Lost
It was a task force operation. Sometimes Neal liked these jobs as he got to work with interesting new people. But, other times, those new people weren't so nice which countered any potential interest they might present. This was one of the latter operations.
They were working with Agent Sullivan. He was a ladder-climbing hotshot from Washington who seemed to find it his mission to make Neal's life miserable while they were working together.
Case in point, he spent the ride up the elevator pointing out details of Neal's life that he didn't approve of. Then, when they reached the office, he was confident enough to blatantly state, "No wonder you don't talk about your family Caffrey, they probably abandoned you."
Not overly interested in his jab, Neal just grunted. "You might not be far off there. My earliest memory is of waking up on a riverbank with no idea who I was or how I ended up there. No one ever came looking for me."
He wasn't feeling right so Neal moved to take off his tie so that he could breathe easier. Then he took off his jacket, vest, and shirt trying to find the source of his distress.
Sullivan wasn't certain what was happening so he stepped back quietly as Peter approached.
The team had just run a sting to make an arrest completing their taskforce. However, when Neal was leaving the scene and walking back towards the vehicles he was bumped by another pedestrian passing by. It hurt slightly, but he thought they had something in their pocket. Now he wasn't so sure.
"What are you doing, Neal?" Peter was by his side in worry while the rest of the office paused to observe.
"My heart rate is up, I'm burning hot, and it's getting harder to breathe," Neal stated his symptoms while Peter ordered Jones to dial emergency 911.
"Bingo!" Neal indicated a tiny puncture mark on his arm with a red circle around it. The injury seemed harmless, but apparently, he'd been poisoned. "Just after we left the scene, a man bumped into me." Giving the description so that the team could trace him, Neal noticed that Diana was writing down the details furiously. "Isn't white-collar supposed to be a tamer field? It's not like there's typically assassins stabbing people in the streets." Neal knew where that was a more common occurrence, but he refrained from commenting on it.
"You just have to go and make everything more complicated." Peter sighed, but Neal knew he was worried about him and trying to cover it up as emotions weren't comfortable for the agent. "Here, sit down."
With Peter's help, Neal lowered himself to the floor while trying to analyze what might be in his system. It hadn't killed him, at least not yet, but it had hit him rather hard from the elevator ride to standing in the office. He hadn't noticed anything beyond a dull ache before that and it had been so minuscule he'd not paid it any mind.
"Hey, Neal, are you with me?" Peter seemed to be calling for his attention so Neal focused in on him.
"Why don't you tell me more about what you were saying before? What is this about waking up on a riverbank?" The agent was curious, but he also wanted to keep Neal engaged in conversation with him. Neal knew what the tactic was so he complied.
"Don't know much. I woke up on the river bank soaking wet and feeling like a drowned rat. It was a warm afternoon, but I was still mostly in the shallows with the water keeping me cold. The next time I regained consciousness there were some police officers talking over me as they handled the situation for finding me." Neal drifted off into those memories of the hot sun on his face while the cool water slowly flowed past him preventing him from maintaining a decent body temperature. He'd hurt like the river had pummeled him downstream against the river bed and any obstacle in its path until spiting him up into the mushy shallows where he seemed to be stuck in the mud.
Snapping fingers in his face brought his attention back to Peter's worried expression. "I need you to stay with me, Neal. The paramedics are coming up the elevator and will be here in another minute or two. What happened after they found you?"
Trying to hold on, Neal picked the story back up. "As a result, I was transported to the nearest hospital where I was diagnosed with multiple head injuries, bruising all over, sunburn, symptoms of drowning, and amnesia. They estimated me to be about ten but were uncertain as I had no identification on me and I wasn't in the system. When no one came for me, I was placed in foster care with a retired police officer in a nearby town. She had retired due to an injury but she made sure I had everything I needed until I left at eighteen." Those had been hard years. The local police force came up with the theory that it was an attempted murder and he was abandoned when the effort failed. Their attitude had affected some of the community as many looked upon him as the misfit stranger no one wanted. It didn't bode well for playground bullies or town gossips; he'd been the mockery of them all for years. Fortunately, the retired police officer who'd taken him in didn't hold to those theories. Ellen had feared that perhaps there had been an accident. But, since no one ever came, Neal was more inclined to believe the theory that he'd been abandoned. Whether that included attempted murder or not haunted his nightmares as a child and even up into the rare occurrence as an adult. Murky memories of nearly drowning were the most realistic and worst methods of attempted murder that his mind tortured him with.
"Neal," Peter resulted in tapping his face to get his attention back. "What date were you found, do you know?"
Mumbling the date, Neal felt himself drifting into unconsciousness and it didn't matter how much Peter yelled at him to stay with him, he couldn't stop the effects of whatever poison was in his system. As the world faded, he tipped sideways feeling Peter's hands catch him before oblivion took over.
The first few hours were a flurry of activity in White Collar as the team researched the assailant to find Damien Gray, a hired hitman often used by criminals when they sensed trouble coming. He'd been observing from afar and noticed that much of the case was focused around Neal's presence. After they caught him, he denied having done anything to their agent, but with enough evidence they were able to convince him otherwise. Rather than go down for manslaughter, he gave them enough information to give Neal a fighting chance.
But, if that fighting chance was going to be enough or not, was still something that worried them.
After Neal slipped into a coma, Peter pulled up a chair and worked out of his hospital room. It wasn't any current case that kept him occupied, but rather two old cases. He was researching Neal's history in potential conjuncture with another missing person's file in the hopes of solving the mysteries once and for all, for all of them.
