"We need to move in. There's something wrong." It had been 6 hours of waiting in that god-awful van, and Diana was getting antsy.
"Peter said to wait for his signal." Jones pointed out, leaning back in his chair. "I want to get out of the van as much as you, Diana. If not more."
"Something's gone wrong." Diana was certain. She had the gut feeling, and she just knew something wasn't right.
"If something is wrong, if we move in we could get Peter killed. Neal, too. If he's not already…" Jones trailed off. The thought made him feel sick, and he'd rather not add the smell of vomit to the already smelly van.
"I'm calling for backup." Diana said, reaching for her phone.
Peter jolted into consciousness as Keller tossed open the door, stomping into the room. When did I fall asleep?
"Nice nap? You've been asleep for what.." Keller looked at his watch. "About four hours. That was weak, Peter." The man shook his head disapprovingly, hands on his hips. "You went easy on him; he's not buying this."
"Your plan was over before it started, Keller. Neal's not going to buy this no matter how much I sell it. Neal trusts me." Peter rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake up.
"And that's just the problem, isn't it agent Burke? It took work to gain that trust too, I'll bet. It's going to take time to break it. But we've got all the time in the world." Keller moved closer as he spoke, placing a hand on Peter's arm. "Maybe you need some encouragement, yea? Something to get your blood flowing? Maybe I need to show you I'll make good on my threat, huh? Actually, I think I'll do that right now."
Before Peter could stop him, Keller was taking out his phone, dialing a number before holding it up to his ear. "Yea, I need you to go ahead and move in on misses Burke—"
"No! No, Keller—I'll do it, I'll make Neal believe it." Peter couldn't say the words fast enough. "I'll do it, I swear."
"Ah, that's what I thought. In that case, nevermind. Leave the lady alone." Keller ordered into the phone, before putting it away. "See? All you needed was a little encouragement. Find it in you, Burke. Else I'll demonstrate for you just what you need to do, except I'll use Elizabeth as our example, and you can sit and watch." He said, gesturing towards the television in the corner.
Peter had to physically restrain himself, lest he lunge at Keller and strangle him as he so badly wanted to do. "If you touch her, you son of a bitch, I swear to god—"
"Lets not let it get to that then, ay? Just do as you're told. Behave like a good agent, and we wont have an issue. Now, lets focus on Neal, shall we? You need to be far more demeaning than you were. Talk down to him, like he's your dog. No, wait, I take that back. I'm sure you're probably one of those people that's really nice to your dog, aren't you? Treat him as if he's lower than the dog. And what do you do when you're training your dog? You lay out rules, am I right? Give him rules, but make them so he's bound to break them. And then when he does, you discipline him for it. If you don't impress me this time Peter, I'm going to have to let loose my hounds on your wife, so to speak."
"Stop. I'm going." Peter spoke through clenched teeth. God, how he wanted to pound Keller into the ground right now. He needed to let Diana and Jones know to go to Elizabeth. He needed to let Neal know what was going on. He wasn't sure if he could look into those sad blue eyes again… but he had to. He didn't have a choice, did he? He waited as Keller signaled his henchmen, who came in and blindfolded him again before heading down the hallway once more.
The two muscle men opened up the door for Peter, pulling off his blindfold and giving him a good shove into the room for good measure. Peter caught himself before he tripped and fell, but just barely.
He didn't have to search long before he spotted Neal, curled up on his pathetic excuse for bed. He seemed comfortable enough, and it was then that Peter realized the bed couldn't be much different from the one Neal had slept on in prison. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. If he was more psychologically abusive towards Neal, he could save him from being hurt as much. But then, the physical scars would heal, but the emotional ones may never go away.
Ultimately, Peter decided to find an in-between, and yet still somehow try to work out some way of getting them out of this. The only reason he'd yet to attempt grabbing Neal and bailing was the fact that he was certain as soon as he did, Keller would call his men and have them move in on El. El. Oh, god, I'm so sorry. It's going to be alright, I swear to you.
Taking a breath, Peter steeled himself before making his way over to the bed where Neal slept. Reaching over to put a hand in Neal's hair, he couldn't resist giving one gentle, calming stroke first. Perhaps it was to comfort himself more so than for Neal, as he was asleep and unaware of what was happening. Even so, he seemed to nod his head against the touch appreciatively, even while unconscious.
Lower than the dog.
Putting his hand through Neal's hair again, this time Peter gripped a handful of the dark strands, earning a surprised yelp as Neal was abruptly woken by the sudden discomfort. Peter kept his grip, pulling towards himself as Neal helplessly tried to push himself up, finally falling off the bed as a result. '
Peter released his hold, taking a step back and allowing Neal to take in what was happening before he spoke. He pointed a finger at the poor, confused man on the floor accusingly. "You stay off the furniture. Do you understand me?"
Neal was still catching his breath, that hurt, desperate look on his face again. "Peter? What—why—"
Peter knelt down, allowing himself to be eye level with Neal. "You don't get to ask questions. What you do get to do, is answer questions when you're asked. Let's try that again. Do you understand me?"
Neal reached up, placing a hand on his head where Peter had grabbed his hair, rubbing at it gently. "God, that hurt."
