Author's notes:
Hi! Thank you again for all your kind comments. I really appreciate your taking the time to write. ❤
Ever since posting the first chapter here I've been troubled by my inability to reply to comments made by people who do not have an account here. Last week, I've came up with a simple solution - from now on I will post my responses to the guest reviews at the end of the new chapter. We're a small community so I don't think anyone will mind. :)
The illustration for this chapter you can either find on my DoodleAddicts account (…/vincentthecat) or on the story Rooftops of New York that I post on Archive Of Our Own (VincentTheCat).
I hope to post the next chapter in four weeks (11.07).
Chapter 20 "Takedown"
"Which one of you would hand his son a stone when he asks for a loaf of bread,
or a snake when he asks for a fish?
If you then, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him."
Matthew 7:9-11 (NABRE)
It took about three minutes to convince the criminals to leave the vans. When they finally surrendered, they were all very careful to keep their hands above their heads. All except for one.
Peter could not remember ever having felt so relieved to see someone. It was almost impossible not to push his way through the SWAT team and get to the boy. But because of the criminals he made himself wait. He was determined to do everything in his power to prevent Neumann and his men from ever realizing Neal's role in the FBI ambush.
Peter watched as one of the SWAT team members finished doing the pat-down on Neal. Then, as instructed, the man led the child out of the immediate takedown area, and took him straight to Peter.
"Sir," he said, stopping maybe two feet from Peter. Neal visibly stiffened as recognition crossed his face. "He's clean, but I found this in his pocket."
As the man handed him the money, Peter frowned in surprise. It looked like a large sum. Then he shook himself internally and nodded to the man.
"Thank you. I'll take over," he said, and placed a gentle hand on Neal's left shoulder.
"Watch your step," he said quietly, leading the boy to the FBI van.
/\_/\
='x'=
The screams and the lights… The headache and the shouts… The gun-shots heard in the distance…
Neal knows he is going down. He knows that someone will shoot him at any moment. It is just like in those stories Mil used to tell him. He is surrounded, the lights are blinding, the adults are shouting―
Neal sees Kyler within the corner of his eye. The man gets pinned to the ground. Someone's hand lands on Neal's shoulder and he flinches.
But there is nowhere for him to go and the hand stays there, keeping him in place. Squinting his eyes, Neal tries to see the man's face. He cannot. The lights are too bright and―
He recognizes the command to move. And so he does.
They move away from the lights. They pass the men in bulletproof vests aiming their guns at the vans. The adult's grip tightens on his shoulder and Neal stops.
He recognizes the adult standing in front of them.
"Sir," he hears his captor's voice and sees the undie nod.
"Thank you. I'll take over," Mister Morris says, resting his hand on Neal's left shoulder.
Still holding Neal's arm, the adult opens the back door to the nearest van.
"Watch your step," the adult says, gesturing to the two stairs leading to the vehicle.
/\_/\
='x'=
After placing Neal in the van, Peter decided to give the child a moment to calm down and adjust to the new situation. He looked at Diana.
"Please, call Elle. Let her know Neal's safe," he said tightly.
His probie immediately nodded, and Peter turned to look at the child. Was that blood on Neal's clothes?
It must have been blood.
"Neal. Where are you hurt?" he asked.
Still looking distractedly around the van, the child shook his head.
"I know you're hurt," Peter insisted, hoping for a more comprehensive answer. A bit awkward as there was little to no space in the van, he squatted to meet Neal's eyes. "There's blood on your clothes."
Finally, the child's dazed gaze locked with his. His throat was working.
"I-it's… It's Mister Keller's, sir," he mumbled. Then as another gunshot could be heard, he gasped. "Don't shoot!"
"It's from Neumann's mansion, not from here. You're safe," Peter told him evenly, wondering what to do next. He did not want to stress Neal with an unnecessary examination.
"I think Mister Keller's dead…" the boy whispered.
Peter did not know what to say. Perhaps he was. "Can I cut the zip ties?" he asked after a moment.
Neal immediately nodded at these words, but when Peter took out the scissors, Neal flinched back. His eyes were wide. Peter felt a pang of guilt. Had he decided to do otherwise yesterday…
"I'm not going to hurt you, Neal," he said evenly. "If you give me your hands, I will cut the zip ties."
After a moment, Neal did oblige. Worriedly, Peter saw that the boy's wrists were slightly bruised.
"Thank you." Peter quickly cut the ties, and the child quickly withdrew his trembling hands. "It's okay. You can have your hands free. No one will cuff you." Saying that, he glanced sidelong at Diana.
