A/N: I know I'm a horrible person for leaving this story hanging for so long and I'm sorry. No excuses, just an apology and promise that I will try very hard to get out another chapter soon.
I don't own – so don't sue!
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Neal, with his hands at about waist level, approached Robert and his wife with the roll of tin foil. Between his heart jackhammering in his chest and his mind racing towards some semblance of a plan he felt dizzy. A pain lanced through his chest as it tightened.
No.
No. This isn't happening right now. Breathe. Breathe. He inhaled sharply, feeling the pain and concentrating on it.
"Keep moving!" The woman yelled from the doorway.
Neal opened his eyes, not realising until then he'd stopped and closed them. Dizzy. He could work with dizzy. His eyes met Jackie's, as though trying to tell her something.
Then he fell.
He landed just short of where and, upon hitting the floor, wished he hadn't.
Everything hurt. He was on fire. He'd been recovering nicely, but even the small fall reminded him he wasn't to his normal stamina yet.
"Are you okay?" Jackie asked, leaning over him.
Neal groaned, muttering something. She moved closer to listen. "The fireplace is a tunnel. Get out if you can." Before she could give him away, Neal loudly proclaimed he was fine, wincing but slowly rolling to his feet. His hand touched one of the bar rags he'd grabbed to stop Robert's bleeding. He pocketed it as he passed the tinfoil and tape to the wife.
"Get up! Enough of this!"
Neal stood, slowly though as now his head really was spinning. He tried to take inventory of everything going on around him, trying to put something –anything – together. If he could get this woman out into the hall – maybe Jeffery's office – the others would have a chance at escaping. Everyone except for Robert, that was.
And him.
But that brought the count down to thirteen – two hostages was better than fifteen. At least it was for the escaped hostages. Not so much for him or Robert, he mused. He couldn't help but feel messaging Peter had been a mistake – had he not, they'd all probably be fine and free by now. The woman with the gun would be long gone. He pictured her whimsically running down the street with the fake Kandinsky as peter sat in the surveillance van unaware.
"Get over here. Now." The woman gestured with the gun.
Neal eyed her. She looked vaguely like someone he knew from a long time ago. He tried to recall her name. Something with an 'A'. Anna? Amanda? Amy. It was Amy.
The Amy-lookalike directed him towards her with the gun.
More flies with honey.
Neal held his tongue careful not to incite her unstable wrath by citing the idioms that popper into his head. Peter would be proud. He moved towards her slowly, once again arms at surrendering height.
"Into the hall."
Neal breathed a sigh of relief, forcing himself not to turn around and share a look with Jackie. Get out, he thought. Get them all out. As he stepped in to the hall he glanced towards the front door, seeing police cars out front. The red and blue rotating lights reflected against the walls and carpet.
He took a few steps towards Jefferey's office before Amy directed him to stop. He turned. Neal Caffrey – not for the first time – had a gun on him. No vest, no backup and no weapon; except his wit and charm.
0o0o0o0o
Peter stormed – literally – from the back of the surveillance truck as two NYPD squad cars raced down the street, parking themselves in front of the NAC. "Those stupid, stupid-"
Left in the truck, Diana and Jones shared a look. They jumped up to follow as the door slammed shut behind Peter. Someone was about to lose something.
Peter charged straight for the officer who appeared to be in charge, directing his officers to surround the front entrance. He read the man's shield: Sgt. Campbell. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The officer, in the midst of giving an order on his radio, stopped and turned towards him.
Peter stopped right in front of him, straightening his shoulders. If only Neal could see his face now, he'd never again say Peter couldn't do bad cop. The officer seemed to visibly shrink. "Don't answer that" Peter barked shaking his head and holding up his badge. "FBI. Special Agent Burke. Do you realise you've just raced onto a scene of a hostage situation? Do you realise what will happen if – Forget this. Get your men out of the way! Out of sight – now."
Just as he finished there was a response in the officer and his men – just not that one Peter had been asking for. Around him police radios crackled; "Subject located."
Peter turned towards the burgundy awning of the NAC to see a woman of average height and average build holding a rolled up canvas. And a gun. She had just approached the front doors and, seeing the police, locked the door and rushed back where she had come from.
Presumably the parlour, if Neal's message still held true.
Peter set his jaw, rubbing his palm over his face. Dammit. "Sergeant Campbell?"
"Yes sir?"
"I suggest you get a few of your men over to Eat 19th Street, behind this building. There's an alternate exit there."
"Yes sir."
"And Campbell?"
The Sergeant turned back towards Peter. "Yes sir?"
"You'd better hope my partner doesn't get killed in there, or I'll come after your badge." Peter began walking away. "Now would be a good time to update ESU."
"Yes sir."
Peter looked back at the NAC. The chances of the woman using the tunnel to escape were slim. Chances are she knew about her counterparts getting caught, she'd know the tunnel wasn't safe. The question was why hadn't this woman been with the other two? Peter sighed, rubbing his forehead.
"Peter?"
"Yeah, Diana?"
"What do you want us to do?"
Peter turned to Diana and Jones – half of their team. "I don't know. I wish I knew what Neal was up to in there."
