Title: Countdown to Paradise
Author: Amory Puck (pucktheperv on LJ & Tumblr)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: death!fic, Peter/Neal, severe angst, did I mention death!fic?
Word Count: 6,851
Summary:While helping Neal fake his death, Peter is forced to face his feelings for the other man, but will he admit to them to Neal before it truly is too late?
Author's Notes: Written for the 'Death' square on my H/C Bingo Card for hc-bingo. This is an actual death fic, as in someone really dies. I don't usually write death fic and I sobbed the entire time I was writing it. Seriously, I did. I am a happy ending girl, and I planned to play around with the 'Death' prompt, make it so no one died... But then it turned into this. Yikes. Inspired by J Frank Wilson & the Cavaliers song 'Last Kiss.'
o o o
Countdown to Paradise
o o o
24 Hours to Paradise
"This is insane, Neal," Peter whispered, glancing out the window at the Marshals parked across the street from his house. "You want to fake your own *death*? Are you *crazy?*"
"It's the only way," Neal replied quietly from his spot behind the pillar. "Peter, there's no way out of this. I killed a Fed."
"It was self-defense," Peter hissed back, running a hand nervously through his hair. "The bastard was going to kill you! There is no way they can try you for murder."
"It doesn't matter," Neal snapped, sounding frustrated, "because I'm not going to *make* it to the trial, and you know it. Cop killers don't live long, Peter." His voice caught and Peter swallowed down a lump at the scared look in Neal's eyes. The man tried to act like he knew everything, but he was really just a big kid.
"He's right, Peter," El said from the couch, where she was pretending to read a magazine on interior decorating. "You know he is. Especially with how much some of the guys at the Bureau hate him. They think of him as the criminal who stole their glory. They won't stop to consider the circumstances. They'll just put a bullet in his head."
Peter let out a loud sigh, rubbing at him temples. "You're right. I know you're right. But do you really think faking your own death is the way to go?" The idea made him feel vaguely sick. He couldn't imagine a life without Neal. The other man had made himself part of their family. If they went through with this, Peter might never see him again.
"It's the only way to be sure they won't hunt me," Neal said, staring up at Peter with serious blue eyes. "I have my half of the treasure, but if a bunch of paintings that were stolen during World War II mysteriously show up on the market, they'll put the pieces together and figure out where I am. From there on, it's a game of tag, only when you're caught you don't become 'it.' You just die."
"I still can't believe you didn't tell me you still had half of the treasure," Peter said, shaking his head in disbelief. "After all that happened, you didn't tell me." Peter had thought they'd gotten beyond the secrets, that Neal cared about him enough not to hide anymore.
"I'm sorry," Neal said, looking a little guilty. Which he should be. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I really am. But please, Peter, you have to help me." He lowered his voice with a whisper, looking up at Peter with fear in his eyes. "I don't want to die for real, Peter."
"You're not going to die, Neal," his said in a low voice. "I won't let that happen. I—" He glanced over at El, suddenly uncomfortable at having her in the room. "I care about you, Neal, and I'll take care of you."
"If you want to take care of me, you have to help me do this," Neal said urgently. "Please, you have to help me die. It's the only way I can be free."
Peter stared at the younger man for a long time. This was insane, it really was, and totally illegal as well, but Neal and El were right about one thing. Neal had shot a Fed. Officers of the law were a tight fraternity. Anywhere he went, Neal would be hunted. There was no way he could stay in NYC—it was a death sentence. And if he did manage to escape, he'd spend the rest of his life running. But if they honestly thought he was dead, he could stay under the radar. Of course, if he was dead to the Feds, he would be dead to Peter, too, not a comforting thought. But what other choice was there?
Peter let out a sigh, throwing up his hands in defeat. "All right, fine, I'll help you. But I have a bad feeling about this, Neal."
Neal flashed him a bright smile. "Don't worry, Peter, it will work. I'm the best con there is. I think I can manage to fake my own death. Huh. This is kind of cool. How many people get to pick how they're going to die?"
"Just suicides," Peter said flatly.
Neal laughed at that. "Planning the demise of the great Neal Caffrey. Oh man, this is going to be *spectacular*."
.
