a/n: 3 in one day but this last one's a cliffie. I hope you'll forgive me :)
"Neal? Can you hear me?"
He cracked his eyes open. Just a little bit at first.
"Hey that's right. Just take it slow."
They drooped closed. He tried again.
"Come back to us Neal."
"Peter?"
The name came so easily. No more razor blades. No more gravel trucks.
"Is it over?"
"I don't think so. Not yet."
He came to in a cell, but not the cell he was expecting. He also woke up alone, but warm. Not the bad warm of fever, though that was there too. It was a warm bed kind of warm. Cup of coffee on the veranda on a summer morning with June, warm. Pillows and blankets and…
"What in the hell is he still doing here?"
"Would you be quiet? You're gonna wake him up!" an unfamiliar voice hissed.
"Wake him up? He shouldn't even be here, Mallory! Why isn't he on the way to the hospital?"
Neal tried the eye thing again, managing little more than a crack. He shifted on the bed and nearly cried out. A pain he wasn't expecting erruputed in his arm, flashing up and over into his chest, stealing his breath and making him cough pitifully.
It all came rushing back then, Smith, the yard, Forsythe, getting stabbed. Neal glanced over at his bad arm - and now bad shoulder - and took in the sight of the bandages. His entire upper torso had been wrapped in them, probably to stabilize the shoulder and keep him from injuring it further. There was blood on the bandages.
"You know the rules, Benny. No ambulance until your boss and Dr. M get here."
"You do realize he just got stabbed, right?"
The conversation going on outside in the hall did not stop as Neal began to stir. Not even as he opened his eyes all the way and started to cough. He was still in a cell of sorts, but it was one of the cells he'd observed in the infirmary the first day he'd arrived at the prison. When Smith shoved him through and convinced Delores he didn't need an exam. If you squinted, you could almost imagine it were a regular hospital room, except for the bullet proof glass on the door windows. He could see two people talking outside his room though those windows. Richards, and the one he'd just called Mallory. She appeared to be a nurse.
"Relax," Mallory was telling Richards. "It was just the shoulder and I've stopped the bleeding. He'll be fine until Dr. M. gets here." Neal could only assume she meant Dr. Delores, and if that was the case, he figured he was more likely to be sent back to his cell then to the hospital. How fun was that going to be? Trying to heal from a shiv in the shoulder back down in solitary. It would be impossible, that's what it would be. If he didn't die from infection then he'd die at the hands of Smith and Forsythe. With no proper medical care, there was a chance his arm would never work properly again. And with only one arm…
"Besides, Smithy said…" Mallory continued, but Richards stopped her.
"I don't give a rat's ass what your brother said, Mal. That bastard is the reason Sanchez is in here in the first place."
Great, just what Neal needed, yet another person in this prison loyal to Smith.
Was this even a prison? Or just some asylum where the prisoners had taken over and were all posing as guards. If it weren't for Richards, Neal might wonder if he was the only sane person left in the building. That would account for the pain meds they were obviously not giving him. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. Every time he drew in a breath, which was laborious and dangerous all on its own thanks to his congested lungs and constant need to cough, it was agony. Not even the oxygen flowing through the mask covering the lower half of his face was helping. Every time his thoughts even strayed in the direction of his wound it gave a god awful throb and whited out the world enough for him to lose track of the conversation going on outside.
Neal closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the pain. Tried to focus on just pulling air in and pushing it back out. A good rhythm, a calming rhythm, like the one that smartwatch the agents in the office had given him for Christmas last year always had taught him. The watch he hated but still wore around the office sometimes just to make them happy. Christmas had come and gone long before Robert Leech had waltzed into his life. Even so, Neal couldn't help but wonder if he would ever live to see another one. Or if this winter would ever end.
"You know I don't make the rules, Ben. The only person who can authorize us to call an ambulance for an injured inmate is Dr. MacKenzie. Dierdra didn't show up for her shift today and screwed me over. I'm here alone and if I break protocol, she'll have me fired. And you know what a vindictive bitch Delores can be."
"And if he dies?" Richards pointed out angrily. "Look at him Mallory!"
