Avenging Angel

Chapter 7

Its three weeks since he was released from the hospital, two weeks since they changed his antidepressants and five days since he had any suicidal ideation. He tries not to think about these things, he's really glad to be returning to work. It's not the same, but it's all he's got. Callaway still has Peter on cold cases and Diana's still out on leave. Jones is his temporary handler. He could think of a lot worse, a way lot worse.

Still he wakes in the middle of the night, sometimes gasping or crying out. Usually he doesn't remember, a beneficial side effect of upping the Lexapro. He can always tell how bad it is though, by the troubled expression on June's face the next morning. Last night was the exception. He remembered. Ambrose's face was close to his, green eyes glittering in the dark, cold breath on his forehead. He couldn't move. He was frozen, paralyzed. His psychiatrist said it was a common experience, being trapped between waking and sleeping. Sometimes when the brain is in transition, things we ordinarily repress rise to the surface. He thinks he wants to remember that murderous bastard and yet they say he's crazy.

Peter was on his way to pick him up and drive him to the office. As long as Ambrose was out there, he said consider him his personal chauffeur. Certainty didn't factor much in his life these days, except for Peter. Good and true, he was his compass. The events of the last month convinced him Peter would always be his friend, no matter how much he went on disappointing him.

There was a chill in the air as he stepped outside. The wind pulled at his jacket, flapping it open. Rain was coming down slowly as Peter pulled up.

"Have I told you lately just how much I love you," he grinned.

"If that's June's French Roast, then yes, you have. C'mon get in, you're getting wet."

He handed one of the coffees over and slid in. As soon as he took the door handle a feeling of dread came over him. He gave it a second to pass, but it didn't. Peter took a welcomed sip of the steaming brew, as Neal tried to gather himself.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Peter said softly.

"Sorry, what?" his eyes were locked on his coffee mug.

"So, you ready for your first day back at work?"

"Truthfully?" his shrink would be proud, admitting the problem is the first step.

"I like truth," Peter smiled.

"Not so much. The nightmares are back. Ambrose's face, it woke me up. Peter...seeing him was..." he shuddered a little.

Peter drew in a breath as Neal's voice trailed off. He wasn't up to speed and everyone knew it, including Neal. Maggie had gone to bat for him with the Bureau to ensure he got the leave and treatment he deserved. But Callaway was pressing the relevancy of his deal, knowing full well a revocation would land him back in prison. He needed Neal to function.

"Neal, it's going to take time. You can't expect to be one hundred percent."

"But we don't have time. I know what Callaway is up to and I've been anything but normal lately. I can't screw things up for you."

"Let me handle Callaway. If you're not ready, we go back upstairs. We're going to deal with this together." Someone who lost as much as Neal had a right to crack up, he just had to make sure he didn't stay that way. Nothing else was remotely important.

"Your coffee's getting cold," Peter squeezed his arm. "Should we go up and ask June for a refill, get some breakfast?"

"Jones told me your cold case closure rate is hovering in the low seventies. Seriously, Peter?" he gave a knowing smile. "You are so going to need my help. Let's not keep the Dragon Lady waiting." Starting the car, they nudged into traffic.

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"So how's Neal handling his first day back?"

"I have no idea. He's different, Maggie," he rubbed his face hard. "I've always felt I could tell when he's hiding something, running a con. But now... his feelings are all over the place. I wasn't sure he'd make it in this morning."

"He's tougher than you think and besides he has you."

"Thanks for looking out for him," Peter looked at her with affection.

"I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I owed him that."

"I heard that you're being called back to Quantico. You okay?"

"It was a matter of time. MacLeish, Collins... your friend and we don't have any more on Snow then when we started. It's as if he's dropped off the earth."

"And they need someone to blame," Peter sighed.

"I'm convinced he's here waiting for the right opportunity, but I'm in no position to inspire the confidence of the Bureau. Didn't help that your AD weighed in with a report critical of the operation."

"Callaway! You got to be kidding me. If she would have put the protective detail on Neal when we asked, none of this would have happened." His blood was running hot.

"Be careful of her Peter. She's clearly in over her head here. But she's arrogant and wants to win, and has friends higher up in the Bureau. She's dangerous."

"She's not going to win, whatever she's planning. I'm not going to let that happen," he shook his head angrily.

She wanted to reach out and comfort him. Touch him, take his pain and ease the burden pressing on him like a weight. Don't do this, her mind warned. That ship had long sailed, but she couldn't wonder how things might have been. She stuffed those feelings down into the empty place in her heart, where they belonged. As much as she hated leaving, staying wasn't an option for her either. She cleared her throat.

"You know she wants you and Neal removed and to accomplish that she will use Snow if she has to. Don't make her case for her."

"With you out of the picture that becomes harder. I want to get this guy, Maggie. Nobody understands him better than you do. What's his next move?"

"Maya was a more personal kill for him, challenged his fantasies regarding his motivations and I think it lead to a furthering of his disorganization. It's taking him more time to reorganize. I believe it's the same with Christie."