12 Hours to Paradise
"This is nuts," Peter said, staring down at the scuba gear littered across the table they'd set up in his old study. "You just have this in your cupboard?"
Mozzie gave a little shrug. "You never know when you need to dive, Suit."
"Okay, here's the plan," Neal said, flashing Peter a big grin as he pointed to the map spread out on the table. "We drive out of Manhattan to the river near the woods. You call in there that you found me hiding in an old farm house right here," he pointed to a spot on the map, "and are going to bring me in. Then, when we get to this little road, I make a desperate move to escape, grabbing the wheel and sending us into the river. As you're driving in, I'll go ahead and break the passenger side window. Then I take the scuba gear, swim out to sea where the boat will be waiting, while you swim back to the shore. From there you'll walk a mile to this house," he pointed to the map again, "and call it in. You tell them that you tried to save me, breaking the window open and pushing me out, but I was unconscious and the river dragged me away."
"They'll dredge the river," Peter said. "You know that."
"That's why this is a perfect spot," Mozzie said. "The river is wide enough and deep enough here to swallow the car, but it has a strong current, too. It's close to the ocean, so actually finding a body there would be a miracle. It would have been sucked out to the sea."
"This isn't dangerous, is it?" El asked worriedly, shooting Peter a look. "I mean, what if one of you actually drown."
"Hey, I wasn't on the swim team in college for nothing," Peter said, giving her a half hug. "No worries, hun. I used to swim in that river when I was a kid."
"And I'll be well equipped for underwater fun with my scuba gear," Neal added.
"Okay, well, I better get out of here," Moz said, "before they begin to wonder why it's taking so long to fix your fridge. I'll see you tonight, Neal. If you get lost at see, hit the tracker on the arm of the scuba suit so I can steer toward you."
"Will do. Thanks, Moz." Neal smiled as his friend headed toward the door.
"Okay, well, I'm guessing you boys don't want to do this on an empty stomach," Elizabeth said. "I'll whip up some dinner, okay?"
"Thanks, hon," Peter said, giving her a soft kiss as she left.
Neal sat back in in his chair, looking satisfied. "This is a pretty good con. Not as much fun to plan as, say, a plane crash, but still pretty good. I say that Moz and I will be on our way to paradise by morning."
Peter sat down in the chair next to him, looking over seriously at the younger man. "You have me *and* my wide aiding and abetting here, Neal. You *do* realize that, right?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. It will be like a vacation, getting away from your arrogant ass."
"Uh-huh," Neal said, face making it clear that he didn't believe Peter one bit. "You could come with me, you know."
"What?" Peter said in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"
"You know," Neal said, voice sounding way too innocent to be real. "My half of the treasure is still a fortune, Peter. You don't have to stay behind. You, me, El, we could all go to paradise together. I know she loves the Caribbean. I bet she'd adore having her own beachfront island, spending her days sipping martinis and watching the waves roll in. Collecting shells and playing fetch with Satchmo on the beach. It would be pretty awesome. A true happily ever after."
Peter snorted. "Oh, so are we supposed to fake our own deaths, too? Maybe I get electrocuted by the toaster and El gets malaria from a bad caterer?"
Neal chuckled, smiling at Peter. "I'm just saying. It would be nice, wouldn't it? For us to be… together?" The words had an almost hopeful feel to them.
"You know that's never going to happen, Neal," Peter said, squeezing the man's shoulder. "That's not who we are, buddy. You know that."
Neal gave him a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, I do. I just…" He sighed. "Peter, I-I want to tell you something."
"Okay," Peter said in a slightly suspicious tone. "What do you want to tell me?"
Neal leaned forward, his blue eyes intense. "It's probably crazy for me to say this. I mean, Neal Caffrey is going to die tonight, so it's not exactly the opportune time to tell you. But it goes the other way, too. Neal Caffrey is going to die tonight, so it's the last chance I have to tell you."
Okay, this was weird. Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "If you're going to tell me that you actually did steal that painting of a goat on a hill in Paris, I already know, okay? Just because we couldn't pin these things on you doesn't mean I don't know."
Neal laughed aloud at that, shaking his head, a loose curl falling against his forehead. "Actually, that one was Alex. But that's not what I'm talking about. Peter…" He paused, licking his lips nervously. "Peter, I love you."
