I don't own White Collar, or the Characters...blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

A/N: I know, I know...it's short... but I know you guys are probably itching for an update, and this just seemed like a good place to break -) Yes, I am evil.

Chapter Seven

Neal leaned his aching body against the sink, as he carefully dabbed a washcloth at the dried blood on his lower lip, taking a mental inventory of his new injuries. Luckily, Curtis had stayed away from his face for the most part. He was pretty sure Curtis had cracked a few more ribs at the very least. He slowly drew in a long breath, shuddering as the pain shot up through his body as he choked on the air coming in. He clenched his hands on either side of the sink as he coughed, bringing more blood up from his lungs. He closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself, trying to remember what had led up to this.

He could feel is head start to spin a little from the combination of alcohol and painkillers, but at least all the aches and pains were finally dulled down. He finished the last sip of his whiskey, easing himself of off the barstool, steadying himself with one hand on the bar. He carefully smoothed his suit coat, and adjusted his fedora, before transferring his weight over to his cane. He knew that Mozzie would be concerned if he woke up to find that he hadn't returned yet, and he gingerly wound his way through the tables and out onto the street. The night air was crisp and cool, and he watched the cars pass by on the street, as he stopped to zip his jacket closed.

He was starting to regret the second glass of Crown; combined with his pain medication, it was making everything hazy. Although, he laughed to himself, he would take another glass or two now. The three flights of stairs up had been brutal, and he had been glad to find that Mozzie wasn't still here waiting for him; he wasn't in the mood for a lecture. He stumbled his way out of the bathroom, opting for the couch instead of trying to climb up into the bed. Once he had eased his body down, he wasn't sure he'd made the right choice. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, trying to suck in a few shallow breaths as another round of tremors racked his body. Once his body had relaxed, and he could breath a little more easily, he tried again to recount what had happened.

He knew it was late, because the sidewalk and the street were nearly disserted. He slowly walked along the familiar block back towards June's house, thinking about what Alex had told him. He must have been lost in this thought, because he hadn't noticed he was being followed. Maybe the clicking of the cane had covered up the sound of the footsteps behind him, but they had been there. He wasn't exactly sure how long he had been followed, but as he approached the house, he was pushed to the ground in the small alley behind it.

"Make a sound, and I'll kill you now." He felt a hand on the back of his shoulder holding him down; the cold touch of something metal caressed his neck.

"Curtis…" Neal barely got the name out when his head was jerked back by his hair.

"You're a bloody turncoat, Caffrey. Never did I think I would see the day." Curtis pushed him over, rolling him onto his back, the knife in his hand glinting in the moonlight.

"I…"

"Shut up…" The man hissed, letting his empty hand connect with the left side of Neal's face, snapping his head sideways. "You think you can con me, Caffrey? Thought I wouldn't know that you and you're Fed buddy were investigating me? You thought you could stall just long enough didn't you?"

His whole body tensed as the knife was stroked along his jaw line.

"I've had just about enough of you." Curtis stood. Neal couldn't roll his body out of the way fast enough, and the foot that was flying toward him connected violently with his side. "You convince your keeper to back off, and you finish those paintings, Caffrey, or so help me…"

Curtis let his foot fly into his ribs again, before bending back over to look Neal in his half-closed eyes, running the blade of the knife under his jaw one more time.

"La prochaine fois l'épouse est morte." Curtis stood and walked a few steps before turning back to face him. "Two days, Caffrey."

Neal gingerly wrapped an arm around his torso, carefully cradling himself as he took slow shallow breaths. He wasn't sure what to tell Peter, or if he should tell Peter. He decided it could wait a few hours at least; he felt himself start to drift out of consciousness, and didn't want to fight it any longer.

.

"Damn it. Why won't he answer his phone?" Peter pounded on the steering wheel, as the traffic they were stuck in finally started moving again. The drive across town had been painfully slow, and it was wearing on Peter's last nerve.

"He didn't answer the ten times I called, either." Mozzie just folded his arms across his chest. He was more than ready to get out of this car. Peter looked over at the little bald man, and couldn't help but smile. He knew what a big step this was for Mozzie, and Peter knew he would blame himself for whatever had happened to Neal. Peter just hoped for all of their sakes that Neal was all right.

Peter found a spot to park a little ways down from June's house and trotted hastily across the street, Mozzie following closely behind him. He could tell that Mozzie could barely stand still as they waited for the housekeeper to open the door and let them in. Peter caught sight of June coming out of the library, as they crossed through the foyer.

"Good Morning, Peter." June was just as relaxed and charming as ever, and it only perplexed him more.

"June…is Neal home?" He asked apprehensively.

"I heard him come in about half an hour ago. You were looking for him earlier, weren't you?" He could see the confusion on her face as she turned to Mozzie. "Is everything alright?"

"Is now." Peter tried to give her a charming, reassuring smile, as he pointed Mozzie up the stairs.

Peter knocked loudly on the apartment door, calling out Neal's name when he didn't hear any movement within. Impatience getting the better of him, he reached down and opened the door, letting himself in. The apartment looked exactly as it had the previous night when he had left. He called out again as they entered, scanning around for Neal. He motioned for Mozzie to stay by the door as he slowly crossed over towards the living room. He could hear Neal's slow wheezy breathing as he rounded the end of the couch, catching sight of the dark bruise that was creeping up on his painfully skewed face.

"Damn it, Neal." He cursed under his breath, which had Mozzie running worriedly into the room. Peter eased himself down onto the coffee table across from Neal, gently laying a hand on his shoulder, trying to wake him. "Neal? Come on, buddy. Time to wake up."

"NEAL?" When his efforts to wake his unconscious partner were fruitless, he pulled out his cell phone, turning to Mozzie as he dialed. "Keep trying to wake him."

"This is Special Agent Burke, FBI. I need an ambulance at 87 Riverside Drive."