Chapter Twenty One
Peter hurried across the lobby to the elevator, hoping he hadn't delayed leaving the office so long that Neal had begun to doubt he was coming. He kicked himself for his procrastination. He could have left the office the minute the nurse had called, but he hadn't. The discharge process had been started, but she assured him it wasn't wasn't typically a speedy one so waiting until after work wasn't a problem. However, when five o'clock arrived, he found himself dragging his feet, answering just one more email, sorting just one more file. He realized then it wasn't his workload keeping him from leaving; it was the dread of what emotional confrontations with Neal might lay ahead
Dr. Cope said Neal repressed his feelings, stuffed them down and denied them but now, at least for awhile, he wouldn't be able to do that. The thought of Neal's repressed emotions coming to the surface had worried Peter but when he'd left the hospital the night before, he had been hopeful he could help Neal weather whatever storms lay ahead. But later, after a night of soul-searching, of sorting through his own Kate Thing, Peter had begun to have second thoughts about how much help he could be.
It was no wonder Neal hadn't opened up to him after her death, hadn't wanted to confide in him. He had to have been angry, resentful even, that he hadn't taken his concerns seriously, hadn't helped him find her in the first place. Peter's mind went back to the day that, after five weeks, he'd gotten cleared to see Neal. He'd presented him with an offer to resume their arrangement, to get out of prison orange and back into a suit. Peter had thought Neal would be happy, would jump at the opportunity, but he hadn't. Instead, he'd asked for time to think it over. Peter hadn't understood Neal's hesitancy at the time, but now he did.
His emotional state that day had to have been fragile. He'd watched Kate die, had been sent to prison and then subjected to seventy-two hours of suicide watch protocol. One FBI agent had kidnapped Kate and sent her to her death; another had refused to help him save her. The fact that Neal had been able to sit across from him and joke about ties and coffee was a testament to just how good he was hiding his feelings. That kind of control took great mental strength and that was something Neal didn't have right now.
Unfortunately, he doubted Kate was the only thing Neal harbored anger or resentment about. There were probably scores of others and anyone of them could lead to an emotionally volatile Neal Caffrey. What would he do if Neal lashed out at him? How would he respond to his anger? His instinct would be to meet Neal's anger with anger of his own but he knew that wasn't the right course of action. This wasn't Neal being difficult; this was Neal vulnerable and unable to hide his feelings. If Neal lashed out, he needed to listen, let him air his grievances and remain calm. Could he do that? Could he withstand Neal's anger and keep his own at bay? Even if he did, once the words were said, could they ever move on and put it behind them? He simply didn't know.
It was those thoughts, those concerns, playing in the back of his mind over the course of the day that had caused a sense of dread to settle over him.
At 5:20, he'd packed up his briefcase and cleared his desk. He'd said he would be there for Neal and for better or worse, that was what he was going to do.
Peter saw Neal first, standing by the bed with a distressed look on his face but when he shifted his gaze to Agent Rice, he saw she looked as upset as he did. He hadn't heard them arguing when he entered and they didn't seem to be angry but there was a noticeable tension in the air. He'd arrived late and didn't know what he'd walked into the middle of but he knew it was something.
"Everything okay?" he asked, looking from one overwrought face to the other. There was a moment's lag before anyone answered.
"Everything's fine, Agent Burke." Agent Rice's voice was low and her eye contact brief. "I was just leaving." She looked again at Neal. "Take care of yourself, Caffrey."
"You too, Agent Rice," Neal replied, his voice equally unsteady.
With a departing nod at Peter, Agent Rice clamored quickly past and out the door.
"What was that about?" Peter asked, moving across the room. Whatever it was, it had affected them both. Agent Rice had looked on the verge of tears and Neal looked the same. Peter had hoped twenty-four hours would have steadied Neal's emotions a bit but apparently, it had not. "You alright?"
Neal clearly wasn't alright and given his diminished ability to pretend he was, Peter thought he might just tell him the truth.
But he didn't.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he returned instead, still unwilling to meet his eyes. He started towards the restroom. "Excuse me a minute, Peter."
Again Peter was struck by the similar defensive mechanisms of Agent Rice and Neal. Agent Rice had responded to his inquiry the same way, saying everything was fine when it obviously wasn't then bolted for the door, eager to get away from the situation. Neal had in essence done the very same thing but since he could go nowhere without Peter, his escape was much more limited.