Both the guard and the nurse glanced over at him. But either they thought he was still asleep or just didn't care that he was awake and listening. Either way, he was ignored as their rather heated conversation continued.
"Would you please calm down?" Mallory pleaded. She was a pretty young woman in burgundy scrubs with dark hair and who bore little resemblance to her brother. In fact, had Neal passed the two of them on the street, he never would have guessed they were siblings. "He's not going to die. I'm pumping him full of fluids and the doc will be here any minute. Just hold your water."
"What about the other things you told me about? His fever and his low… oxygen or whatever?"
Neal watched Mallory throw up her hands.
"This is a prison infirmary, Benny. We barely have the staff or the supplies available to treat a paper cut. I'm doing the best that I can for him until everyone gets here."
Mallory's best appeared to be the wrapped shoulder that was still bleeding despite her earlier assertion to Richards, and an IV that had been installed into the back of his one good hand. Neal lifted it off the bed, careful to keep the other half of his torso steady to avoid jostling his shoulder again and setting the sparks off behind his eyes. It was connected to a bag of saline dangling from what looked to be an old wire coat hanger that had been stretched out and hooked over the curtain rod above the room's only window. There was also an ancient looking piece of equipment beside his bed that appeared to be some kind of machine to record his vitals. A heart monitor that would have been at home on the set of a 1950s medical drama rounded out the rest of the dreary scene. It sat on a table beside his bed, quiet and dark. He wasn't hooked up to it.
"If you don't have the supplies," Richards was saying, "then call the damn ambulance like I told you to."
"Not until the doc gets here, and that's final Benjamin." Neal half expected Mallory to stomp her foot.
"That woman doesn't know what the fuck she's doing. None of you people around here do. You're just a bunch of pushovers and second rate hacks."
Mallory seemed offended and took a step back as though she'd just been slapped.
"I didn't mean you, Mal," Richards apologized immediately, his face softening as he closed the gap between them again. "You know how I can get sometimes."
The guard reached up to touch the side of the Mallory's face then seemed to think better of it. Neal wondered if this was maybe the dirt Smith had on Richards, considering the guard seemed to fixate on the tanline of his ring finger before dropping the hand altogether. "It's just that woman. Delores. You know she lost her license in three states before Smith got her the job here, right?"
"I know that, Benny. Just like I know how you know about my situation. And how I cannot afford to make that woman mad at me and lose my job." Mallory pleaded before sighing dramatically. "Look, I'm not saying that he shouldn't go to the hospital. He really should. But Dr. MacKenzie was very specific on the phone. I'm not to make any calls until she gets here, examines him and then signs off on the ambulance."
"That guy's been down in solitary for a week telling everyone and anyone who'll listen that he's not Dominic Sanchez and no one batted an eye. Now he needs medical attention and suddenly everyone's insisting we go by the book? It's not right Mallory. None of it is."
Had Neal been hooked up to the heart monitor beside his bed, it might have registered the uptick in his heartbeat as he listened to Richards speak. The man was proving right then and there that he was no Leech stooge and that he was at least entertaining the idea that Neal could be telling the truth. Perhaps getting stabbed was the best thing that could have happened to him. Even if he still wasn't able to convince Richards or Mallory to call the FBI at least there would be the doctors and nurses at the hospital. How many of those had he charmed over the years? They'd see him as an inmate at first, and distrust him completely, but he knew how to prolong a hospital stay long enough to buy himself enough time to get his hands on a phone.
If Dr. Delores let him, that was.
If he wasn't sent back to his cell.
If only his lungs were working properly and something wasn't broken in his throat.
Despite his dream of Peter, Neal knew it was still all razor blades and gravel trucks in there. He knew his body still burned hot with fever, and that there was something going on in his arm. The added trauma from the stab wound, his dehydration and muscle weakness, and the aches that had never quite gone away after his jump off the bridge... All of it was working together to incapacitate him. And it was doing a fantastic job.
