WE ARE LEGEND II: A BALM IN GILEAD

Chapter 7

by

Lacadiva

Disclaimer: I miss White Collar so much…oops, sorry, wrong disclaimer. No infringement is intended by the production of this story.

Rating: PG13/R for violence.

SUMMARY: AU - Neal, Peter and Elizabeth journey in search of the promised safe haven in Vermont, but it's a long, soul-shattering journey…and winter is coming…and so is El's baby. As if things couldn't get worse, Neal gets bitten by one of the Infected…

~WC~

In some small but significant way, Neal understood. Yet there were questions, so many questions that it made his head swim and his stomach churn when he tried to make any real sense of it all.

A weapon? What did that mean?

A gun, he reasoned, you can shoot. He had a fleeting memory of cold, heavy steel in his grip, the smell of gun oil and spent shells burning his nostrils. He imagined the kick that would send shockwaves radiating through his arms when he fired.

A knife…well, it was also pretty clear what to do with it and how to use it, he reasoned.

A grenade – you pull the pin, throw hard and take cover.

"A weapon...?"

Dr. Aram shut the vault and spun the old fashioned combination lock to secure the Infected creature behind it.

"You saw how it reacted to your presence," she said anxiously, "just like the blood in the petri dish…your blood. The fear in its eyes…fear for it's own mortality. It was palpable…primal. You are a natural threat to its existence!"

"I got that," Neal ventured, "but how? How is it that I'm…what is it about me? What's in me that could cause such a strong a reaction?"

The Doctor merely shook her head and rested her hands on her slim hips.

"I have a theory," she said. "You may not like what you hear."

Neal swallowed hard. His eyes widened, bright, curious and quite afraid.

"Tell me," he demanded, though his voice breathy with disquiet.

"We really don't have time for this, Mr. Caffrey."

"TELL ME."

"SuperMax, New York State, cell block E…"

Anxiety sliced into his gut.

"What about it?" he asked warily.

"That is where you were incarcerated. Am I correct? Until 2008, I believe?"

"How do you know? How do you know this? I never said anything about being in prison…"

"I recognized your name. I cross-referenced it with what few hard copy files I still have in my possession from before the outbreak, and it all began to make sense."

Neal took a step closer.

"Go on."

"I can't say for certain what happened, but I believe Alice…that is, Doctor Krippen, may have conducted a few illegal, clandestine experiments on a small, controlled group of prisoners…one of the many reasons why I could not in good conscious continue working for…"

Neal rushed toward the doctor, giving her pause to step back and raise her arms protectively.

"Krippen experimented on me?"

"A possibility. Again, it is merely a theory based on a few loose facts..."

"HOW? What did she do to me?"

"I do not know for certain. It could have been in the food or the water. Your morning hot cereal laced with one of a dozen versions of the anti-cancer virus in its various forms and mutations. It could have been in the air filtration system, or in the form of a fine powder brushed upon the pages of a prison library book to be absorbed by your fingertips. It could have been sprayed upon the material of your prison issued jumpsuit. By the time I caught wind of what Dr. Krippen was doing, the virus had already begun to take hold, and because you were incarcerated…"

Neal was livid, near trembling.

"What did she do to me?"

"SHE SAVED YOU! You may have started out as their victim, Neal, but whatever they gave you, it save you. You were one of the very few, or quite probably the only one who responded to the virus way you did. You were an inadvertent success, a happy accident she never got the chance to know about. There are so many probabilities. We may never know for certain."

She took a step closer to Neal. "It may be unscientific to say, but you are a miracle, Neal."

"I can't be the only one. There must be others like me."

"Possibly," she said, "but there is no way to find them. We cannot begin to understand what was done to you without extensive testing, which would necessitate putting you through severe discomfort."

"I've had enough of that," said Neal as he moved away from the doctor and stood facing the vault. He could almost hear the rapid heart beat of the thing behind the six-inch thick steel door. He could hear the heartbeat accelerate… it was afraid of him.

Or was it just his imagination?

The doctor took a step closer and place a hand upon Neal's shoulder and felt him slightly tremble under her touch.

"We can waste our time trying to understand and analyze the causation, or we can better use our time by coming up with a way to exploit it for the sake of our survival. Your survival. I have a way in mind that can help every member of Gilead, including you and your friends. Instead of wondering how you've changed, let us focus on how to use this change. What say you, Mr. Caffrey?"

