Chapter Ten: Reprieved

Friday, June 25, 3:20PM

When he heard the locks clicking on his cell door, Neal tensed. It was habit. Before Peter's visit…yesterday? It was probably yesterday by now…every time the door opened there were three possibilities. First, it could be a meal, which was the best of the three. Second, it could be time for one of those freezing showers, where they would stick the taser on his neck and shoot a bolt of electricity through him to daze him, then string him up and hose him off before shoving him back in his cell to shiver until he dried off. Third, it could be that his time was up.

Now, there was a fourth possibility: that Peter was coming back. So far, he had gotten one more meal, and supposedly his time wouldn't be up for another couple of weeks at least. So…shower or Peter.

He was lying on his back again. It was the best position, since his body created the most warmth between it and the mattress this way.

He opened his eyes as the door opened. It wasn't Peter. It was one of the officers, and he was holding the taser out in front of him as he strode forward. Shower, then. Neal clenched his teeth, knowing from experience that as soon as that electricity hit him, he was likely to bite his tongue.

Suddenly, a hand gripped the officer's shoulder and pulled him backwards.

"Get the hell away from him."

Neal blinked, his teeth unclenching and his mouth dropping open. It was Peter, and his face was murderous. He shoved the officer backwards, back out of the cell, as the officer protested loudly.

"Agent Burke, we have to —"

"You have to back away from him immediately. Go check with Green – the court order is clear. No further harm is to come to this inmate. And that includes shooting him with electricity." Peter braced himself in the doorway, blocking Neal from the officer and his taser. Neal could only see his back, but Peter was practically vibrating.

"Whatever," said the officer. "Fucking asshole."

Peter took a step back, and the officer closed the cell door. Relief coursed through Neal. He had heard two words in there – court order – that filled him with hope. Had their plan actually worked?

Peter turned to look at him, dropping a black duffel bag on the floor.

Neal smiled. "You came back," he said.

"I promised," said Peter, shrugging. "They take my jacket?"

"Actually," Neal thrust his chin towards the wall. "Check under the mattress."

Peter leaned over and yanked his jacket out from under the mattress. "Seriously?" he said. "Not doing you much good there."

"Hey, it took me forever to get it under there. Thanks would be nice." He shot Peter a mischievous look, and Peter just shook his head. He shook out the jacket and tossed it on top of the duffel.

"So," he said, "do you want the good news, or the bad news?"

Neal narrowed his eyes. "The good news," he said, cautiously. What could the bad news possibly be?

"The good news is that phase one worked like a charm. The judge was on board with the preservation of value argument and, even better, she held that there was a likelihood of success on the Forced Sale."

Neal's heart leapt. "Really?"

"Really. She seemed impressed with the arguments, and even said that, if you proved that you could contribute to bringing down dangerous criminals and that you could be trusted not to run and not to get into any more trouble, she couldn't imagine Friedrich being able to successfully contest the Forced Sale."

"I like her already," said Neal.

"Yeah, I thought you might. She remembered you, you know."

That caught Neal's attention. "How?"

"She was the same judge who presided over your criminal trial four years ago."

Neal smiled. "I remember her, too. She was a good judge. Fair."

Peter nodded. "It was a calculated risk, bringing the Petition before her. It was actually Margaret Beechwood's idea, and she clearly knew what she was doing when she suggested it. It helps that she's anti-ESIA."

Neal didn't know who Margaret Beechwood was, but figured he would find out soon enough.

"So what now?" Neal asked. He glanced over at the duffel, wondered what was inside it.

"Well…that's also good news. I'm here to get you out of here."

Neal wiggled until he was sitting up. He'd have jumped up and down if there were any way that was possible. "They agreed to let me out into your custody?"

"They did."

Neal heard the but embedded within his words. He waited.

"You ready for the bad news?" asked Peter.

"Lay it on me," said Neal. "As long as I'm getting out, everything else is minor."

"I'm glad you feel that way, and I'll ask you to remember this moment in four months."

There was something ominous about the way Peter was talking.

"Peter…what did you do?"

Peter sighed. "If this works, and they allow the Forced Sale, your Contract is going to be a lot longer than four months."

Neal chewed on his bottom lip. Of course. In order to make the value argument work, he had to provide more than four months worth of value. And why would anyone trust that he would continue to work on the side of the law after his Contract had expired?

"How long?" asked Neal. He knew that the other inmate's Contract had been for ten years, so he braced himself for the worst.

"We requested a four year extension," said Peter. "We thought a doubling of your initial Contract sounded fair, and would provide substantial weight to the value argument. I thought about coming back and asking for your okay, but…"

Neal shook his head furiously. "It's fine. It's great. Four years, no problem. I can do four years."

Peter grinned. "Glad you're being reasonable. Also, once this is over, we can always revisit the four years, see if we can shave any of it off."

"Did you seriously think I would have a problem with this? What's my other choice, Peter? I thought you said I was smart."