"We haven't heard from him because he's incapacitated," he tried to tamp down his runaway thoughts. "He hasn't struck again not because he doesn't want to, but because he can't."

"Exactly. But he will reorganize and continue his mission," of this she was certain.

"And his mission is... Neal," he felt the hairs on his arm lift.

"Yes," she said quietly.

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Jones found Neal standing over the coffee machine, apparently lost in thought. He seemed surprised when it beeped.

"How's it going man?"

"Hey Jones, good. You need me?"

"No. At the rate you're going through those cases, I'll have to get the basement storage key from AD Callaway. She wants it cleaned."

He gave Jones a sharp look, and those blue eyes widened, "That was a joke, right?" Jone's face broke into a sly smile.

"You're funny." He looked down at his coffee and small swirls of cream floated up to the surface.

"Any word from Diana?" he asked.

"Yeah, I talked to her last week. She sounds better, stronger. She asked about you."

"I'm so sorry I missed the services. I wanted to be there," but he was under a forty eight hour psychiatric commitment. He felt tears trying to break through, but they were no match for the dam of antidepressants he was taking. He was grateful.

"She understood, Neal." Clinton touched him, again. "Listen, when you're done Callaway wants to meet with you."

"Do you know why?"

"Just answer all her questions. You'll do fine."

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"Come in Mr. Caffrey, please have a seat."

"Please, call me Neal."

"Neal, she smiled. I'm sorry I haven't had the opportunity to talk with you sooner. Agent Jones says your work today has been exemplary."

"Thank you. I've been eager to get back to work and extremely appreciative for the leave."

"I read through your medical report and your therapist has cleared you to return full time. He didn't indicate a termination date. How do you feel it's coming," she smiled.

Her smile was meant to be benign, but it was anything but. He lost all the warmth he was feeling. "Do you have anything specific you wanted to know?"

"I don't mean to be insensitive, but I need to know your mental health issues won't jeopardize the operation of this division. Your actions at the crime scene may have seriously compromised evidence. Now, I understand you were under a great deal of pressure, with the victim being an acquaintance and the gruesome nature of the murder."

He had finally stopped seeing Christie's lifeless body suspended from the ceiling. Remembering, he realized his face had lost its color. "Sorry I'm just tired, didn't sleep well last night."

"Do you need to take a break?"

"No, I'm fine," offering a smile he didn't feel.

"Agent Burke's failure to follow protocol compromised valuable case evidence. The two of you moved the victim's body."

"What? No. I asked him to do that. He didn't want to."

"My point. His concern for your stability, your mental health affected his judgment. I've initiated a review of his actions which may lead to disciplinary actions."

His insides turned to water. He paused in the hallway, getting his bearings. He didn't remember leaving her office. Eyes darkened with guilt; blindly he navigated his way to the elevators; not noticing Maggie standing there.

"Neal, hey I'm glad I ran into you. I've been called back to Quantico. I'm leaving today and I wanted to say goodbye. You okay?" she could clearly see that he wasn't.

"Yeah, just had a rough night. Sorry you're leaving. Peter told me everything you did, thank you. If you see him, tell him I forgot I have an appointment with my shrink." His eyes were blinking. "June will pick me up," he hoped he had enough left to convincingly sell this lie.

Poor guy looked like he saw a ghost; Maggie wondered what could have rattled him so. She turned back only to find Amanda Callaway watching them.

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He stood there looking at himself in his bathroom mirror. He didn't recognize the face of the man looking back at him. Fear and confusion distorted the planes and contours. He hated what he saw. How did he get so weak and helpless? He never gave up. He always had a plan. He was always one move ahead.

There was a despair so deep inside, he couldn't understand it. People kept telling him; give it time, you have to go on. How do you go on with a madman out there threatening everyone who matters to you? Ambrose wasn't going away. He would never stop. He would tear to pieces the people he loved. Peter was already paying the price and he wouldn't let him sacrifice anything more.

He slammed his fist into the mirror, shattering the reflection.

"No!"

The word broke through his chest and reverberated in the small space. The savagery of the response shook him as shards of glass fell to the cold tile beneath his feet. He caught the edge of the sink to steady him.

"Damn it! Damn it! It's me. I'm still here."

There was a rage burning deep in his soul. He was done crying. Done with platitudes and happy pills. Done cowering in fear. Done! Ambrose Snow was not going to hurt anyone else he loved. He had to pay. He hated him, more than he hated himself. And at that moment, he knew what he had to do. He was going to dance with the devil.

Author's Note:

Thanks again to all of you continuing to follow this. I had to work out some plot kinks and that took a little longer than I had anticipated. Having something in your head and then translating it to paper, doesn't always go as planned. I always have a story worked out before I begin posting. I hate when author's leave me hanging, but I realize things happen in life that might prevent the best of intentions. I will never start a story I don't intend to finish. The fact that people are eager to see what happens next is just the best feeling ever, so thanks for your patience and your time.