Author's notes:
Welcome back! As always thank you again for your comments. It's awesome when you let me know that you are enjoying the story and want me to go on. Thank you. ❤
Last chapter was very difficult for me to write. It is terrible when children get hurt.
I wish I could have written the story where Daniel Brooks did not just feel bad for leaving Neal alone on the street, but actually did something about it - realized his poverty and that he wants to be better than this, gave himself hope and started to seek help. Instead, I showed him denying and distracting himself from that terrifying truth about where his choices have lead him.
I don't expect to write such a sad flashback again. We've seen a glimpse of Neal's trauma and now, we're back in the present.
Chapter 23 "How To Save a Life"
"Teach me to be love,
as You are Love;
Lead me through each fear;
Hold my hand as I walk through
valleys of illusion each day,
That I may know Your Peace."
Psalm 27 (poetic rendition by Nan C. Merrill)
Looking into the child's pleading eyes, Peter for a long moment could not think of what to say. Neal was ready to take his cat and run away from New York? Peter saw that to Neal it might seem a better option than a juvenile detention centre, but still…
"Neal, aren't you afraid to be in the streets on your own?"
The boy immediately shook his head. "No, sir!"
"But what about food? Shelter?"
Neal waved his hand. "I'll take care of these."
"How?" Peter asked.
The boy looked away uncomfortably, and Peter rubbed his forehead.
"Okay, let me change the question. I can see food may not be such a problem for you," he said slowly. "But still, what about shelter? I understand you've lived in Keller's apartment till now."
Still avoiding Peter's eyes, Neal scratched his hand. It was clear that he did not understand the point of the questions, but since he did not look mutinous or bored, but still very alert, Peter decided to continue.
"I mean, yes, I guess with some luck you could spend a night or two at the airport without attracting anyone's attention. Or find another protected nook where you would be able to go to sleep without fear that someone bad will find you. But that's not a way to live. If you don't change places every two days or so, someone will catch on."
Neal shrugged. "Maybe not."
"You don't sound very convinced, Neal," he said gently.
Focused on petting Satchmo, the child did not answer.
In silence, Peter tried to focus his thoughts. Eric Miller suddenly came to mind. Calmly running a mental inventory of all that he knew from the files about the man, Peter tried to recall any signs of Miller's continued abuse of Neal. But twice when Peter saw their interactions, the child seemed relaxed, much more relaxed than he was with Keller. So maybe Miller really was just a silent observer of Neal's abuse, not an active participant like Travis or Keller.
As the minutes passed and Neal was still not saying anything, Peter decided he would have to take the risk. "Do you know what Miller said to me before that first meeting after you had left?"
Neal looked up, surprised.
"He said that he does not care who I am, the kid is off limits. That if I think otherwise, I'm as good as dead. And he let my hand go only after reassuring him that I was there only for the job."
A small smile appeared on the boy's lips. "That sounds like Mil," Neal said brightly, then his expression hardened. "And even in prison, Mil's dangerous and knows people."
Was it a threat? Peter was not certain. Nevertheless, he inclined his head.
"I bet he does," he said mildly. "I also imagine that when you are all alone on the streets, it can be very important for someone like Mil to have your back. So that you would not get hurt by other criminals?"
Looking back at Satchmo, Neal said nothing. Peter decided to proceed gently.
"Neal, you know that when you decide to go there alone, one way or another, someone will catch on. Now I've been an FBI agent for over ten years and it's the first time I've met a criminal crew in which the child was treated almost as equal by the rest of the crew. In all other cases I know, the criminals who allowed children to get involved in their business have done very hurtful things to them. They treated children as their property, not as people."
Neal pursed his lips and said nothing.
Peter took a deep breath. "Do you realize how easy it is for a homeless child to fall into the hands of such people?"
/\_/\
='x'=
Hearing the question, Neal clenches his fists. He gazes past Mister Morris at the door exiting the van. He does not understand what is the point.
"I'm not scared. I've been there before."
