Just a little plot bunny I started while yapping with my buddy Chris. This one ran away from me. Really no point besides beat Neal the hell up. All errors are mine. Yes, I stole Tuesday's episode title and made it my own. It fit.

Unfinished Business

Peter didn't even know why they were fighting. It started with some snarky comment Neal made and escalated from there.

Peter was on edge as it was. Elizabeth was out of town for over a week now and going home to an empty bed was wearing him thin. He could never sleep well when she wasn't there next to him. He was on his third cup of coffee and rubbed at his tired eyes. "Neal… I'm not in the mood. Would you please just… stop rambling and keep your comments to yourself unless they are useful to the case."

Neal looked at him hurt. "Well I'm sorry Peter. I didn't realize I was rambling. Since when are my useful, intelligent thoughts ramblings?" He flashed Peter his award winning smile.

"Since about 8 o'clock this morning. I've been listening to your useful thoughts for over two hours now and we are no where closer to any leads on this thing," Peter emphasized his frustration by slapping the file he was reviewing down on his desk.

"Still not sleeping well?" Neal asked considerately. He noted the bags under Peter's eyes.

"Not really," Peter mumbled under his breath. "Listen, I need some fresh air. Whadda ya say we head down to the art museum and scope things out?"

Neal began to stand. "Maybe figure out how they broke in?"

"For starters," Peter nodded standing as well, grabbing at his jacket on the back of his office chair.

As they exited the lobby the cold rain pounded down on top of them, soaking them immediately.

"This wasn't in the forecast," Neal stated, wishing he hadn't forgot his umbrella.

"Could this day get any worse?" Peter grumbled.

"You're telling me? This is an expensive suit." Neal yanked up his collar in frustration. He pulled his fedora hat down a little further on his forehead in hopes the strong wind wouldn't run with it.

"Oh like you paid for it!" Peter spat, pulling his keys from his pocket he hit the alarm and lock release button on his keychain.

Neal stopped in his tracks. "You know… you've been giving me grief all week. I know you've been grouchy with Elizabeth gone but I don't understand why you have been taking it out on me."

"Oh for the Love of God, Neal! Stop whining! Just… get in the damn car," Peter exclaimed.

"No… you know what? I and my suit that I didn't pay for will walk! I'll meet you at the museum," Neal said, changing his direction he began walking the edge of the sidewalk towards the center of town.

"Neal!" Peter threw his arms out in frustration. "Please, just get in the car! It's miserable out here. The last thing I need is a guilty conscious because you got a damn cold from this."

"God forbid I get a cold and whine about it," Neal bit back. "Don't act like you suddenly care. You know what? I'm safer walking the way you drive." Picking up his speed he decided to cut between two buildings. This way Peter couldn't follow him with the car.

Peter watched his partner disappear behind a building and swore under his breath. Why did Neal have to be so damn stubborn? It was only about ten blocks to the art museum and the way traffic looked Neal would probably beat him on foot anyway. Running a hand through his wet hair he opened his door and plopped down into his driver's seat.

He had to admit he was taking out his frustrations all week on Neal and the young man didn't deserve any of it. Like all cases, Neal was very useful and an essential part of his crew. He would apologize to him and offer to buy him lunch at his choice of restaurant. A couple honks later he weaved out into the busy morning traffic and gassed his vehicle.

He failed to notice the two men following Neal.

They were slowly gaining on him. When the young con tucked between two buildings they quickened their pace. They had the perfect opportunity and oh were they going to take it. They were originally going to go after Peter. After all, he was the target. However, after observing him for a few days they noticed the way he treated Neal. The way he looked at him. The protective way he looked out for him. Revenge would be so much sweeter this way.

Neal never knew what hit him. One minute he was walking between two buildings, looking down at the murky puddle as liquid splashed over his expensive Italian leather shoe. The next second a rough hand grabbed his wrist forcefully and yanked him into the side of one of the brick buildings, instantly busting open his lip and dazing him. His trendy hat was knocked from his skull.

Stunned, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting the metallic copper flavor of his own blood. He proceeded to run his tongue over and across his front teeth to make sure they were still there. Before his mind could process what was going on, he was flipped around aggressively, the same rough hands gripping both of his wrists now his arms were pulled cruelly behind his back and effectively pinned. He hissed in pain as his arms were damn near yanked from sockets. The grip on his wrists brutal and bruising as sharp nails dug into flesh.

"What the…"

Before he could get another word out he was punched dead center in the nose. His head rocked back hard, blood instantly began leaking from both nostrils. He blinked back the tears that were forming in both of his eyes.

The next fist caught him in the lower stomach, doubling him over he began coughing. "Please," he gasped. "Just- just take what you want…"

The man doing the beating grinned and let out a sadistic chuckle. "Hear that Sam? He thinks we are robbing him."

