As promised, a quick update!
One month later, Peter walked down the narrow hallway of the dank Russian prison, past loud prisoners that were yelling at the agent in a language that he didn't know. They were probably calling him every curse word that he knew, and then some. A man of his status was not someone that was liked in a place like this, after all. The suit he wore might as well have been a big sign that said 'cop', according to a man that was once like a son to him. He didn't mind though - he deserved it, and so much more.
They stopped at what seemed to be the only quiet cell on the whole block. Through the cold metal bars, Peter could see the young man that was sentenced to death tomorrow.
He was sitting sideways on the narrow bed, the only other piece of furniture being the toilet that doubled as a sink on the top. He had his back against the wall and his legs bent at the knees as his feet sat on the thin, dirty blanket with him. A two week old beard on his face helped hide the stark sharpness of his cheekbones and the array of bruises that marred his face, but not enough to hide them from Peter. The loose grey shirt and pants he had on were ripped and stained with things that Peter rather not identify. He was staring at the wall in front of him, but his blue eyes were blank, lifeless. He was the picture of lost hope - like someone that was dead but his heart was still beating, like it still had hope that his guardian angel would come to his rescue at the last moment, even when his soul didn't.
"Open the door," Peter told the guard that had escorted him. The guard looked warily at Peter, then did what he was told. Peter walked in, then the guard shut the door behind him, the metal door closing with an ominous clang that reverberated through the other bars.
The young man looked up when Peter entered. He didn't seem happy to see the agent, if anything, he looked disappointed.
"You don't look like my duck confit," Neal said hollowly. His voice was raspy from disuse, his eyes devoid of any joy or youthfulness that usually shined in those no longer bright blue eyes. The dullness in them made Peter's heart clench painfully.
The cell he was in was even smaller than the one the young man had been held in for four years, the one that Peter had put him in. There wasn't anywhere to sit, so Peter stayed standing.
"Hey, Neal...Its been a while," Peter said awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. 'Hey, I was wrong to leave you here without hearing your side of the story. Oh, I'm also sorry that I didn't even bother to check and see that you were sentenced to death, too,' didn't sound quite right to Peter. He messed up so bad that he didn't know if he could express how sorry he was in his lifetime.
Neal just went back to staring at the wall in front of him, eyes devoid of hope.
"Neal, I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am," Peter said sincerely.
That seemed to get a reaction out of the conman. He looked back at Peter. His eyes finally had an emotion in them, but not one Peter wanted to see. Neal was angry - no, livid.
"You're sorry?" Neal asked, incredulous. "I'm sentenced to death! I'm supposed to die tomorrow, and you're sorry?"
The guard looked questionably at Peter, silently asking if he wanted out. Peter shook his head. The agent doubted that Neal would attack him, but he would be fine with it if he did. He deserved that and so much more.
"You have to believe me, Neal, when I say that I didn't know they were sentencing you to death," Peter said. The words tasted bitter and ugly in his mouth and they brought a new wave of guilt and heartache with them, something that Peter had felt so many times since he figured out how badly he had screwed up.
"Why would I believe you? You didn't believe me," Neal shot back, his words sounding immature, but ringing true.
Peter decided not to comment on what Neal said. "I looked more into what happened...and I saw that you were telling the truth," Peter said, ashamed that he hadn't listened to Neal's pleas of innocence a month ago.
"That must have really shocked you," Neal said bitterly. "I'm surprised you didn't have a heart attack or something." Peter guess Neal was disappointed that he didn't.
"I tracked down the men that kidnapped you and they confessed to forcing you to break into the facility. Since you were coerced, nothing was actually stolen and you didn't kill any of the workers, I managed to convince them to get you released back into my custody. Having the real culprits to blame probably helped too." Peter paused for a second, hoping Neal would say something, but he remained silent. "I'm here to get you out of here, Neal," Peter said, trying to sound happy and comforting at the same time.
"And where would we go?" Neal asked. "Back to New York? Back to working with the FBI? Did you really expect me to just say yes and we'd be best buddies again?"
"I know it'll be hard, but I'm willing to work on it if you are," Peter said.