"You've been on the streets alone before?" Mister Morris asks.
"Sure," Neal shrugs. "You just have to know whom to avoid." Feds, for example, are at the top of that list.
"But is avoiding people always enough? Haven't you ever been in a situation where―"
By the time Neal realizes what is going on, he is on his feet. "WHY DO YOU CARE?!" he yells, taking a step towards the adult. It is his fault that Mil is in prison. It is his fault that Mister Keller is dying. It is his fault that Neal has to run away again. It is all his fault!
/\_/\
='x'=
As the child, with clenched fists, took another angry step forward, Peter, still not getting up, calmly and deliberately moved away from the boy. His mind was running. It could be disastrous if Neal turned violent now. In the small, crammed space there were too many potential weapons the child could grab. Peter had to focus on how to immediately diffuse the situation before―
"Sweetie."
Neal blinked. So did Peter.
/\_/\
='x'=
Elle's eyes are gentle as the woman gazes up at him. Neal feels his fists unclench.
She holds out her hand to him. "Neither me nor Peter want to hurt you, Neal," she says. "We're just trying to understand."
"Understand what?" he grits out.
"How best to help you."
Neal frowns. Help him? So they will let him go. He clenches his fists again.
"Just give me an hour or two," he says. He turns to Mister Morris and is surprised to find that the adult is sitting a bit further away than before. "I'll be out of your hair in no time."
Mister Morris's expression is unreadable. Elle pats Neal's hand and Neal turns to look at her again.
"Even if you run away, there's no way you'll ever get out of my thoughts, Neal," she says, keeping her gaze locked with his. "I care too much about you. And if any of those bad things that Peter had just described ever happened to you, I would be devastated."
Looking at Elle, Neal does not know what to say. He glances sidelong at Mister Morris, but the adult's stone face is unreadable.
Neal shifts from foot to foot.
"I care about you too, Elle," he finally says.
Elle smiles at him softly. "So you would not want to see me get hurt?"
Feeling dubious, Neal shakes his head.
"Well, then I think you can understand why I don't want to see you get hurt either," Elle says. "In prison or on the streets."
Neal blinks. What does that mean?
"When you ran away today, I got very scared that something bad could have happened to you. And then Peter found out that you had been kidnapped. Neal. I don't want you ever to get hurt again."
Before Neal knows what he is doing, he drops to his knees. He wraps his arms around Elle. "But you won't," he reassures her. "Don't cry."
Elle rests her warm hand on his back and Neal snuggles his face into her shoulder.
"Sweetie."
He looks up at her.
"I want to do everything in my power to keep you safe from now on. Both from the dangers of the streets and from the prison."
Neal cocks his head. "Huh?"
"With Peter we have a plan." Elle nods her head at Mister Morris. "Would you like us to explain it to you?"
What plan? For a long moment Neal does not know how to answer. Finally, he nods.
Elle squeezes his hand. "Thank you," she says quietly. Then she shifts her gaze to Mister Morris. "Hon?"
The adult nods back. He looks at Neal. "Okay," he says. "So first, I would like to explain to you exactly why this situation is serious―" as Elle opens a notebook and puts it on the floor the man pauses. Neal watches her give the pen to Mister Morris. "Right, I forgot," the adult smiles. "Since there's a lot for you to understand, we figured with Elle that it would be easier for you, well for all of us really, to have everything written down. Okay?"
Looking at the man, Neal once again does not know what to say.
Finally, Mister Morris turns to look at the notebook. "Okay," he says. "So let's see. What should I call it?" The adult seems to think for a long moment, then writes down the word Allegations on the first page. He meets Neal's eyes again.
"Those are the allegations you're facing right now. First, the grand theft of the second degree. Second, the burglary. Third, the forgery evidence we found at Keller's workshop. Fourth, the proof of pickpocketing. And finally fifth, the evidence that all those crimes I have mentioned were recurring offences."