"What do you have in mind?"

~WC~

Guards escorted Neal to a wood paneled conference room that looked and smelled as if it had not been used, remodeled or dusted since the late seventies. A huge oval table of thick, unmovable oak was the centerpiece of the room, along with deep leather scoop-shaped chairs on rolling casters.

The table was set for a meal for three.

When the guards left Neal alone, he wandered about the wide room looking for a way to escape. There were no windows and no doors other than the one through which he had entered. No telltale secret exits in the walls or floors. The drop paneling had been removed from the ceiling, so there was no escaping that way, either. He assumed his placement here had been quite strategic.

There was only one way in or out.

Moments later and the door opened. He expected to see guards, but he was pleasantly surprised.

"Neal!"

Peter slipped through, followed by a grinning, teary-eyed Elizabeth.

The former agent was wearing a clean Northwestern sweatshirt and light wash jeans that fit surprisingly well. Gone was the thick graying beard he had earlier worn. Even his hair had been cut short. He was the clean-shaven FBI Agent once again, sans the off-the-rack suit and coffee spotted tie. Despite his weight loss, Peter was every bit the man Neal had remembered.

"How's it feel to be a rock star?" Peter asked with a sly grin, before he threw his arms around Neal and patted his back heartily.

"You tell me," said Neal.

Next, El, wearing a dark jeans with a thick white sweater a few sizes too big, wrapped her arms around Neal and rested her head upon his chest. Neal just held her, closed his eyes. He looked up a Peter once, just to make sure he was not somehow encroaching upon sacred ground. But he did so love Elizabeth and had feared for her many a dark, cold night. This was truly a blessing.

"How's the baby?" Neal asked finally. "How's little Neal?"

El pulled away so she could look up into his bright blue eyes.

"Talk about a rock star! Little Neal has almost everyone in Gilead wrapped around his tiny finger. People have actually offered us extra food just so they could hold him."

"He's sleeping now," said Peter, a little more suspicious of their hosts than El. "They have a makeshift neo-natal center that's almost as nice as you'd have found before Krippen. Runs on generators. And it's under round the clock protection, so they claim."

"We both were nervous about leaving Little Neal at first," El chimed in, finally letting Neal go. "But we have to start trusting people again...and no one seems to want to hurt him, or us...not yet..."

"What's happening here?" asked Peter. "What's with all the subterfuge and secrecy? First, they wouldn't let us see you. Wouldn't even tell us how you were or let us send you a message. Then all of the sudden, they're pulling us from the lunch line to come here. What's going on?"

"It's insane, Peter. Completely insane."

~WC~

They were eating soft mixed vegetables and rice in a brown gravy stew, dipping crusty, fresh baked bread into it and cleaning the sides of their bowls with it. There was a large glass of milk for Elizabeth, a tepid but welcome bottle of domestic beer for Peter and a glass of red wine for Neal. He did not dare curse the cheapness or the vintage of the grocery-store brand merlot, for never did he imagine he'd ever drink any form of wine again. Two buck Chuck was fine with him.

Once they had eaten they sat in silence for a few moments, collecting their thoughts, considering all that Neal had told them, conscious that they were probably being watched.

Neal was so grateful to be back with his friends that he did not want to risk ruining the reunion by sharing his collected fears and insecurities too quickly, but he knew he need to broach the topic before this moment was snatched away from them.

Before Neal could speak, however, Peter ended the silence in the room.

"The powers that be may be a little tight-lipped about you, but that hasn't stopped the rest of Gilead. Everybody's talking about you."

"Yeah? What are they saying?"

"That you may be some kind of answer to this thing."

Neal shook his head. "I don't know what to think, or what to do. I have a feeling they're going to use you both as leverage against me."

"Peter and I pretty much assumed that from the get-go," Elizabeth said, putting her hand atop her husband's where it rested on the table. "But we want you to know, no matter what they say, no matter how they threaten us, it's your choice."

"I don't even know what I'd be choosing," Neal said, exasperated.

"Tell us again, everything they told you," said Peter, and Neal launched immediately back into the story.

"A weapon?"

"That's what Dr. Aram said. But how do you use a human being as a weapon? Dip bullets in my blood? Use my sweat on the tips of spears?"

Peter stood up in a show of strength and security strictly for Neal's benefit.