She gave a tiny nod.
Peter stood up and took out a blanket. "May I?"
Neal did not answer, and Peter gently wrapped it around the child's shoulders. Then, he turned to the sacks on his left and fished out a few protein bars that his team usually made sure were there. In the second sack there were bottles of water. He squatted again and handed the food to the child. "There you go."
Hesitantly, Neal accepted the snacks.
"Can you uncork the bottle?"
The child gave him a quick, suspicious look, but did not question the request. After hiding the chocolate bars in the blanket, he easily uncorked the bottle, then met Peter's eyes. His motor skills were good. Peter made some space on the table next to Neal's right elbow. Quickly, he found a pen and a blank sheet of paper. "If you want to draw while I'm away," he said.
Almost before he finished speaking, the pen was in Neal's hand. The child, however, made no move to draw anything. Now, it was time for the hard part. Peter braced himself.
"Neal. I would like to have a look at your head, okay? To make sure there are no injuries that require immediate medical attention."
The child blinked. "What?"
"I'm going to examine your head now. I want to make sure there are no serious injuries there."
Neal did not answer, but Peter decided he could see a vague understanding in his eyes.
Carefully, he pushed back Neal's sticky curls to look at his forehead. The child flinched back.
"Does it hurt?" Peter asked immediately.
"N-no," Neal stuttered.
"Okay," Peter nodded. "If any area does hurt, tell me, okay?"
The child looked away anxiously, focusing on the pen and the bottled water in his hands.
Peter continued the examination. Looking for any bumps, wounds or bruises, he kept glancing at the child's face to make sure that no pang of pain would pass unnoticed. But except for a small, older looking bruise on the back of Neal's head there did not seem to be any more injuries. "Okay," Peter decided. "Your head is not hurt. Thank you for your patience."
Neal nodded slightly. His frightened gaze was still focused on the pen clutched in his hand.
"You're safe here, Neal," Peter said reassuringly, trying to figure out how to cross the last things off the health checklist without scaring the child even more. Neal clearly did not take the head examination well. Peter thought for a moment longer, then asked. "Do you know what the pupil of an eye is?"
The question made Neal look confused.
"It's that black dot in the center of the eye, right?" Peter clarified.
Neal nodded slightly.
"Alright. So if a person is healthy, when exposed to bright light, such as the light from this flashlight," he nodded at the medical light pen in his hand, "the pupil should shrink. I'm going to shine the flashlight into your eyes and see whether your pupils react normally."
Neal was silent. There was confusion and fear on his face.
"Or maybe you would like me to show it on my own eyes first?"
Neal said nothing.
"Alright," Peter decided briskly. "I'll show it on myself first. Keep your attention."
After making sure the child was watching, Peter turned on the medical light pen and directed it at his face. He shone it first in his right eye, then in his left eye, then turned off the light pen. He blinked a few times and turned to look at Neal. The child had a dubious expression on his face.
"So? Have the pupils shrank?"
The child nodded slightly.
"That's good. Means I'm not hurt," Peter said. "Now it's your turn, okay?"
Neal nodded after a moment.
"Thank you. Just remember to keep your eyes open, alright?"
The child nodded, and Peter turned on the medical light pen again. Neal sat up a bit straighter when he turned it towards him, but did not blink. Peter checked Neal's right eye first, then the left one. The pupils constricted normally, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief.
He turned off the light pen. "All done. Your eyes respond to the light normally, Neal. That's good."
Neal said nothing, rubbing his eyes.
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. Once again he went through his mental checklist to make sure he had not forgotten anything. But Neal did not really seem to be physically hurt. If the child was seriously injured or if he had been drugged, Peter was sure he would have noticed the signs by now. But everything in Neal's behavior indicated shock rather than a physical injury. So there really was no need to stress the child with more physical examinations. Those could lead to a panic attack, and that was the last thing the boy needed right now.
Besides, it was not like Peter was leaving Neal alone. Diana had the same medical training he did. She would know what to do if Neal's health suddenly worsened. Neal was going to be safe with her.
"Alright," Peter said aloud, looking at Neal again. He saw the child's gaze focus on him again. The fearful eyes looked at him distrustfully. "Neal. I have to go now to make sure things back at the mansion are properly handled. I should be back within an hour or two."
As he spoke, the child's eyes widened. The boy straightened up. "Mister Keller―" Neal paused. Without adding anything else, the boy looked away.
"What about him?" Peter asked mildly.
