Making the appointment was surprisingly easy, so easy that it was painful. It was a mere five days after their initial meeting on the subject that they were sitting in a hospital room, counting down the minutes until their lives were shattered into fragments. Neal, for the first time that Peter could remember, was fidgeting nervously. It was unusual to see the man in anything but a smart suit, the formal attire the only true compliment to his form. Yet, just as his freedom, such privilege had been stripped away, and now he was donning a light blue hospital gown. Sitting against pale sheets, his eyes looked like an ever deeper shade of blue, like the surface of a troubled ocean.
There was still a silence spanning between the two, one that had yet to be breached by anything more than the usual formalities. Peter wondered if it was anger, or if it were fear, that had rendered Neal so silent over the course of the past week. Of all things, Neal had stayed true to his word; he hadn't come into the office once since his unfortunate sentencing. Perhaps it was his utter absence that had amplified the lack of communication between partners, but on top of the physical absence was the lack of phone calls. Even when Neal wasn't needed at the Bureau, even when Peter was home with El, one of them at least reached out to call. And each time that Peter had, he was sent to the familiar voicemail message, leaving him frustrated and empty. No amount of begging had brought Neal to call back, not even some of the most desperate pleas that Peter could remember making.
Even now, in the hospital, there was nothing but silence. No words spanned this gap that had been created by an unfortunate government mandate; just the shuffling of fabric on fabric filled the air as Neal shifted his weight around. As an act of kindness, Peter had removed the tracking anklet earlier that morning, an act more solemn than it was freeing. Neal had been silent for that as well; once the burden was removed, he had only run his hands reluctantly over the skin before lowering the pant leg and staring off into the distance, a small crease working its way into the pale skin of his forehead.
What had surprised Peter most of all was how docile Neal had been led to this place, like a lamb to slaughter, not blinking as the blade made its way down. Peter had been monitoring the current tracking device with a religious vigilance, prepared to send a team out if Neal so much as shifted his anklet or put a foot outside of his radius. There was nothing Neal how to do except run, run far away from his troubles. Yet each of the last five days he had stayed within a block of his apartment, most often within the apartment, not so much as moving from one location for hours at a time. And when it came time to travel to the hospital, Neal had gone quietly, not so much as a whimper of protest.
It was bitter to imagine that this would be the most free that Neal could ever be again; lying in a hospital bed, nearly naked, completely defenseless, about to be subject to a near inhumane torment. Peter couldn't help but blame himself for allowing it to reach this point. It was as though he hadn't fought hard enough, hadn't done enough, even those his hands had practically been tied. He knew he was a disappointment, and he knew that he had failed one of the most important people in his life.
A nurse walked in, a smile on her face as she pushed a wheelchair into the room. This was the first arrival that so much as prompted Neal to raise his head, those hollow eyes gazing at the woman without any indication of his current emotional state. Both men in the room knew what the arrival meant, for it signaled the start of something terrible. It was time for Neal to go into surgery.
Neal's hands gripped the sheets on the bed until his knuckles were white, and Peter could see the lump in his throat as he swallowed. This was watching a man be led off to slaughter. Clambering out of the bed with much less grace than Neal usually carried, the CI eased himself into the chair, sparing the nurse any charming smiles he would have usually pulled.
Peter tried to come up with something to say, trying to spit out one of the phrases that he had spent hours agonizing over, as though they would serve as reconciliation. Through all of the heartfelt apologies, the confessions of friendship, as Neal was about to be wheeled away, there was only one thing that Peter could manage to speak without his voice cracking.
"I'll be here when you wake up."
That was apparently not enough to warrant a response. Neal let his head hang down, hands scratching at one another in a disturbing new habit. And within those next few seconds, he was gone, the mop of dark brown hair disappearing behind the door without a whisper.
Peter wanted to retreat in on himself, and be left alone, but Neal's presence was quickly replaced. A tall man walked in, a small, false smile on his face. He extended a hand, which Peter took begrudgingly.