"Okay. We'll see what they have in mind…see what they have to say. Let 'em explain themselves. If you're good with whatever it is they want you to do, if you think you can trust them… If their method for using you doesn't bring you harm, then I say, the choice is yours. But if they're talking about hurting you in the slightest way, then..."

"What if," Neal interrupted, "what if they threaten you two, or little Neal? What if they threaten to harm you or throw you outside the walls? Abandoned you to whatever's out there?"

"We survived out there before. We survived it all the way here."

"Apparently, that's because you had me. We just didn't know it and considered ourselves lucky. But they're not going to let me leave. They'll do whatever they have to do..."

"He's right," said Elizabeth. "This is about survival. They'll say please the first time and pretty please the second time, but if Neal refuses to cooperate, I bet we'll see their true colors then. They may imprison us. They may threaten to torture or even kill us."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

All three turned to find Nadira Aram standing at the door. Neal felt a moment of shame, but also felt grateful that his cards were finally on the table, exposed. Now he needed to see hers.

"My friends have a valid point," said Neal. "What's to stop you from threatening to kill us or throw us to the wolves?"

"If we were still barbarians, I would agree. The truth is, Mr. Caffrey, I cannot make you cooperate. And I refuse to let anyone bring harm to either of you, as a means to an end. But we do desperately need your help. The survival of Gilead depends upon your cooperation."

Peter stepped forward protectively.

"What is it you want Neal to do?"

"First, I'd like to introduce Mr. Caffrey to the members of the Committee. If we can survive that, I'll explain everything."

~WC~

They were an eclectic mix representing every possible demographic of Gilead, a voting council of twelve individuals – thirteen counting Dr. Aram – in whose hands the fate of Gilead often rested.

Neal was relieved to see that Janice was there, a member representing the twenty-somethings as well as Gilead's medical community. He was grateful that she already knew so much of his story, and would no doubt vote sympathetically, with his best interest in mind, should a vote be necessary. He gave her a smile, and noted how her eyes dropped demurely to the tabletop, then back up to find his again. It was safe to assume that she was on his side.

The other volunteers represented members of the military and scientific community as well as "just plain folk." There were moms and dads, singles and marrieds. There was a 70-year-old bohemian writer wearing half moon specs on a chain, and a sweat stained Hawaiian shirt; a CEO-type who, despite the current state of the world, insisted upon wearing a power tie and suspenders; a teen, standing on the threshold of manhood and his first shave, who sat with a well-worn skateboard at his side; a Minister in a collar who sat in silent repose with eyes closed. He could have been praying, or simply exhausted. He never let go of his Bible from the moment he sat down.

Peter and Elizabeth insisted on remaining. Fortunately, the Committee did not deny them, and allowed them to sit against the wall to observe. Their admission for remaining was their silence.

The room fell into a deep hush when Dr. Aram stood and cleared her voice, preparing to speak.

Neal's mind wandered during the meeting. Part of it was from fatigue. The rest was because he knew that no matter what he thought or felt, he had but once choice to keep his friends safe. Dr. Aram's assurances meant little to Neal. He remembered all the ways the FBI had failed him by reneging on deals and promises to grant his freedom time after time, much to his and Peter's frustration.

No…Neal had little hope or trust in this as in all authority.

Whatever they wanted him to do, no matter how fool-hearty, no matter how dangerous or painful – Neal was committed to doing it. Listening was merely a formality…a courtesy.

"Let's cut to the chase," the agitated CEO interrupted rudely. He sounded as if he had other meetings of greater import to attend. "Is Caffrey going to help us out or what?"

"I'm right here," said Neal. "Feel free to ask me to my face."

"Well then?" he asked, turning to Neal petulantly.

"I'd like to hear the rest of Dr. Aram's presentation, since it's my skin in the game. That is, if you don't mind."

Doctor Aram nodded her thanks to Neal and continued.

"As you all know, we are always in desperate need of replenishing our ever-dwindling medical supplies, food, water, clothing. Also standard survival items such as matches, batteries, diapers. Simple things, like paper, pens, soap. Fuel usage far exceeded our conservative projections for the last three months, which means our gas tanks may be depleted before the worst part of the winter hits us.

"We have enough to feed, clothe and supply the most basic medical care to all of Gilead for less than five months. This is a very stark reality…and a very shortsighted way of dealing with the future. What if there is a flu outbreak? There will be, I can guarantee it, as the days grow colder. What if a child needs an emergency appendectomy or a mother giving birth needs a blood transfusion? And with the constant influx of survivors…"

At this, she turned and gestured to the Burkes. Peter sat up a little straighter and took his wife's hand supportively.