"You can't just put a bandaid on a bullet wound, Peter," Neal said sadly as he looked back at the wall again, his anger now gone and replaced by hopelessness. Peter wished that his pathetic bandaid of an apology could fix the bullet wound that he had inflicted on Neal's heart, but it seemed less likely each second.
"I may not have helped you a month ago, but I'm here to help you now," Peter said sincerely. He really wanted to right his wrong, but Neal had to accept his apology for that to happen. Peter wasn't sure he deserved it, but he knew that Neal needed to at least come with him so he could get out of this hellhole.
"You know what I was thinking for the first month that I was locked in here?" Neal asked, his eyes hollow as he stared off into nothing. "I was thinking that, without a shadow of a doubt, you would find me and you would get me out of here the moment you found out why I was here." He laughed, the sound bitter and hollow. "I can't believe I conned myself into believing that you'd see me for anything other than a criminal." He shook his head in disbelief. "Shame on me." He put his arms around his legs and pulled them a little closer.
Peter walked up to Neal and went to touch the man's shoulder in an uncharacteristic attempt to comfort him, but Neal startled back and threw his hands up in defense. Between his fingers, Peter could see that his eyes were wide and afraid. He thought that Peter was going to hurt him, why? Peter had never physically hurt him before.
Peter backed up, very concerned about Neal's reaction, and after a tense second, Neal lowered his hands and relaxed a little.
"I wasn't going to hurt you, Neal," Peter said. He hoped Neal knew that.
"I know," Neal said, not looking at Peter. He looked...ashamed for some reason.
"Then why...?" Peter asked. His mind was putting the pieces together, but he didn't want to accept what image they were making. What had happened to Neal in this prison that make him feel like every contact would be a violent one?
Neal shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he whispered, and something broke inside of Peter when he realized that the younger man actually believed that - that he didn't matter. What had happened to the young man in front of him that made him think that?
Dogs barking in the distance broke the tense silence and Peter watched as Neal tensed, his hands turning into fists, and snapped his gaze to the bars of his cell, watching and listening intently. Peter looked as well, but the dogs were too far away. The barking soon died down and Neal relaxed a little. Peter knew that they used dogs in this prison for inmate control and he really didn't want to think of Neal being hurt by one. Had he? By his reaction, it was possible.
Peter waited a minute before speaking again. "Will you come with me?" he asked, so very hopeful and so very afraid of the answer.
"I have a date with the electric chair later, so I can't make it," Neal said. His eyes didn't have anger or shame or even pain in them now. They were empty, hollow, lifeless. Then his mouth twisted into what might've been a smirk. "Actually, I don't know if it's going to be an electric chair or not. Could be lethal injection, or hanging. Maybe I'll even get my own firing squad. I really haven't bothered to ask. I guess it'll be a surprise."
Peter was afraid to wonder if Neal really did want to die. Or did he know that Peter wouldn't let that happen? Did he even think that? Had Neal given up hope of the humanity of the world? Of Peter?
"You're not going to die tomorrow, Neal. I've stopped the execution...Though, at the rate you seem to be going, you'll die sooner rather than later in here," Peter said as he took in the bruises on Neal's face, more livid than the ones he had sported the last time Peter had seen him, trying to get some sort of reaction from Neal, but he didn't react, didn't look happy or angry, just kept looking at the dirty wall in front of him.
Peter couldn't think of anything else to say to convince Neal to come with him, so he put the papers that Neal was supposed to sign to get out of here, the ones that Peter had already signed, on the bed next to the younger man, then signaled the guard to open the door.
"Wait," Neal said, and for the second that Neal paused Peter thought that he had changed his mind, that he wanted to be free of this place even if it meant coming with Peter, but then Neal continued and Peter's heart, as well as most of his hope, shattered. "Before you leave, can you please take your knife out of my back? It itches."
Peter hung his head for a moment, defeat trying its best to crush him. "I'm not giving up on you," he said quietly, sincerely. He turned back to see that Neal was staring at the wall again, his eyes showing no hope of salvation. Peter prayed that he could still be saved. The agent would get him out of there one way or another, but he wasn't sure if it would be in time, if it was already too late to save the young man that wasn't lying a month ago when Peter had walked away from him.
And there it chapter two! Tell me what you think, please!