After about half a minute after Neal had closed himself up in the small lavatory, Peter heard the water being turned on, running briefly, then being shut off. A half minute later, Neal emerged, his face wet as were the tendrils of dark hair framing it. He'd tried to pull himself together and had marginal success.
"Fine, huh?"
Neal finally met his eyes, his posture sagging ever so slightly at the question. "Not really," he admitted wearily, "but I will be when I get out of here. Can you see what the hold up is?" he asked. "They still haven't brought the paperwork."
"I stopped by the nurses' desk on my way in," Peter told him. "They were just finishing it up." He nodded at the chair by the bed he'd occupied so often of late. "Why don't you sit down? You look about ready to drop." He was mildly surprised when Neal took his suggestion and sank into the chair.
"So what did Agent Rice want?" Peter asked, leaning against the bed.
"Nothing," Neal replied. "She came by to thank me," his tone was one of disbelief, "and to say she was sorry for misjudging me."
Peter knew he'd walked into an emotionally charged situation and now he understood why. Agent Rice had been upset after the accident but Peter figured once the shock wore off, and the painkillers, she'd forget both her gratitude and her remorse. But he had been wrong. She not only had thanked Neal for saving her life, but she'd also swallowed her pride and apologized to him as well.
"Wow," he said quietly. "That couldn't have been easy for her. No wonder she looked so shaken up when I came in. You both did."
"I just didn't expect...I wasn't prepared for that." Agent Rice's gesture not only had surprised Neal it had touched him as well.
"I guess not," Peter commented. "But it was the right thing for her to do, Neal. You did save her life."
"She asked me if I remembered doing it," he said after a moment. "I told her I didn't but now I'm not so sure."
"Is it starting to come back?" Peter asked hopefully. "The doctor said that it might."
"No," Neal said hesitantly. "It's not like that."
Peter frowned, confused by the look of apprehension on Neal's face. He knew the accident had been a traumatic experience but Neal had acted heroically, had saved two lives. Just the night before, he'd said he wished he could remember. But now, for some reason, the thought of remembering was causing him anxiety.
"Okay," Peter prompted, becoming a bit hesitant himself. "What is it like then?"
Again Neal hesitated, a conflicted look on his face. Peter wasn't sure if he was struggling with what to say or whether to say it at all. Either way, he could tell there was an inner debate going on behind his blue eyes.
Peter knew Neal was often at odds with himself over what he should or should not do. Neal was brilliant and opportunities to run a con or to make a quick score likely presented themselves on a regular basis. The temptation to revert to his former ways, sometimes in the form of a small bespeckled man, was a constant companion. When things were slow at the office, when day after day was spent sifting through mortgage fraud or other equally dull cases, Peter knew Neal contemplated more exciting, less legal, ways to spend his time. So far, for the most part, Neal had kept to the straight and narrow but there were firm boundaries in place to keep him there. Peter hoped when the time came that he was no longer bound by a tracking device, their friendship would be enough to keep him close and on the right path.
That was an inner debate he wished Neal would let him be part of.
"It was more like a dream than a memory," Neal finally managed, meeting Peter's eyes doubtfully. "But now I think it might have been both." Anguish overshadowed his doubt. "I thought I saved Kate."
Neal's voice broke when he said her name, his eyes filling with tears. Peter felt a jolt, too, not of heartbreak but of alarm. Of all the topics he'd hoped to avoid, at least until Neal was emotionally more stable, Kate Moreau topped the list. Even in the best of times, it was a difficult subject and so far, he and Neal had handled it by not handling it. Peter knew sooner or later it would probably come up but he'd sincerely hoped for later.
However, it was not to be. For better or worse, the time was now. He moved closer, placed his hand on Neal's shoulder and squeezed gently.
"You had a concussion, Neal," he said to the now bowed head. "It's understandable that things got mixed up in your head."
Head still down, Neal nodded. "It's just it seemed real." Peter could tell the tears had started to spill over. "One minute I was with her, I had her in my arms, and then..." Suddenly his voice hitched, his body spasming beneath Peter's hand. Realizing his tears were no longer silent, Neal leaned forward, bringing his hands up to cover his face.