Neal felt like his body was shutting down around him, throwing white cloths over everything that used to be vital, and shuttering up. Pain was his constant companion, the rattling in his chest a new way of life. Would it even matter if he got Richards on his side once the infection in his shoulder settled in? Because it would settle in. When had anyone thought to sterilize a prison shiv before stabbing it in to someone? He was so weak already and he had nothing left to fight with.
"Try and relax," Mallory said, suddenly appearing at Neal's beside. He hadn't even realized he'd drifted. Forcing his eyes towards the door he found no sign of Richards. The man was gone.
Damn it.
"Peter Burke," Neal forced out, having to pause to cough when he choked on the words. Mallory had to raise the head of his bed up a few inches before it would stop. The new elevation helped with the hacking, but not with the pain that took him back over. He grabbed for the railings of his bed and didn't let go again until the worst of it passed and he realized he'd lost all feeling in his hand.
"I know it hurts, but try to stay still, honey. The doctor will be here soon and then we'll see about getting you over to the ER. You're probably going to need some stitches and to be on the oxygen for a while."
"What the hell are you doing in there with him?" a familiar voice bellowed from the door and both Neal and Mallory looked over to find a very angry looking Smith standing there. The wound in Neal's shoulder gave an awful jolt as he heart tried to hammer its way out of his chest. Smith was the last person in the world he wanted to see right now.
"And why the hell is this asshole not in restraints!"
Smith stormed in, all but pushing Mallory out of the way. He grabbed Neal's wrist, the one with the IV, and cuffed it to the bed before Neal even had the chance to protest. When the guard realized he couldn't do the same with Neal's other arm, he left the room in a huff, dragging Mallory along behind him. The door to Neal's cell slammed shut behind them.
"That guy is a cop killer and was just involved in another inmate's death. What the hell were you thinking?" Smith said, rounding on his sister outside the door. Neal could still see them.
"I was trying to do my job, Frank," Mallory snapped, pulling her arm out of Smith's grip and rubbing at the spot like it hurt. Neal, still shaken and winded but grateful to have survived yet another encounter with the sadistic guard, tried his best to focus on what they were saying. It was hard. His mind kept wandering to the pain in his shoulder. There was more blood on the bandages now.
"I don't care Mallory. I'm calling Jimmy. I just got off shift otherwise I'd do it myself, but that guy needs to be under 24 hour guard. And you are not to go in there unless you're with Johnny or me."
"Jesus, Franklin, give it a rest. I'm your sister, not one of your inmates."
"Bite me, Mal," Smith said back with all the wit of a wet noodle. "And don't call me Franklin. Richards gets wind of that shit and he'll never let me hear the end of it."
"I like Ben. He's a good guy."
"You're just saying that because he slept with you."
Mallory looked like she'd just been slapped again. "I told you that in confidence, you bastard. You promised me that you weren't going to say anything about it."
"Keep your pants on, Mal. I didn't tell anyone if that's what you're worried about. But all the more reason to listen to your big brother and not go into the bad man's cell alone anymore."
Neal watched Mallory roll her eyes. "That guy in there couldn't hurt a fly even if he wanted too." Mallory pointed towards Neal. He closed his eyes quickly before Smith could look over and find that he was awake and listening. Semi awake at least, it was getting harder and harder to stay in the here and now. He was getting tired and his mind kept wanting to drift to other places, away from the pain, away from his traitorous body. Up and up away until he disappeared entirely. Or was it down, down, down?
"He's sick, dehydrated, malnourished, and weak as a kitten."
Finally, Neal thought idly to himself. Someone who understands.
"You need to relax and stop being such a dick, Franklin."
"You tell him Mallory," Neal accidentally said aloud. Lucky for him, it came out as little more than a wheezed whisper. Neither Smith nor Mallory even heard.
Neal closed his eyes again and swallowed carefully, trying to sooth his abused throat a bit. It didn't do much. Even with the IV hanging from the coat hanger beside his bed, it was no use. Nausea crept up on him once again. A cold clammy sensation he'd not been subjected too in a day or so. A sensation that made him nervous. Puking right now when he was barely holding on as it was, and with his shoulder, it was a recipe for disaster. He almost found himself wishing that Delores would get here already as his world wobbled and he tried to steady it with a hand on the bars of his bed again. The hand that didn't go far because Smith had handcuffed him to the bed, but he managed it. Maybe she would at least let them give him some pain meds before sending him back to his cell...
