Hello again! I want to thank everyone for the kind reviews and alerts...it really is great to see that what you are writing is being enjoyed. I wanted to get another update up because I am not sure if I will have the opportunity to do so tomorrow. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
When he was five years old, he had his first brush with death. He was at the beach with...family, he thinks, (must have been family) and it was hot. The ocean waters were cooling, waves higher than normal due to a resent storm. He didn't know that of course, he just knew they were huge. He was a little scared of them, the way they came in so casually, then rose to heights well above his head, crashing into the sandy beach with enough force to knock over an adult, much less a small boy.
He remembers being warned to stay near the shore. He also remembers wanting to play in the waves like he saw the older kids doing. Even at this age he felt a need to push, to do exactly the opposite of what he should. He ventured out into the waters, the waves calmer than they had been most of the day. He bobbed and floated, feeling the pull and push of the ocean, the power that it possessed to carry him out to sea or push him back to safety.
The lull in the waves soon gave way to the crashing of earlier, and he quickly became frightened. He tried to swim back to shore, but he was not a strong enough swimmer to fight the waves assault. He thought that he may have called for help, but he wasn't sure-his focus was on keeping his head above water. He felt another wave crash into his back, knocking him below the surface and stealing his breath. He sputtered and gasped, choking on salt water and feeling its burn in his eyes as he surfaced briefly, only to be taken under the surface again by another wave.
The sensation of floating and being lost overwhelmed him. The water was murky and dark-darker than he thought possible since he knew the sun was right there above him, if only he could get back to it. He couldn't get his bearings, couldn't figure out what was up or down. His lungs burned with their need for oxygen, and the waves just keep pulling him further and further down. He knew he was drowning then...knew that there was no escape. Those were his last thoughts before he lost consciousness.
As the story goes, he was spotted in the waves being tossed around and under, and a lifeguard reached him just in time. The child was not breathing, but the lifeguard preformed CPR (which never really works as well as people think) and the child survived. People whispered thanks to their gods and talks of miracles...but in the end, it was just another case of a child that almost died at the beach.
These memories are the closest thing he can ascribe to what is happening to him now. He feels trapped, unable to break the surface, pain a cold monster lurking in the murky depths below him. He want to escape, but he's can't seem to control this world-this place somewhere between awareness and oblivion.
Noise joins him here...loud, piercing screams that he wishes would stop. The screams seem to awaken the monster, pain becoming the only thing he's aware of...
No, wait, there is something else...he can feel the presence of someone else, even if he can't see them. There are words being murmured...reassuring, soothing, calming him. A gentle touch on his face, smoothing his hair, verifying that he is not alone. He feels the gently pressure of someone holding his hand, and it makes him feel safe. He squeezes back, willing the presence to stay, to know that he knows they are there-and that he is grateful he is not alone. He latches onto this thought as the darkness takes over. He gives into it, knowing that he will be saved once more.
Elizabeth was good at pacing. She was an accomplished worrier, her husband providing her plenty of opportunities to practice her skills. Now, she guessed she should add Neal to that list.
The call to Mozzie had went both better and worse than she expected. Mozzie was sure it was all some conspiracy to get him into the clutches of the hospital staff. Then Elizabeth started crying, and Mozzie told her simply that he would be there soon.
Neal was out of surgery and in a room quicker than expected. The doctor from earlier, Elizabeth wasn't sure of her name, reassured her that the surgery went better than they expected, the damage from the bullet's path not as extensive as they originally feared. He wasn't out of the woods yet, not by a long shot, but his chances had just improved dramatically. Elizabeth sent her husband a quick text to update him, then waited for Neal to be settled in his ICU hospital room.
The Intensive Care Unit was a study in contrast. It was quieter than the rest of the hospital, with more indirect lighting than one would expect. She figured it made sense in a way, though...it somehow felt more restful, calming...better to heal.
Neal was in a room directly across from the nurses station, attached to more monitors and machines than she thought possible. She stood in the doorway, unable to move into the room, hoping perhaps that this was in fact some crazy Neal Caffrey scam. It seemed impossible that this was the same young man who helped her make dinner less than a week ago.
She felt a presence next to her, and glanced to her right. A nurse in pink scrubs had come up next to her, a chart in her hands. She had a knowing look as she returned Elizabeth's quiet greeting.
