Cowboy Up!
AN: Just a little angsty one-shot. Peter ignores the signs that Neal needs help.
Neal did not want to hear that phrase again. And it was all Peter seemed to be saying these days. Every time Neal had wanted to get off early. Any time Neal had had to spend extra time, well any time, in the van, and, most especially, when they were faced with mortgage-fraud cases. And there seemed to have been a rash of mortgage frauds in the past few months. Admittedly, most of the other times Neal was trying to get out of doing something, to con Peter, but not this time.
Neal pressed his left hand against his right side as he used his other hand to pull his door closed. He bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain. But he could not stifle a moan as he finally pulled the door shut.
"You are not getting out of doing the paper work, Neal." Peter said, glancing at his partner. "And don't ask another agent, they've all been warned."
Neal nodded, though he was not really hearing what Peter was saying. He heard something about doing his own reports but that was it. Neal hadn't told Peter that the guys that the Bureau had just arrested had worked him over. They had not messed with his face. They had told him they would not hit him in the face since one of the con's girlfriends had asked them not to. But they had most definitely made up for it. Neal imagined his back and chest were covered with deep, nasty, black and purple bruises.
"Just stop it, Neal." Peter said, annoyed when he saw Neal still had his hand pressed to his side. "The guy didn't hit you. We have the recording. And the bureau likes to REUSE equipment, Neal." Peter replied. "We can't have this stuff destroyed right after we give it to you to use."
Neal shook his head. "I didn't…."
Peter looked at him and shook his head, stopping Neal's protests.
Neal snapped his mouth shut. It was true. The bureau had gotten a recording. That was before they found the device on Neal's body. It was after that, when the device had been thrown across the room and destroyed, that Neal had gotten his beating.
"Cowboy up, Neal!" Peter said as he parked the car and got out. "Just…cowboy up." Peter was halfway across the lot before he realized Neal was not with him.
Neal paused after he got out of the car, the pain almost unbearable. He swayed on his feet. He grabbed the car door to steady himself and bit his lip to stifle another groan.
Peter stopped. "The longer you take to get upstairs, the longer it's gonna take to get that report finished." Peter turned and continued on inside, satisfied he had gotten his message across.
Neal nodded. He righted himself and walked straight, tall, and slow into the building.
Peter entered his office and sat down at his desk. He looked down at the lower level of his office. He saw that Neal had not yet arrived, but he figured Neal was still moping. He would be in in a few more minutes.
Diana stuck her head in Peter's office about 15 minutes later. "Wasn't Neal with you?" She asked.
Peter nodded. "He's not…he's not at his desk?" Peter said getting up and leaving his office. He went downstairs, checking all the places Neal hid out from him when he didn't want to work. Neal was not in any of them.
"Check his anklet." Peter ordered.
Jones complied, bringing up the last 24 hours of tracking info.
Meanwhile, Diana asked. "Do you think he ran?"
Peter shook his head. "I don't know." He said, honestly, pacing while Jones brought up the data.
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Neal managed to make it into the main building from the parking garage, but the pain was just becoming unbearable. He had had to stop walking a few times and lean against the wall. He then looked out the front doors of the building. He had an idea. After what seemed like forever, he made it the couple hundred yards to one of the concrete benches out in front of the building. He sat down and pulled out his phone.
Neal told the 9-1-1 operator who answered that he would be the dark-haired, well-dressed man passed out on the bench in front of the federal building. He then closed his eyes and passed out, his phone dropping to the ground in front of the bench.
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Reese Hughes came out of his office a few moments later. He addressed Peter. "Agent Burke, I'm getting calls asking if Neal Caffrey is okay. They are asking why Neal was taken away in an ambulance." Reese paused. "Is…is Caffrey okay, Peter? WHY was he taken away in an ambulance?" Reese asked, demanding answers that Peter just did not have.
Peter shook his head. He had no idea.
"Then I suggest you find out, Burke!" Reese demanded. "And I want to know as soon as you do!" Reese then turned on his heel and returned to his office.
Diana just looked at her boss. She was as confused as he was. She had been on the case with Peter and Neal. Neal had been moving show. But she also knew how much Neal hated writing reports. She also knew that Neal had been practically pleading with Peter to let him go to an exhibit at the Met, just beyond his two-mile radius. Peter had repeatedly said no. And no other agent had wanted to take on the task of 'babysitting' Neal Caffrey. So she just figured he was moping, milking the situation for all that it was worth.
Jones looked up at Peter. "Neal's at Veterans Memorial a couple of blocks away. He's being admitted." Jones continued to read the screen. "He was unconscious when they brought him in."
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"I'm Agent Peter Burke. I'm Neal Caffrey's handler." Peter said introducing himself to Neal's doctor.
The doctor nodded. "We've stopped the internal bleeding. We've stabilized his ribs. The concussion is not too severe, we don't believe. Of course, we'll know more when he wakes up. But his kidneys and his liver are bruised. We will have to run more tests to find out the full extent of the damage." The doctor paused for just a second. "Mr. Caffrey will be on a ventilator for a day or two, just to allow his body to heal a little bit faster." The doctor looked back towards the operating room area. "I should go back in, the surgeon is just finishing up with him. Mr. Caffrey will be in recovery in just a few more minutes."