When Neal was with it enough to actually become aware of his surroundings again, the promised guard was outside his window. Smith was gone but Mallory was back, standing beside his bed and fiddling with his makeshift IV stand. Every now and then she would shoot the guard standing at the door a murderous glare. Neal shook off his fatigue as best he could and started trying to psych himself up for trying to speak again. Being alone with the nurse was a situation he was only all too willing to take advantage of. He wet his lips and tried again as the woman checked his vitals.
"Please… the FBI."
"What was that, hon?" Mallory asked, pulling a stethoscope out of her ears and leaning in a little closer. Not close enough that he might be able to reach out and grab her, if that was his intention, but enough to hear better. Neal tried not to take it personally. He'd been trying to convince people for a week now that he was not the hardened criminal they all thought he was. That he was incapable of the crimes for which he'd been accused. But if he couldn't convince them, then how was he supposed to convince Mallory? She was right to be afraid of him, and cautious. As a nurse in a prison, how could she not be? Either she was very new, or, like Richards, had sensed that he wasn't a threat.
"Call Burke. Neal. Tell him I'm here. Please," he tried again.
Neal couldn't even tell if he was making any sense or if the words had come out at all. Mallory just smiled a kind smile and reached out to pat the top of his good hand. She was gone a moment later. Whatever. It didn't matter. Neal would try again at the hospital. Once they saw how sick he was and got some damn medicine into him, then maybe he wouldn't be so weak or incoherent.
But Neal should have known better. He should have guessed that the nightmare was far from over. The soft bed, warm blankets, IV fluids, they were just fate fucking around with him again.
Smith came back and the man looked so livid, Neal was afraid he might unholster his weapon and start firing at him from the doorway. The guard on the door wisely got out of the man's way as Smith barreled past him and made straight for the side of Neal's bed. He was in civilian clothes now and without his gun. That was probably the only thing that saved Neal's life in that moment.
Cold fingers, long and calloused, curled around Neal's neck, cutting off his oxygen and crushing his windpipe. He tried to defend himself as the guard just stood there in the doorway watching. Was this the infamous Johnny then? Smith's partner in crime?
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Smith screamed into his face. "That Leech and I didn't have people stashed in every police station and sheriff's office in the county?
The grip on his throat tightened, if that was even possible. Smith's face was inches from his own. Somewhere far off, someone was yelling at the guard to stop.
"Forsythe was an idiot. I never should have let Leech talk me into letting him have a piece of you first."
Neal's good arm was still handcuffed to the bed. Had it not been, he would have torn at Smith's hands with his fingernails. Dug them in as deep as they would go and then torn as much flesh away as he could. But Neal's arm was not free and Smith was not stopping. Black spots began popping up in Neal's field of vision as he started slipping away. He'd imagined the end would come someday. But not like this. Not when he'd come so close to getting sent to the hospital with another shot to contact Peter.
Peter. He would miss his friend when he was gone. He thought back on all the good times they'd shared over the years as the world faded away. Of Mozzie and June. His friends.
He couldn't control it anymore. The end was coming whether he wanted it too or not.
"What in the fuck do you think you're doing?" Smith's hands disappeared from Neal's throat. Lungs that he was sure had given up the fight kicked back in suddenly, and Neal drew in the biggest breath he could manage under the circumstances. It wasn't enough. The blackness kept gathering, threatening to pull him down and never let him resurface again. The room spun and his chest heaved as he watched Smith and Richards go toe to toe in the middle of his hospital room. Smith went down after a spectacular uppercut from Richards. The guard was practically lifted off his feet, there was so much power behind the blow.
The world slipped farther away as Richards appeared at the side of his bed. "Sanchez?"
I'm not Sanchez.
"Can you hear me? What's wrong with him, Mallory?"
An excellent question.
"Caffrey, come on man! Hold on. They just got here."
But Neal was already gone.