(Chapter 7)
"Peter? Where are you? Is Caffrey there?" Jones sounded surprised if not relieved, Neal blinking to keep himself awake as his vision blurred ever so slightly. He heard a soft groan beside him from Peter who was beginning to wake up.
"We're in bad shape. How soon can you trace this call and find us?" Neal felt himself starting to fade but held on. He heard movement on the other end of the line and voices in the background.
"Doing that now, Peter. We'll be out there in the next 30 minutes if not sooner. How are you doing? How's Caffrey?" Neal turned and looked at his friend, arm falling out of the makeshift sling, gun wound bleeding a bit.
"Not that good. Not sure how much longer I can..." He paused hearing voices nearby. It sounded like the goons that had beat on him earlier. Crap! He had hoped they wouldn't notice them gone for a while longer.
"Trace this phone, Jones." Neal dropped the receiver before getting an answer and lifted up Peter as much as he could, half-carrying, half-dragging his friend as he ducked out onto the street and looked for a place to hide. He saw a delivery truck and limped quickly over, opening up the back. It was full of flowers, Neal ducking inside after he pulled Peter up and closed the doors. He peered out the small windows to see the goons looking around for them although unsuccessfully. He smiled, making sure Peter was comfortable before leaning back against a crate and passing out.
()()()
"Hey buddy! Hey!" Someone was nudging Peter as he came to, looking up at the source of the voice as he slowly opened his eyes. He noticed a young guy looking down at him, dark hair, brown eyes but blurry. Peter moved ever so slightly wincing as he did so and seeing the man looking at him with a concerned look. He looked around to see they weren't in the warehouse district anymore. The vehicle had taken them into the city again.
"I'm calling 9-1-1." The man sounded worried, phone in hand. Peter looked down at himself to see what the damage was and found he was back in his own body if only for the moment. He looked across to see Neal laying flat across the truck floor, arm slung loosely in his belt, shoulder stained red where the gun shot wound had started to bleed again. Why had they changed back? He shook his head to be sure he was awake but that made him dizzy, nauseated and he rolled over out of the truck and threw up on the pavement. The man continued to speak to him as calmly as possible.
"What's your name? Can we call someone for you and your friend?" Peter continued to throw up till nothing more would come out and then he felt that odd sensation and found himself gasping for breath, eyes looking up at the inside of the truck. They had traded again. He saw himself heaving over the side of the truck although it wasn't him but Neal now. Neal turned and looked at him, face pale.
"Buddy, did you have someone we can call?" He heard the man asking Neal the same question now. Neal shook his head, looking around confused before he saw Peter staring back at him.
"Wa... ter?" Neal gasped, wiping at his mouth as the truck driver nodded and walked away quickly. Neal slid out of the truck and grasped Peter around the waist.
"Neal?" Peter found himself asking before Neal carried them both off, away from the truck and the man. He didn't understand why Neal was running away but he was too weak to protest.
()()()
Neal carried Peter to a nearby abandoned tenement building and found a place to hide. He pulled out an old mattress and threw some tarps he found over it and lay Peter on top, curling up near him, breathing heavy.
"Neal?" Peter reached up with his good arm and poked at his friend, the young man not responding. He heard wheezing breath from the young man whose head slumped to one side, eyes closed. Peter sat up as best he could and nudged him a bit harder.
"Neal!" Peter watched as Neal finally opened his eyes, rolling them languidly towards him. The pupils were tiny dots in a sea of brown, his brow flush with tiny beads of sweat.
"Neal, talk to me." Peter waited, watching his friend try to answer but gaping like a fish out of water, eyes rolling back as they closed. Peter nudged him harder but Neal didn't respond.
"I think I know how to get us back to ourselves, Neal. I need you to wake up so you can do this. Just wake up." Peter was remembering the dream he'd had at the gangster's hideout where they had been taken. He stood up with some effort and removed his arm from the makeshift sling. With a determined look he smacked his loose arm against the wall and gave a muffled cry as a 'pop' indicated his arm was back in its socket again. Peter collapsed, feeling Neal's body giving in to the pain. Hopefully one of them would be conscious enough to steal that statue and get them back.
Peter moved back to the mattress and curled up by his friend, feeling the young man's forehead, his forehead and wincing. Neal was burning up with fever, his breath shallow, pulse rapid. His body was sick but Neal was trapped in it. If it die, would Neal die too? Peter wasn't sure how this worked. Would Peter get dragged back and die or would he be trapped as Neal? He was confused if nothing else about how this thing worked and now much longer they had before they were stuck as the other. He had noticed the interval between being themselves was lengthening and becoming more sporadic.