Sam, the man that was restraining Neal's arms, grinned even wider. "This is a nice suit, Al. I don't think it's my size though."

Al sized up Neal's small frame nodding his head. "Yes, fine thread indeed. I don't reckon it's large enough for me either. I didn't know a FBI salary could afford such apparel." With that he drilled his next blow into Neal's ribs.

Neal doubled over again, gasping for oxygen. He wanted to ask what they wanted then but he didn't think he could speak just yet. Neal looked up into the eyes of Al, the attacker, and studied his face. He was really good at faces and this man he had never seen before.

No more vocals were exchanged as the beating continued for what felt to Neal hours. He was so weak and on the verge of passing out his legs gave out. Sam just yanked up hard on his arms, forcing him back to his unsteady feet.

Legs buckled at the knees, eyes closed, Neal felt a hand fist into his hair and yank his head back ruthlessly. "Open your eyes bitch!"

If Neal wasn't in so much pain he would have laughed out loud. One eye was already swollen shut and no doubt already turning an ugly shade of purple or black. The other eye wasn't doing to much better but at least he could open it partially and squint. Doing that took all of his concentration.

Once Al was convinced Neal was listening he continued. "You tell Agent Peter Burke next time we will kill you. Tell him Al Polanski says hi and tell him I'm just warming up. You got all that?"

Neal couldn't move his head to nod as his head was still being held in place by his hair. He was pretty sure he bit his tongue if the blood at the back of his throat and swelling in his mouth was any indication. He settled on blinking his good eye and hoped that would be sufficient.

Apparently it was because after a small pause, Al commented to Sam. "I'll bring the van around to the entrance of the alley so no one sees."

"We are going for a little ride, Agent," Al said slapping Neal across the face once before letting go of his hair. Neal's head rolled slightly back and around before coming to rest with his chin on his chest.

Agent? Did these jagoffs think he was an agent? And more importantly, what did Peter have to do with this? The buzzing in his ears became so loud Neal concentrated on it as he gratefully welcomed darkness.

500500500500500

"Where the hell is he?" Peter was pacing his office. He stuck his head out of the office door and yelled. "Jones! Track Neal's anklet for me will ya?" He barked the order out as he dialed Neal's cell phone number one last time. When Neal didn't pick up and it went to voicemail Peter hit end and tossed his cell phone onto his desk carelessly.

Neal hadn't answered his last half a dozen calls nor did he respond to the handful of text messages he sent. He figured when Neal didn't show up at the museum that he was wrong about traffic and he had just beaten his younger friend there. After waiting a little over a half an hour he began to think Neal was more upset at him than he thought he was. After another twenty minutes of doing some investigative work on his own regarding the missing statue from the museum, he decided to head back to the office.

When he discovered Neal hadn't walked back to FBI headquarters, he began to suspect something was wrong. Had Neal walked back to June's house? That would be one long miserable walk in the nasty, windy New York rain but he wouldn't put it passed Neal. He certainly didn't seem upset enough to cut his tracking anklet and make a run for it. Besides, he would have been alerted by now if he had.

He looked up as Jones entered his office. "I got the information you requested. Neal's actually only a couple blocks south. I would guess from the way he's moving then stopping he's possibly in a vehicle."

"In a vehicle? That doesn't make sense." Peter scratched his chin. He picked up his cell phone and eased it into his pants pocket. "I'm stepping out. If Neal shows up here make sure he stays put." Peter headed towards the elevators. He impatiently pushed the elevator button several times. What was going on? Something in his gut was screaming at him.

Just as Peter stepped from the building a van came screeching up to the curb. The side door glided open noisily. The van still slightly progressing forward, Neal was thrown out. He rolled a couple times across rough sidewalk pavement before landing at Peter's feet. His arm slightly bent at an odd angle half underneath him; Neal's favorite Devore suit was bloodied and torn. His dress shirt untucked; half the buttons missing exposing his battered chest.

Peter briefly looked up at the van just in time to see Neal's hat tossed out after him. An arm with a middle finger extended snaked out into sight before tucking back into the van and the door sliding closed. The van ventured back out into traffic nearly side swiping a taxi. Peter tried to make out the license plate that was covered in dried mud. Then his focus went immediately to his partner.

"Oh God… Neal?" He bent down and gently rolled Neal to his back. His breath sucked from his lungs as he took in Neal's multiple injuries. It was safe to say he had never seen a man beaten so badly and a sick feeling overcame him that Neal was possibly dead.

"Oh God No… please!" Fighting the bile rising in his throat he checked for a pulse and sighed in relief when he felt one. It was weak but it was there.

"Neal… can you hear me?" Everything looked broken on Neal and Peter was almost scared to touch him. "Who would do this to you? Neal?"

He looked up at a woman passing by on the sidewalk and shouted, "FBI! Call 911!"