"That I did. Okay, so let's get these things off of you."

Peter reached into a pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

"They let you have the keys?" asked Neal, incredulously. "I would have thought one of the officers—"

"I was very insistent," said Peter, smirking. "There was a lot of…yelling…about preservation of value."

Neal couldn't suppress his glee at the mental image of Peter yelling at a bunch of the officers who had held him. It made the way he had manhandled the one with the taser seem like child's play. And now he was going to get to work with this man and see him in action every day.

Peter shuffled through the keys, found one he was looking for, and gestured at Neal's hands. "Let's start with this," he said. Carefully, he lifted Neal's arms up. Neal tried not to react as Peter located the locks on the underside of each of his elbows, but he couldn't stop his moan as the metal was peeled away from his skin.

"Okay," said Peter softly. He threw the restraints behind him, where they hit the opposite wall with a clatter. Then he carefully helped Neal lower his arms and separate his hands. Neal looked at them and swallowed hard. His hands were shriveled and pale white, and seemed…smaller, somehow. Along his arms and just above his elbows were ugly red marks, swollen, where the skin had been rubbed raw, scabbed over, and rubbed raw again.

Peter went to the duffel, unzipped it, and rummaged around. When he returned, he had a bottle and some gauze in his hands.

"This is going to sting," he said.

Neal nodded. Peter tipped some of the liquid in the bottle onto a pad of gauze ,ad carefully wrapped his arms and elbows. He left Neal's hands free, and Neal let out a breath of relief. He tried to move his fingers, but found that somehow, the signals just weren't getting from his brain to his hands properly. All he could manage was a twitch.

Peter saw it. "Don't rush it," he said. After a moment, he took Neal's hands in his, and began to rub his thumbs in circles over Neal's palms. Neal realized he couldn't really feel anything in his hands. They were numb. After a minute, however, he started to feel something…a warm sort of pressure, wherever Peter's fingers were.

Peter continued these attentions until Neal's fingers began to tingle. He let out another moan. It was almost painful, but also a relief. After a while – his sense of time was still screwed up – he had enough feeling to be able to wiggle all of his fingers, but he still couldn't make a fist.

"It'll come back," said Peter, and Neal believed him.

Next, Peter shuffled the keys again, and turned his attention to the manacles above Neal's knees. Neal braced himself. Those were the ones that hurt the most when he moved, because they were so tight. He knew he was a mess underneath.

Sure enough, as Peter peeled the metal off, it looked like it took most of Neal's skin with it. He was bleeding freely now that the blood had somewhere to go. Neal had wrapped his arms around his waist as if he was trying to hold himself together, but it was the only way he could keep from crying out.

Peter was murmuring things softly – Neal couldn't hear it properly – but then the skin above his knees was on fire, and he yelped.

"Shhh," said Peter. "We've got to clean this good – you might still have an infection. These fucking idiots," he muttered.

Peter worked on his legs for a while, and Neal became very aware how naked he still was. Peter's hands were awfully close to…he brought his arms down and covered himself with his hands. Peter noticed, and chuckled.

"It's a little late for modesty, I think," he said. Neal left his hands where they were.

When Peter was done, however, and had wrapped that area in gauze as well, Neal separate his legs for the first time in weeks. It pulled at his ankle restraints, but he didn't care, and let out a relieved sigh.

"Careful," said Peter. "Let's not make these worse."

"Peter," said Neal, "aren't you going to…I mean, you got a GPS collar in that bag?"

"I do," said Peter, moving to unlock the ankle manacles.

"You don't want to put that on before you…let me out of those?"

Peter looked up at him, and at the closed cell door. "You planning on trying to escape?"

Neal shook his head.

"Knock me out?"

"No, of course not."

Peter laughed. "Frankly, Neal, I don't think you'll be able to move enough to get anywhere for a while. I'm not worried."

They went through a similar process with the ankle manacles as they had with the ones above Neal's knees, though the skin wasn't quite as raw there. By the time Peter was done with his ministrations, Neal was practically floating. He couldn't really feel the pain, anymore. He wondered what was in the liquid Peter had soaked him with. Or if someone had slipped him a drug while he wasn't looking.

Neal stretched his legs, one by one, moving them separately from one another. Moving his legs had never felt so good before. Neal closed his eyes and lay back against the mattress. He could honestly fall asleep right now, that's how relaxed he was all of a sudden. He felt himself starting to drift.

"Woah, stay with me, Neal," said Peter. He felt Peter's arm under his back, lifting him up, and struggled to open his eyes. Peter smiled down at him. "Feeling better already, huh?"

Neal nodded. He forced his eyes open farther. "I'm not sure I can move. I guess you were right."

"I'm always right," said Peter. "Good you figured that out early." He frowned.

"What's…the matter?" Neal managed.

"Now it's time for your collar," said Peter. "I'd like to wait…and I don't think you're going anywhere anytime soon, not on your own. But it's a condition of release."