Peter remembered the day Kate died, how broken and inconsolable Neal at been and then how shell shocked he'd looked when the Marshals had taken him away. Although the intake process would have been streamlined, Neal would still have been stripped and searched, fingerprinted and photographed and treated like a criminal instead of a person. After that unpleasant process, he'd been admitted to the prison infirmary and put on suicide watch. Neal had just watched the woman he loved die; he'd been heartbroken, grief-stricken and utterly alone.
But he wasn't alone now.
Peter released his grip on Neal's shoulder, knelt down in front of him and, just like the night before, pulled him forward into a hug. This time Neal offered no resistance, immediately wrapping his arms around Peter and burying his face in his chest. Peter's fear that he wouldn't be able to comfort Neal, that Neal wouldn't let him, melted away as he gently rocked back and forth, stroking the dark hair and offering whatever reassuring phrases came to mind.
After several minutes, Neal's crying grew less intense and finally ceased. Peter expected him to break the embrace but he didn't, he just shifted slightly, turning his head and resting his cheek against his chest. Lingering sobs still periodically pierced the silence, and even though Peter's knees were killing him, he wasn't going to be the one to pull away.
"I'm sorry for the delay, Mr. Caffrey, there was-" Having entered the room the nurse stopped, realizing she'd interrupted. Neal dropped his arms, a blush of color creeping into his cheeks and Peter, feeling the heat rise in his own face as well, quickly got to his feet.
"I'm sorry," she said again, looking from one to the other. "I have your discharge papers, Mr. Caffrey," she informed. "Do you want to go over them now or do you need a minute?"
Not wanting to delay his release by even a minute, Neal quickly got to his feet.
"No," he insisted. "I'm fine." It was Neal's standard, one-size-fits-all answer but his blotchy, tear-streaked face said otherwise. The skeptical arch of the nurse's eyebrow said as much. "At least I will be," he amended, his cheeks again flushing. "When I get home."
"I understand, Mr. Caffrey," she offered sympathetically. "These are pretty simple. We'll go over them and then you can be on your way."
With clipboard in hand, she began. She was right, it was pretty simple. Since his concussion had occurred over a week prior, there were few instructions. No medications were being prescribed and no dietary restrictions were being imposed. He wouldn't need constant supervision, Peter had to smile at the look Neal sent his way at that, but he should have a friend or family member check on him daily. He could begin resuming his normal activities at the first of the week, but she stressed the importance of taking things slowly. Doing too much too fast could cause symptoms to return. She finished up with a list of things that would signal possible problems and told him if they occurred, he should contact Dr. Adams or, if they were severe, call 911. He was scheduled for a follow-up appointment with Dr. Adams the following Friday afternoon at 1:15 and Dr. Cope had included her contact information in case he wished to follow up with her as well.
"Do you have any questions?" She asked when she'd finished.
"Just one," Neal responded with a smile. "Where do I sign?"
Handing him a pen, she indicated a place on the paper. "Initial here. And here." She flipped the page over. "And sign here."
"That's it," she said, removing the sheets from the clipboard and extricating his copies. She handed one set to Neal and reattached the other. "If you have questions later, or if there are any problems, don't hesitate to call. I'll have the orderly bring a wheelchair." She looked at Peter. "You can bring your car around to the visitor loading zone. Just pull under the awning."
Unfortunately, the awkwardness that had arrived with the nurse did not leave with her. Once they were alone, Peter could feel the tension in the room. Neal was quiet, uncomfortable, and uncertain as to what to do to alleviate that, Peter decided to give him some space.
"I'll just go down and get the car," Peter said a bit gruffly, breaking the silence.
He reached over to get Neal's bag but just as his hand closed around the strap, Neal's hand closed around his. Surprized, Peter looked up.
Blue eyes met his. "Thanks, Peter," Neal said softly, the sincerity of his gratitude without question. "For everything."
Neal had been trying to manage his unruly emotions. Anytime they'd overwhelmed him, anytime he had expressed genuine feelings through word or tear, it had been with him fighting against it every step of the way. But this time was different. This time Neal wasn't fighting, wasn't trying to hide, press down or conceal his feelings. This time he was expressing them of his own free will.
Neal had been on the verge tears since he'd awakened the day before and now, seeing the openness in Neal's eyes, Peter found himself facing the same difficulty. He held Neal's gaze, doing his best to drop his own defenses so Neal could see the truth and know he understood.
Neal wasn't thanking him for taking his bag down or getting the car but for something much more meaningful to both of them.
Friendship.
"You're welcome, Neal."
The end