads. She mumbled something before stating "Clear." She pressed the pads to Neal's chest.
Peter watched in horror as Neal's body arched into the air, before flopping back down onto the gurney. His heart still hadn't been restarted.
The doctor recharged the pads. "Clear." She shouted, her hair falling into her face, sweat droplets forming on her upper lip.
Neal's body arched once more. But this time as he fell back down onto the gurney, his light blue eyes snapped open. Pain and terror shown in them as tremors wracked his small and damaged frame. He began hacking uncontrollably, his chest contracting painfully. It seemed as though he wanted to rid something from his throat and couldn't do so. Blood spurted from his mouth and onto his chest. Doctors swarmed like honeybees to a hive, trying in vain to help the young man's life become more stable. Then all at once, Neal's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed onto his side back on the gurney.
"Get him inside! We have a Code Red situation here!" The red-head shouted. Six doctors loaded the cart into the back of the ambulance, and sped off, leaving Peter standing in the tail lights, watching as it disappeared into the distance. He should feel angry that they left him behind, yet all Peter felt was despair.
Peter flipped open his cellphone, and punched in his home phone number.
"Elle?" He whispered, his voice cracking. "It's not looking so good right now."
Finally he sank to his knees on the black pavement, indulging himself into tears that he had been holding back for so long.
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