Peter froze, his whole body clenching up. "Excuse me?" he said hoarsely, mind absolutely spinning.
"I love you. And I'm pretty sure you love me, too."
Peter's mouth dropped open, a rush of anger surging through him. "I love my wife, Neal!"
"I know you do," Neal said quickly. "And I love her, too. But I… I *really* love you Peter, and I'm not just pretty sure, I *am* sure you love me." He said it firmly, eyes daring Peter to challenge him. Well, Peter would take that dare.
"You've lost your mind."
Neal let out an exasperated sigh. "Okay, okay, don't admit it. Keep it all inside. But time's a'wasting, Peter. This time tomorrow I'll be sipping drinks in paradise and you'll be here doing the same old same old. Someday you might wish you'd told me."
"This is ridiculous," Peter said, standing abruptly, heart pounding a little too fast in his chest. "Excuse me, I'm going to go help my *wife* with dinner."
Neal sighed again. "All right, Peter. Fine. Go be in denial. I'm sure it's a ton of fun."
Peter turned on his heel, stalking out the door. Damn Caffrey and his random professions of love. The man had obviously lost it. Peter didn't love him, well, not as more than a friend. Did he? No, there was no way. He was not in love with Neal Caffrey.
Except if he wasn't in love… Why did he have to hide the tears in his eyes when Neal talked about going away?
.
2 Hours to Paradise
"You know that you're going to owe me a car after this," Peter said sourly as he put the Taurus into gear. "Or, actually, you're going to owe the Bureau a new car, this being a company ride and all."
"Relax, Peter," Neal said, flashing him a big smile. "It'll be fine. Just be careful not to go too fast into the river. Neal Caffrey is the only one who needs to die tonight, not us!" He chuckled.
Peter ran his fingers along the steering wheel, feeling inexplicably nervous. Okay, maybe not inexplicably considering that he was about to "accidentally" drive a car into a river at sixty miles per hour. But it more than just performance anxiety. There was something about this plan that made him uneasy, and it wasn't just the fact that he was committing about a dozen felonies by helping Neal do this. Something about the whole thing was… off, if that made any sense.
Peter had always had pretty good instincts about things and, tonight, his gut was telling him that this was *not* a good idea. Hell, Neal going away in general wasn't a good idea. Disturbing conversations aside, Neal was one of Peter's closest friends. Maybe just a tiniest bit closer than a friend. Not to the being in *love* point, but just sort of close. Yeah. It was okay to be sort of close to loving your friend, as long as you weren't actually *in* love, right?
God, this was making his head hurt.
A bright strike of lighting lit up the world in a flash, followed by a clap of thunder. Peter frowned deeply as he increased the speed on the windshield wipers. "This storm is getting bad, Neal. I don't know that we should do this tonight. Water and lightning aren't exactly compatible."
"We have to do it tonight," Neal said seriously. "If we don't do it now, we might not get another chance, then I'm a goner for real."
Peter's hands tightened on the steering wheel, stomach twisting at the idea. "I just don't know," he said in a soft voice. "Something about this… I don't like it. I don't think we should do it. Let's just go home. I will get you the best lawyer out there and guard you my damn self if I have to."
There was a chuckle beside him and Peter glanced over, frowning at the amusement on Neal's face. "What?"
Neal smirked. "You don't want me to go. That's why you're being all pouty. You're going to miss me."
Peter snorted, turning back to the road. He really needed to focus on driving. The wind was flinging the rain around, making it hard to see.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the storm making enough noise for the both of them, the Neal spoke, his voice hesitant. "Peter, please," he said quietly. Just say it. Just once. I know that you love me. I can see it in your eyes. This may be the last time I see you, so please don't wait. Tell me, just once."
Peter's heart sped up slightly and he toed the accelerator, making the engine whine. "Look Neal," he said shortly, eyes locked on the road. "You're about to leave forever. Even if I did love you, which I am *not* saying, I think this conversation is a little late." A touch of bitterness leaked into his words. "You're abandoning ship, and I'm supposed to come out and profess my undying love? Seriously, this is way too little too late."
"It's never too late, Peter," Neal said sincerely. "It's never too late."