"S'okay," mumbled Neal. "Put it on."

Peter pulled at Neal so he was propped against the wall, and Neal tried to help best he could. Then the black circle was being fitted around Neal's neck, and he heard it click into place, and let out a long, high-pitched beep. Neal winced at the sound.

"How's that?" Peter asked. Neal could feel his fingers pushing between the collar and Neal's neck, testing the fit. "Too tight?"

Neal swallowed. He could feel the collar, but it wasn't going to strangle him. "Fine," he said.

"This collar is going to start out electronically tethered to me," said Peter. "So make sure you stay by my side. Once we're home, I'll set a radius for the house, and then we'll adjust it as necessary so you can work. I've got to present records to the Court of your movements every three days, so…best behavior."

"Peter, this thing gives off an electric shock if I even approach the edge of a boundary," said Neal. "I've had enough of those to last a lifetime, thanks. Just make sure you're clear on exactly where I can and can't go. I don't fancy running tests."

Peter smiled. "Noted. Clear instructions."

He left Neal's side again, and rummaged in the duffel once more. When he turned around, he had a bundle of material in his hands.

Clothes. The idea of putting something on reminded Neal that he was still naked, and freezing. The relief of being out of the restraints had distracted him for a bit, but the discomfort was back. He started to shiver uncontrollably.

Peter was back in an instant. "Do you want me to help you with these, or—"

"Just, give them to me," said Neal, through chattering teeth. "I'll do it."

How, he wasn't sure. Peter dropped the clothes on his lap and stepped back, sort of hovering, and that made Neal want to do this by himself even more. After three weeks of being completely helpless, he needed to do something on his own.

His hands still weren't working properly, but, fumbling, he managed to get his head through the neckhole of the green sweatshirt, and his arms through the sleeves. He wasn't sure if he had it on backwards or not, but didn't care. It was soft, and smelled like fresh laundry, and immediately some of the shakes began to subside.

Carefully, he got one leg of the matching track pants on, and then the other. He paused to catch his breath. He was going to need to boost himself up to put them on the rest of the way, and he wasn't sure he could do it on his own.

Peter returned to his side, kneeling on the floor next to him. "Put your arm on my shoulder," he said quietly.

Neal gratefully did as he was told, and that provided just enough leverage to shove himself down and into the track pants without having to fully grip them with his useless hand.

He collapsed back on the mattress and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Look at you," said Peter. "All presentable."

Neal made a face. "I need a shower. A hot one," he specified.

"Yeah, I think we can arrange that. Stay there."

Neal closed his eyes, beat from the ordeal of getting dressed. He inhaled deeply, trying to get that as much of that fresh laundry smell as possible before he ruined it. He felt Peter at his feet, and realized Peter was putting socks and shoes on him. He let it happen. There was no way he was going to be able to maneuver something like shoelaces.

Neal heard the duffel zip closed, and opened his eyes.

"Okay, Caffrey," said Peter. "Let's get this show on the road."

He slung the duffel over one shoulder, then lowered himself to the floor again. He snaked an arm around Neal's waist and pulled him into a sitting position, then positioned Neal's arm around Peter's shoulders.

"Ready?" asked Peter. "On three. One, two—"

Peter hauled Neal to his feet. Neal tried to get his feet under him, but every time he felt like one was solidly in place, the other would give in.

"Sorry," he said. "I can't seem to…"

"It's fine," said Peter. "Do what you can, I'll do the rest."

Peter kicked the door three times, and after a minute, it opened. The officer Peter had shoved glared at them, but stepped aside.

They hobbled down the hall to the elevator, and by the time they got there, Neal's legs were working a little better. He couldn't quite hold himself up, but he was able to take more of his weight.

The journey out of the Justice Facility and back to the car seemed to take forever, and Neal wasn't sure he didn't pass out a few times. He thought he remembered hearing Peter have a conversation with someone, and there might have been a few minutes that he was sitting in a chair, but it was a blur. Next thing he knew, he was sitting in a very comfortable, very warm car, and Peter was buckling him in.

The door slammed, and he watched Peter move out of sight. Neal closed his eyes. The car bounced a little as Peter threw the duffel in the trunk, and then he was back, getting into the car.

"You okay?" asked Peter, once he was settled.

Neal nodded, and forced his eyes open again. "Yeah. Fine. I'm…I'm falling asleep, I think."

Peter smiled. "I think you're right. Go ahead and sleep on the way home, and then we'll let you get that shower and something to eat, okay?"

"What about…" Neal trailed off.

"What about what?" asked Peter. He started up the car, shifted into gear.

"The Dutchman," said Neal. "Have to…catch him."

Peter laughed. "We will. I've got a whole case file for you to look at. But let's take care of sleep and food first."

"Peter?" Neal fought the waves of tiredness that were threatening to overwhelm him. He had to get this out.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Neal."

Neal smiled, sank back into his seat, and let the sleep come.