Peter felt like he was drowning in all the information he had been given. What did all that mean, all that stuff, all those injuries? How had this happened? How had Neal been so badly injured? How had he not known? How had he not seen? What had he ignored? Peter shook his head, having no answers to his questions. He sat down heavily in one of the chairs. He put in calls to June, El, and Mozzie.
Peter than got up and started to pace again, just as he had been doing for the past two hours, since he, Diana, and Jones had first arrived at the hospital. Peter had sent Jones and Diana back to the office fairly quickly. It was to, of course, give Hughes an update, but mostly it was because there was nothing they could do there, just sit and wait, like he was doing.
Peter had learned that Neal had called 9-1-1 from his own phone. A fellow agent had delivered the phone to Peter and he had found the number in the call history. Peter had called the call center and had talked to the operator who had actually spoken to Neal. She had brought up the transcript of the conversation she had typed and had repeated it to Peter, word for word.
A nurse had told Peter that one of Neal's broken ribs, he had three, had punctured his lung and that was the cause for the bleeding. Since Neal had come in unconscious and not one knew the source or cause of his injuries the nurses and doctors had had to check him out from head to toe. She told Peter about the bruises on Neal's chest and back. She also said that Neal had a small knot on the back of his head, roughly the size of a golf ball. She said Neal may have not even realized he had been hit that hard. But that little bit of information brought no comfort to Peter
Peter had come to some disturbing conclusions very quickly. Neal had been seriously injured and had tried to tell Peter. Peter had ignored the signs, thinking Neal was just trying to get out of doing his work, writing his report. Peter shuttered involuntarily. Neal had probably been in a great deal of pain. He had been bleeding internally and that alone could have killed him. He had a concussion, and left untreated, it may have caused a great deal of damage or even death. And then Peter had to take into account his own inability or unwillingness to see what was right in front of him. It was all a little too much to handle. He had failed miserably to protect his C.I. But worse, and far more important, he had let down his friend.
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"I don't want to go, Peter." Neal replied.
Neal had been back to work for a week. And everybody could see that things were still not right between Neal and Peter. Neal stayed at his desk most of the time, and the banter was completely missing, replaced with periods of prolonged, awkward silence.
"Neal, you've been after me for weeks." Peter stated. "The exhibit will be gone by the weekend."
Neal shook his head. "I don't want to go." He repeated.
Peter shook his head also, but let the matter drop, for the time being. After all, they had a case to solve.
Peter broached the subject again after lunch.
"I said no, Peter!" Neal replied. "What part of that don't you understand?"
Peter was mystified by Neal's anger. He knew Neal was angry at him for not catching on to the fact that he had been hurt. And Peter was still very angry with himself for that. But that wasn't what this was about.
"Neal?"
"I get it, Peter!" Neal replied, cutting him off. "I should be happy I have a two mile radius, and I'm not like that guy who has to shower with one foot outside the tub. I get it!"
"Neal, that's not…."
"I know my handler and his wife have better things to do than to babysit me." Neal said coldly.
Peter looked at Neal. Peter had never heard Neal refer to him and El so impersonally. And Peter didn't think of it as babysitting, neither did El. She was actually looking forward to the evening. They had even planned on surprising Neal by taking him to one of his favorite restaurants, one outside his radius.
"Neal…I…we…." Then Peter just stopped. He didn't know what to say.
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A couple nights later Neal was surprised by who was standing at his door.
"Diana." Neal looked confused, then looked down at his anklet. "Well, the anklet's still working or the Marshalls would be with you. What is it you need, Agent Barrigan?"
Diana was a little taken aback by his attitude, but she recovered quickly. "I have two tickets, and…."
"Did Peter put you up to this?" Neal asked.
Diana just looked at him for a second. She then remembered what Neal was referring to. She shook her head and smiled. "No."
"Why are you smiling?" Neal asked, curious. He stepped back and let her in.
"I got tickets for Christy and me. Now she has to work every night until Sunday." Diana paused. "I think she called in and asked to work. I think she did it on purpose."
Neal grinned. "Not a lover of the arts?"
Diana shook her head. "When she moved in, she wanted to hang 'Dogs Playing Poker' above the fireplace. She called it modern satirical art."
Neal was aghast. "Did you let her?"
"It stayed up for about a week. I then went out and bought another painting. I said that my mother had sent it to me. I claimed it had been painted by a beloved relative and it should hang above the fireplace." Diana stated.
"Was it?" Neal asked.
Diana shook her head. "I bought it at a starving artist art sale from a sophomore at NYU. She painted it as part of a class assignment. It earned her an A."
"Does Christy know?"
"I told her…eventually." Diana confessed.
"I really want to go to this and I could use someone who could talk to me intelligently about this stuff." Diana pleaded. "I am really tired of listening to 'experts' who have no clue what they are talking about. If I have to listen to another conversation about how the artist's use of brush strokes and color are indicative of pent-up sexual frustration, I think I'll scream."
"There is some truth to that, you know." Neal replied.
Diana looked at the painting Neal had on his easel which displayed a variety of brush strokes and was very colorful. She turned and looked at him.
"Then what does this say about you?" Diana asked, grinning.
Neal looked at her then quickly turned the painting over. "It's not true of every painting."
Diana nodded and smiled. "Hurry up and get dressed." She said taking in his jeans and t-shirt. "I have a cab waiting."
THE END- CONTINUED (I was told I needed a 'happy' ending.)