WOO HOO! Seven pages! There's a record. Well, I have no legitimate announcements here, except that there is something in this chapter that makes this story rated T. I won't say exactly what it is, it's a surprise! ;D I'm sorry if you don't like it, it was a bit of a shock here too. But whatever!

ONWARD!

Enjoy. :D

Chapter Ten

Harleigh Foster

It has been three days since the escape. We are currently in a hotel somewhere in Maryland. I'm glad to finally be away from that hellhole place, and I know that this was probably the only way I could have gotten out. But I feel like I've betrayed Peter, betrayed the FBI. Well, truth be told, I don't feel the same sympathy for the FBI. Peter is the one I feel I've betrayed. After everything we've gone through together—him busting his butt to get me back to New York, nearly losing his job for me, him defending me from pretty much everything—I'm just going to walk away with a sword stuck in his heart. The cruel part is that he doesn't think I put it the sword there. Technically, I didn't, but I walked away like I am okay with it.

I'm not, really. I don't know what to do. Again. I hate feeling this way so much.

"Okay, I'm leaving," Mozzie announces as he grabs the keys, then turns to me. "Anything you want me to say at your funeral?"

My throat clenches. He's going to see Peter… all of them, maybe… and I'm not. I think I hate Neal Caffrey being dead. "Just sell the part," I end up saying, even though my mind screams otherwise.

Mozzie pauses at my voice, and I curse a jumbled up string of words in my head as I think that perhaps I've lost my touch. I try and reassure myself that this is Mozzie, who can't be conned. The side of his lip quirks upwards, as if he can read my thoughts (who knows?), and then opens the door.

"Play nice, you two!" he shouts through the room. "I'll be back by tomorrow night at most."

Then he shuts the door and is gone.

Silence.

So I turn to look at Harleigh. I open my mouth to say something, but she interrupts. "I'm going to shower," she says, turning on her heel and entering the bathroom with a small pile of clothes in her arms, shutting the door behind her.

Silence.

This is quickly broken by the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. With the tension broken and solitude at last, I sigh loudly and lie back on the bed. As soon as I'm still, staring at the ceiling, eyes unblinking, I let out a moan in pain, closing my eyes, and turn sideways. It's rare that I'm alone now, and I hate letting people see my pain and vulnerability—even Mozzie. Especially after I've been held captive and beaten up a couple of times. I don't know why. Maybe I don't want to hear their sympathy? Or I'm afraid there will be none? Who knows.

Everything hurts. My ribs have been aching every second and seem to hurt no matter what position I'm in. I have bruises pretty much everywhere except my face (although I did find a shadow of one by my right eye that hurts when I close my eyes, meaning now), leaving me looking pretty normal with my usual getup. In addition, there are couple of cuts, some worse than others, and I always feel like vomiting. My head throbs constantly—just a steady heart beat that makes my brain feel like it can crush in a matter of seconds.

Miserable. That's how I feel.

I hate it all so much. It just makes me that less good.

I open my eyes and stare at the door, thinking about life. My old life, and my new one, whatever that holds. After a couple of minutes, I close my eyes again and I think I fall asleep for a little while. But the next thing I know I am jolted upright by the sound of the bathroom door opening—which my head highly disagrees to. I fight back a groan and mostly conceal it, but it comes out as a sharp breath, and I put my hand to my forehead to try to stop the rushing and dizzying pain.

"Geez, chill out," Harleigh says as she catches sight of me.

I remain silent, bringing my legs in and sitting criss-cross on the bed, running a hand through my hair. After Harleigh puts her dirty clothes in the pile we have accumulated to take to the laundry room later, she grabs a brush and sits on the corner of the twin bed I'm on, slowly brushing her hair out awkwardly with her left hand. I had hardly noticed how much of a righty she is until it she could rarely use it. Her right arm, just a couple of inches below her shoulder, is wrapped in a white bandage that she must have just replaced from where the bullet hit her.

"So, Neal," she says, "I don't know about your life as well as I should. Do you have any siblings or anything?"

"No, I was an only child," I reply, then think, what does it matter? Why does she want to know? But I pass the thought off. "What about you?"

"I have a sister, who just graduated high school," Harleigh says. "And I have a brother, but.. I don't actually know if he knows about me."

I think about this. Harleigh, with a sister that just graduated high school. That sure puts everything into a different perspective… "What do you mean?" I ask about her brother.

