CH. 4

A/N: Lemme just say right now that I am not in any medical profession, nor have I ever seen a bullet removed. Alas, I am only a fourteen-year-old teenager who tries to be remotely accurate with her writing. You'll excuse me for any mistakes. :] btw, this one?.. not for the squeamish. Even I'm a little surprised at my brutality. I'm a monster, I know. But we all love it so, so sue the whumpers, haha. Hope I don't scare you guys away. ;)

"Where's the lighter?"

"The one … Clemence used?"

"Yeah."

"I… think he put it in the desk. Why?"

"You need to sanitize the stuff."

"Oh. Right."

Peter went back to the desk to look for the lighter. Elizabeth called his name, and he stopped for just a moment.

"What is it?"

"I called the police… they're on their way. But he's right…I looked it up, and…. Peter… based on the rate of blood loss and shock progression, he could die in as little as twelve minutes! And how are you supposed to get it? You don't know what to do, you're not a surgeon! And you don't have the right tools… he could die from the pain alone!"

"Elizabeth!" She became silent. "Listen. I know all that, and it scares the heck out of me. I don't want to do this anymore than you, anymore than Neal, but like you just said, I have to. There's no other way. You can stay on, or I can turn you off. But I have to do this thing now. Neal knows how, he'll guide me."

Elizabeth nodded. "Okay. Okay. Leave me on."

Peter smiled reassuringly and turned to rummage through the drawers, searching for the lighter. It had been shaped like a snake…. He emerged victorious, pulling the silver tool out from the third drawer. He jogged back to Neal and knelt beside him, laying the lighter out next to a sharp pocketknife, a pair of tweezers, and a pile of cloth pieces from his suit jacket.

"Right… ready?"

"'Course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Heh. So… what first?"

"You have to …. Cut away my shirt… wipe the blood off."

Peter picked up the pocketknife and slid it under the shoulder of Neal's vest. He pulled up, cutting the seams. After doing the same with the other shoulder, he was able to peel the top away, getting it out of the way. He then gently grabbed part of Neal's shirt, near the armpit, and carefully stuck the knife through it, dragging it down until Caffrey's entire left side was exposed. Peter grimaced at the bloody mess.

He picked up a piece of his jacket and laid it over Neal's side, tenderly wiping the blood off the entry wound. Neal hissed, eyes shut tight. Man, it killed Peter to do this. And they'd barely even started.

"Peter…four minutes." Came the hushed whisper from the laptop, just loud enough so Peter could barely hear it, and Neal couldn't at all.

"Okay. Gotcha. Neal, what next?"

"You've gotta… open the wound. Heat up the knife."

Peter nodded, using the lighter's flame to eliminate any germs on the smooth, sharp surface.

"Right. Now… listen. You're going to have to… open the hole up more… so you can… get the bullet out. Start about… half an inch above.. and cut down…. To the same distance.. below."

Neal set his jaw as Peter moved in with the knife. He hesitated. "How deep?"

"How deep do you think you need?"

Peter took a calming breath, and lowered the knife, pressing it to Neal's torn skin. The aforementioned immediately tensed, barely holding back a cry. Peter desperately tried to ignore it, pressing harder into the discolored skin. Neal was gasping, battling vehemently against unconsciousness. Peter needed him awake, needed him to tell him what-

"Aaugh!"

Peter had to consciously reject his automatic reaction to pull away. He could hear Elizabeth's soft sobbing from the computer.

"Sunuva… Aaah…"

Peter finally pulled the knife out, slick with blood—Neal's blood. He fought back a sudden urge to vomit.

"Alright. Just breathe, Neal. Take it easy. We're almost there."

"Yeah. Almost there. You're…. you're doin' good." Sweat and blood completely soaked through his Neal's shirt, and his eyes were glassy. His hands trembled, and his teeth were clenched hard, but he kept his expression firm, determined. And in that moment, Peter knew he'd get through this.

He shuffled on his now-blood-soaked knees to the desk, taking in the image of his distraught wife. Her cheeks were red, and her lips quivered. But her eyes shone with a hidden strength. She knew that they'd get through this, too. Neal was strong.

"How long?"

"Not very. But … you're doing great, honey. It doesn't look like it hit anything important, anyway, or else…. He'll be fine. Keep going."

Peter nodded, turning back to the trembling Neal. He heated the tweezers without a word, then moved back into a position where his hands would be free and steady.

"Okay… almost done. You can do this, alright? Neal?" There was the slightest of nods from the younger man.

"Yeah… he was…aiming. Up… So… trajectory… gonna be.. that way. Not… too far…. Just.." He grabbed Peter's wrist with a strength that surprised him. "Just keep going… no matter what. You have to… have to get it out…."

Peter clenched his jaw. "Yeah. I know."

Peter carefully inserted the slim tweezers into Neal's wound, not able to completely block out the gurgling gasp. He kept going, further into his skin, into his body… Stop thinking like that! He grabbed the knife, using it to lift the skin so he could better see and manipulate the tweezers.

Neal was screaming. He didn't have another word to use. Agonized, shredding yells tore from his throat, but he kept still. His fists were clenched so hard there were slits of red in his palms.

Peter swallowed, turning the tweezers. He froze suddenly. There was… something. Something that shouldn't be there.. he'd found it. He went after it, but his muscles locked at the next scream that ripped through the air. He couldn't do this…. He couldn't…. he had to. The knife rose just a fraction, and he pushed the tweezers the last two inches, grabbing hold of the bullet… and slipping. The metal was slick with blood and trapped between two ribs. Peter let off a string of expletives that nearly drowned out Neal's cries. Nearly. He tried again, not stopping this time when the tweezers failed to grab hold of the surface, but keeping them there, grabbing again. And the next time…. They held. Peter sent a silent prayer of thanks up, slowly… carefully… pulling it out. Neal realized what was happening and somehow resisted curling in on himself… It would be over soon.

Peter saw it…. Too late. On his way out, he hit an artery. He saw it, he tried to avoid it, but couldn't stop the knife from nicking the side. Peter pulled both tools completely out and frantically grabbed for the cloth at his side, bunching it up and pressing it to the hole in Neal's side, the hole that was spurting his very life from it.

Peter didn't notice for a moment, but soon, the unearthly silence that had settled over the room reached him. Neal had stopped screaming. He should have been grateful… but that meant…

Peter lunged up to his face, desperately leaning and putting his ear by Neal's mouth, eternally grateful for the breath that hit his cheek. Just to be sure, he pressed two fingers against Neal's neck, sagging at the thready beat against his fingers. He looked to Elizabeth and nodded. She sat back, dropped her head into her hands, and cried. Peter kept his hand against Neal's side, realizing someone was pounding on the door.

"Police! Is anyone in there? We heard yelling."

"Yeah! Agent Peter Burkes. And… and Neal Caffery. We need help in here!"

"Alright! We'll be in in two minutes. Is anyone hurt?"

"Yes! My.. my friend. He's been shot."

"Okay, sit tight, we'll be right in."

Peter sat back, never letting go of Neal's side, not when the police finally broke the door down, not when they got him on a gurney, not when the paramedics transferred him to the ambulance. Only when his hand was pried off, only when they took him away, only when he knew… knew… Neal was safe did his hand move. He finally looked down, while he was waiting for the surgery to end. His hands were stained in red. The red of Neal's life, the life that was still being saved in the room across the hall.

But Peter knew. Neal would be okay. And now he knew…

"That man is indestructible," he muttered, leaning back in his chair and relaxing for the first time in what felt like years.

A/N: I did warn you. Woo! Another longer one. Reviews are the Vicoden to my House. 3