"…it puts further strain upon the quality of life we can provide. The writing is on the wall, gentle people. We have to venture further out. We have to go farther than a day's journey to find what we need, or perish."

The room was hushed. Neal could see that everyone seemed somehow withdrawn…afraid.

The Minister spoke.

"Dr. Aram, we don't know…we can't possibly know what's out there, or how bad it truly is. It would be suicide…"

"But we have exhausted every salvaging possibility within a twenty mile radius," she responded, fighting to temper her anger. "Every strip mall, hospital, and clinic… every mom and pop store, grocer, restaurant and gas station within a half day's journey there and back are empty. We've got to send a team deeper into the city!"

Those who remembered what the city was like paled. One woman covered her face to hide her tears. Another member crossed his arms and seemed to almost slip into a fugue state. Even CEO stared at the floor.

"I know what you are all thinking," Aram said, her voice soft, struggling through burgeoning tears. "We all remember what the city was like."

"We can't go that far!" one of the Moms said. "It isn't safe. The streets were overrun with Infected. God save us when our salvage team lose the sun."

"But if we don't go," said Janice, "If we don't do something drastic, we're dead. We just die slower, from disease and starvation."

"Exactly!" said Aram. "Life in Gilead will only grow more complicated as we slip deeper into winter. When the snow comes and roads are no longer navigable, will we be content to ration? To starve? What will we do when more survivors show up hoping to find civilization here?"

"We can always turn them away," said CEO.

The entire room was a buzz with opinions now.

Aram was incensed by his words.

"That can never be an option! We founded Gilead on the principle that we should never turn people away! Every one of you agreed to that when you arrived, when you became a citizen! And every one of you are here and alive now because of it."

"But there were half as many of us then!" said CEO. "Now you let in every broken down beggar and diseased-ridden soul that shows up! We can't handle it!"

"You realize you are making my point for me…"

Aram approached CEO and held out her hands pleadingly.

"We are growing, as any real community must to survive. If we are to continue growing, we must make provisions for those who will join us. Our strength depends upon it! We are responsible for rebuilding this world!"

"No we're not!" CEO said churlishly. "We are only responsible to ourselves."

Neal looked at Peter, his bright eyes silently pleading with his friend to back his play. Peter nodded his head just once, giving Neal his support.

Neal rose and stood with back straight and strong, and a classic Caffrey smile gracing his face.

"Excuse me!"

The room fell silent. All eyes were upon Neal.

"I realize I have no right to speak, but I feel compelled. I think what Dr. Aram is suggesting is terrifying and bordering on foolhardy. But I also think it's progressive and highly necessary. You can stretch what you have and survive a few months, a year – maybe – or you can thrive for a few more. Who knows, perhaps Krippen will have run its course and civilization can start to rebuild, with Gilead as the vanguard. You heard the doctor. As outlandish and improbable as it sounds, what she told you about me is true. I wouldn't have believed it myself, if I hadn't witnessed it with my own eyes. You can send out a party with a modicum of safety. So long as I'm around, Infecteds won't come near them."

"Because you 'magically' repel them…" came CEO again. "I still want to know how the hell that's possible!"

"They said you killed an Infected with your bare hands," the Skate Boarder chimed in. "Is that true?"

"Actually," said Neal. "I used a really big knife."

The Committee began talking amongst themselves again – who is this man that he can take on an Infected with nothing but a knife and live? They argued, exclaimed, demanded, questioned. Neal turned to Peter, who could do nothing but shrug.

One of the women representing the families of Gilead stood.

"I wish to put forth a motion that Mr. Caffrey remain here in Gilead to protect our children, to protect all of us," she declared. "If it's true, then you're needed here more than out there. What if you went out there and got lost or killed? Where would that leave us?"

"She has a point!" the Bohemian Writer chimed in. "What if you're caught in a crossfire? Or everybody in your party dies and you're stranded out there? You're no good to us dead. Everybody loses."

"I appreciate the depth of your concern for me," Neal said sarcastically, anger smoldering.

CEO wasn't done yet either. He adjusted his tie and stepped away from his seat to stand at a challenging distance from Neal.

"This man can't be trusted. Even his own friends said so! I saw their transcript! They said he was a thief!"

Neal cut a glance back at Peter. What was this about? He could see Peter's face turning red, and noticed his friend stir uncomfortably in his seat.

