Peter rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide the smile.
"Yeah, but I was hoping you'd let me sleep first." Neal shrugged his right shoulder, the uninjured one, but he still had to bite back a grimace.
"You did enough sleeping. Besides, I was bored." Peter laughed, keeping quiet so as not to wake his wife.
"Alright. Fine. Glad to see you're ok." Neal nodded.
"Yeah. Me too. I didn't think…I didn't think it was going to go well." He paused for a second before adding "God, I hate guns."
"I've heard that before. How's your shoulder? What happened, exactly?"
"They said the bullet went through-and-through and that that was a good thing, so that's good, I guess. My shoulder…hurts. Like hell. And I really don't remember what happened. Did I get everything?" The hint of humor in the consultant's voice was enough to coax a smile from Peter, despite the situation.
"Yeah. You're on pain meds, aren't you? It shouldn't hurt." Peter stood to look worriedly at the IV, though he didn't know what he was looking at.
"I was on something like morphine, but that was a little too strong. I asked for something lighter."
"What do you mean 'too strong'? I didn't think you were allergic to any drugs." Peter frowned. If Neal was, that really should have been in his file. Had he overlooked something?
"Not allergic. Just…I just don't like it. Not since…a while ago." Peter gave him a stern look.
"Could you be more vague, please? I don't think I couldn't follow enough of that." Neal chuckled humorlessly.
"I get kinda loopy on pain meds. Last time someone gave me morphine…Well, it's not an experience I'd like to repeat."
"I think you're loopy all the time." Peter grumbled, pulling his chair closer to the head of the bed and sitting down. Neal smiled. "I never came across any hospitalizations when I was after you." Suddenly, as though a cloud had passed in front of the sun, Neal's eyes darkened.
"No. No, you wouldn't of."
"Then when?"
"You've never found anything about me from when I was a kid either, have you Peter?" Neal's voice was calculated and distant.
"Nope. Can't say I have, Neal." Peter kept his voice level and calm, hoping Neal would follow suit.
"Don't go looking."
"Alright." Neal looked confused by the unexpected answer, his dark mood evaporating. "You feelin' alright?" Peter asked.
"Yeah…just tired. Can I go home now?" Peter shook his head.
"I think El and I would both like you to stay here. For a while, at least."
"But Peter," Neal began, his eyes brightening as he tried to get his way. "I really think it would be better if-"
"It would be better if you stayed here." El interrupted, startling both men. Neither had noticed her silently watching the conversation. "And that's final." Neal sulked, knowing better than to argue with El.
"Fine. But it's not like this would be the hardest place to sneak out of." He added, sneaking a knowing glance at Peter. El smiled at him, scooting closer and running a hand lovingly through his hair. Neal closed his eyes, comforted by her touch.
"How about I make you a deal? If you don't sneak out of here, I'll make you your favorite meal for dinner. How's that sound?"
"Delicious." He opened his eyes to look at her. He would have stayed put even if El had just told him too; he'd only mentioned how easy it was to bother Peter. She smiled at him and kissed his forehead as she stood.
"Good. Well, I have to get going. I have to be at work in an hour. You boys better behave yourselves." She looked between the two of them warningly. After she left, Neal looked over at Peter.
"Have we ever not behaved ourselves?" Peter shook his head.
"Not 'we', only you." Neal pretended to look outraged, getting Peter to laugh again. "Seriously, though, shouldn't you be sleeping? You need to rest."
"Peter, I'm touched. But I'm not tired. You're just going to have to put up with me." The two sat in silence, Neal trying to not drift off to sleep and Peter trying to dissect what his partner had said. What had Neal meant about morphine? And his childhood? How did that tie together? Did they go together at all? He'd never found out anything about Neal's youth. The only documentation he even had was the birth certificate and the driver's license. But even with those, he'd never been able to find out anything about a young Neal Caffrey.
Suddenly, it dawned on him. He felt stupid for not looking into it more extensively earlier. There was a high likelihood that both those documents were fakes. Looking over at Neal, noticing with some amount of amusement that the younger man was asleep, he wondered who he really was. Another part of him wondered if Neal would ever trust him enough to tell him.
Three days later, Neal was released from the hospital. Peter dropped him off at his apartment, with strict orders to be packed by the time Peter got off work. It was El's idea; she didn't like the thought of Neal staying alone, when he was on painkillers and June was out of town. Truth be told, Peter didn't like it either, but he let Neal think it was all El's planning.
Neal sat on the floor in front of his closet. He couldn't bring himself to pack the suits he loved so much. He didn't like the idea of looking like a slob, either. Finally, he settled on several pairs of jeans and T-shirts. As a last thought he grabbed an old college sweat shirt. Not a college he'd gone to, but he'd liked it none the less. Bag packed, he drug it until it sat next to the door. One arm in a sling, he didn't feel like carrying it around much more. A glance at the clock told him that it was still a couple of hours before Peter arrived.
Lying on the couch, he contemplated taking his pain killers, but he decided against it. Pain killers always managed to loosen his tongue too much, making him say things he would have rather kept guarded. He would just have to deal with it. He'd dealt with worse, though not always well.
Sighing, he flipped open his cell phone. After three rings, the voice he wanted to hear answered.
"Neal? I thought you might've ran off again." Neal snorted amusedly.
"What, without calling you, Mozzie? Not likely. I just had something I thought you should know."
"What makes you think I don't know already?" Moz asked, concealing his tone like he did on a con.
"So, you knew I got shot and you didn't visit me? I'm hurt, Moz."
"What?" Neal laughed. "No, this is no laughing matter, young man! I expect someone to call me when you do something that stupid! Doesn't the FBI have someone for making phone calls?" Neal couldn't resist as he countered.