Peter turned the windshield wipers up to full speed, but it was still hard to see through the hard stream of rain pounding the window. If it got much worse he might need to pull over.
"Please, Peter," Neal said, words strained. "Please say it, just once."
Suddenly feeling very, very angry, Peter smacked the steering wheel. Who the hell did Neal think he was? He was about to *leave* them. Peter would never see those blue eyes again! And *now* Neal wanted him to tell him he loved him? Right before he left forever? Screw that.
"I'm sorry, Neal," Peter said in a steely voice, looking over at the other man. "You may think it's never too late, but it's too late for me."
Neal's eyes grew shiny and he slumped down in the seat, looking defeated. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay, Peter. I understand. But just remember, no matter what happens. I know, Peter. I know, even if you never said it."
Peter took a deep breath, a mishmash of emotions shooting through him. He just didn't know what to do. He looked back over at the younger man, taking in his slim form. "Neal, I just—"
"PETER! LOOK OUT!"
Peter jerked his head, letting out a cry as flashing red lights pierced the storm, not more than ten feet from them. There was no time to think, only to act, and Peter jerked the steering wheel as hard as he could to the right. The tires let out a sharp scream as the concrete grabbed them and a huge black shape pierced through the curtain of rain. Peter yanked the wheel again to avoid whatever it was and the tires screeched once more. An instant later, Peter was flung hard against his seatbelt as the car slammed into something, the metal screeching as it crumpled around them.
Neal let out a loud scream as his window shattered, the passenger side door folding like a house of cards, except a house of cards couldn't kill you.
Blood splattered across Peter's face, though he wasn't sure whose blood it was, a sudden slam to the head making him feel woozy. Neal screamed again. It was the last thing Peter heard before everything went black.
.
1 Hour to Paradise
Swish clank, swish clank, swish clank.
The sound seemed to echo through Peter's head. God, it was dark… Wait, no, it wasn't dark. His eyes were closed. Why were his eyes closed? Was he asleep? He must be asleep. He should go back to sleep, because he didn't like this dream. It was achey and wet and cold. Yeah, he should really go back to sleep…
"Peteeer."
The moan sounded like a monster in the blackness. He should really go back to sleep if there were monsters here. Nobody liked monsters.
"Peteeeer, help meh."
Help him? The monster wanted help? Why would a monster want—
A rush of images flooded Peter's brain. Rain falling. Red lights. Black shape. Hard crash. Crumpling metal. Breaking glass. Screaming Neal.
Screaming Neal.
Oh, God!
Peter's eyes shot open and he immediately clutched at his head, the pain almost unbearable. He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, forcing the feeling to the back of his mind. He needed a clear head to evaluate the situation, to come up with some sort of plan. Oh, but it would feel so good to return to the blackness, where the pain was nothing but a mild ache…
Swish clank, swish clank, swish clank.
Peter jerked, looking around blurrily for the source of the sound. Finally his eyes fell on the windshield wipers. The right side of the hood was wrinkled up like a used tissue, but the left wiper was still straining to work, shaking off rain then slapping the metal, over and over again.
Sluggishly Peter lifted one hand, then the other, feeling around on himself, trying to assess the damage. He still had arms and legs, there was no metal inside him… In fact, his side of the car was sort of like a bubble of steel around him. Oh, the steering column was bent and the door had popped open and his seat had been shoved forward, but overall, it had survived. Peter had survived.
A moan came from beside him and Peter tensed, fear pressing through his slow, cottony mind to overcome his senses. Neal. Oh, God, Neal.
Rain. Lights. Shadow. Crash. Scream. Neal! Screaming, screaming, screaming.
A tear ran down Peter's cheek. He didn't want to look. More than anything, he didn't want to look. Because if he looked, he would know. But if he didn't look, well, maybe Neal was fine, just like him. Maybe he'd climb out of the car, big smile pasted on his face, those sapphire eyes shining bright. Maybe if Peter just didn't look, everything would be okay.
"Peteeeer," Neal moaned again and tears rose up in Peter's eyes as he turned his head slowly, slowly until his eyes finally came to rest on his friend.
No.
No.
NO!