Neal silently watches the adult create a bulleted list below the headline Allegations. Then the adult shifts his attention to the page on the right. He writes down the word Plan, then glances up at Neal again. "Now, I don't know much about juvenile law, but I think I can more or less predict how your defence will turn out. First…" Leaning his back against Elle's legs and soaking up her warmth, Neal does his best to listen and not to think too much about his mom. About what she would say and how she would react if she could see him now.
Suddenly he is not certain if she would even remember.
A hand brushes through his hair and he blinks. "Sweetie? Are you okay?"
A look of concern flashes across Elle's face as she gazes down at him.
Blinking away the tears, Neal nods.
"Do you know what's wrong?" Elle asks.
He shakes his head. Nothing is wrong. Why is she asking?
"Does something hurt you?" She places her hand on his forehead.
Neal closes his eyes. "I just want to go," he says. "Please, can we go now?"
"Can we go to the hospital?" Elle asks.
Neal opens his eyes in surprise. "The hospital?"
Elle nods. "Our plan. Here. Look," she says, and Neal sees the notebook again. He does not recognize the notes Elle is pointing at. When did agent Morris manage to write it all down?
Elle's finger points at a square with 72 hours of observation in the hospital written in it.
"The sooner we get there, the sooner Peter will be able to see a juvenile attorney, talk to some other people, see what else we can do to keep you out of juvenile detention centre. I hope that both me and Satch will be allowed to stay with you in the hospital."
"You hope…"
Elle squeezes his hand. "It's not Peter's decision unfortunately. At the hospital we'll see a social worker. They will decide if me and Satch can stay with you."
Neal gulps and Elle squeezes his hand again.
"But even if they do not let me, Neal, I will stay anyway. We won't be able to talk, but you will be able to see me. I'll sit in the hallway, or find out where the window to your room is, and with Satch we'll stand vigil outside the hospital until they release you." She brushes his hair. "Because all the troubles you're facing right now, are also my troubles from now on. Deal?"
Neal sniffs. He closes his eyes again. He does not want Elle to leave him. When he rests his forehead against her shoulder, she hugs him.
"You're not alone, Neal," he hears her say. "Not now and never again."
/\_/\
='x'=
As the child began to relax in her embrace again, Elle became convinced that talking to him really did not make sense right now. Neal was exhausted. He needed sleep more than their explanations. Still holding the child gingerly, she closed the notebook and handed it to Peter.
He understood her gaze. He silently got up and took out his backpack. Watching him pack his things, Elle pressed her hand against the child's forehead again. No fever.
Seeing that Peter was ready to leave, Elle brushed her hand through the child's curls. "Do you think you can get up, sweetie?" she asked quietly. "We need to go now."
Neal opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times, clearly confused. "Go where?" he mumbled.
"To the hospital," Elle reminded him quietly. "We wanted a hospital that allows dogs to visit, so it's a bit far away. Two hours' drive."
The child's eyes widened in surprise. "Dogs?" he echoed.
"So that both me and Satch can stay in the hospital with you."
"You'll stay?!" Neal exclaimed and Elle felt her throat tighten. Did he really forget the conversation from just two minutes ago?
"I will stay, yes," she finally managed to say. "I just don't know if they'll allow me to stay in the same room. But I'll stay in the hospital with you anyway, Neal. In your sight all the time."
Neal closed his eyes tiredly. "Please, stay…" he mumbled, snuggling his face into her shoulder again.
The lump in Elle's throat widened. "I'll stay," she repeated, sincerely hoping that the social worker would trust her. "And now come on, sweetie. It's a long way from here."
Neal did not answer, and for a moment Elle thought he was falling asleep again, but then suddenly the child opened his eyes. "It's a long way to the hospital," he stated a bit absently.
"That's right, Neal. It is," she said gently. "But we'll go together, okay?"
The boy looked at her for a long moment, then finally, nodded. "Okay," he mumbled, and when Elle offered him her hand he took it. Together they got up.
/\_/\
='x'=
Almost as soon as they had exited the van, Diana and Morgan joined Peter's side. He nodded at them, but did not speak until Elle, Satch, and Neal sat in the back of Elle's car. Then he turned to his subordinates.
