A new chapter arrived to the mail. Sorry for any grammar mistakes, I appreciate if you point them to me on the reviews or by PM to edit and correct, I still have no beta. Here you have a bit more Neal whump, just because I like to see Peter worried.
For the third night in a row, luck was not on Neal's side. After have been winning almost every hand thrown to him on the past weeks he now risked it being suspicious but he couldn't help himself, too distracted to put all his energy on the cards.
He walked to the Precinct House that was handling the case, it wasn't far, yet he was still careful not to be followed. Nothing good of being spotted as an infiltrate in the middle of Russian mob business, not like the Russians were his main concern right now, anyways.
When he arrived the conman almost crashed with Detective Portman at the entrance, he was distracted and the officer was just stepping out of his car.
"Hey Caffrey, I heard you're being quite sloppy lately. Should I remind you that it's not your money the one you are wasting?" the detective spitted on his face.
"I've made enough profits to not deserve being bothered by that at this point" said tiredly Neal
"But it's at this point when you are risking our plan to get Yakov
"Some bad luck doesn't risk anything, unless you're not doing your part of the job, which is taking quite long, by the way." It was 3 AM and Neal was tired of all of this, all he wanted was to give his report of that night and clearly was not really thinking the words that came out of his mouth, though not regretting them.
With a speed that didn't give Neal time to react Portman grabbed him and in one smooth and trained movement pushed Neal against the car; face on the roof and with the right arm painfully twisted behind his back.
"Do I have the impression that the son of a dirty cop is trying to teach me how to do my job? I thought you had already learned your lesson the other day." The man breathed against his neck. Neal just gritted his teeth, not offering resistance to the restraint.
Detective Will Anderson, Portman's partner, came from his side of the car.
"And do you think we enjoy having you around here? I can barely stand the stench of your criminal sweat, but what could we expect would come out of a man who killed his own brothers?" Hissed Anderson. "You should be careful; I've heard that accidents happen even to FBI toys." After those words the man slammed shut the car door with all the force of his arm, pretty conscious of the fact that Neal had been grabbing the doorframe with his left hand to get some support from Steve's weight against him.
Neal let out a howl, but the detective holding him muffled it pressing his face further against the car. The ex-con struggled desperately to free his hand but Anderson took his good time before opening the door. His partner released the forger and Neal jerked his injured member to cradle it against his belly, making his best effort not to scream, even when tears of pain and rage had already escaped out of his eyes. A quick look showed that several bones were undoubtedly broken and the skin on the back of his hand was torn on his effort to free himself. Blood flowed freely, already soaking his black shirt and Neal felt flares of blinding pain travel through the nerves of his arm right into his brain. A wave of sudden dizziness flooded through his body and before his knees buckled under him Neal stumbled a step back and found support on the parked car. The conman stood there; half bended with his back against the vehicle, huffing and puffing on his efforts to control the agonizing pain and the anger he was feeling. Neal wasn't someone to feel helpless and hated to give that impression, but this was not the time for rage, not with so much at stake.
Portman looked uncomfortable. He only had wanted to shake the kid a little, to make him feel how unwelcomed he was for being not only a criminal, but also the son of a dirty cop, but seriously hurting him was going too far. The time before he had had to stop Will from keep beating the conman, three against one being already too unfair and now Anderson had done something that would definitely need medical attention. Yet the guy was his partner, so he had the obligation to stand by his side and support him, either he agreed with his methods or not.
"Next time you should be more careful with car doors, accidents happen if you don't pay enough attention." Portman put a hand over his partner's shoulder to slightly push him inside the building and make it clear that the game was over. "You should take care of that hand, I think Joseph is upstairs, he can take you to the ER."
Peter leaned back on his chair to rest his eyes from the screen for a moment when he saw his CI strolling into the office. He decided that this was a moment as good as any other to take a coffee break, he had planned to call him anyway to see how he was doing and maybe convince him to tell what had happened before.
"Hey Neal, what brings you here?" He greeted the conman once downstairs. The agent was surprised to notice the weak handshake and the way the young man kind of averted his gaze on a shy way that was very not 'Nealish'.
"I just came to bring some papers for you to sign before I give them to the Marshals"
Peter grabbed them and only needed a quick glance to look back at Neal in surprise.
"Health Insurance? What is this about?" It was then when he noticed the white plastic cast protruding out of Neal's left sleeve of his suit jacket. "What the heck is going on here!?"
"Peter, calm down, it's not what you think, it was only an accident." Neal answered in a low voice, noticing how all the White Collar Division was looking at them.
"Do you want me to believe that this was an accident? Please Neal, don't insult me, you know I'm smarter than that."
"Peter, please, it was an accident. I was at the Police Station, even Ruiz was there, he took me personally to the hospital. It's all on the report I brought you."
The agent gave a quick read to the pages on his hands, frowning.
"Two broken metacarpus, six stitches on the back of the hand and an almost severed tendon that required surgery." Peter sighed. "Care to explain how that 'accident' happened?
"Taxi driver closed the door with my hand still there" Neal smiled "Remind me to give better tips next time"
"Lots of accidents happening around you lately, hum? I know you Neal, you are not one to be stumbling on things or forgetting your wallet at home. If this is in any way related to whoever beat you last time I need to know it, remember you are my responsibility."