"I assume that you're Agent Burke" the man quipped, as though he had read the quote straight from a book. Nodding, Peter casually pulled the badge from his jacket pocket and flashed it subtly before returning it. With a brief smile, slightly more genuine, the man continued.
"I will be the surgeon working on Mr. Caffrey today. My specialty is usually based on repairing internal damage, but I have been trained in this procedure recently. We already have the device prepped in the back, and there should be no complications with the surgery. But, if you don't mind, I do have a question. From what I understand, Mr. Caffrey is a criminal. Are there any extra precautions that should be taken?" he questioned, and Peter felt a tic under his left eye as these words were spoken. Adressing the surgeon curtly, Peter shook his head with his negative response.
"He is of no threat to you, or anyone else at this hospital. He is merely completing a trial on this new device. And for your information, he's not a criminal. He's my partner. I expect for you to treat him as such. He's a member of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, and his well-being is of the utmost importance. I was assured that you were the best for the job, and that's what I would expect to see" he responded, trying to keep the faint growl from his voice. It was surprising how defensive he had become, but seeing the surgeon balk was enough for Peter to reign himself back under control. Somehow, the other man still maintained a smile, however wary it seemed.
"Rest assured, Agent Burke, Mr. Caffrey is in good hands. I promise to return him safely, and that I will perform this surgery to the best of my ability. He should be returned to your company within the next four hours. It was a pleasure meeting you, Agent Burke" the surgeon finished, and with a final handshake, he departed, leaving Peter in complete solitude.
All that the agent had the strength to do in that moment was to sit back down, press his eyes into the heels of his hands, and bite back the tears that rose as quickly as the lump in his throat. Thinking of Neal on the operating table was a thought that was nearly unbearable, so instead, he thought on what would come next.
-0-0-0-0-0-
While Peter could have returned to work for the duration of the operation, he elected to stay within the hospital walls, eagerly awaiting the conclusion of the procedure. It was supposed to be relatively short, with only half a day of recovery time. The surgery itself would take approximately an hour, and the next few hours would only be used to monitor Neal's body to ensure there were no complications. Before night fell he would be on his way, back in Peter's car, dressed in his suit, headed home. There would be nothing to guide him except for a bottle of pain medication that would likely be gone within days, and a small scar left in the wake.
Peter didn't know what would happen from there. Would things return to normal? What could a new normal possibly be? Their routine would be forever fractured by this federally mandated personal invasion, and there would always be a reminder that Neal was not the same, he would never be the same again. There was no way that either of them would ever forget. Peter would remember every single time that he opened his phone, checking Neal's location, and he would know that blinking dot came from a source buried within his friend's body.
They said that it was painless. And by 'they', Peter was pondering on the panel that had mandated such a thing actually be put into effect. There had been a soothing page of propaganda for Neal to read over, which Peter had failed to give to the CI altogether. He figured that such a thing, as elementary as it was, would have been completely insulting to such a genius. Instead, he had given the basic details, as bluntly as could be, as an act of common courtesy. The implant, about the side of a human thumbnail, was supposedly entirely safe, and would fail to hurt Neal in any way once he was recovered from surgery.
The physical pain was the last thing that they needed to worry about, and Peter was able to understand that well. There had been no consideration of the emotional impact such an item would have, especially on a criminal that was so self-reliant and already reluctant to sport an external tracking device. Instead of making things easier on anyone, this forced alteration would only fracture the only 'normal' Neal knew to pieces, potentially damaging his psyche
While Peter could have pondered on this for an indefinite amount of time, and would continue to over the following days, his train of thought was interrupted by the appearance of a man in scrubs striding into the waiting room.
"Caffrey" the voice called out, looking over the chart in his hands, as though he were awaiting family to stand. Peter stood, and walked over towards him, knowing well what news was about to be delivered. True to his estimates, the man gave a small smile, and a curt nod in the place of an introduction.