"Well, I ran off before Wyatt was adopted. And I don't know if Kaidan ever told him about me."

"Oh."

So now, we have the Foster children: Harleigh, Kaidan, and Wyatt. That's cool. I smile. "How old is Wyatt?" I ask.

"Twelve," she replies casually, pulling on a knot in her hair.

"Hold on," I say. "So, you have an eighteen-year-old sister, a twelve-year-old brother… and how old are you?"

She turns to me and smiles. "My parents liked the wait. I am twenty-six, as of a few days ago."

I shake my head in disbelief. "When was that?" I ask.

"A few days ago." She smirks.

It dawns on me how old I really am compared to her. How old Mozzie is, compared to her. Mozzie is nine years older than me, and I am eight years older than Harleigh. I wonder if this affects her at all, or if she feels different around us…

"So, what's your sister like?" I go on, just adding to the conversation.

Harleigh smiles to herself. "Kaidan is a musician. She plays violin, piano, cello, and viola. She's a genius—I've never heard music like what she makes. I swear, music never ceases to flow through her mind. She writes music and arranges music, and many people are too stubborn and selfish to look and see what she really is. She said that in school, people ignore her a lot, but she has friends. She's mostly quiet. But once she gets to know you, it's like she pours her soul into you and you just have to love her…" she trails off with a smile bigger than what she started with.

So music is Kaidan's artwork. I think that's the only way I can understand the passion that Harleigh is describing.

I watch Harleigh's eyes, how they have a look in them that I've never imagined she could have, the love for her sister glazed over her big brown eyes.

As soon as I see this, she forces herself out of it and looks down, back to normal Harleigh, and the love-struck smile has vanished from her face.

"What?" I ask, searching for some trace of what I saw.

She looks up and at me, locks eyes with me, then looks back down. "Nothing," she mutters.

I look down too, at my hands, wondering if I should continue. After a couple of seconds, I say, "I wish I had siblings."

"Why?" she asks.

I smile. "To be able to feel the way you just did."

This makes her smile, too, looking down, her wet hair falling over her face perfectly. I can't take my eyes off of her. "It is a nice feeling, isn't it?" she asks, but I think it was mostly to herself.

I look down and continue smiling, continuing to wish I could feel love for people like she does. But my head is still throbbing, despite my efforts at ignoring it. I am about to get up take some more Aleve, but am stopped by Harleigh, who has moved right in front of me without me noticing, and she crashes her lips against mine.

Whoa.

Although it surprises me, I relax after a moment, and kiss her back as fiercely as she does. I close my eyes. My fingers run through her wet hair, which looks darker than usual because of its wetness. For a second, I stop, realizing what's happening, letting her work. I pay attention. She kisses so passionately, almost desperately. I wonder if this is because she is attracted to me (if she does, she's never shown signs of it before that I've noticed), or because of the need she felt just moments before. Does she feel this much need to love someone? Does she miss her sister this much?

I continue. I move my arms down her body, her hips, her legs, pulling her closer. She presses against me harder, and our legs twist together. It's almost like a dance. A competition. Her lips move from my face to my neck, and she bites, and I run my hands from her shoulders and down her arms—then she yelps and tears away.

This takes me by surprise, and for a moment I don't know what's going on. She collapses on her back next to me, holding her wound with her left hand—then I understand. I must have pressed on her wound or something. Harleigh practically screams through her teeth, throwing her head back on the pillows and biting her lip, still holding her wound protectively.

I turn to face her, then say sincerely, "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

My voice makes her stop, her muscles stiff. In a second she's sitting up, her head in her hands. After a few seconds of that, she stands and leaves the room before I can stop her.

Well, that went just great.

I sigh and sit up, wondering what to do. I feel like Peter does when a woman cries right now. Should I go after her? It's not like she can really go anywhere. Mozzie has the new car that we um… commandeered. She's probably just outside the door, getting some fresh air.

Well, if that's the case…

I stand up and straighten out my shirt (a T-shirt, believe it or not), run a hand through my hair, and exit the room as well. Sure enough, I find her on the landing outside our door, looking into the perfect view of the parking lot, her hands on the rail. I mimic her stance and watch a car find a parking space. Once it does, I speak.

"You okay?"