The entire right side of the car was crushed, and Neal with it. His legs were both at awkward angles, bone was jutting out of his shoulder, and a piece of metal had pierced his hip. His face was covered in blood, hair matted with it, and his eyes were shiny with tears.
Peter choked and began to yank at his seatbelt. He screamed in frustration when the buckle refused to give, slamming his hands on the dashboard, which was much closer than it had been before. He had to get free! He had to help Neal!
Peter ducked out from under the chest strap and scooted the lap band down, then he gripped the fabric and began to pull as hard as he could. Sweat built up on his face as he used all the strength he could muster to fight it. Finally, there was a loud popping sound as it broke off at the door.
The rain was pouring down hard as Peter swung his legs out of the car and rotated around, crawling back into the space and reaching toward Neal. His hands hovered uncertainly over the man's broken body. What should he do? Should he move him? Leave him where he was? What were you supposed to do at times like this?!
Neal made a soft sound, head falling forward, and Peter gritted his teeth, heart pounding so fast that he felt like he was going to vomit. If he left Neal in there, he was going to bleed out. He had to get him out of the car, had to get tourniquets around the wounds, had to wrap his hip.
Mind made up, Peter scooted in farther and stared down in panic at Neal, trying to decide the best way to get him out. There really wasn't a good way. He was just going to have to pull as hard as he could and hope that Neal's slim body would be able to slip out. Thankfully the seatbelt had already been cut, so he wouldn't have to deal with that.
"Neal," Peter said, voice shaky and hoarse, "I'm going to pull you out, okay, buddy? It… it might hurt a little. But I have to get you out, okay?"
Neal's head slowly lifted, blue eyes piercing Peter to the heart. "Peter…" The word was slurred and thick, blood seeping out of his mouth.
Peter choked back a sob, taking a steadying breath. He had to be strong, for Neal's sake. He had to hold on until he got him out.
"Okay," Peter whispered as he wrapped his arms awkwardly around Neal's torso, trying to get a good hold on him. The smell of blood was strong, and there was a nasty scent behind it, just as strong and just as terrifying. If Neal had voided his bowels during the crash, then he might have a brain injury. "Can you move your arms and legs, Neal?" Peter begged desperately, tears running silently down his cheeks. "Can you try doing that for me, Neal?"
Neal just stared up at him with blank eyes. Peter wasn't even sure he could hear him. "Okay, buddy," he said. "On the count of three. One, two, three!" Peter pulled as he could and Neal let out an ear shattering scream.
"Oh God, buddy," Peter said, shoulders shaking. "I'm so sorry, but I gotta get you out. I gotta get you out, Neal." He braced himself and gave another pull, bracing himself for the scream this time, though it still made him sob. The bone sticking out of Neal's shoulder twisted with a snapping sound and blood began to gush as the piece of metal slipped out of his hip.
The man was one hundred percent dead weight as Peter hauled him out of the car. He looked like a broken dolls, his legs in unnatural positions and one arm hanging uselessly beside him.
After setting him down gently on the concrete, Peter pulled off his jacket. As he did so his cell phone fell out and he stared at it with dull eyes. His phone. His fucking phone! He hadn't called 911! Why hadn't he called 911?! Panic began to rise up again, the world starting to spin madly around him. What was wrong with him!? Why hadn't he called?! Neal was going to die because he hadn't called!
Peter picked it up clumsily, frowning as the power button kept moving away from his finger. Finally he punched it and the screen lit up. It took three more tries for Peter to hit the nine once and the one twice, the keypad blurring before him.
"This is… what's… emergency?" The words sounded broken and distant to Peter.
"In a car wreck," Peter said, holding the phone with his shoulder as he literally ripped his dress shirt off and began to tear it into pieces for bandages. "I… Some little road… Near the river… There was a car. Stalled car? Broken down? I don't know, but he's dying, oh my God, you have to get here, oh my God. I… FBI. Agent Burke. There's a tracker in my car. Oh, God, he's dying." Peter let out a sob as the scrap of cloth he was trying to wrap around Neal's arm went instantly from white to red, completely soaked with blood.
"Okay, Peter. I want you to hang on, okay? We're tracking the cell phone right now. Emergency vehicles are on the way. I need you to focus. Are you injured?"