When a nurse was doing another routine check of Neal's vitals, Peter waited until she'd finished before asking his question. "What would it take to do a DNA test?"
Pausing, she wasn't sure what his objective was but she answered the question. "Is this a test you would like to have run on you?"
Nodding, Peter's eyes drifted over to Neal. "Yes, and my consultant there. Based on what he was saying when he started to react to the poison, he could be my brother. He said no one ever came for him, but we've been looking for more than twenty years. If they are the same person, I would like to confirm it and find out why our search didn't cross over with his discovery."
Understanding, the nurse said she'd speak to the doctor, but that forms and consent would be required if he authorized it.
"I'm his handler. As such, I have the legal authority to authorize it on his behalf. This way, if he isn't my brother, then only one of us has to be disappointed." Peter had the documentation on hand and passed it to the nurse.
The nurse left and Peter began working on other avenues.
Pulling out his phone, he dialed the number from memory. 'Hello, I'd like to speak to Jacob Thorne. I've got a lead on the Burke case."
Listening to the ringing, it only took a moment for the man to pick up. "Hello, Peter. I hear you have a lead on your brother's case?"
Smiling into the phone, Peter knew he couldn't ask for a better ally on this. The man had been working with them and tolerating their regular calls from Peter and his parents for twenty plus years. "Yes. He matches my brother's description, was estimated to be a few years older which is relative, but was found approximately thirty-six hours after the accident on a riverbank. I know not to get my hopes up, but they're already there. Neal is my consultant so I've known him for some time now, but he never talks about his family. Yesterday he talked about his past for the first time and now I have to know. One way or the other, this needs to be resolved."
"Why haven't you asked him?" Jacob asked the obvious question.
"I can't. He'd been poisoned during our operation and although he's survived so far, he's in a coma. The medical staff is reviewing the possibility of doing a DNA test, so I figured I might as well work on the research in the meanwhile. Neal, he thinks he was abandoned after a failed attempt at murder. Is it possible for something to have happened, where the wires didn't cross for us to hear of his discovery or for him to learn of his disappearance?" Peter was pacing the length of the room in agitated excitement.
"There shouldn't be any reason, but then again, we didn't have today's computers and technological reliability back then. Give me what you've got and I'll see what I can find." Jacob was realistically reserved, a professional requirement, but he always managed to inject just the slightest hint of optimism. That even if hope seemed lost, that it just meant there was something else waiting to be found until the story was complete.
Giving Neal's description, the date he claimed to have been found, his condition at the time, and some basic information based on his general records, Peter hoped it was enough to find the solution. Thanking the man, he ended the call hoping something would turn up good news.
On a whim, he then hit a familiar speed dial. "Jones, I've got a job for you and Diana."
When both agents were sitting on speakerphone, he listed what he wanted. "Remember when Neal gave his story about being found on the river bank, he described his injuries, the date, and that no one ever came for him? I want to know the medical records that match a kid found on that date in that condition and what happened to him. If I'm right, I know who Neal is and I've got other avenues going, but the more information that can be found the more likely the whole story can be built for him and his family. They've been looking for him for over twenty years, so unless there's something wrong, I can't fathom why this wasn't resolved decades ago." Peter knew it was going to be daunting, but if anyone could pull it off, they were going to be the best shot.
"You think he's him?" Hughes' voice piped in.
"I do. He has the same description, was found thirty-six hours after the accident, his amnesia explains why he didn't remember to find his family, and no one came for him. What I don't know is why the lines didn't cross with an investigation into a found boy assumed to be a survivor of attempted murder and a lost boy from a car accident into the river. Thorne is researching, but I'd appreciate it if you'd poke around into the local precinct that found him." Peter knew his boss was the only member of the team aware of his family's tragedy. It was a sore spot for Peter and not something he readily talked about.
"Will do. If nothing else, we can put this under further investigation into an active CI for the purpose of reforming him." Hughes promised while putting his approval on the research. "But I have to warn you, Peter, there's always the chance that he isn't him. I know I don't have to say it, but don't get your hopes up too high."
Sighing, Peter knew Hughes would do everything he could for him as this was the best lead anyone had ever had. However, the advice to be careful was to be expected. "Thorne advised that too, but it's too late. He has to be him; this is the only real solid lead we've ever had. It can't be a coincidence."
"It can be a coincidence. Remember that, Peter." Hughes warned more sternly before wrapping up the call.
With the work done, Peter knew he didn't have anything else to occupy him until he could put the DNA test into motion or received the results from the other investigations.
Pausing in his pacing, he turned to look at Neal. The man lay pale in his hospital gown with the tubes running in and out of his body. A ventilator was breathing for him while the machines gently hummed along with the steady beep of the heart monitor. He was alive, but his body was weak after fighting the poison and then the effects of the cure.
Sighing again, Peter ran his hand through his hair. It always seemed ironic to him how one poison was often contradicted by another poison. Neal had risked death to live.
Walking back over to his bedside, he took his seat and patted his friend's hand. "I don't know if you're my brother, but I hope you are. My best friend would become family, and we could both have happy resolutions to our mysteries."
The nurse returned with the doctor and they discussed Neal's condition before the doctor laid out his stipulations for allowing the DNA test.
Agreeing with the arrangement, Peter knew it would be another day or two before Neal's statistics would be stable enough, but for Neal's sake, another day or two wouldn't make much difference.
After the doctor left, Peter settled back into his bedside vigilance. Moving between working case files, crossword puzzles, and the sports page, he kept himself occupied while he waited for Neal to wake up or the next phase in his investigation.
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