Free Me If You Can

Chapter Two

By

Lacadiva

Rating: PG-13/R for violence. Disclaimer: All rights belong to Jeff Eastin and the gang at White Collar.

Summary: Post-Judgment Day – a different take. Peter doesn't signal Neal, and Neal is arrested and faces life – or death – in prison. What kind of a dangerous game is Kramer playing? And if Neal plays along, will Peter be able to free him from his deal with the devil before Kramer gets Neal killed?

WEEK ONE

Peter hung up the phone and stood stunned and angry, struck silent and momentarily immobilized by the news. It made no sense to him! It defied anything remotely justifiable…had to be illegal or unconstitutional…! Why would Neal….?

"What is it, hon?"

Elizabeth was by his side in an instant, gently squeezing his shoulder. She knew instinctively that whatever had provoked her husband to engage in this thousand yard stare, it had to have something to do with Neal Caffrey.

Peter realized he was holding his breath and inhaled sharply, willing the tension in his body to relax, but failing.

"No visitors," he said, just above a whisper.

El raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Neal doesn't want visitors? Not even us? Why wouldn't he…?"

"No, not Neal…" Peter said. "Someone else has decided that for him. No visitors until they move him to Federal prison, for his own protection..."

"Why would Neal need protecting?" asked El. "And from whom? It doesn't make any sense."

"Exactly."

"You think it's Kramer, don't you?"

Peter turned to his wife at the sound of his former friend and mentor's name, his expression turned sour, his very posture becoming more tense. There was a tremor in his voice as he spoke.

"It smacks of Kramer. He wants to keep me away from Neal. Keep all of us away from Neal."

"Can he do that?"

"It appears he's done it. At least for now. I'm going to make a few calls…see what I can find out."

"So…I guess we're not driving down to D.C. this weekend after all. I'd better cancel the kennel for Satchmo…"

"You might want to cancel.…"

Peter's voice trailed off as he realized El was already two steps ahead of him. She wrapped her comforting arms around him and held him tightly, restoring his calm, restoring his sanity of thought, and anchoring him to reality. He let his own arms slip around his wife, let his cheek rest against the silkiness of her dark hair that smell gently of lavender and vanilla.

"You'll fix this," she said, giving her husband a quick kiss. "If anyone in the world can help Neal, it's you."

He did not protest as Elizabeth broke contact to pick up and hand him the phone, but he did miss her warmth. She called Satchmo, attached his leash and walked out the front door, leaving Peter to do what only he could do.

Peter dial the phone, determined to do whatever it took to save his friend.

~WC~

WEEK TWO – INFIRMARY

Neal woke abruptly, unsure if the dangerous images assaulting his conscious memory were real or the residual stuff of nightmares. He felt as if a veil of numbness had been draped over his entire frame. But he could also tell that it was slowly receding, allowing pain to gradually reacquaint itself as its spindly tendrils crept through his bones, muscles and flesh. Neal weakly tried to sit up, and grit his teeth when a new pain, deep in his side, stood in protest.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Dr. Runyon was sitting by his bed on a short stool on rollers, a metal chart resting in her lap. Her eye makeup, though minimal, was slightly smeared, suggesting hours of hard work without retouching. Her thick dark hair was braided, yet looked as if a good brushing would do her good.

"We can't keep meeting like this," Neal said groggily. "People will talk."

"Very funny, Dr. Lector," she said, and smiled somewhat patronizingly, in hopes of discouraging her uncommonly handsome prisoner/patient from flirting with her. She scooted closer to the bed.

"How are we feeling?" she asked.

"Like we were shanked…"

"Not surprising, since that appears to be exactly what happened. Did you see who did it, or do we chalk this up to another case of clumsiness?"

Neal said nothing, but tried ill-advisedly to sit up once more, and realized with an embarrassingly loud grunt that the pain medication was wearing off much faster now. Runyon stood to help him, supporting his near-dead weight with arms grown strong from moving patients about. She arranged the pillows behind him and waited until his breathing evened out, and a semblance of color returned to his blanched complexion before she began the routine of checking his vitals.

"How bad is it?" Neal asked a bit weakly.

"You were lucky," she said as she pulled back Neal's covers and lifted up the worn cotton hospital garb to reveal the clean bandage covering his wound. "Not too deep, but certainly deep enough to cause you quite a bit of discomfort and me a bit of concern for your health. Just try to lie still. Your stitches will remind you if you overdo it.

"I'd like to keep you in the infirmary overnight for observation. We'll send you back to your cell tomorrow morning if all goes well. Whoever did this to you wasn't intending to kill you. It's likely they were sending you a message."