"No, I'm fine—" He cut off as Neal let out a whimper, staring up at Peter, eyes shining with pain and fear.
"Peter, I need you to stay with me. Peter, can you—"
Peter let the phone fall to the concrete as he moved over to Neal's head, knowing his attempts at bandaging were useless. There was too much blood, too fast. The frustration of being so useless made Peter want to scream at the top of his lungs, to pound the ground, to do anything, *anything* but sit there and watch Neal die.
Neal was bleeding out faster than even the heaviest rain could wash it away, and a thick, red puddle was forming around them. It was terrifying.
Thunder crashed and Neal moaned, trying to lift his head.
"Shh, it's okay, Neal," Peter said, bending over him to shield his face from the sharp, angry raindrops. "You just stay with me, you hear?" He let out a sob as he stared down at Neal's bloodied features. "Don't you leave me, buddy!" Tears ran down his cheeks.
"Pe'er… hold me."
Peter gave another sob, as he reached out, carefully moving Neal's upper body into his arms. "It's gonna be okay, buddy," he said, using his thumb to wipe some of the blood off Neal's face. "You just keep looking at me, okay? I'm going to take care of you. It's all gonna be okay." He choked, shoulders jerking as grief washed over him..
"Please, please, please, please God," Peter prayed through his sobs as he rocked the man in his arms, the words coming out choked and desperate. "Please, please, please save him. Please don't let him die. Please, God. I'm sorry I never prayed before but if you save him I swear I will, I will, I will. Please, please, please! Please don't let him die!"
His only answer was another painful moan from Neal.
"Don't you leave me, buddy," Peter whispered urgently. His heart pounded, a steady thud in his ears as more tears welled up in his eyes. The rain stabbed his skin, flashes of lightning serving only to highlight how broken Neal looked. "Don't you leave me!" he shouted as he cradled Neal's head to his chest.
"I really did love ya…"
"Don't talk like that," Peter said as he stared down at his friend, his tears mixing with the rain. Short, violent sobs spasmed through him, making his shoulders jerk. "No. Don't talk like that. This isn't goodbye, Neal! This is NOT goodbye! You can't leave me."
"Pe'er… Pe'er, I…" Neal grimaced in pain, flashing bloodied teeth.
"Don't talk, buddy," Peter said, running a hand through his matted hair, palm coming up red with blood. "Just hold on. Hold on for me." His chest shook as he sobbed. "Please, Neal, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplea sePLEEEASE!" The words came out as a scream, Peter's entire body clenching up with frustration at his utter and complete uselessness. He could do nothing. *Nothing.* He was helpless, and Neal was going to die. Why had he waited so long to tell him? Why had he waited so very, very long? Why had be waited until it was too late?
"Peter… Tell meh."
Peter let out a hoarse moan "Neal, buddy, don't go. Please, don't go."
"Please, Pe'er. Is neva too late."
Tears welled up in Peter's eyes, the pain in his chest unbearable as he stared down at the man. Limp, wet curls clinging to his forehead. Tiny gasps, hoarse and sharp. Bone browned by blood jutting from his shoulder. Warm, wet heat. Blood, blood, everywhere blood, falling faster than the rain.
Peter choked, forcing back the thick wetness in his throat. "You were right, Neal," he whispered. He let out a loud sob, snot and tears pouring down his face. "I love you, Neal. You were right, so right, so, so, so right. I'm sorry I never told you I love you. I'm so sorry I waited so long." His shoulders shook as he sobbed. "Y-You may say it's never too late… But this is too late for me, buddy. Way, way too late. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that I waited so long to say that I love you."
Peter leaned over, brushing his mouth against those bloody, swollen lips, gently kissing him, the metallic taste of blood blending with salty tears and summer rain on his tongue. He pulled back, his lips wet and sticky and hot. Neal's grew colder by the second.
Neal's lashes fluttered, his eyes, so big and blue and full of life, beginning to dull.
Peter collapsed in on himself, baring his teeth as he let out an angry scream. "NO!" he cried, clutching Neal to him as he looked up at heaven. "No, no, no! Don't take him, God, don't take him. Please, God, I need him. I need him! Please, please, please God, help him! Help him, God! HELP HIM!"