"Diana, you handle things from this end. If there are any problems, do not hesitate to call me," he said.
"Yes, boss," she nodded.
Peter turned to look at Henry Morgan. Earlier, he had left Diana with the task of choosing the best person to take the first shift by Neal's side in the hospital. Clearly, she decided Morgan was up for the job. Looking at the young man from head to toe, Peter felt reluctant. Fresh out of the Academy, Henry was quite a new addition to the White Collar, and Peter did not have much time to get to know the young man better. Personally, he would prefer someone with more experience under his belt but… Well. At least the man looked awake.
"When's the last time you slept?"
Morgan did not hesitate with an answer. "Six hours ago, sir. Yesterday I had a night-shift."
"Okay. Good," Peter nodded. "We're going to the hospital. You're driving." He handed the car-keys to his subordinate, and then hesitated, gazing at the car.
He knew that technically he should put Satchmo in the front seat and sit with Neal and Elle in the backseat. Only right now the child was petting the dog.
And it was undeniable that Neal was far more afraid of him than he made out.
Peter sighed. No. He had scored enough negative points with the child as it was. There was really no need to earn any more. Nodding to Diana one more time, he got into the front seat and buckled up.
In silence, they drove away from the crime scene, and as Peter glanced in the rear-view mirror, he felt he had made the right decision. With his one arm loosely swung around Satch and his head resting on Elle's lap, Neal was already asleep.
Peter observed the steady movement of his chest for a while before finally deciding that he, too, might take the nap. By his count, he had been alert for almost forty-eight hours, and he did not seem to have any better time to rest than this anytime soon. Resolutely setting aside all his plans, thoughts and worries, he closed his eyes.
/\_/\
='x'=
With a sigh, Henry turned off the engine, then slightly frightened looked to his right.
First real case with agent Burke and the man fell asleep. Asleep.
Henry clenched his fists. Waking up superiors was not something his instructors at the Academy had taught him how to do.
Moreover, it was not how Henry envisioned his first real partnership with the FBI special agent responsible for white-collar crimes. No. This was certainly not an opportunity to prove himself to agent Burke, which he wished for.
He glanced nervously to the back of the car. And sure enough, both agent Burke's wife and the child were asleep too.
Except for Henry, the only living being that was not asleep was the dog. The dog! The Labrador Retriever's eyes regarded him calmly from the backseat, and Henry grimaced. Just what the heck was he supposed to do now?!
Still looking at him, the dog yawned and rested his head on his forepaws.
Bracing himself, Henry cleared his throat. "We're here, sir," he said respectfully.
Silence answered him. None of the asleep even moved.
Henry stilled himself. "Agent Burke. We got to the hospital," he repeated, tapping the man on the shoulder, then immediately withdrew his hand as the man opened his eyes in surprise.
Startled, agent Burke looked back at him. "Morgan…?" Suddenly the man stiffened and looked at the backseat. Seeing the other passengers, he relaxed. "We're at the hospital," Henry heard him mumble and felt relieved.
Yes, they were.
/\_/\
='x'=
"Neal, sweetheart, wake up," the gentle voice says and Neal, very unwillingly, opens his eyes.
Elle looks down at him and Neal smiles. "Elle," he mumbles.
She helps him get up. "We're at the hospital, Neal," she says quietly.
Looking ahead, Neal sees that she is right. Hospital. He feels his senses sharpen. Why does he have to go there? He does not want to go there.
When Elle opens the car door, Satch jumps out immediately.
"Come on, Neal," she says, unbuckling his seatbelts.
Hastily, Neal gets out of the car. "Don't go!"
"I'm not," Elle says taking his hand. "It's okay, Neal. I'm here."
He nods uncertainly and she hands him Satch's leash. Together they follow Mister Morris and the other adult into the facility.