"And with things like this" said Neal pointing to the file on Peter's hand "It's a lot of paperwork"
"Yes, of course. Because paperwork is exactly what worries me now" Replied Peter, knowing he has no right to feel insulted, since it was him the one who used to play with that line.
Neal left the office in haste, leaving his handler baffled and angry, not wanting more questioning from Peter or to attract the curiosity of other coworkers. He wasn't a victim, never had been, never would be. Yes, he could be good at tempering his emotions and, sometimes, even controlling his impulses because he was a conman and if now he had to play the role of the bullied kid on high school he would, because all he had learnt about the persons that had been part of his past, of who he had been before becoming Danny Brooks, was worth it. He didn't need Peter to watch his back and was decided to honor his word of keeping him out of anything related to his father. Not in vain he had survived four years in prison; to bear a few more days of a bunch of policemen venting their frustrations was nothing compared with what he had endured there.
Peter had let his CI go without keep pushing him, though every fiber of him wanted to shake the kid into sense. Unfortunately his story had backup, one phone call to Ruiz had confirmed that the accident had been at the police station where Neal had gone to fill his report and get the anklet back after his assignment. While the agent hadn't been personally present, a couple of detectives had informed him of the accident at the entrance and he was pretty sure the wound was recent when he took Neal to the hospital. The Organized Crimes agent couldn't avoid a severe questioning of why he had not informed personally to Burke of the injuries sustained during service, only to discover that Caffrey, being Caffrey, had not showed him the medical report and said that it was only bruised bones and a couple of stitches, so no need to wake Burke up on the middle of the night. And if put against a wall Ruiz would have to admit that he hadn't even noticed Neal's cast.
When Peter hung the phone he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something important he was missing. There was something that Ruiz had said, yet he had been too busy lecturing his colleague to get a hold to.
His blue eyes shined with excitement, all his senses were concentrated in the game and he was enjoying it. Money changed hands quickly and bets were more and more interesting. Word of mouth had paid off and new gamers had joined the table. It has started to become a privilege to be allowed on the Martin's basement and people were not betting about a round of beers, but amounts of money that the average citizen would never get to see together on a lifetime.
A commotion upstairs forced Neal out of his spell and brought him back to his place on the mission. The game was completely interrupted when a well dressed man of about sixty to seventy years walked down the stairs and asked with a gesture of the hand for them to keep playing. The white haired man was not at all the caricature of a Russian mob chief, yet there was something on the way he moved, on the way he looked that gave no doubt that this man was used to be obeyed without questions or delay. So it had finally happened, after weeks of luring they had drawn the Big Bear out of his den, from whatever place he had been hiding right into the arms of the FBI.
Neal stood up with elegance to greet the new arrival and his escort of goons, to everybody all he was doing was showing his respects, but the conman was pretty aware of what was about to happen at any second and wanted to be out of the way. Just in time, hell broke loose, a small army of FBI agents with SWAT as backup stormed into the small basement from a hidden back door without giving time at the mobsters to even draw their weapons. Neal couldn't help but flinch when in the middle of the yells a hand grabbed his shoulder, but it was only a FBI agent on a bullet proof vest shielding him and guiding him to the exit. The cold air of the night never felt fresher on Neal lungs.
Elizabeth Burke watched his husband as he absently looked at a distant point out of the window with a bottle of beer almost untouched on his hand.
"Coming to bed?"
"Oh, yes, on a second." but Peter didn't move, though he gave a sip at his beer.
"What worries you, hon?" said his wife approaching him.
"Nothing, you know, just… work."
"Neal" It wasn't a question, it was an affirmation.
"Yeah, Neal" Admitted his husband in defeat.
"Honey, weren't you supposed to take it slow for a time?" Huffed El. "Isn't Neal working with another agent on the meantime?"
"Yes, but I'm still his handler" Peter sighed heavily; he knew by then that he wouldn't be able to hide his concerns from his wife, so better share them with her. "Someone had been roughing him up and yesterday he just came to the office with another injury and saying it was an accident."
"Roughing him up?" Now Elizabeth had to admit, against her will, that now she was concerned too. "How?"
"His upper body looked like a map" Peter saw the grimace on El's face and regretted his choice of words. "Neal said it was related to work and since playing clandestine poker doesn't win you many friends I let it go for the meantime, but then the broken hand… I don't buy it was by pure bad luck."
"His hand was broken? His hands are part of his life! Will he be able to paint, to sculpt?" Elizabeth could not image Neal without doing his art, that would be like taking a part of him.
"I'm sure he will be pick pocketing in no time, but… I don't know. I get the gut feeling that there was something vicious on those injuries, not something that happens just like that."
"So you don't believe for a minute it was an accident."
"There are no coincidences with Neal Caffrey." Peter left the beer bottle on the table. "Yet Agent Ruiz said he was with him, it even happened at a Precinct house."
"Wasn't James a detective of the NYPD?"
Peter closed his eyes and resisted the urge to slam his head against the table. It was so obvious that only his wife could have pointed it to him! How in heaven hadn't he been able to join the dots before? The painkillers of his sore arm were the only ones to blame, definitely.
"Neal and I will have a talk tomorrow."