Lightning flashed, a bright slice in the blackness. Thunder roared like a lion and rain exploded from the clouds. But heaven said nothing, ever silent above.
A hand came down on his shoulder. Peter let out a yell, knocking it away as he pulled Neal tight to his body. Somehow the lightning had morphed from white and yellow to red and blue, flashing, flashing, flashing over and over again. The thunder began to whine, a high, constant screech of pain, and Peter joined it as Neal's body went limp in his arms, the last sparkle of life disappearing from his eyes. The thunder screamed and screamed and Peter screamed with it, a never ending wail in the storm.
Arms wrapped around his chest, and as Peter tried to fight, Neal slipped from his arms for the last time.
Someone was talking, but Peter couldn't hear them, the screaming in his head overpowering everything. The arms around his chest loosened and Peter fell to the ground, slamming his hands against the concrete as hard as he could. "NO!" he yelled, punching the road like it was to blame. "No, no, fuck you, no, you can't have him! You can't have him!" He buried his face in his hands and screamed, as loud as he could, as hard as he could wanting, needing to get it all out.
"Peter! Peter!" He looked up as a woman's scream cut through the night, high and terrified, and a shadowy figure ran toward him, as fast as it could, shoving aside everything in its path.
Peter's vision blurred as El's face appeared before him, slightly off center. "El…" he moaned, choking down a sob. "El, I love you, El. I love you."
"Honey, sweetie, look at me, look at me, honey!" she said, an edge of desperation in her tone.
Peter reached out, pushing a strand of soaked hair from her face. She looked like an angel in the night, long, dark hair hanging limp around her pale face. Her eyes were so blue, so blue like Neal's. Beautiful, so beautiful. Maybe Neal was an angel now. He didn't act much like an angel, but he sure looked like one.
The lightning cast his wife in red and blue and red and blue and red and blue, like it was made of blood and tears. Except… It wasn't lightning, was it? Emergency lights. It was emergency lights. The screaming whine of the ambulance had stopped, having no one left to cry for, and thunder took the night back, crashing loudly around them.
Gone. Neal was gone.
"Honey, honey, where's Neal?" El asked, looking around frantically. "Is he okay? Tell me he's okay."
Another sob shook his body. "Dead," Peter finally choked out, the word tasting thick on his tongue. "Dead. He left us, El. He's gone, he's gone, and it's all my fault. He's gone." He slapped the concrete again, letting out something between and moan and a scream as he tried desperately to release some of the pain constricting his chest before he choked to death on the grief.
Tears began to run down El's cheeks as she shook her head over and over again. "No," she whispered. "He can't be. He can't be…"
Peter wrapped his arms around her, leaving deep smears of blood on her white blouse as he pulled her shaking body close to him. He squeezed his eyes shut, more sobs wracking his frame, and El's fingernails dug deep into his back as she buried her face in his neck. As he held her, Peter stared down at his hands, slick with his lost love's blood.
There was a sharp pain in his neck and the world began to dull around him, leaving his thoughts sluggish and bleak, the sharp, furious pain in his chest fading into a hollow, empty despair just before the world went black.
.
To Paradise, Arrival Time: Unknown
Peter's eyes opened slowly and he grimaced at the sudden assault of florescent light.
"Hey, Suit," came a soft voice. "Good to see you awake." Mozzie was sitting in a chair across the room. He stared at Peter with dull, pained eyes, holding something wrapped in brown paper tightly to his chest like it was that silly bear he'd been named after.
Peter felt a hand in his hair and he turned his head, grimacing at the pain that shot through his skull. El smiled down at him, a little shakily, but Peter couldn't blame her for that. She gave gave his hand a squeeze.
"What… what happened?"
"You sustained a head injury," El said quietly. "A concussion. They want to keep you at the hospital overnight for observation, but then you can go home. The doctors think you'll be fine."
Peter's brow furrowed a little, which also hurt. He needed to stop moving his face. "I don't remember going to the hospital."
"Apparently they had to sedate you, Suit," Mozzie said blandly, face carefully schooled to reveal nothing. "Something about you trying to punish the pavement for what it did to Neal. 'Cause these sort of things are always the fault of inanimate objects."