"I'm sure he's thinking the same thing about you." Jones pointed out.
"Jones has a point, Peter. You two are pretty good at getting in the other's head. I think it's time to put it to the test." Diana suggested. "We'll interview the other two suspects."
"Yeah. Great. Thanks Diana, Jones."
"No problem. Let us know if you need us."
Peter turned back to the burgundy awning. Now all he had to do was get in Neal's Caffrey's head.
His partner's life might depend on it.
0o0o0o0o
Neal stood in the front hallway of the National Arts Club, a gun pointing at him by the woman he had nicknamed Amy. He was standing close to Jeffery's office door, which left Amy's back to the parlour. He consciously focussed on her and not behind her, as he didn't want to give away anything going on in the room they had just left. He glanced at the front doors. The police lights were mildly mesmerising as they reflected against all the surfaces. The etched glass of the front doors and windows refracted the lights in all directions.
Damn he wished Peter were here.
Not even necessarily for his gun. Or his badge. Possibly for his backup. But mostly just for Peter. He could read Peter like a book – most of the time – and he knew Peter could do the same to him, but most of that was reliant on face to face interaction. Most of it. Though there had been that one time at Peter's house when the electricity was out. He'd been able to signal then, though. An SOS message with his anklet.
He almost smiled at his past cleverness and the understanding Peter would figure it out. The assumption that Peter would just know, because that's what Peter did. That's what they had both done for years – known each other exceptionally well, playing an intimate game of cat and mouse.
He tried to think of what Peter would be thinking – what the agent would want Neal to do.
Not have gone for a walk and ended up in a hostage situation.
Too late, Neal argued with Peter internally.
Stay safe. Keep other people safe. Be calm.
Done – sort of. Done – mostly. Two out of three isn't bad.
Listen to me. Do what I say.
So what would Peter say right now? Neal drew a blank. He looked at the gun pointed at him, feeling a slight panic rise from his stomach and move in to his chest. He didn't know. He really didn't.
Neal Caffrey was finally ready to admit that he really didn't know anything.
0o0o0o0o0o
Outside Peter walked the same three paces on the same stretch of cobblestone street. Radios were going off around him. More police were arriving. More FBI agents were arriving. SIU – new York's version of SWAT – was also now here.
But Peter didn't want to do it their way. He knew SIU were the experts; trained for situations like these. Peter was only a FBI agent – not seasoned in hostage taking. But it was his partner in there. SIU was already talking about taking the building.
Taking the building. Already! Peter knew that couldn't be good.
"Sir?"
"What?" Peter snapped at the interruption. Sergeant Campbell stood in front of him, looking slightly nervous. Peter felt a shred of remorse for yelling at the man earlier. He couldn't help but feel he had greatly contributed to an interdepartmental incident.
"I thought you might like to know that my officers have received some people we believe to be some of the hostages. From the tunnel you were talking about."
Peter was stunned for a moment, then smiled. Neal; you stupid, stupid intelligent idiot.
"Thanks Sergeant." Peter gave him a nod, holding the other man's gaze. The man nodded back, and with just that Peter knew it was fine. No grudges – one law enforcement agent to another. Peter's partner was in there; he wasn't expected to act rational. Or be polite, for that matter.
Peter looked back at the building, which had been still since the metal security roll down door had been drawn. Five minutes ago there had been a lot of action when the suspect had moved in to the front hall with a hostage at gunpoint. He knew, without looking, who the hostage was. He knew because his stomach told him by wringing itself in knots. Nonetheless, he'd had to check. One look had told him it was, for sure, Neal. And then Neal had lowered the security door. He hadn't, however, locked it according to SafeTech, the alarm monitoring centre.
That idiot. Of course he'd send out everyone else. The only problem was, Peter knew that Neal and the women were in the front hallway when this all happened. This meant the others had likely snuck out, which would not bode well for Neal in the end.
Peter felt proud and sick at the same time.
Didn't he know this wasn't something he could just charm his way out of? Hadn't he been hurt enough over this stupid case? A few days ago Peter had considered teaching the man some self defense tips he'd learned from the academy. Now he was considering cuffing Neal to his desk in the bullpen. At this rate, Neal would be safer back in jail.
Or not, now that he'd been working for the good guys.
Peter sighed, pressing his palms against his eyes. He couldn't think like this, and he had to think. He had to connect – somehow – to Neal. He needed to know what he was thinking, what he was doing. What he wanted Peter to do. He had to get away from the lights and radios. The interruptions. Most of all, he had to get away from the sick feeling in his stomach. The problem was he couldn't go far. He had to be here.
And then Peter knew what to do. He knew how to connect. He stormed off, frantically searching the expanding crowd behind the yellow police tape. Spotting a distinguished couple, he pulled out his badge and stopped in front of them.
"You two – you live on this block?"
"Uh, yes. We do. Just down the row a bit. Why?"
"Good. I need your key."
"You need our house keys?"
"No. I need your park key. I need to get into Gramercy Park."
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A/N: I would absolutely appreciate reviews – pretty, pretty please!
