Note: Thanks to WitchPencil for reminding me of something I forgot to put into this chapter!
Chapter Three:
Neal struggled against his bonds, breath quickening and a cold sweat breaking out across his feverish skin. His wrists were already rubbed red and raw. His hair was matted on his forehead. His impeccable suit, tie, and jacket were carelessly thrown into a corner.
"Neal, Neal, Neal." A voice jerked him from his struggles. His mind quickly attempted to pin point the voice. The voice seemed to notice this. Shuffling drew Neal's attention over to a shadowy corner where the door was located. "I'm hurt. You don't remember me?"
"What do you want?" Neal stated as calmly as he could. His personality was one of his best weapons. If he could possibly incite this person enough, he hoped to be able to take advantage of the red haze that accompanied anger.
"Oh nothing, really. Just a little something I think is only fair. After all, you made be believe I was dying. It's the least you could do to remedy the situation. Oh, and don't worry. When I'm sipping juice on the beaches of Mexico, I'll be sure to thank you."
"Powell." Neal blinked in surprise as the haggard doctor stepped out of the shadows.
"Got it in one. Such a smart boy." Powell hissed, eyes narrowing. "I trusted you, and you—you…" His nostrils flared in anger, before he took a calming breath and visibly collected himself. "Well, that's all in the past."
"The FBI isn't going to be happy to learn you skipped out on prison, especially when you fought so hard for leniency regarding your condition." Neal pointed out in his matter-of-fact voice.
"Shut up. It won't matter, by the time I'm done with this, then I'll already be on my way. Saving money in various Swiss banks does come in handy after all. I've got myself a team that will take care of me and guard me."
"Nothing will be able to protect you from Peter. He'll find you and throw you back in prison. I would know." Neal cheekily grinned, rolling his wrists against his bonds. A feeling of dread was beginning to grow in his gut. Something was off about this situation, and it was sending warning bells ringing throughout his body.
"It won't matter. He'll be more occupied with you. I've been keeping an eye on you for the last couple of months. You've grown too comfy. It was all too easy to slip you a drug." Well, that certain explained the residual drowsiness, floating, and dizzy feeling. "
Mozzie was always so paranoid he couldn't help but laugh at the ideas the short man came up with. He tried never to be too predictable and easy to find (for those who weren't close and trusted friends of course).
Neal always tended to have the same routine, depending on the day. June always had a morning volunteering position every Tuesday. It was on those days he decided to treat himself to a little home-brewed coffee from a little artsy bistro on his way to the Bureau. He enjoyed the coffee and the atmosphere. It was… nostalgic to watch the young artists around him. It made him think of less worrying times.
At 8:45 he would gulp down the rest of his brew and start heading towards the Bureau. Sometimes he would sidetrack, maybe splurge a little and buys a little something to entertain himself with at the office, or something to give Elizabeth to make Peter get all hot and bothered. He loved Tuesdays. It was the one day that he could find his own way to work without having to worry about who he was carpooling with (usually Peter and sometimes Jones).
He slowly fell into a routine. He made a schedule of it, actually, to make sure that he was at the office before Peter was so he wouldn't be "scolded" for being late. Coffee, people gazing, work.
Karma must not like him. Mozzie, if he wasn't worried about the situation Neal managed to get himself into, would probably be telling him "I told you so."
When he noticed Powell was still bragging, Neal found himself wondering about why the villains in life felt the need to monologue. Was it a vanity issue?
"And Peter? Well, as soon as he notices you're missing and you haven't flown the coop, he'll be too panicked to think straight. I've seen the way he cares about you." Neal raised an eyebrow at that statement, which Powell ignored. "Now, are those restraints too tight? I hope they aren't chaffing. After all, I need to make sure that you're taking care of yourself."
"And why would that matter to you?" Neal winced when he saw the doctor pull out a long syringe. He tapped it two times and squirted it once to get rid of any air bubbles.
Powell turned to his captive, "Why to make sure that the donor for my new kidney is in tip-top shape of course!"
TBC
