"With all due respect sir," Davis met Peter's eyes firmly while Officer De Marco breathed into the mask covering the pale lips of the consultant "No" the older man glanced down at Neal's expressionless face held steady in the officer's grip, before looking back at the young agent…who was once more compressing the still chest beneath his hands. "I will stop… when the… EMTs …tell me too… not before… just like we…were taught." He panted without looking up again. With that a grim silence fell between them. Peter sighed, vaguely grateful for the young man's determination but devoid of hope. His trembling fingers brushed a damp curl from his friend's lifeless face. He carefully didn't look at the thin slits of blue where grey lids slid back over sunken eyes. Instead he turned his gaze back to the hand in his and waited… waited for the paramedics who would confirm what he already knew, waited for the pronouncement of the end of that brilliant mind and childish energy… waited to grieve for his friend.
The sirens approaching told him it wouldn't be long now… that any lingering hope would be gone in a few moments. He barely noticed when Davis moved aside and strange hands took over… When DeMarco's portable CPR mask was replaced with the paramedic's mask and bag… he finally registered the change when the bloody shirt was cut away and monitor leads were quickly positioned. Dull brown eyes looked up at the thirty-something, blond haired man bending over his friend.
"He's gone isn't he?" The man solemnly shook his head no.
"Core temp is 83.2… can't call it until he's warmed up." With that he turned back to the body under his hands, shifting the motionless form carefully onto the back board, swiftly inserting the IV, and tucking a heated blanket around him. Peter backed away, watching quietly. A moment later the second, EMT a grey-haired man glanced up, disbelief in his eyes.
"We've got a rhythm… 36 per minute… BP 64 over 43…O2's at 57"
The younger paramedic swore softly "he's actually still fighting." He muttered
"No respiration" the older man confirmed before swiftly sliding a slender tube down his throat to replace the mask. "Gag reflex is intact" the senior medic still sounded surprised. Then they were lifting him… transporting him, and Peter moved to follow. Someone stopped him. He tried to shrug the unfamiliar hand off his arm but Diana shot him a glare.
"Let them look you over, boss" she tilted her head toward the team of paramedics who had approached him unnoticed. She quickly patted his shoulder "you need to get warmed up yourself." He nodded numbly, suddenly realizing he had stopped shivering some time ago and his hands had lost feeling. He gestured indistinctly at the retreating gurney.
"Someone should…"
"I'll follow him… and get the team working on the scene… let them take care of you, ok?" if he was reading her tone right it wasn't a suggestion.
"Ok." He sighed
"Don't give up on him yet, boss." Peter nodded…it was probably the onset of hypothermia making reality fuzzy but he found that a tiny part of his mind hadn't quite stopped believing his friend would make it. He quietly let the petite female EMT lead him to the waiting ambulance.
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She sat beside the nervous young agent, picking worriedly at near invisible lint on her skirt. The young man drove silently never taking his eyes off the street to look her way. He hadn't said a word since he told her that her husband was at the hospital and he was supposed to escort her there. The words sat in her mind like a stone, a solid central point to her tumbling, swirling thoughts. How bad was it…? Would Peter be ok? What happened? Did this have something to do with Neal's mysterious brother?
She should have known trouble was coming. He had been so quiet the last few days, the last two nights she only knew he came home at all because of the rumpled covers on his side of the bed, and his clothes in the laundry. Now something had happened and her wonderful husband was hurt. Elizabeth folded and refolded her hands as they pulled into the emergency room parking lot. She brushed self-consciously at her eyes as a few stubborn tears escaped her rapid blinking.
It took all her self-control not to run inside, instead she walked quickly and firmly to the reception desk and looked at the woman sitting there with a determined glint in her eyes.
"I'm looking for Peter Burke" She was proud of the strength of her voice.
"One moment please." The receptionist turned to her computer entering the name then glanced up "I assume you are family…"
"He's my husband."
"Ok… that's fine then." The woman smiled tucking a strand of greying hair behind her ear. "Go on back… I'll buzz you in."
"Is he ok?"
"This says Dr. Lynn is with him now."
"Thank you." It wasn't really an answer, Elizabeth thought as she hurried through the open door and tried not to shutter as it swung shut behind her, but if it was really bad they wouldn't have let her in unless... A few quick steps and she was standing outside the tiny room. Inside she saw her husband propped up against the pillows, wrapped in several blankets, an IV in one hand and a cup of something steaming in the other. The doctor stepped out the door, at that moment.
"Is he going to be ok?" she asked nervously
"It appears that way." He smiled at her encouragingly. "I understand you are his wife?"
"I am. Are you sure? What happened?"
"I'm not sure exactly what happened, but apparently Agent Burke took a dip in the Hudson this afternoon."
"What?!" she couldn't control the squeak that cracked her voice with disbelief. "Why would he do that… its 24 degrees out there?"
"I don't know… he's not inclined to talk about it, whatever happened. His body temperature was 92 when he arrived, which is substantially hypothermic, but he is up to 96 now and coming up at an acceptable rate. I would like to keep him for observation twenty four hours after we get his temperature back to normal but he is doing well. I don't expect any serious complications" The relief sweeping through her was a tangible thing.
