I don't own White Collar, or the Characters... blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...
A/N: I hope you guys are all enjoying these daily updates, it's making the chapters a little on the short side, but hey, why make you wait? Right?
Neal clamped his eyelids tighter; the bright light from above was making his already pounding head hurt that much more. As he became more aware of himself, he realized he was sitting in a chair, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He brought both hands up to shade his eyes, pressing his thumbs into his temples and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He sucked in a painful breath through his clenched teeth, starting to become aware of the aching in the rest of his body. He took one hand off his head to absently itch at the burning sensation in his right arm, as he tried to recall where he was; not wanting to open his eyes and induce the migraine that was trying to materialize. In the back of his mind he knew something was amiss, the room felt wrong. He remembered being at Peter's with Elizabeth. Right, Elizabeth. His breath hitched and he opened his eyes as he jerked his head up, scanning around the room as best he could.
"Glad you could join us." Neal felt himself tense at the familiar voice.
"Curtis. Where's Elizabeth?" Neal kept scanning the room, squinting into the shadows around the edges to find where the man was hiding.
"She's alright…for now." Curtis appeared out of the shadows in front of him, walking slowly towards him with a Ruger in his hand. Curtis stopped a few feet away; keeping the gun aimed at Neal.
"Let her go, this is just between you and I." Neal instinctively settled himself as far back into the chair as he could.
"Always trying to be the hero. No, she stays. Let's just say, for…motivational purposes." The man let an evil grin sweep across his face.
"What do you want?" Neal hissed as the pain from his fractured ribs become more evident as all the drugs left his system.
"I want what you owe me, Neal." The man's eyes squinted as his face turned dark and menacing. "That little stunt you pulled cost me eight years of my life."
"All this, over a painting." Neal scoffed, obviously irritating the man in front of him.
"You cost me everything." The man rushed forward, the hand holding the gun colliding fiercely with the side of Neal's head. Neal felt the sticky warmth of blood starting to drip down the side of his face, as the barrel of the gun was pressed to his temple. "Now, I'm going to return the favor."
Neal could feel himself starting to loose consciousness, and was only vaguely aware of another person entering the room. He felt the second man grab his arm, and he jerked as he felt the needle pressed in. There was no burning sensation this time, and Neal felt his whole body relax as he slipped painlessly back into the darkness.
"I have to say, Neal, that is a masterpiece." The man raised his wine glass.
"Thank you, Curtis." He clinked glasses with the Frenchman, as they stood back admiring the forgery he had just completed. "When's the job?"
"Soon enough. Nothing you need to worry your pretty head over. Here's your money." Curtis handed him a manila envelope, which he slipped into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Now let's celebrate."
The memory faded, and he found himself lying in a hospital bed, Peter looking down at him with his fatigued brown eyes.
"I would have lost Elizabeth if it weren't for you. You have my trust." He felt his body relax as he listened to his mentor's words. "For Christ's sake…don't screw this up."
The imaged disappeared and he saw nothing but blackness.
He could feel his body tremble, and he was suddenly aware of how cold he was. He licked at his lips, subconsciously trying to wet his dry mouth; the metallic taste of blood still lingered. An overwhelming feeling of panic started to rise in him, and he scrambled to push himself into a sitting position, as he let his eyes dart around the unfamiliar space.
"Neal?" A hand came to rest on his shoulder from behind and it was warm and familiar. He recognized Elizabeth's voice, and the realization of where they were came flooding back to him.
"I'm fine." He brushed her hand off, pushing himself to his feet and backing slowly away a few steps, confused by the absence of the pain in his hip. He didn't feel like himself; his heart was racing in his chest.
"Neal…what's wrong?"
"Nothing… I'm…fine. How long was I out?" He leaned against the wall, trying to calm himself.
"About an hour." He could hear the fear in her voice. "Are you sure you're alright? You look pale."
"I'm fine. You alright?" Elizabeth silently nodded.
Suddenly the door on the far side of the room opened, and Curtis emerged from the shadows, followed by the man Neal recognized as the one who had tased him earlier. He also noticed that Curtis was still hiding behind his Ruger.
"You can dispense with the gun, Curtis." Neal held up his hands in submission.
"No, thank you. Since I know you can get out of any restraints I put you in, why should I bother? Mr. Ruger here will insure that you play nice." He motioned to the man next to him, and then to Elizabeth.
Neal heard her scream as the man grabbed her, and started forward towards her when Curtis waved the gun a little closer.
"uh...uh... I wouldn't if I were you."
Neal watched helplessly as the man wrapped one arm tightly around her; picking her kicking and screaming form up off the ground, wrapping the other hand around her mouth to quiet her. Neal kept one eye on the gun as he watched her dragged from the room.
"Now that we're alone, we can get down to business." Another smaller man, Neal didn't recognize, came through the door carrying an easel, a canvas, and a small duffel bag. Curtis made a motioned to the man and he dropped the supplies on the floor, dumping the contents out of the duffel bag.
"The Degas, Neal." Curtis pointed to the canvas that was now lying on the floor. He motioned for the little man to leave, and he backed towards the door, keeping the gun pointed on Neal. "Oh, and I would hurry if I were you. I hear the withdrawal from that drug we gave you earlier is a bitch."
Neal waited for the door to shut, and he heard the locks on the other side engage with a few loud clicks. He scanned around the dim room again, only briefly gazing at the supplies that had been dump so unceremoniously on the floor. He had apparently had one too many drinks with Curtis in his younger years; the man seemed to know him all too well. He could feel the anger and frustration building up inside of him. He had unknowingly put Elizabeth into harms way, and there seemed to be no way out of this room. He kicked at the easel, sending paints and brushes flying across the room. He paced around the outside of the room like a caged animal, anger turning to fury. After a few laps he finally settled down, his head swimming from the drugs running through his system. If painting the Degas would keep Elizabeth safe, than that's all he could do. He walked over and set up the easel, and got to work.
.*~*~*~*~*.
Peter sat in his recliner, staring blankly through the dark windows, out into the night. Hughes had sent him home around midnight, but he wasn't able to sleep. The late night reruns of the days ball game didn't even interest him, so he just sat there hoping and waiting. He scrubbed a hand over his face and checked his watch; it was just past four. The sun would be coming up soon, and they could return to their search. Satchmo laid on the floor beside him, the dog knew something was wrong. Peter reached down and absently scratched his head.
"She'll be alright, Satch. She's with Neal, he'll keep her safe." Peter desperately wanted to believe it was true, it was the only hope he could cling to at the moment.