Disclaimer: Don't own them, but they sure own me.
Author Note: I don't know the layout of Neal's apartment, so just bear with me.
Peter stared through the one way window and at the man that sat cuffed in the chair. The man, Ray Jonas, had been sitting there for three hours. Peter had been standing there for two.
He watched the man as his leg jumped up and down nervously and his fingers drummed on the metal table. His brown eyes shifted every two seconds from the left to the right. He stared at the window for only a few seconds at a time, then turned away as if he were ashamed.
Peter ground his teeth together. The man didn't look like a killer. He looked like an accountant with wispy brown hair, grown too long and thick rimmed glasses. He had a small white scar over his left cheek bone.
There was still blood stained on his left hand.
Peter turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. He turned the corner and nearly plowed into Jones.
"Hey, Peter-"
"Later, Jones."
Peter opened the door and stormed into the interrogation room. He shut the door hard behind him and Jonas jumped. Indignation and anger clouded his other wise passive face.
"Finally," he said, "I've been waiting in here forever. What's this all about?"
"Don't talk." Peter said slowly.
Jonas clamped his mouth shut and Peter pulled out the second chair. He sat down and loosened his tie.
"You know why you're here." he said.
"No, man, I don't. I-"
Peter slammed his palm down on the table. The resounding bang startled Jonas and made him jump in his chair.
"Don't!" Peter yelled. He took a deep breath, "Don't lie to me."
Jonas swallowed.
"You know why you're here," Peter said again, "We found you on the roof, tied up with a gun on the table."
Jonas opened his mouth to protest. Peter tightened his hand into a fist and glared at him. Jonas snapped his mouth shut and nodded.
"Tell me where Wolfgang is."
Something dark fell over Jonas's face. He sat back in his chair, shoulders slumped. He finally looked away from Peter's face and shook his head. Peter tore his hand away and cursed. He rubbed his mouth in frustration.
"You're going down, Jonas," Peter said, "We have the testimony, the evidence, the motive. Put together, you're going away for a long time."
Jonas looked away. Peter leaned over the table.
"Unless you give us something."
Jonas swallowed and looked up at Peter, "I can't."
"Damn it!" Peter slammed both hands on the table and stood, sliding the chair across the tile to slam against he opposite wall, "You tell me where the hell he is!"
The door opened and Jones appeared.
"Peter," he said calmly, "I need to see you out here."
"Not now," Peter said, never taking his eyes off Jonas.
"Now, Agent Burke."
Peter pushed off the table and stormed out of the interrogation room. He held his hand on his hip and wiped his hand down his face. Jones shut the door and turned to him.
"Peter-"
The agent turned around, "He knows something, Jones."
"Go home, Peter."
"He knows something, damn it!"
"Yes he does," Jones said, pressing his hand flat against Peter's chest, "but you aren't going to get anything from him today."
"Jones-"
"You're wiped, Peter," Jones said, "Go home, get some rest and spend sometime with Elizabeth. Come back with a clear head."
Peter turned away and ran his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes and suddenly felt how tired he was. He knew Jones was right, but he wasn't about to admit it.
"Peter."
He turned to Jones.
"I mean it."
Peter kicked the wall but walked away. He passed the other agents without so much as a glance, jabbing his thumb into the down button next to the elevator. Finally, it dinged and opened its metal doors. Two other agents were waiting to use it, but when Peter stepped inside, they turned their heads and pretended to be busy. Peter glared at the entire office as the doors slid shut.
When he was out of sight and riding the elevator down, he fell back against the wall and hung his head.
Anger burned in him like a venom. He felt its sting and bite in his stomach, like acid backing up in his throat. He swallowed it down, but its after taste was bitter and disgusting in his mouth. He hated it. Hated that he had nothing to lash out at, nothing to blame. This was all on him.
He knew if he'd just answered the damn cell phone, none of this would have happened. But he hadn't.
He knew if he could have kept his damn temper in check, Neal's heart wouldn't have stopped for those brief seconds. But he hadn't.
And Peter knew if he had just given in and trusted Neal then everything would be alright. But it wasn't. Because Peter hadn't.
The elevator arrived on the last floor and Peter walked to his car, seemingly on autopilot. More than anything, he wanted to make it up to Neal. But he knew that was easier said than done. Not that Peter could blame Neal if he didn't ever forgive him. He was having a hard time forgiving himself.
Of course, it was going to be hard for Neal to forgive him since Peter had no intentions of talking to him. Nope, not a one. Not until this bastard Wolfgang was caught. Peter had to clean his own conscience before he went to Neal.