"Excuse me?" said Neal to CEO.

"I said, you're a thief and a liar. Your own friends said you were a common criminal. How do we know you're not here to rob us blind or destroy everything we've built?"

Neal wanted to hit him. Wanted to feel his knuckles make contact with the CEO's smug face and see the man's teeth stained with his own blood... He moved forward, fists balling, ready to take action…

"ENOUGH OF THIS!"

All eyes turned back to Dr. Aram.

"We cannot let fear destroy us! We cannot let the unknown hamstring us. We won't have to wait for starvation or cold or disease or even the Infecteds to destroy us. We must be better than this, or we will all perish."

Aram waited to see who would protest, who would refuse, and who would walk away. CEO returned to his seat. But Neal remained standing.

She continued.

"This is what I propose: We send out a team of twelve of our best soldiers, volunteers, of course, and heavily armed. A strike force. Their mission will be twofold: to go as far as they can – safely – and bring back whatever they can load onto two large trucks; and to test our theory about Mr. Caffrey. If they are successful, we'll send a second team, and a third… "

CEO was not yet done sharing his opinion. "Dr. Aram, correct me if I am wrong, but shouldn't you be focused on finding a cure for Krippen, and leave the strategic planning to the military experts?"

"If that's the case," she said, her accent gentle, but her anger obvious, "shouldn't you be sitting in a cubicle playing with your own little portfolio?"

The members of the Committee snickered. Elizabeth covered her mouth subtly while Peter let himself enjoy the chuckle.

"Nice one!" said Neal. He would have high fived the doctor, but he pegged her as too conservative to give in to such displays.

"How much fuel with this cost us?" This was CEO's comeback. This time, he had the attention and the sympathies of the Committee.

Aram looked at the floor at first, then lifted her chin to meet the CEO's eyes.

"Most of it."

"I rest my case," he said and returned to his seat, at the moment, triumphant.

The hush in the room was otherworldly, oddly unsettling.

Neal quickly gathered that the remaining fuel stores in question would keep them warm and generators running throughout the winter. If Aram's plan failed, they'd lose what little technology they'd been able to maintain. It was going to be a very cold few months.

Aram started toward the door, her presentation complete. "I will leave you all to vote."

Aram gestured to Neal, Peter and Elizabeth to follow her as she stepped outside, leaving the Committee to make their decision.

~WC~

The four of them sat in wobbly folding chairs lined against the walls. They could not hear what was going on inside the conference room. The silence seemed almost sacred until Neal, siting with Dr. Aram on his right, and Peter on his left, broke it with a question.

"They always this cantankerous?" he asked quietly.

"They…we…are all so very scarred and damaged by the world outside of Gilead. We have all come close to death so many times. They may bicker and fight, but the truth is they know exactly what is at stake, and I depend upon that. I will stand by what they decide, one way or the other."

Neal nodded.

Dr. Aram stood, arms hugging herself, not with cold, but with self-comforting, and began to pace worriedly.

When she was out of earshot, Neal turned to face is friends.

"You told them I was a criminal?" he whispered.

"I may have intimated…I never said it straight out," Peter said defensively. "They wanted to know how the three of us were connected. They took it a little out of context…"

"I'll say."

"Once they found out I was an FBI agent, the proverbial cat was out of the bag."

"Maybe we should just cut our losses," said Neal, watching Aram and making sure she could not hear him. "Hotwire a truck, grab some stuff and get the heck out of Dodge."

"I considered that myself once or twice," Peter confessed. "I'm not completely against it."

"Then why don't we?" Neal asked anxiously.

"Because," Elizabeth said, voice low, deep and serious, "we came here because we wanted to be in a community, to be part of something. We couldn't afford to go it alone anymore. It was killing us."

Peter nodded as wise El leaned against her husband, and he put a warm, protective arm around her.

"With that said, however," she added with a slightly pained smile, "I'm all for keeping our options open."

The Conference Room door opened and Janice stuck her head out.

"We're ready."

~WC~

Dr. Aram tried not to smile or show her pleasure at the outcome of the vote. Her vote counted as well. Nine chose to send a team, though with a few codicils.

Janice read the results without emotion or commitment to the decision.

"The Committee agrees to six, not twelve soldiers…"

Aram nodded. She asked for twelve because she knew she'd get six. Had she asked for six, and she might have only gotten three.