"He's hurt," Neal mumbled. There was tension in his voice. "He needs…" The child swallowed, his eyes becoming clouded with tears. "…Help," he finished softly and hid his face in the blanket. Trembling, he wrapped his arms around his knees as if he was trying to make himself disappear.
The lump in Peter's throat grew bigger. He had to suppress an impulse to adjust the blanket that had fallen a bit from Neal's shoulders. It was his fault. This trauma was his fault. "I know. I will do what I can for him, okay?"
Neal did not seem to have heard him. Peter stood up with a heavy heart. His gaze locked with Diana's.
"Please take care of him. I will be back soon."
Diana nodded. "Don't worry, boss."
Peter nodded back, then, with one last troubled look at the shivering, curled in a ball child, turned away. He could not get rid of the feeling that he was betraying Neal in some way by leaving him in the van.
/\_/\
='x'=
The van door closed and Diana turned her gaze to the child. Only his messy mop was visible from under the blanket that Peter had wrapped around him. Perhaps she was overconfident in saying she could handle the boy. She had no experience with such young arrestees, and it was clear that Peter was very concerned about the child. And so was Elle.
"Diana? Is Peter gone? Can I talk to Neal now?" she heard her worried voice now.
"Yes," Diana said. "I'm turning on the loud-speaker. Neal can hear you now."
She put the phone on the table.
/\_/\
='x'=
Someone calls his name, but Neal does not want to answer. He wraps his arms more tightly around his legs and squeezes his eyes shut, stinging with tears. This is horrible. This cannot be happening. Mister Morris cannot see him cry. He cannot―
"…Neal. Neal, sweetheart, can you hear me?"
Neal's heart beats faster. What is Elle doing here? He raises his head in search of her, but after a moment he realizes there is only the female fed in the van. Mister Morris is gone.
"Where…" he pauses.
"Sweetie?" The voice comes from the fed's phone. Neal trembles. He reaches for the phone, but the woman does not let him.
"Don't touch it," she says, covering the phone with her hand.
Neal rubs his eyes. "Elle?" he whispers.
"Hi, Neal! I'm so glad you're safe. I was so worried―" Elle pauses. Neal can hear her take a deep breath. "How are you?"
Neal does not know. He looks past the fed at the shelf above her head. He recognizes some of the gear. Not the best on the market, but still valuable.
"I'm in a fed's van," he says, a bit absent-mindedly.
Then, with a sudden lump in his throat, he turns to look at the phone. "Elle, you're safe too."
"I am," Elle says softly.
Neal breathes heavily. "I'm glad."
"Oh, and I wanted to tell you Vincent is safe too," Elle says again, and Neal frowns.
"Vincent?" he mumbles.
"Your cat. You don't have to worry about him. He has place at our home and I'll keep him safe until you two can reunite."
"Oh," Neal mumbles, startled. "He's at your home?"
"Yes," Elle says. "You must have left him there yesterday."
"Really?" He thinks for a moment. He was certain he had left Vincent at the workshop, not… Suddenly Neal snorts. Frustrated, he runs his hand over his face. Elle is right. He did leave Vincent at her house yesterday. All this time the cat was there. There!
"Sweetheart? Are you okay?" Elle asks.
Rubbing his face, Neal shakes his head. No, he is not. There must be something seriously wrong with him. He got kidnapped because of the cat, and Vincent was not even…
"But he's safe?" Neal whispers.
"Yes, sweetie."
"He's with Satch?"
"Currently not. But he will be. Once I get home."
Neal sniffs. "Okay," he mumbles. "Okay…"
/\_/\
='x'=
"PUT THE FUCKING GUN DOWN!" The bellow along with the gunshots came from the second floor.
Peter got upstairs the next second. He ran into the room with his gun raised to shoot, but as it turned out, his help was not needed.
The agent held the criminal at gunpoint while the other was kneeling on his back. Alerted to his presence, they looked up.
"Agent Burke," Peter said and lowered his gun. The men relaxed.
"Williams and Smith, sir," the agent introduced himself and his colleague while Smith handcuffed the criminal. Peter noticed there was blood on his pant leg. However, since the man was conscious and erect, Peter decided the injury could not be that serious.
He walked past the men to make sure the area was clear. Thankfully, he found no one.
"One man down, one bird caught, send backup, second floor, over," he said over the radio, returning to the two men. "Something's bitten you Williams," he then said. "Let me have a look."
The man nodded. He sat down on the floor and Peter knelt to check the injury.