Peter drove home slowly. He wasn't looking forward to talking with Elizabeth, either. She'd been irate enough of the phone when she'd been informed about Neal's cardiac arrest. His left ear was still partially deaf.
It was late afternoon when he pulled into the driveway. The door had been fixed that morning and stood pristine in their threshold. Peter sighed and sauntered out of the car to the door, pushing it open lightly and stepping inside. He tossed his briefcase to the couch as he shrugged off his coat.
"Oof!"
The startled gasp made Peter jump. He looked to the couch and gaped at the wide blue eyes staring back at him.
Neal smirked and waved three fingers at him, "Hey, Peter."
"Elizabeth!"
His wife came running out of the kitchen in panic and glared at her husband, "Peter, quiet! Neal's sleeping."
Peter fanned out his hand and gestured to Neal. The ex con man held the brief case under his chin and smiled sheepishly at Elizabeth. She sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Or he was," she glared at Peter.
"Can I speak with you in private?" Peter asked with a glance at Neal. He grabbed Elizabeth under her elbow and pulled her into the kitchen.
"What is the matter with you?" she demanded, swatting at him with her dish towel.
Peter stepped back, "What's the matter with me? What's the matter with you?"
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Him!" Peter said gesturing fanatically at the living room, "What is Neal doing here?!"
"I invited him to stay with us."
Peter's jaw dropped. He guessed it was hanging somewhere near his belt buckle. He looked from Elizabeth to the door and back to his wife again. Judging from the determined look on her face, she was quite serious.
"No," Peter said shaking his head with a rueful smile, "no way is he staying here."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"Don't give me that look," Peter said, "He's a criminal! Tomorrow morning we'll wake up and have to sit on the floor and eat off paper plates because our furniture is being sold on the black market."
"You're exaggerating," Elizabeth said. Her tone was patient but underneath Peter could hear the irritation.
"He can't stay here," Peter said again.
"Then where do you suggest he go?"
"Home," Peter answered, "to that mansion with the servants and maids-"
"June went to spend the week with her grand daughter in California because of the attack and investigation," Elizabeth said as she went back to the sink full of dishes, "There isn't anyone to help Neal."
"So? He's a big boy, El. He'll manage."
"Peter Burke!" Elizabeth spun around and Peter gulped, "I am not sending him to an empty apartment when he is injured! He is staying here, and that's that! If you have a problem with it, you can go stay at the apartment!"
Peter sighed, "El-"
"Don't El me. Now go see what Neal wants for supper." she ordered. Peter stepped back and frowned. Elizabeth grabbed her towel and swatted him again, "Now, Peter."
"Alright, alright." Peter grumbled. He went back to the living room, "Hey, Neal-"
And he froze. Staring at the empty couch.
"Crap."
As he debated how to tell Elizabeth her favorite con man had run, his cell phone rang out loudly from his hip. He unclipped it, happy for the excuse to delay the inevitable. Because this was going to be his fault, despite the fact that Neal was a grown man and all. He was going to be to blame some how.
"Burke."
"Hey, Peter."
"Neal!" Peter nearly yelled into the phone, "Where the hell are you?"
"In a cab."
"Why the hell are you in a cab instead of lying on my couch?"
At that moment, Elizabeth decided to enter the room. The happy hostess smile instantly fell from her face at his words. She took one look at the vacant couch and glared at Peter. He could only shrug.
"I figured it'd be easier on you guys this way," Neal said from the phone, "I tried to tell Elizabeth you wouldn't want me there, but it isn't easy to win an argument with that woman."
"Tell me about it," Peter muttered, "but where are you going to go?"
"To the apartment," Neal said with a sigh, "I can manage by myself, no worries. Tell Elizabeth I appreciate the offer."
"Yeah," Peter said, but he wasn't really listening to Neal's words. He was listening to how tired his voice sounded, as if he were about to pass out in the middle of the conversation.
"Give me the phone, Peter," Elizabeth said holding out her open hand.
"El wants to speak with you."
"No, Peter, don't give her the phone." Neal said quickly, "I'll be fine. I wouldn't want to get in the way. I'll talk to you later."
With that, Neal hung up and Peter was left listening to static. Peter pressed End and looked at Elizabeth.
"He hung up."
Elizabeth glared at him, "This is your fault, Peter."
Yep, he knew it. Some how, it always ended with him getting the guilty sentence.
"What? How is it my fault?"
"What ever you said to him in the hospital got to him," Elizabeth said, stomping back to the kitchen, "He's been moody and distant ever since he woke up."
"That's just how Neal is," Peter protested, "and while we're on the subject, how come no one called me when he woke up?"
