A/N: Hi friends. Just finishing up finals week, so I've been insanely busy. Here is part 1 of 2 for tonight. Next chapter will be up within the next few hours, so stay tuned. Enjoy, and let me know what you think! :)
Chapter 8
"Good. Now. Let's talk."
Neal is sitting against the wall again, one knee up, his left elbow casually slung over it. Peter has to look away after zeroing in on the sickening number of small scars across his arm.
Neal keeps his head down. It's taking everything he has not to break down, plead and beg for Peter to drag him out of this Hell, so he can make a last-resort attempt, with any small chance he has left, to save his own life, before his dying heart fades away completely. But he can't.
He can't do that. V will tear his life apart, piece by piece. And he'll do it by destroying everyone Neal loves. Neal knows he will, because he knows what kind of man V is. The evidence is right here on his arm.
And Neal can't go back to his old life like this. Forever grateful to Peter, for turning his life around, but forever fearful, now. He's never safe, not the way he is now. The life he leads, the people he associates with, the desperate measures he takes to get his fix… he can't subject the people he loves to this life. He won't do that to them.
Perhaps the worst reason of all, though, the one that makes his inside twist, is the fact that if he goes back to his old life, he will no longer have V. As much as he hates him, that man is his only connection to what he so desperately needs. He'll be forced to buy from the street, and therefore will be forced to somehow acquire cash. Lots of it, considering how doped up V so often had him. The habit will be expensive to maintain, but he will do what he has to do to maintain it. All while actively working with Peter and the team to bring down the entire operation.
"What do you want to talk about?"
Peter shrugs. "You. This." Hesitation. It still doesn't feel real. "What they did to you."
Neal finally looks up at this, his eyes boring into Peter's. "They doped me up until I needed it just to survive, and took it away if I didn't do what they asked." His voice is flat. If he lets it waver, the emotion will take over, flood him, and he won't be able to control himself.
Peter has his arms crossed, and his brow is furrowed. His lip twitches in anger as he listens to this. "Did they hurt you?"
Neal sighs, his eyes searching the ceiling. "Yes, Peter."
"They make you hurt other people?"
Neal pauses, and looks down. Peter can barely hear his response. "Yes."
Peter draws a sharp breath in, glancing out the window. He can't look at Neal right now. "You kill anybody?"
Neal's words are sharp. "No." Peter glances back at him. "They wanted me to. But I couldn't. They did it instead."
"Jesus…" Peter murmurs, looking down. He can't look up when he speaks. "You saw it?"
Neal blinks, then pushes himself up with shaky, unsteady movements, rubbing his palms over his trousers. "Yes. I did."
"And the pharmacy robbery?"
Neal nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Assignment."
Peter shakes his head once, turning just to slowly pace the length of the room, and Neal's eyes search the floor. He can feel the tremor beginning the chill through his fingertips, and he squeezes his eyes shut. His body has had a taste and now it wants more.
"Neal?" He thinks he's only been standing like this for a minute, but when he blinks and looks up, Peter's confused and suspicious face tell Neal he may have been grimacing for a bit longer than he thought. "You okay, Neal?" Peter treads carefully.
Neal unclenches the fists he doesn't remember making, and pulls them out of his pockets, stretching out his shaking fingers before crossing his hands behind his head. He paces. "I'm fine. How long do you think you'll be here?"
Peter raises an eyebrow. "You have somewhere you need to be?"
Neal shoots Peter a sharp look. This man doesn't get to question him. Not now, not after what he's been through. Neal has needs, needs he can't satisfy with Peter here. "It's… not safe for you to stay here long." Neal looks down. "I won't let you get hurt because of this." He shrugs. "Because of me."
The frown on Peter's face softens, and he searches the floor, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I failed you when you needed me. I let this happen to you." He shrugs. "Please let me get you out of this."
Silence takes over for a bit too long, and Peter glances up, blinking when he sees Neal's wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights. Did he say something wrong?
Neal blinks, and shakes his head, looking down. "Please go. You're not safe here."
Peter raises his eyebrows, and then frowns, crossing his arms. It's more concern, than anger. "You don't want help, do you?" He squeezes his eyes shut when he realizes this, bringing two fingers to his temple. "Neal, please. I know, you're scared right now. Terrified. But more than that, I know that you do not want to do this anymore." Neal keeps his head down, his only movement the light tremor that runs through him. Damn it, why won't the kid just listen to him? Peter has to fight the urge to cross the room and grab his partner by the shoulders. Shake him, shout at him. Plead, beg. Beg for him to come home. "You don't want to do this anymore, Neal," Peter asserts, barely lifting a hand to gesture at Neal. Trying to convince him. Put the idea in his head. He's desperate. He doesn't know what else to do.
He glances up when he sees Neal move, and his face falls as he watches the younger man slide down the wall, head down, and his knees pulled against his chest. "Neal."
"Please go, Peter." The words are muffled and quiet, and Peter has to strain to make sure, but it sounds like Neal is crying.
"I'm not going anywhere, Neal."
The younger man looks up, and Peter lets out a sigh of relief when he sees his friend is dry-eyed. Neal's eyes still carry that dull darkness, though; that broken, glazed-over look that he has possessed ever since this whole damn thing began. "You need to go, Peter."
A moment passes, where neither of them move. The silence is so thick, it almost seemed they had stopped breathing. Neal looks up as he sees Peter shift, and just watches his boss slowly walk over and sit down against the wall, next to him. He draws his own knees up, throwing his arms over them, and studies Neal. Studies the way the younger man softly shakes, studies the way Neal keeps threading his fingers together and tucking them between his knees, in feeble attempts to steady them, or at least make it less obvious. The way his teeth slightly chatter, the way his pupils have disappeared into his broken eyes. The way he so purposefully avoids Peter's gaze.
"I won't leave you, Neal."
That was when the shots began to fire.
TBC...