"I don't know what that message could be," Neal said, attempting to sound mystified.

"Oh, please," Runyon spat. "You obviously like playing games, Mr. Caffrey, but I do not. Especially when people keep getting hurt."

"I'm not playing games…"

"How many attacks is it going to take before you open your mouth and save your own life? Someone is out to get you! It's blatantly clear. Unless you drop this 'inmate's code of silence' thing, and give me a name, it's going to continue happening until somebody else dies –"

"What do you mean somebody else?"

Runyon didn't hear him, but continued her diatribe. "- and that somebody is going to be you. I can't protect you unless you trust me."

Neal closed his eyes and willed the fiery pain blossoming in his stitched wound to recede. It didn't work.

"I don't know why I bother to even care about you people," she blurted. "It's obvious you don't."

Disgusted by his silence, Runyon made a few quick scribbles in Neal's chart and turned to leave.

"Someone threatened Vernon," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Little guy, bushy mustache."

Runyon stopped and turned back to Neal, her long dark braid landing heavily on her shoulder.

"Go on."

"They told him if he didn't shank me, he'd be thrown in the hole."

"You're saying he was threatened by a guard?"

"I'm not saying that. I'm just saying, someone threatened Vernon, coerced him, terrorized him, into hurting me. The little guy's probably beside himself. I don't want to get him in trouble …"

"Vernon Hackett is dead."

Neal reached out and grabbed hold of metal bar on his bed, ignoring the pain, ignoring the I.V. needles buried into the back of his hand, and pulled himself forward.

"What…?"

"He hanged himself…last night," said Runyon, struggling to sound as neutral as she could. "I'm sorry."

"Why would he…"

"Guilt, I imagine. Guilt over what he'd done to you. The question is why did he do it?"

Pain forced Neal back down. He breathed heavily, trying to control the dizziness and nausea that threatened to overcome him. The whites of his eyes burned red with tears. His face was suddenly slick with sweat, and his body felt a deathly chill coursing through it.

"How?" he asked. "How did he do it?"

"He used a sheet. It's not uncommon, but it is unfortunate. Perhaps if you had been a little more forthcoming initially, this could have been avoided."

Anger burned inside Neal now.

"Don't put that on me," he said through clenched teeth. "I didn't ask for this!"

"I can't help you unless you talk to me."

Neal shook his head. "You don't get it. This isn't a prison thing. The man who's pulling the strings is…"

Neal instantly fell to silence when a Guard walked in and gave the infirmary a cursory look before turning to Runyon.

"Hey, doc." His tone was casual, but spiced with menace. "How's the patient?"

"What do you want?" the Doctor demanded protectively.

"Got a visitor for blue eyes."

Runyon stepped to the door, almost running smack into the massively proportioned Guard.

"There are no visitors allowed in the infirmary. Only medical personnel…"

"I think," Kramer said as he crossed the threshold, extending a hand, "we can make an exception this once. You must be Denise Runyon."

"Doctor Runyon."

"Pleasure."

"And you are…?"

"Agent Kramer, F.B.I." He held up his badge and I.D. quickly and smiled congenially. "I've come to check on our boy Neal. Heard he had a little run in with business end of a sharp object. How's he doing?"

"This is highly irregular," she protested as Kramer made his way to Neal's bed. She also noted how much more agitated Neal appeared to be. Were it not for the guard with his hand resting menacingly on his Taser, she was quite certain Neal would have ripped out the I.V. needles, attacked the agent and run.

"I appreciate that, Dr. Runyon, but I have a vested interest in Mr. Caffrey's welfare. Have a chat with your superiors and they'll confirm that where Neal is concerned, I have carte blanche to do whatever I see as necessary. That includes bypassing your security protocols. Now, would you kindly give me and Mr. Caffrey a bit of privacy? You and I can chat afterwards."

His words may have been polite, but there was something quite dark and sinister in his intentions. Unable to do anything at the moment but obey authority in her position, Runyon merely nodded and left the room to return to her small office.

The Guard remained by the door, arms crossed. No way anyone could get past him alive.

Neal simply stared unblinkingly at Kramer as the Agent took over Runyon's rolling stool and sat next to the bed, smiling.

"Imagine my shock and concern when I heard you'd been injured. Again. Sounded serious. How are you, my boy?"

Neal said nothing. Just stared.

"Sorry, I would have brought you flowers, but they don't allow 'em on the floor. Might smuggle a chisel in the vase, I supposed."