"Thank you." she breathed
"You are welcome. Make sure he rests… he seems determined to leave now that he is feeling a little better."
"I will."
Elizabeth fixed a smile on her face and stepped into the small room.
"Hey hon… "She began nervously "How are you feeling?" he looked up at her and she froze. Tears… there were tears in her strong husband's eyes. "Hey honey… its ok… everything is ok." He shook his head wordlessly "Dr. Lynn says you are going to be just fine… though it was pretty close… if you had been out there much longer…" she plowed ahead uncertain what he needed to hear "What were you doing in the river in this weather… Don't tell me, I know …it had something to do with Neal. Right?" she teased gently hoping for a smile, to her surprise Peter dropped his face into his trembling hands.
"I tried to save him." he mumbled
"I know you did…I know how hard you tried to save him" she wasn't sure where this conversation was going but Elizabeth was suddenly sure she wouldn't like any of the possible destinations, Peter's expression told her whatever it was it was worse than anything the young man had ever done. Had Neal pushed her husband into the river trying to escape? No, she didn't believe Neal would do that… had his brother attacked Peter? Had Neal gone along with him? "Honey what happened?" She asked gently, wrapping her arms around his shivering frame."
"They won't tell me anything… they just keep telling me to rest." He looked up at her then… visibly trying to calm himself, brushing impatiently at his cheeks trying to contain the tears in his eyes. "I just want to know if he…" his shoulders raised in a despairing shrug. He looked at her with a sad smile "he didn't have much of a chance… if he had any at all." Her blood ran cold at those words, as brown eyes dropped to his lap sadly. Not betrayal then…
"Peter, what were you trying to save him from? Was Neal in the water?" She nearly choked on the words but she needed to know.
"G** Elle I tried to… but I was too late…" He sighed deeply "I know the facts… I know he's gone… but hope is a stubborn thing" he swallowed hard then "I wish someone would just tell me…"
"You think he's…" the words died in her throat at her husband's grave nod, his tears escaping.
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Shifting in the uncomfortable chair Diana studiously kept her eyes on her phone.
When asking for a friend at an Emergency Room reception desk it should not be a relief to be directed to the surgical waiting area, she reflected, but they don't operate on dead men… so that was something… hopefully.
She shifted again and glanced at the clock… Four pm… three hours… it felt longer. Distracting herself with online books and spider solitaire on her phone only went so far. She recrossed her legs and glanced around the room. An elderly woman sat reading a book, her expression calm… a young man bounced his knee anxiously glancing from the silent TV to the clock, worry in his eyes… a thirty something woman with two young children met her eyes briefly with a small nervous smile. Diana returned the expression before she dropped her eyes again.
She checked her e-mail for the twelfth time, frowning when she saw a new one from her dad's friend. She sighed, fighting a brief battle with herself… but it might be information on the intended recipient of the accursed memory card and getting that little thing into the right hands was tremendously important… in the wrong hands… she shuttered to think what would happen if it fell into unfriendly hands.
Michael Scott, it seemed, did not exist…or rather Michael Scott was an alias for Kevin Grant… who was currently out of the country at an undisclosed location, undercover… for the CIA. Her lips twitched, of course he was, where else would he be… as if this didn't read enough like a bad spy novel. Her return e-mail said as much in rather undiplomatic terms for an ambassador's daughter. She suggested her contact tell Mr. Grant to come and collect the card before she found him and placed it somewhere it was unlikely to be retrieved… by anyone. She waited some more. Ten minutes later she sent an apologetic message to her father's long-time friend.
She started when her phone rang. Shaking her head at her reaction she smirked, it was amazing… Caffrey could still cause her so much stress without even being in the room… or conscious. She answered the phone calmly
"Berrigan"
"Diana?" Elizabeth's voice sounded tense. "Peter is supposed to be resting but…"
"He's being uncooperative." of course he couldn't rest, as agitated as she was, the young woman knew her boss was exponentially more.
"He wants to know about Neal." She sighed
"I don't know anything, unfortunately. They haven't said much."
"Diana, is he… alive" the other woman's voice cracked "Peter seems to think he's…not."
"I hope so… he was when he arrived apparently, and no one has told me otherwise."
"Well that's something"
"Yeah, I suppose." She pushed the picture of the young man lying quietly on the dock out of her mind. "He's not one to give in easily. If anyone can survive…he would be the one."
"And that is exactly what I will tell my husband."
"You can tell him they took him to surgery too."
"Thanks Diana."
"For the boss… anytime." The call disconnected and she returned to silent waiting…she could see what she could find out about Kevin Grant prior to his current career…
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2:12am
He was supposed to be resting…. He should be resting, he was exhausted, he wanted to be resting, but instead he was creeping along a bright corridor to room 342. Diana updated him four hours ago when Neal came out of surgery… declaring in weary triumph that he was still hanging on, but Peter couldn't quite believe that until he saw the young man for himself. Slipping past the critical care nurses was disturbingly easy and the room wasn't hard to find. Peter took a deep breath and opened the door silently, moving softly as if he might wake the occupant.