"No, no, they had to lay them off, so they could pay someone to cover-up conspiracies."
"Please tell me you're not joking."
"About getting shot? I thought we were friends!" Neal laughed again as Moz grew more disgruntled.
"You know what I meant. How'd you get shot? Is this a secure line?"
"It's my cell. From the FBI."
"That answers my question. Don't tell me anything, I'll be right there." Neal smiled.
Within fifteen minutes, Moz was knocking on the door.
"Let yourself in, Moz." He called, not wanting to move anymore. Moz complied, walking in and sitting down across from Neal. He studied his friend for a moment, not missing the stiff way he was holding himself.
"Well, that's a lovely sling you have, Neal."
"I thought so. It really does something for my figure, doesn't it?" He smiled proudly when he got Moz to grin.
"That it does, my friend. So, what happened? Did The Suit shot you?"
"No. I broke into the Guggenheim and-"
"Again? Isn't twice enough?"
"Well, I was going for the trifecta and technically I only snuck into the one in Berlin…but no, those thieves that have been here the last few days, the ones from the Brooklyn and the Met, they were there that night. The FBI was investigating and so I went in to see where they were going, ya know, keep an eye on them."
"Well, it looks like everything went according to plan." Moz enthused sarcastically, gesturing to Neal's sling.
"I still hate guns."
"I can see they haven't been doing you any favors either. But you've been gone for longer than the time from the Guggenheim incident. I'm afraid to ask, but how are you doing after…the other incident?" Neal closed his eyes.
"I'm…I'm hanging in there. Some days…some days are better than others."
"By 'hanging in there' do you mean by a noose or should I go off suicide watch?" Neal couldn't tell if Moz was joking or not.
"I'm…ok, if I don't think about it."
"And how often do you not think about it?" Moz leaned closer.
"Never." Neal admitted after a long pause. His voice was unsteady and vulnerable; something that scared Moz more than the thought of the phones being tapped-and that was a lot.
"Neal…" He didn't know what to say. Part of him felt at fault; he'd introduced Neal to Kate years ago. Other parts of him were working to conjure up people skills he hadn't used since grade school, and even those hadn't been very good. Suffice to say, Mozzie Haversham wasn't good with people and he really wasn't good with upset people. But for Neal, he thought he could try.
Neal covered his face with his hand, physically trying to hold back his emotions. His chest shook with repressed tears and he wished he'd taken the meds after all. The physical pain only compounded on the emotional, something he already could hardly stand. His face flushed as a couple of tears slipped past his palm. He wished Moz wasn't seeing this. It was bad enough that Peter already had- twice.
"Have you taken pain meds?" Moz pretended that Neal wasn't crying.
"No. Don't wanna. They make me weird." Moz nodded.
"Right. Like that time when we had to steal some morphine and give it to you. That was classic entertainment, Neal." Neal chuckled through his tears.
"Don't want to repeat that. Especially-"
"Not around the Suits. Got it." Neal moved his hand and looked at his friend gratefully.
"Yeah." He let his hand drop to his chest, taking a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry, just-just give me a minute-I" He stood quickly, rushing towards the bathroom. Moz followed hesitantly. Pushing the bathroom door open quietly, he winced at the sight. Neal bent over the toilet, vomiting what little food he had managed that day, tears rolling unchecked down his cheeks. Moz rested a hand solidly between Neal's shoulder blades. After a long moment, Neal looked up, face pale from pain and emotion.
"I'm sorry, Moz, I-" Moz shook his head.
"No need. You don't have to apologize." Neal nodded, sinking back against the wall.
"I can still see it. The flames, the plane. Everything. I should have done something, I should have saved her." Moz slid down the wall, seating himself next to his friend. He was in way over his head already; he figured he might as well keep going.
"There wasn't anything you could do, Neal. It's alright. You're going to be alright." Moz thought he sounded like someone out of a cheesy movie. Neal leaned his head forward, tucking his knees closer to his chest. "Neal? Neal, you in there?"
"…Just let me go…Let me go, Peter." Moz sighed. He wanted to leave, but he could only imagine what would happen if he did. Neal cried harder, clutching tightly at his chest in pain. Finally, after what Moz reckoned was an eternity but was really closer to ten minutes, Neal quieted. He dared to look over at the younger man, startled when those blue eyes were staring back at him.
"Feeling better?" Neal blushed, looking away. "If you don't mind me asking-"
"I do."
"Too bad. How often does this happen?"
"Too often." A sudden darkness colored Neal's tone.
"Maybe you should consider seeing someone about this?"
"Last time you said I should 'see someone' you posed as a doctor and stole drugs."
"Well, clearly I don't know what type of drugs to steal this time. And you only needed some stitches then. I know how to do that. It's amazing the things you can learn Boston."
"Right. You know, I spent a whole summer there without learning that particular skill." Moz chuckled, standing and helping Neal to his feet. "There was something else I wanted to tell you." They made their way to the living room, both eager to pretend the last fifteen minutes had never happened
"Last time you said that, you told me you got shot. What is it this time? Aliens abducted you?"
"Not quite. I'm staying with Peter and El for a few days."
"Ah. In the house of Mr. and Mrs. Suit. Should be an enjoyable experience, something akin to prison, I would guess."
"Well, the food's better. And the bed is comfier."
"There's always that." The pair continued to chat, Moz watching Neal worriedly. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he was glad he was going to stay with 'The Suits' for a while. He needed someone to take care of him. Moz had never been good at it and now with Kate gone, Neal was running out of people who could.
AN: I think the next chapter will be the last. I am planning on writing something like a sequel to this, since I mentioned Neal's childhood a couple times. I hope everyone has enjoyed this. I've learned a lot about what works and what doesn't, so thanks for letting me test that out on you!