"A man is dead because of you," Neal finally said, and noticed a subtle change in Kramer's smug smile. "His name was Vernon."

"I heard," said Kramer. "Sad and unfortunate situation."

"That's all you have to say?"

"I hope you're not blaming me, Neal. His blood is on your hands, not mine. He's dead because you're being stubborn and unreasonable. How many more casualties will it take till you see things my way?"

"What you're asking me to do is…"

"Wrong? Tell me Neal…when did you get so high and mighty, so noble and righteous? You think that because you pulled the wool over Peter Burke's eyes by nabbing a few bad guys, that somehow your hands are washed clean? That suddenly you're one of the good guys now? How many ways have you already worked out to escape this place? Hm? How many times have you imagined knocking out a guard or two before leaping the fence? You're deluding yourself if you think you can keep your nose clean the rest of your life. Tell me, have you entertained the possibility of pulling a few side jobs while working side by side with Agent Burke? Thought about moving a little money around, surreptitiously selling off a few stolen masterpieces behind his back? Silk ties and fine wines cost a little more than the bureau pays consultants. Those shoes you were wearing when I arrested you…I bet they cost more than my last paycheck. Face it Neal, you're not one of the good guys, and you're not comfortable going cheap. You were born to steal. You did it for Peter; why is it so difficult for you to work with me?"

"Peter Burke is my friend."

"I can be a better friend."

"You're right about me, Kramer. I'm not a good man. But I want to be. I can be. You want to know the difference between you and Peter? He wants me to do the right thing. Always. Peter wouldn't dream of asking me to do something illegal for his personal gain. Hell, he wouldn't even accept tickets to a baseball game from me if he thought I was playing him. Every time I walk into an undercover operation, he sweats a little. Not because I might blow it for him, but because he's afraid I might have to take a bullet. Something tells me you'd never have my back, never have that level of concern for me, or anyone else for that matter. So go peddle your bull someplace else. Vernon's dead, but not because I won't play ball. He's dead because you can't have what you want. Yeah, I'm a thief, and a liar, and a con. But you're a user, Kramer. And in my book, that's a just as bad, if not worse. Now, if you don't mind too much, I'm in a fair amount of pain, and I'd like to sleep now."

Kramer cheeks reddened as anger and frustration threatened to spill over. He balled up a fist, rubbed his protruding knuckles, feeling the thick dried skin pulling taunt over each hard-boned protrusion. Then slammed his fist hard into Neal's wounded side.

Neal cried out so loudly, so unexpectedly, that his throat felt as if claws had rent his vocal chords, leaving a bloody trail of damaged tissue behind. Tears sprang to his tightly closed eyes, squeezing through and running hot trails down the sides of his face. He felt his teeth sink into his lips, and he tasted his own blood. He wanted so badly to raise a fist to Kramer, to return the favor. To knock the agent to his knees and bludgeon him with his bare hands until his own knuckles were red raw pulp. But his body would not allow it. The pain in his side sickened him to his stomach, and the exhaustion of injury and the residual fuzziness from pain medication had weakened him to the point of miserable incapacity. He shook, trembled, but fought to keep back the gorge rising in him, the bile threatening to explode from inside.

Dr. Runyon raced back into the room, going directly to her patient.

Kramer stood and stepped back, his face a focused mask of blank passivity.

"He was fine," the agent said. "Guess he moved wrong. Tore his stitches. You might want to consider putting him under restraints. For his own safety as well as yours."

"I'm going to need you to leave. Now," she said firmly, leaving no room for negotiating.

"Fine. I'll be waiting for you in your office. We need to chat about Mr. Caffrey's care and feeding. There are a few things you need to know about him to protect yourself."

As he made his way to the door, the Guard close behind him, Kramer said, "Don't let those big blue eyes fool you. He's a very dangerous man. One girlfriend wound up being blown up on a plane. The other…Sara Ellis, the belle of Sterling Bosh…"

Neal stilled himself to listen, pushing back the pain to focus on Kramer again.

"… she's about to become the focus of an undercover investigation involving embezzlement, art theft, and various sundry crimes…"

"You leave Sara out of this…!"

"I wonder how she'll fare in a women's prison…not well, I imagine…"

"KRAMER…stay away from her…I'll kill you…I'll…."

Neal's next words died unspoken, as he began drifting into a hazy semi-consciousness from pain meds swiftly administered via syringe by Dr. Runyon. He could hear, but responding was more than his system could handle.

"Threatening a federal agent is a punishable offense, Neal. You could get life for that…" Kramer said with a malevolent chuckle. "See you in forty-eight hours."