Peter did what he had to and stood again, leaving Neal on the mattress and making his way downstairs. He was dazed from the pain and loss of blood if nothing nothing else but he had a plan. Peter saw the ambulance and the delivery driver outside looking around for them. He whistled, drawing their attention before he disappeared and hid. He saw the men start looking around the building before they shouted and had found Neal. Peter remained hidden until they left then made his way outside and watched the ambulance disappear.
"Let's hope this works out, Neal." Peter whispered, as he vanished into the shadows.
()()()
Mozzie showed up looking a little more nervous than usual. Peter had called him as Neal hoping the little guy could help him with what he had planned.
"So you want to steal this statue but you didn't want to hear what I knew about Kate the other day? Are you sure you're ok, Neal?" Mozzie had taken one look at the beat up Neal and wondered what had happened. Peter had explained what he could without giving himself away or hearing anything he would otherwise not need to know. The less he knew about Neal's secrets (till he told him himself) the better at the moment.
"Yes. I hate to be abrupt but... I need help finding... this statue." Peter found himself breathless after the little bit of talking, leaning back on the park bench. He had stolen his own wallet and managed to pay for a cab up to the side of town Neal normally hung out on in the Park just to contact Mozz. Mozzie nodded.
"Ok, but then you'll have to explain the whole mess with the Suit. I heard he's in the hospital fighting for his life but you... you look worse. That wound needs to be treated, Neal. Let me take you to a friend. He's on the up and up. Better than a hospital." Mozzie sounded truly concerned if not worried about his friend so Peter consented reluctantly. He wanted the statue as soon as possible but Neal's body needed to be mended so it didn't end up like Peter's which he hoped would live. He wondered how El was doing.
It wasn't long before a small utility truck showed up and an older man with salt and peppery hair showed. He smiled at Mozz and then gave Peter a look of sizing him up before relaxing some.
"Neal this is Doc. He's the guy who helps me when I'm sick. He knows his stuff. No witch doctor, government conspiracy plans from him that will keep me sick and paying the man." Mozzie sounded more his usual self, Peter trying not to laugh. He saw Doc looking at him curiously.
"So what seems to be ailing you besides the gunshot?" Doc started to help Peter with the removal of the old bandages the mobsters had added. He clucked his tongue unhappily.
"Whoever did this was far from pro. This looks like it's getting infected. I'm surprised you're still on your feet. Let me get you some antibiotics. Are you allergic to anything?" Doc walked the few feet to the front of the truck and came back with a small pharmacy. Peter shook his head.
"No." He wanted to itch at his wound suddenly, his shoulder hurting not just from the gunshot but the fact he had pulled his arm out of its socket as well. He leaned back where he sat and closed his eyes a moment. The exhaustion was starting to finally wash over him but he needed Neal's body to be well if they were going to steal that statue. He felt the world start to disappear, a voice in the background.
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth... forgive me..." Peter could hear Neal's voice faintly, fighting to move towards it. He found only darkness till he could see a faint light and headed towards it.
The sound of machines beeped near him, voices louder than Neal's speaking in panicked tones. He thought he heard someone in the background crying.
Peter looked around to find he was in a hospital room, looking at nurses and doctors surrounding a still form on a bed. He turned towards the crying as it was moved away and saw it was Elizabeth. He started to follow but seemed trapped where he stood.
"El! El!" He cried out but she didn't hear him. Nobody did as he watched her exit the room with a nurse. Elizabeth looked sad, her face pale and blotchy as she cried into a tissue and disappeared out of view. Peter watched helplessly, turning at the sound of the machines beeping louder.
"We're losing him. Someone bring in the paddles now!" He heard someone yell, another figure leaving to comply. It was enough to clear a space for Peter to see who was dying. It was him. His body lay grayish, ashen upon the hospital bed, eyes staring partially open. He thought he saw the eyes move slightly but nobody else seemed to notice. He wanted to scream at them but the machine continued to beep loudly.
"I don't want to die... Elizabeth, I'm sorry. I should have been stronger for you and Peter." The voice was weaker, Peter finding himself moving closer to take his hand in his own. Those eyes followed him.
"Neal, I'm here. We're going to get the statue. Hold on. Please." He felt those eyes, his eyes looking at him and then he heard a gasp and the machines stopped beeping so loudly. He watched his body shudder and those brown eyes flutter close, body relaxing. Peter felt relief, a hand touching his shoulder and he turned, opening his eyes.
"Neal? You ok? Hey..." Peter blinked at Mozzie's voice looking up at the little guy and gave a faint nod.
"Yeah, perfect..."