"His procedure went well, and we are taking him back to his room for recovery right now. There were no complications, and the anesthesia should be wearing off within the hour. Additional instructions regarding care and discharge will be provided by the doctor, who will be in to see you shortly. He's going to room C345, which is just down the hall from here." To this, Peter nodded his thanks, having expected nothing less than smooth sailing this far in. In itself, the procedure was minimally complicated, and was said to have almost a null chance for anything to go awry.
He made his way down to the recovery room, and walking in, saw a sight that was deceivingly peaceful. Neal's body was laid on a hospital bed, sheets pulled up around him, his eyes closed in what was apparent bliss. As much as he wished it was such a simple action as sleep that let Neal look so childlike, but rather, it was a drug induced unconsciousness that rendered him so defenseless.
Fortunately, Peter did not have long to ponder on these thoughts. It was only half of an hour later when Neal started groaning, his body shifting back and forth on the bed, no words forming through the animalistic grunts. Peter watched closely, entranced by the metamorphosis. It was like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon, and as Neal writhed subtly in the bed, he moved his arms, his eyelids flickering as he fought to open them.
Another minute of this semi-silence passed before the transformation was complete, and Neal opened his eyes, blinking against the bright lights that shone from overhead. There were more rasps and groans before words filled the air, which was to be expected. Once Neal had his wits completely about himself, he looked at Peter, and then down at his chest. With a lazy hand, he gently traced a spot on his side through the hospital gown, letting his fingers dance over the fabric as not to disturb it as he blinked.
A wry smile came over the CI's face, and he propped himself up a bit more than the pillows had, still casting a look over at Peter. Although the agent wanted to say something, he knew that he had to wait. There were no words that he could say, because he already knew all the answers. It was the smile, hollow, empty, that was most disturbing. When Neal spoke, his voice was raspy, and just as hollow as his visage.
"Hey, no chaffing."
At those words, Peter fought the urge to throw up. He could see the outline of the thick gauze bandage at the open-fronted gown slid open, showing not just Neal's sculpted body, but the stark white of the doctor's handiwork.
"How are you feeling?" Peter managed to question, trying to put a smile on his face, knowing however well that Neal would see right through it. But to his relief, the CI played along for half a moment, his eyes flickering as they always did when they played this game.
"I'm feeling just fine, and how about you? Chewed your way through a pile of emails when I was under, I'm guessing?" Neal inquired this with a cock of his head, voice regaining its strength.
The phrase was fraught with normality, and for a moment Peter was taken away from where they sat. Then he smelled the chemicals in the air, felt the tiles beneath his feet, uncomfortable and foreign. And he remembered where he was, living out an atrocity, with the victim sitting in front of him. Still, he swallowed, giving his own weak reply, putting up the front that he felt he needed to.
"Just a few. Mostly I've been waiting to see how you've done. Think you'll be ready to go by tonight, or do we need to extend the visit?" This question was meant as a kindness, but already the glint had left Neal's eyes, leaving them disturbingly dull and unfocused. Perhaps more unsettling was the small smile that crept over the CI's face, like that of a maniac before he committed a brutal, senseless act. Peter had seen it before on the job, but seeing such a charming face so devoid of life was foreign, terrifying. The words that Neal uttered next were just as hollow as his visage, despite their light tone.
"Keep me here as long as you need to, officer. I'm afraid that I've locked myself up, and swallowed the key. But I can't cough this one up for you, no sir, not this one. It appears that I'm going to be here for quite a while."
Then, as if he had just told the most hilarious joke in the world, Neal burst into laughter, his chest shaking, surely pulling at his stitches. Perhaps what was the worst for Peter to bear was the fact that Neal couldn't meet his eyes.
Wow! Thank you all so much! The support I have received on this story is overwhelming. Thank you so much to everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. Thank you also for taking the time out of your day to read this! I hope you enjoyed!