"Maybe because the last time you two talked he flat lined."
"Hey, that's not fair."
"How is any of this fair?" Elizabeth spun away from the counter, "How is Neal fending for himself for an entire week fair?"
"He made the choice to leave. That's hardly on my shoulders."
"Yeah, because you were just so welcoming," Elizabeth stormed past him and headed for the stairs.
"El!'
Peter followed her up the stairs to the bedroom. He stood in the door way.
"Since when did you and Neal become best pals anyway?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know Peter, maybe it was when he took a bullet for me." Elizabeth snatched up two pillows and shoved them in Peter's arms, "Or maybe it was when he fought off a man twice his size so I could escape," she grabbed the throw blanket off the end of the end of the bed and threw it on top of the pillows, "Or maybe it was when he caught me when I fell off the roof. Take your pick."
Peter looked down at the pile in his arms, "Are you kicking me out?"
"If Neal can't stay here, then you can't stay in this room," Elizabeth said, "Good night Peter."
She slammed the door. Peter stared at it wide eyed.
"It's only six."
"Good night!"
Peter sighed and wandered down the hall to the stairs. He was exhausted. All he'd done for the past twenty four hours was chase down leads, pour over forensic photos, and interview witnesses. All of it had led to a big fat nothing, and had left Peter drained.
He spread out the blanket and propped the pillows. He took off his tie, shoes and jacket and curled up under the blanket. But as exhausted as he was, sleep didn't come. Instead, he was plagued with images of turned over tables and puddles of spilled blood mixed with red wine. Damn, he knew those crime scene photos would torture him. He just hadn't expected it to happen while he was still awake.
Peter tossed and turned. He dozed off into restless slumbers, but if he wasn't seeing horrible things, he was hearing them. Choking for breath, El's scream, guns exploding, the very words that had left his mouth earlier that morning.
Damn it.
Peter sat up and rubbed his face. The room was dark but for the street lights filtering in through the window behind him. He squinted down at his watch. It read midnight. Peter sighed and threw off the blankets. He hated admitting he was wrong. He hated it even more when he had to admit that to Neal Caffery.
But if he wanted any sleep tonight, that was what he was going to have to do. Peter slipped on his shoes and jacket and crept up the stairs to his room.
~*~
The door crashed in with a thunderous crack. Two men stepped through the ruins, guns loaded and held steadily in front of them. The apartment was dark and quiet. The first man signaled his partner to go right. He went left.
Their target slept unaware, blissfully ignorant in a drugged slumber.
~*~
"El?" Peter called to his wife softly, shaking her shoulder gently.
Elizabeth murmured in her sleep and groggily looked up at her husband, "Didn't I kick you out?"
Peter smirked, "Yeah, but I just came to tell you I was leaving."
"It's midnight. Where are you going?"
"To get Neal," Peter admitted with a heavy sigh, "You were right. He shouldn't be all alone."
"That's sweet, honey, but don't you think you should wait until morning."
"No, I need to talk to him. As soon as possible," Peter said and kissed her temple, "We'll be back later."
"Okay," she yawned, "I'll get the guest room ready."
"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it."
Elizabeth smiled up at him.
~*~
The first man, the shorter of the two, walked quietly to the balcony and opened the doors. The quiet night air was all there was to greet him. He worked his way up the spiraling stairs and searched that floor. He found nothing.
The second man checked the main floor. They had already searched the rest of the house but found no one. Not even the rich lady who owned the place. He checked the bathroom and kitchen and met his partner at the bottom of the stair case. There was only one room left.
~*~
"Peter, I really think you should wait until morning," Elizabeth said again, "Neal has to take pain killers. They pretty much knock him out to the rest of the world."
"All the more reason to get him here."
Elizabeth smiled, "Alright."
Peter got up and headed for the door.
"Hey, Peter."
He turned, "Yeah."
She smiled sweetly, "When you get home, come to bed."
He smiled back at her.
~*~
The short man opened the door and swept the room with his gun. The tall man entered the room with his gun aimed at the bed. Their target slept soundly on top of the covers, still fully clothed. The tall man grinned.
"Too easy," he whispered.
The short man nodded, "Do it."
The tall man, who thoroughly enjoyed his work, raised his gun and pressed it against their target's head.
Neal turned his head and opened his eyes.
The tall man pulled the trigger.
Dun…dun…dun…dun….One of these days I'm going to write and Neal death fic. Is that day today? Who knows, you'll just have to wait for the next update!
Review please, as they are my life blood and without them I will shrivel up into a husk and blow away in the wind as ashes. Then you'll never know what happens.