As he suspected, it was not serious. The bullet got stuck in the thigh but did not seem to have damaged any major arteries. Peter took out a tourniquet and put it above the wound. "Going to be running in no time. Lucky bastard," he told Williams with a smile.
The man tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a groan.
"Yes, sir," he said just as three more SWAT team members stormed into the room.
While one of them helped Williams get up and then went to escort him out of the mansion, Peter turned to Smith. "I was just looking for Agent Johnson. Do you know where he is?"
The man directed him upstairs. Seeing that everything was handled, Peter left the room. He took out his gun and raised it once again.
Hearing someone coming from the third floor, he instantly stopped, then relaxed. It was the SWAT team leader he had been searching for all along.
"Peter," the man welcomed him. "I was looking for you. It's safe to say the party's over. We just got the last of them."
"Good work," Peter said. "Have you found Keller?"
"Or what remains of him," Johnson's voice was grim. "Follow me."
Peter nodded and ran after the man. Johnson led him to the third floor and into the room where four of his men were securing the scene. He called one of them, then asked. "Keller?"
"Still alive, but Max thinks we shouldn't move him, sir. We'll have to wait for the ambulance to arrive."
"All right," Johnson tapped him on the shoulder. "Agent Burke's here to see him," then he turned to Peter. "We still need to secure the area. Better be careful where you step."
"Good, thanks," Peter said, then gestured for Johnson's subordinate to show him the way. "Your name?"
"Davis, sir," the man answered. Peter had an idea where the agent would take him, but still he let Davis lead nonetheless. They passed two more rooms before reaching their destination.
Even though he was accustomed to seeing horrific images, Peter's stomach twisted uneasily at the sight of the beaten man. One of the SWAT members was currently giving him aid. Peter carefully squatted down next to them. He did not want Max to lose his concentration.
Watching him work, Peter was impressed. There was no doubt that this man had helped keep countless people alive during his lifetime. Keller was in good hands.
Finally, Max finished wrapping the last bandage, made sure the drip was properly distributing the fluids and rechecked the wounded's vitals. As he straightened up, Peter decided to help by double-checking.
"Good work," he said when he was finished. "How is he?"
"Bad case of concussion. At least three ribs are broken. The lungs might have been punctured." Max rubbed his temple for a moment, then met Peter's eyes. "I don't think there's anything else I can do for him right now, sir. He'll have to wait for the ambulance."
"Good," Peter nodded. "It should be here in ten minutes. You stay with him," he was about to say more, when his eyes lingered on the familiar-looking leather jacket. It must have been Neal's. He clenched his jaw. The bloody handprint next to it could not have possibly belonged to an adult.
He looked back at Davis and saw that the man was covering his mouth with his hand.
"Feeling sick?" Peter asked.
Davis immediately dropped his hand to his side. "No, sir," he said stiffly, and Peter thought the man was unlikely to faint. If it was just the nausea Davis struggled with, there was only one way to get over it. Practice.
"Good." Peter got up. "Stay here and help Max."
"But―" Davis started to protest, but at the last moment changed what he had wanted to say. "Yes, sir," he said and entered the room.
Peter paid no more attention to him. He took out his phone and took a picture of Neal's bloodied jacket, followed by a handprint. Given Keller's injuries, it was doubtful that this evidence would remain intact.
After leaving the room, he turned on his radio. "Diana, tell Neal we found Keller. He's alive, the ambulance is on its way."
When Diana confirmed hearing him, Peter picked up pace. He had to check many more rooms before he could be free to drive Neal to the hospital.
Next(11.07): Hope
❤ Replies to guest reviews from the previous chapter ❤
MarJan53, I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. :) You've been with me on this journey ever since the beginning and I just want to say, thank you! ❤❤❤
P.S. It was really nice to see your comment today telling me that you're waiting for me to post this chapter. I know I'm not updating this story as often as you and other readers would probably want me to, so the fact that you remembered about the story despite the time between the chapters means a lot to me. Thank you! :) ❤
/\_/\
='x'=
Macy, I know what you mean, it's a bit confusing to feel sympathy towards Neal's kidnappers. But I'm kind of glad that you do? Like, it was my intention to give the reader the impression that those criminals are not some evil monsters, but just ― people. And so I wanted to show not just their wrongdoings, but also those small glimpses of that which is good in them. After all we do not really know what happened to make them behave this way and as long as they live there is hope for them to heal.
As to Peter and Neal, I 100% agree with you. It's about time to start fixing the damage! And to be honest, I can't wait to finally get to it. :)
Thank you for your kind comment. ❤
Next(11.07): Hope