"Neal Caffrey..." she read off the chart, glancing at the patient. "Is this your husband?"
Elizabeth smiled, a slightly startled look crossing her features. "Oh, no, not my husband. My husbands...partner." She took a moment to find the right title, settling on the one that seemed to fit the best.
The nurse glanced back at the chart, flipping over a few pages. "I see...FBI. Well he's in good hands here. My name's Nicole, and I will be the nurse in charge of his care."
Elizabeth smiled at Nicole, then glanced back into the room. There was a beeping coming from a monitor that seemed to be increasing in speed. "Is that normal?"
Nicole went into the room and noted some information from the various monitors into the chart in her hand. "The heavy sedation from surgery is wearing off...this is his reaction to it. Some people have a harder time with anesthesia than others."
As if in response to her statement, an alarm started to blare from the same monitor. The sound was piercing in the otherwise quiet space. Nicole called to another nurse for assistance, but Elizabeth didn't hear her words. She was transfixed by the look on Neal's face. He was fighting whatever secret battle was going on behind his closed eyes, and she feared that he was loosing.
Without thinking, she went to Neal's bedside, wanting to provide the young man with the strength to fight. She gently brushed his hair off his forehead, her free hand finding his resting on top of the white sheets. Leaning over, she whispered in his ear, knowing that the words didn't matter, as long as he knew she was there-that he wasn't alone. The alarm subsided, the beeping returning to a more normal pace. Then she felt the reward for her actions-the slightest movement of his hand in her's.
Nicole had returned, syringe in hand, but saw that there was no longer a need for it. "Well I think we will keep you around...you seem to have a calming effect."
Elizabeth looked up, a genuine smile gracing her face. "I think he's going to be okay..."
Nicole nodded, turning to leave the room. "Positive thoughts and support...some of the best medicine out there."
Hospitals were the tools of the "man". Mozzie was sure of this, and he vowed to never be trapped in one. They harbored disease and illness... and drugs to trick you into reveling all your secrets.
It was also where Neal was. By the way Elizabeth sounded over the phone (unsecured line, what was she thinking?), his friend was in rough shape. He entered the realm of the enemy, spotting "Junior Suit" (Jones, to those not in the know) exiting the cafeteria with two cups of coffee. This certainty saved him the effort of hacking into the hospitals mainframe to find out where they were holding Neal.
He slipped onto the elevator, his hat pulled down low over his eyes. No need to revel his presence until necessary. "Junior Suit" was good though, better than Mozzie expected.
"Hey Mozzie, Elizabeth is with Caffrey. They just moved him to the ICU." he informed as the door closed.
Mozzie looked around, making sure no one else would hear their conversation. They were alone in the elevator, but there were probably bugged. It couldn't be helped, he would have to face the fact that everything he said for the foreseeable future would be monitored and recorded.
"That is good...Jones." Mozzie replied, adding his name so they would know he knew it. "How is he? Is he..." Mozzie wasn't sure what to ask, not knowing any of the details of Neal's condition.
The doors opened on the fifth floor, and Jones exited the elevator with Mozzie following. He stopped, reading the signs to find Neal's room, 5042. "He's...alive." Jones settled on, fatigue evident in his voice.
Mozzie looked at the agent, sure that his answer was not in the least reassuring. They walked towards Neal's room in silence, finding Elizabeth leaning over the younger man.
"Mozzie..." Elizabeth sighed, happy to see the man. She had formed quite the odd friendship with him through Neal.
Jones brought over a chair for Elizabeth to sit on, then handed her the second cup of coffee. Mozzie stood to her left, stunned by the sight on the bed. It looked like Neal... just wrong. Neal was always in motion, always interacting, always alive. This was not how it was supposed to be.
Jones brought over another chair, slightly worried that if Mozzie didn't sit, he may be picking the little guy up off the floor. Mozzie sat as if on autopilot, still trying to reconcile the image of Neal with the reality in front of him.
"Neal, this is not acceptable. If June comes home to find you like this, I will be in big trouble."
Thank you for reading! I really like Mozzie, and I hope that my feel for him came through in this chapter. The next chapter will have Peter and Diana reviewing the tapes...
~km