For those who haven't read my stories before, please know I generally write hurt/comfort. That's what I like to read and what I like to write. My Neal is more open; my Peter is more thoughtful. So if that's not your thing, then my stories may not be for you. I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility.
Chapter One
"What?" Elizabeth's voice sounded from her side of the bed. It was after eleven, and he was aware he was keeping her awake. He darkened the phone and placed it on the bedside table. "Neal?" she pressed. No doubt she had seen he'd been logged into Neal's tracking app. Again. He'd been virtually stalking his CI all afternoon.
"There can be no good reason for him to be there," Peter growled.
Elizabeth rolled to her side, planted her elbow on her pillow, and propped her head on her hand. "Where?"
"Some dive bar on Water Street," he grumbled. According to his tracking data, Neal had shown up at the hole in the wall bar just before 10. It had to be a meeting of some kind; Neal wouldn't be caught dead in a rough and disreputable place like that. Not unless he was meeting with a rough and disreputable person and not acting as Neal Caffrey at all. Peter had unearthed many of Neal's alias, but he wasn't foolish enough to believe he'd found them all. He also knew Neal's perchance for trouble, and though he had, for the most part, toed the line since his work release two months ago, Peter knew better than to be lured into a false sense of security. After all, Neal Caffrey was a smart and skilled conman and, in spite of his impulsiveness, could be remarkably patient when he had a plan in play. "Bad neighborhood. He shouldn't be there."
He saw Elizabeth frown in the low light. "Maybe he just went there for a drink."
Elizabeth liked Neal-he was charming and a hopeless romantic, and of course, she wanted to believe the best of him. But even she sounded doubtful. Neal liked to dress to the nines, and thanks to his new landlord, he was able to do so on the less than generous stipend he received for his services to the FBI. But Neal Caffrey in his Devore, thin tie, and Fedora wouldn't last ten minutes among the patrons of bars like the one on Water Street.
"There are plenty of bars in Manhattan, El," he pointed out. "He wouldn't go all the way to Brooklyn to get a drink." He shook his head. "He's up to something. Something he knows he shouldn't be."
Her frowned deepened. "Any idea what?"
Neal had been acting...he searched for the right word to describe his demeanor. Not guilty exactly but, well, something. It had started after his mid-afternoon coffee run. Since then, he'd been distracted, and more than once, Peter had caught him lost in thought as if he was puzzling out something. What had happened in the short time, it took to get coffee? Had he seen someone from his past? Found out something about Kate? Or had that mysterious friend of his shown up with a job opportunity or even an escape plan? Was he about to do something stupid? Peter wasn't sure what was going on in Neal's head, but he knew something was. That was why he'd been more closely monitoring Neal's tracking data. After work, he'd gone back to Riverside Drive, and as the evening drug on, Peter had begun to think maybe, just maybe, he'd been wrong to assume the worst. But then Neal left the apartment and took the trip to Vinegar Hill; it wasn't outside his two-mile radius, but it hugged the line. And Peter knew he hadn't been wrong nor had the warning bells going off in his head since mid-afternoon. Neal was up to something.
"No," Peter replied grimly, "but I intend to find out."
He was still lying there, wondering what the hell Neal was doing when the phone rang. It wasn't silenced, but it was turned low; he grabbed the vibrating device quickly.
"Burke."
"Officer O'Malley here, NYPD." Peter's heart began to pound. "Do you know a Neal Caffrey?"
Dammit, he thought as he sat up. Neal had been up to something, and now he'd been caught. There was going to be hell to pay. Hughes hadn't been keen on Caffrey working with them, but he'd assured his superior he could handle him. Well, obviously, he'd been wrong. And if Neal thought throwing around the name of a Federal Agent to the NYPD would get him out of trouble, he was sadly mistaken. He'd been warned more than once. If he'd made this choice, he'd have to live with the consequences. They both would.
"Yes, I do," he gritted out, unable to conceal the anger in his voice. "What's he done?"
There was a pause before he replied. "Gotten himself nearly beat to death from what I can tell." Peter's breath caught. He'd been expecting something completely different. Neal wasn't under arrest; he was hurt. The thought that maybe he'd worn the Devore to Vinegar Hill after all flitted through his mind. "They're taking him to Mercy General."
Hospital? Nearly beaten to death?
"How bad?" he choked out as Elizabeth sat up beside him, a look of worry on her face. "How bad is he hurt?"
Again there was a pause before he answered. "Looks pretty bad to me," he informed with a tone of regret. "Witnesses say there were four of them."
"Was it a robbery?" he asked. Neal in a Devore would be a prize target in a place like that.
"I don't think so," the officer replied. "Still had his wallet, watch, and phone."
Peter felt a return of his previous unease. What the hell had Neal gotten himself into? "Is he conscious?"
"No," O'Malley replied. "He was out when we got here." Peter heard the sound of sirens in the background. "The MT's are pulling out now, Agent Burke. Should be at Mercy General in fifteen minutes or so. I can meet you there."
If Neal was unconscious, he hadn't told the officer who to call. "How did you know to call me?"
"You were the only contact in his phone," the man explained. "No mom or dad. No girlfriend or friend. Just Agent Burke."
The sadness of his words struck Peter hard. In a very real way, he was all Neal had. "I'm on my way."
He hit the end button and sprang from the bed.
"What happened?" Elizabeth asked, her volume increasing with her concern. "Who's hurt?"
"Neal," Peter answered, discarding his pajamas and grabbing his trousers. "They're taking him to Mercy General."
"What happened?" She asked for the second time. "Was he in an accident?"
"The officer said he'd been beaten," Peter told her, only half buttoning his shirt. It would take him twenty minutes to get to the hospital.
Her eyes widened. "Beaten?" she echoed. "Have they caught who did it?" He had the same questions. "How bad is he hurt?"
He retrieved his shoes from the closet and sat down on the edge of the bed. He answered both questions at once.
"I don't know, El." He pulled on his shoes. He hadn't bothered with socks. "All I know is he's on the way to the hospital. Try not to worry," he said, reaching around to give her a quick kiss. "I'll call when I know more."
Mercy General might be the nearest hospital, but it was definitely outside Neal's radius. He was almost to the front door when the alarm on his phone went off. He cursed himself for not pre-emptively calling to alert the Marshals to the situation and silenced the alarm just as his phone began to ring. He didn't need caller ID to know who was calling.
"Burke," he snapped. "Caffrey's not attempting to flee Federal custody," he stated before the caller could speak. "He is on the way to Mercy General in Brooklyn. I'm on my way there now."
"Are you certain?" came the skeptical reply. "It could be a ploy, a way to buy time," the man suggested. "Caffrey is listed as a high-"
"Flight risk, yeah I know he is," Peter cut in, twisting the lock on the door and then closing it behind him. "But he's not running," he said, heading in a half-run himself to the car. He didn't have time to stop and talk about Neal, he needed to get to Neal. "I spoke to the officer at the scene. He is unconscious and being transported to the hospital."
"Very well, Agent." The man didn't sound convinced. "We will drop the radius restrictions and continue to monitor his location. Keep us informed as to whether you will continue to need Caffrey in the system."
Not a keep us informed as to how serious his injuries are. Or even keep us informed as to how he's doing. No. Basically, just keep us informed as to whether he lives or dies so we will know if a tracking device will be necessary going forward.
Damn cold bastard. Neal was nothing more than a number to him, a prisoner ID number, and whether he lived or died didn't seem to matter in the least.
Peter bit out a will do and hung up. Less than thirty seconds later, he was in the Taurus and on his way to Mercy General.