She nods. "Yeah. I'm sorry for… everything that just happened…"

I laugh encouragingly. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry for hurting your arm." I laugh quietly, thinking back to Cape Verde a couple of months ago when I was shot in the leg. "I know what that feels like."

"You've been shot before?" she inquires, turning to me, raising a brow.

"Yep, a few months ago," I reply.

"Nice," she states. "Only that time, huh?"

"What, have you been shot more than once?" I counter, picking up that this must be a contest. If it is, I'm probably going to lose.

"I have!" she beams. "This would be my third time. Second time this year."

(That would be the sound of me losing.)

I laugh in disbelief. "No way."

"Uh, yes way, actually!"

"Where?"

"Well, my arm"—she gestures to the bandage wrapped around her arm—"my shoulder"—she points to her left shoulder—"and my chest."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm serious. Died for two whole minutes."

"Two whole minutes, huh?" I question, as if the "whole" could make all the difference in the world.

"Yep."

After a moment, I finally resent. "Well, I'm surprised. I figured such a cunning thief like yourself wouldn't get involved with murderers that much."

"Well, one of them wasn't a murderer," she replies. "She was a cop."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"Any cool stories on that one?" I ask.

"Not really," Harleigh replies. "I was just running away from a bunch of cops, turned a corner and she was there. I got away, though."

"How'd you get away with a wound like that?" I ask. I don't know if she is referring to the chest wound or the shoulder wound, but I still can't picture her standing up and running away from a scene like that with either of them.

"I went to the hospital," she replies. Now that, I can understand. "And then, when I was strong enough to get on my feet stably, I just escaped the hospital."

I nod, impressed. "Nice."

"Yep. Then, when I got shot in the chest, there was a sniper."

"Sounds interesting. Gonna tell about that one, too?"

Harleigh laughs. "Maybe later. Do you realize what we are talking about? Where we're talking about it?"

I look around and get what she means. There could be anyone in a room around ours, in which case they can possibly hear our entire conversation of bullet wounds and thieving. I laugh and nod. "You think we should leave?"

"Just to be safe." She nods and heads back inside our little room. Once I close the door behind us, she says, "There's another motel I saw about two miles down the road."

"Alright," I reply, beginning to pack my new stuff quickly (we did some shopping yesterday). Once that's finished, I pack Mozzie's stuff, too. I'll contact him about where we're going once we get there. Harleigh gets out a cloth to wipe for fingerprints, picks up loose hair—anything to convince anyone that we were never here.

In about five minutes, the place looks better than if the housekeeping lady came through. Harleigh shoulders her black bag, then turns to me. "You ready for a walk?" she asks.

"Of course," I reply, and together we walk out of the room.

If there was ever any awkwardness about the events that happened about ten minutes ago, it certainly goes unnoticed. I smile and begin to feel the rush of being on the run again, but then I remind myself that this running is only temporary, until we can find a permanent living situation.

Permanent living situation.

The words hit me hard, and I instantly wish that we had stayed. That the cops would have found us, that I would eventually turn up back in New York City, where I could see Peter again (behind bars or not). But I picture his face. The expression in his eyes as he realizes that I ran from them so cruelly and didn't look back for a second. Utter betrayal. He would wonder what kind of a friend I really was to him. Think that I am perfectly fine knowing everyone grieved as much as they did—the pain I was okay putting Elizabeth through as she cried at night. As June cried at night.

This time it feels like the sword is in my chest, twisting and turning and I deserve it. For a second, I even choke as if the sword is real. I hurt Peter. I hurt Elizabeth. I hurt June. I know that somewhere, I even hurt Diana and Jones.

I hurt them all.

Aw, Neal! It isn't all your fault!

Well… that was the first make out scene I've ever written. Not too shabby if I do say so myself. I tried to make it as appropriate as I could—no major details or removing of clothing or anything like that. (Sorry but I really, REALLY hate those rape and sex fics. They make me mad. Here is my shoutout to fellow fanfiction authors (not necessarily WC authors, haven't seen it a lot here) that once you post it on this website, other people CAN read it! There are some stories that you just need to keep hidden in your little notebook under your bed!)

Anyways… tell me what y'all think! ….About the story and the chapter, not exactly Neal and Harleigh making out. And, in case you were wondering, Kaidan Foster does hold a slight resemblance to myself. More like I'm a wannabe of her. I'm still working on graduating high school and composing my own music (although a few days ago I did my first piece! It was a viola solo. =).

Review please! :D