Those were the last words Neal heard from Kramer before he allowed himself to be taken all the way under, to sleep, and dream.

To escape.

~WC~

He awoke, startled and filled with dread. How long had it been since Kramer left? An hour? A day? Neal noticed the soft light from heavily barred windows filtering into the room. It was just pass sunset.

He recalled his visit from Kramer, and remembered how he had threatened to go after Sara. Who would be next on his radar to torture? Mozzie? Peter?

He thought of Peter, and all the ways Kramer could make life difficult for the veteran agent's former protégé. A simple trumped up charge could trigger another OPR investigation. The merest hint of suspicion or mistrust would eat away at Peter. Not only would Peter's position and reputation be at risk, but what toll might it take on the Burke's marriage?

And what of Sara's reputation? Sterling Bosch was her life. How easily a life could be destroyed…

He could not allow it.

Neal was giving serious consideration to contacting Kramer in the morning, to giving in, when Dr. Runyon entered the twilit room.

She remained by the door, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her lab coat, staring at Neal in the burgeoning darkness.

"I spent two hours repairing your stitches. How did that happen?"

Neal said nothing.

"You're going to tell me what happened, or I'm not leaving this room."

Neal remained silent, but focused on the yellowing ceiling tile. His mouth was dry, and a headache was beginning to batter the nerves behind his eyes.

"Did he hurt you?" she asked plaintively. "Agent Kramer…did he strike you, cause your wound to reopen?"

"I moved wrong. Tore my stitches. End of story."

He could hear the heavy, frustrated intake of her breath, and expected the doctor to turn and walk out. Abandon him. To her credit, she remained, and took a step closer to the bed.

"You're a fool if you think I believe that. He's the one, isn't he?"

"The one what?"

"The one who's terrorizing you…orchestrating these brutal assaults against you."

Neal remained silent.

"Why is he doing this? He's an F.B.I Agent!"

Neal looked at her, not disguising his anger.

"One of the good guys, right?"

"I don't think he's one of the good guys at all. So why don't you blow the whistle on him? Why are you afraid of him?"

"I'm not afraid of him. I'm afraid for people I care about."

She took another step forward. He noticed, and let his eyes find hers.

"Kramer said some pretty disturbing things about you. Even if he were crooked, how do I know helping you won't come back to bite me in the derriere?"

Neal adjusted slowly and easily in the bed to relieve the tingling in an arm.

"What did Kramer say about me?" he asked.

"He said you would try to convince me to help you by saying people's lives were in danger."

"Did he? What else did he tell you?"

"He said I shouldn't believe anything you say…that you were a liar."

"I am."

She paused for a second while she considered the Star Trek conundrum he had presented her with his confession.

"Go on," he prompted her.

"He said you were a con man, and that you were dangerous. And if you asked for my help, or asked to call anyone, or said anything to me at all, I was to let him know."

"Are you going to tell him?" Neal asked softly.

She crossed her arms. "I haven't decided yet. I'm trying to decide which of you is the lesser of two evils."

"Let me know when you decide."

Neal turned to look up at the ceiling again, essentially ending his part of the conversation.

Runyon was about to turn a walk away, but something kept her riveted to the spot where she stood.

"How can I help you?"

Neal kept his eyes on the ceiling as he spoke.

"I need a cell phone."

"Prisoners are not allowed …"

"I KNOW that. But I need to make a call."

Runyon waited for a beat, to see if Neal would turn back to her. When he did not, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, old style flip phone, the kind that only sent and received calls. No texting, no frills, no Smart Phone bells and whistles. She kept it locked away usually, in case of emergencies.

"Who do you want to call?"

Neal said nothing.

"Who's Peter Burke?" she asked.

Neal turned back to her quickly, taken aback by her question. He immediately noted the phone in her hand, but fought to keep his eyes trained on hers. Don't look desperate, he told himself.

"Kramer said you might ask to call a man named Peter Burke," she explained. "Who is he? A mob boss? Drug dealer? Murderer?"

"A federal agent. He's with the bureau in New York City. He's my friend and the only truly honest man I've ever known." He reached out a hand. Let me call him…"

"No," she said, crossing her arms across her chest again as if to self-protect.

"You said you wanted to help me. This is only way you can. Please," Neal pleaded.

She considered her options, weighing them carefully. She flipped the phone open. The sickly green light from the keypad illuminated her face, giving her an otherworldly countenance.

"Give me the number. I'll call him."

End Chapter Two

Thank you so much for reading! Hope you're enjoying this so far. If so, please do post a review! Much appreciated! I'll be back in two weeks with the next chapter.