"You didn't want to go to the hospital, sweetie," El said, shooting Mozzie an annoyed glance. "You kept saying nothing was wrong with you, but it was obvious you had a head injury. You were seeing double and you kept slurring your words. But you didn't want to leave Neal."
A rush of grief flowed through Peter at the words, tears rising up in his eyes. "It's my fault, El. I knew from the second we started planning this that something was going to go wrong. Then the storm came in. I should have stopped it then. I was driving, oh God, I was driving, El."
"It wasn't your fault, hon," El said, leaning down and laying a gentle kiss on his forehead. "The car stalled on the road was hidden by the trees. There was no way you could have seen it before you did."
Mozzie let out a sigh. "As much as I would like to blame you for the loss of the best friend I've ever had…" He choked up. "God, Neal…" He swallowed hard, starting over. "As much as I'd like to blame you, it was an accident, Suit. If you'd turned left you would have gone off the cliff into the river and you would both… You would both be gone."
"What did I hit?" Peter asked quietly, sniffling as he wiped his tears on the back of his hand. Elizabeth grabbed him a Kleenex and he took it gratefully, dabbing at his eyes.
"A tractor," El said quietly. "The airbags malfunctioned, which was probably when you hit your head."
"You should sue their asses off for that," Mozzie put in, though it was obvious his heart wasn't in it.
"Airbags wouldn't have helped Neal," Peter said quietly, more tears sliding down his cheek. "He… he… Oh God." He choked as the images flashed through his mind. "Y-You see stuff on TV, in movies. But it's not real. If you haven't seen it, you can't know. Blood, everywhere. The pain in his eyes. His legs… His shoulder…." Peter ducked his head, burying his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. "I'm so sorry. Oh God, I'm so sorry."
Peter felt slim arms wrap around him and he leaned into the touch, not that it was much consolation. Not with Neal gone. To his surprise a rough hand joined El's arms a moment later, squeezing his shoulder lightly.
"We all miss him, Suit," Mozzie said, his voice catching. He swallowed hard, rubbing at his eyes with the base of his palm. "Neal was a good man, and an even better friend."
Peter nodded in silent agreement.
Mozzie took a deep breath, lifting up the package he was holding. "I'm not sure that giving you this is the right thing to do now, Suit. I'm not sure if it will hurt or help. But Neal planned to send it to you, after he was gone, so I think you should have it now." He laid the package gently on Peter's bed, a shine appearing in his eyes. "I…I'm going to go now. I… need to meditate."
El nodded. "Keep in touch, Mozzie," she said quietly. "Please."
Mozzie gave her tight smile. "I will. Loving Neal overcomes all feuds, I guess. Even between a criminal and a Suit." He straightened his glasses, heading toward the door, but paused just outside, turning back to look at them. "Peter… It really wasn't your fault."
Another tear ran down Peter's cheek as he watched the man walk away.
"What is this?" El asked quietly, picking up the little package. It was about the size of a piece of paper, maybe a little bigger.
"I don't know," Peter said quietly, tracing the careful folds of the paper.
"Are you going to open it?" El questioned, voice careful.
Peter took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush. "I think… I think that Neal would want me to."
"Do you want to be alone?"
Peter laughed harshly, making his head pound. "No. No, I definitely don't want to be alone."
El smiled sadly, sitting back down on the chair next to him as he began to carefully unfold the paper, running his fingers along it, trying to imagine that they were Neal's fingers instead, his soft touch making careful folds.
Peter pulled back the paper, breath catching as he looked down at the little painting in his lap. It was of Peter, El, and Neal, sitting on a beach. El was wearing a bright bikini, throwing a ball for a leaping Satchmo while Neal and Peter both reclined back on beach chairs. Neal was sipping a martini while Peter watched him, an amused look on his face. The sun reflected off the bright blue water, fluffy clouds floated in the air, palm trees swayed in the wind. It was beautiful.
It was paradise.
A small mark at the bottom caught Peter's eyes. Another man might have brushed it off as a patch of grass, but Peter could see it for what it was. An arrow.
Peter slowly turned the painting over, more tears running down his cheeks as he read the words written there.
Dear Peter,
It's never too late. Meet me in paradise someday. We'll have a blast.
RIP,
Neal