"I said, 'Do you understand me?"
This time Peter raised his voice, and Neal jumped. He had to collect his thoughts enough that he was able to respond. "I do, I understand. I understand, Peter. I'm not allowed on the furniture. And not allowed to ask questions." This was all a bit much for Neal. He knew Keller was behind all of this, he did. But to have Peter speak to him in this way, to raise his voice like that, and to hit him—it threw him off more than he cared to admit.
Maybe, even if it was deep down, Peter meant those things that he said, and it felt good for him to have this release. After all, Neal had pushed him, and pushed him. Always testing his luck, seeing what he could get away with. Surely, it was enough to drive someone crazy. But Peter was different. He'd been certain of that. More often than not, Peter seemed amused rather than annoyed. Sure, he was definitely put out at times, but Neal hadn't ever sensed anything like this before.
"That's better." Said Peter, taking in a breath. "Now, lets talk about some ground rules. You love to lie, and you love to steal, don't you Neal? So from now on, lets make it a rule that if you lie to me—or to anyone else—you're going to hold out your palms for me, and for each lie, I'm going to strap you twice. And for every time you steal, it'll be three. Am I clear?"
Neal nodded; he really seemed like he was intently listening now, which made Peter feel worse. "So how many is that?" Peter asked, reaching to unbuckle his belt. "For every time since we started working together, Neal, how many times have you lied, and how many times have you stolen?"
Peter could feel Neal's eyes on him, and when he looked back down Neal's face had paled quite a bit. "What?" The word came out quieter than Neal had intended, but he couldn't seem to mask the shock.
"I don't like to repeat myself, Neal. I'd like an answer."
"Um, a—a lot. A lot of times. I don't know how many." Was Peter really going to hit him for every time he'd lied or stolen since he'd known him?
"That was an honest answer. You're learning; good. Since you don't remember, though, and I'm certain I don't, we're going to say twenty, today. And from now on, every time you lie, or you steal, this is what we're going to do. You come to me and present your hands, and we'll deal with it." Peter did his voice to keep his voice steady; he felt exhausted and drained by all of this, and now he had to avoid Neal's gaze, or he could feel his façade start to break.
"But if I find out you've done either of those things and not come to me," he continued, pushing through. "I'll beat the shit out of you, and then I'll strap your hands. Clear?"
When he didn't hear an answer, he forced himself to look down at Neal again, who was nodding his head. The glossiness in his eyes hadn't been there before, and Peter was certain that if Neal actually started to cry, he would too. If he could just get this over with, he could go. "Good. Now, give me your hands."
Neal shifted his position, so that he was resting on his knees rather than sprawled out awkwardly on the floor from being pulled off the bed. He held out both hands, palms facing upward. Peter tried to ignore the fact that Neal's hands were shaking ever so slightly; tried to convince himself he'd imagined it.
"I'm going to get you out of this, I just have to know El is safe, first."
Neal glanced up to look at Peter. It had been so quiet he'd almost missed it—had he imagined it? No, he decided he'd heard Peter say it. And that made him feel better, it really did. And the fact that Peter wouldn't hardly look at him told him that he really did feel guilty for doing this. Unless—maybe he's so fed up with me, he doesn't want to see me? Neal certainly hoped not. He'd ride out this strapping and from now on behave just as Peter told him too, and only as Peter told him to. He tried not to flinch as Peter placed the folded belt across his palms.
Neal jumped at the first strike, but managed to keep his hands in place. After the second one he started to count on his head, doing his best just to keep himself from pulling his hands out of the way.
He did his best not to be dramatic or make any noise; he did—but it was really starting to grow unbearable. A quiet whimper at the seventh blow, a muffled yelp at the thirteenth. God, why did he have to be so bad? If he hadn't lied and stolen all of those times, Peter wouldn't even have to do this in the first place!
At seventeen, something happened as Peter raised up the belt again; Neal knew he couldn't take any more without starting to be more vocal about it, and suddenly pulled his hands out of the way right as Peter brought down the offending piece of leather, instead causing the stripe to land across Neal's legs because of the way he knelt.
Neal couldn't help a surprised yelp as he reached to rub at his legs; it felt good on his hands, too. He stared up at Peter, waiting for some angry reaction. Instead, the look he saw was just tired, sad. Peter looked like he might cry. He's probably so frustrated with me now.
He didn't have to be told, he held out his hands again and pressed his lips together tightly as he received his last three blows.
"I'm sorry, Peter." Neal spoke as soon as it was over, his tone sincere.
Peter reached over to place a hand in his hair again, and for a moment Neal tensed, half-expecting to be dragged across the room this time. But when he opened his eyes, he only saw a flash of that sad face again before Peter had turned, and was gone out the door without a word.
Alright guys, so this chapter was SUPER long. Anyways, I decided the only way Neal was ever really going to start to fear Peter was if Keller made good on his threat to hurt El, or bluffed as if he was going to, in order to really make Peter do what he had to do. So anyways, please, please, please review and give me your input! I'm glad you all are liking the story so far next chapter will have more Diana & Jones, as well as El J