Near silence reigned in the dim hospital room. The overhead lights were extinguished, leaving only the monitors and small blinking lights to illuminate the scene before him. A single bed, elevated slightly… a plastic piece taped in place over thin pale lips securing the tube that disappeared between them, the bare chest rising and falling unnaturally. Slim arms wrapped in gauze to the elbow, the thick tube protruding from the bandage wrapped ribs. Heating pads tucked around the pale body, under his neck and shoulders, across his stomach, to bring his temperature back to something closer to normal. IV tubing running to needles in his elbows and the backs of both hands, supplied warm saline, blood and probably several things he couldn't pronounce. He flinched a little at the bruises, and the misshapen cheek bone and eye socket… they hadn't even attempted to repair the facial injuries other than stitching up the jagged cut that ran through his eyebrow. Peter wondered if that meant they didn't expect it to matter…Obviously they didn't know Neal… he wouldn't be caught dead… Peter gulped at the thought.
Sinking into the bedside chair wearily he stretched out his hand to pat his friend's arm but withdrew without touching him. He tried to think of something to say…
"D*** you're a mess, Neal. They really did a number on you." He finally managed "I should have realized when we found Amelia that you would be the next target… I'm sure you will torment me about missing that, as soon as you get better…" he carefully took his friend's hand then, giving a gentle squeeze "And I'll let you get away with it too…" he could see in his mind's the look he would have gotten if Neal had been awake "within reason" he added just in case the younger man was registering any of this, "if you just… We'll get you out of this, kid… I need you to believe that." he leaned back against the chair and waited… the soft hiss of the machine breathing for his friend seemed unnaturally loud in the dark room. Something beeped rapidly for a few seconds then fell silent. An IV pump thrummed and the blood pressure cuff hummed to life briefly, releasing with a quiet whoosh, the readings appearing on the glowing screen…the quiet sounds were reassuring in their way…proof of life, Peter thought, as exhaustion began to get the better of him, leaning his head against the bed side table the older man slowly drifted off.
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Down the hall a child cried, the walls were painted with butterflies and farm animals, the nurses voices were soft and entirely too cheerful, Jones thought, the pediatric ward was so far outside his comfort zone, he was even sure he knew the way back, but he couldn't leave. He stood up and stretched, glancing at the little boy in the crib. The child shifted in his sleep and whimpered a bit. He smiled, the toddler would be ok…physically at least. Emotionally…? Who knew? He had no one now… nowhere to go, the baby was alone in the world. The man sighed, no reason the child had to know that just yet.
The little guy suddenly screamed, throwing his head from side to side!
"MOOOMMMYYY!" he wailed, bolting upright. The agent froze for one second then he moved forward, caressing the dark curls.
'I'm not mommy little man, but you're safe… it's ok." Big blue eyes blinked, trying to focus through the haze of sleep.
"Eal?" the child asked hopefully. Jones groaned to himself.
"Sorry buddy. Not Neal either." The toddler looked at him with stark terror. "You are safe. Neal is my friend. You remember me from earlier, right?" Will looked him over for a long moment before he nodded, but the fear did not fade. Jones picked him up and carried him to the rocking chair in the corner… he had no idea what he was doing ,but he saw the nurse rock the boy to sleep earlier. Will snugged against his chest with little protest. The soft sway of the chair seemed to sooth his fears a bit…
"gibbed Eal owies…" the baby mumbled into the agent's shirt. Jones tensed, his stomach twisting… afraid to ask what the boy saw.
"I know buddy… they hurt him didn't they?" the little head bobbed in agreement.
"da man had a gun… like my mommy, and der was a biiigg noise and den Eal bleeded bud… wats of bud… an… an den he goed to seep and not waked up." The child looked up at him then "dey didn't gib him a banbaid so he couldn't get all bedder."Jones read the disbelief and horror at that cruelty in big innocent blue eyes.
"It's ok, the doctors here gave him lots of band aids." he soothed, running his fingers thought the dark curls and gently pushing the little head into his shoulder. His brief visit to his friend's room a couple of hours ago came to mind, if bandages could make him well he would be out of here in a day or two… Jones sighed, too bad it didn't work that way.
"So his owies git bedder?"
"I hope so… I really do." He resumed rocking then… hoping the boy would sleep.
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Unable to sleep she found herself going through old Washington Post articles online…thirty years ago there were several stories about the missing children. The newspaper called them the "stork kidnappings"
"Why am I doing this" Diana asked herself out loud. "This is crazy." She sighed but she pulled up another archived feed. This one talked about the alleged kidnapper and murderer being released on a technicality. It was an editorial written two months after his release… by a Leo Franklin, and he mentioned the name of the arresting officer who failed to properly Mirandize the accused man. Diana frowned… something sounded familiar about that name.
Closing the feed she sighed, she really should leave it alone… it was not her case and she felt a little guilty digging into a friend's family tragedy without his consent.
Shaking her head she typed in Kevin Grant instead and ran a search… who knows maybe she would pull up something.
A heavy knock on her door made her jump. Reaching for her weapon, the agent glanced at the clock… 3:14 am.