"As for fuel, we will allow half the recommended amount to be used for the mission."

Again, she had received what she wanted by asking for more than actually needed.

"The Committee also demands that Neal Caffrey be restricted from carrying any weapons unless the strike team is under attack."

"Excuse me?" Neal interrupted.

Janice looked down at the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with Neal as she continued.

"Because of Mr. Caffrey's criminal past..."

"You're kidding me!" he shouted indignantly. Peter reached out to touch Neal's shoulder, quiet him.

"…the Committee feels that it is for the safety and security of the strike team, and to make sure Mr. Caffrey does not abscond with vital Gilead supplies."

Janice sat quickly, wiping her mouth as if removing any burning residue left by her acidic words.

Aram put a hand on Caffrey's back.

"I know," she said gently. "You will earn their trust eventually, I promise you."

"Do you accept?" asked CEO.

"We do," said Aram. She looked to Neal. His face showed his anger, but he nodded once in consent.

"Let's do it," he said.

And then, someone banged a gavel.

~WC~

While the Committee filed out, Peter kept a close eye on Neal. When the moment was right, he and El approached their friend.

"This is my fault," said Peter.

"No, Peter…you can't take responsibility for their myopia. I can't say I blame them. Not like I wasn't thinking about it."

"Thinking and doing – they're two different things. You talk a good game but you always do the right thing, Neal. I'm proud of you for that."

Neal lost some of tension in his face as he smiled a little.

Dr. Aram approached.

"You should rest now, Neal. I'll have the security team escort you to your quarters. Sleep as long as you like. We leave in two days."

"One moment," said Peter, before the Doctor could walk away. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He knew he should talk it through with El first, knew that she would protest, probably refuse to speak to him…

But he knew what he was thinking…what he was about to propose was the right thing. Even though, sometimes, doing the right thing had consequences just as harsh as turning a blind eye.

He looked at El and gave her a reassuring smile before he launched into his proposal.

No…his demand.

"I want to go."

Dr. Aram looked at Peter quizzically. "You wish to leave Gilead?"

"I want to go with the strike team. I want to volunteer…go with Neal."

Elizabeth pulled away from her husband so quickly that it startled him.

"WHAT? NO! You are NOT going! Out of the question! I don't even want Neal to go!"

"Sweetheart…"

"NO! We just had a baby! You're a father now! We need you! I can't have you out there. I can't, Peter!"

"El, listen…"

Neal moved closer.

"I'm with El," he said. "You need to stay right here, Peter. You've both been through enough! I'll be fine."

"Listen to me…" Peter scrambled to collect his thoughts and explain.

"No!" Neal and Elizabeth both shouted.

"This isn't your fault, Peter! I can't let you risk your life like this."

Time for a different tactic, Peter thought, and turned to Aram.

"These soldiers," he began, "You say they're the best of the best. Exactly how good are they?"

"Former Special Ops, black ops…like I said. They survived the fall of New York. I believe, with or without Neal, every one of them could return with what we need. I would never attempt such a thing if I didn't think it was possible, or that Neal would be safe."

"Then it's settled. I volunteer."

Elizabeth grabbed his hand. "Hun…please!"

"You send Neal, you send me, too."

"Peter…" said Neal. "You don't have to do this. I'll be fine."

"Dr. Aram," Peter continued, "I'm a trained FBI agent. I'm a crack shot, and no stranger to close-quarter combat. I won't be in the way."

"It's a very generous offer," said Aram. "But our soldiers are more than capable of taking care of Neal."

"Your soldiers are trained to watch each other's back," said Peter, "not Neal's. I spent years watching out for Neal. I'm good at it. There's nary a scratch on him. Well…a minor gunshot wound to the leg…but he was two thousand miles away when that happened. Wouldn't have happened on my watch.

"If he's as important as you say, he needs to be protected. The Committee said he can't carry a gun unless there's an emergency. That puts him at a deficit, and I don't like it. You want someone to guard him, watch over him, make sure he makes it back to Gilead in one piece? That someone is me."

"Well then, Mr. Burke, if I can clear it through the Committee…we will honor your request. Welcome to the team."

As the Doctor reached out a hand to shake, make it official, Elizabeth turned and raced off.

"El!"

Peter sprinted after her.

"The quality of your friends astound me," Aram said to Neal. "They care a lot about you. You are a very lucky man."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," he said, and left to pursue his friends.

End Chapter 7

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