/\_/\
='x'=
"FBI Agent Peter Burke," Peter introduced himself the moment he came to the counter. "I called here before. It appears that the minor under my care has not suffered any physical injuries, but due to recent events, he needs to be kept under medical supervision. We're afraid he might have been exposed to drugs or other hazardous chemicals," he said, pushing forward his ID along with the questioners he had filled out while waiting in line.
The woman whose employee ID badged her as Emily Allen nodded. "Thank you, sir."
Watching her skim through the questioners, Peter pursed his lips. He knew he could have used the hospital questioners as an excuse to ask Neal a few questions seeking identifying information. And perhaps he really should have done that, instead of just naming the child John Doe and writing unknown next to his birth date and SSN. Still, asking the child questions right now somehow just did not feel right.
After Neal got a decent chance of sleep, Peter thought. Then he would ask.
"Alright, agent Burke," the woman said as she finished writing down his ID information. "Everything checks out. This is for you," she gave him his confirmation of admission to the hospital.
"Thank you," Peter said, skimming through the three pages of the document.
"And this is the key to the room where the patient will be staying," the woman continued. "It's on the third floor, left wing," she said. "The doctor should come to the room around 7 AM."
"Thank you," Peter repeated, then with a sigh, he turned away from the counter and headed toward where his family and agent Morgan were waiting for him.
/\_/\
='x'=
As Jones watched the last criminal being dragged out of the room in handcuffs, he managed not to sigh. He had no idea it would be so tough to supervise the arrest of twenty-four criminals. Unfortunately that was the case, and he had been tempted to call Peter more times than he dared to remember. But thanks to Agent Hughes's patient guidance, somehow, he managed to do it, and now that everyone was arrested and on their way to the detention facilities, he could truly breathe and finally, finally grab that smoke he had been desiring ever since the first criminal had shown up in the Bureau.
The cigarette was going to be well-deserved too. It was 8 AM and Jones was dead tired. Hoping that his reasons for this quiet retreat were not as obvious to others as they were to him, Jones walked briskly in the direction of the elevator.
He stopped in front of it, pushed the button, and gazed longingly at the display. The elevator was coming up. In a matter of seconds, the cigarette was going to be his. Then he would return to his desk, complete the rest of the paperwork and make a plan for tomorrow's interrogations for Peter to approve. If only… The elevator on the twenty-first floor arrived with four men. Their destination seemed to be the White Collar unit, and Jones had to step aside to let them pass.
Frowning slightly, he entered the elevator. Then a sudden realization hit him. None of the men looked familiar.
With a jolt, Jones stepped out of the elevator just in time to see the last of the men go through the door. So at least one of them had the authorization to enter the unit. Jones quickly held the ID to the scanner. A moment later the door beeped and he was admitted inside.
The four men were walking up the stairs by then, heading either for one of the conference rooms, or more likely for… The group leader stopped in front of Hughes's clerk's desk. Jones saw him show Jim some ID. He could not hear what the man said, but whatever it was, it made Jim get up from the chair and open the door to Hughes's office.
Finally managing to catch up with the group, Jones unobtrusively stopped a couple of feet from the men. Who were they?
A moment later agent Hughes came out. His grey eyes were unreadable as they stopped at the man standing in front of the group. Jones watched him reach out to the man.
"Reese Hughes," he introduced himself.
"Garret Fowler," the man said, shaking Hughes's hand.
Hughes nodded. "I won't say, I'm very surprised to see you, agent Fowler. I don't think there was any review scheduled for today."
"That's because the OPR's not here for a standard review, sir," the man said, and Jones stiffened. OPR? What could possibly the Office of Professional Responsibility want to do with them?
"We're here in connection with the arrest of Keller and Neumann," agent Fowler continued. "But if I may, I would like to talk to you in a more private place."
"Of course. Please," Hughes said, gesturing the four agents into his office. The men filed inside. A moment before Hughes had closed the door, his gaze met Jones's. The look in his eyes made all the alarm bells ring in Jones's head. The order was obvious.
Doing his best to look at ease, he turned away. He walked a couple of steps, pushed open the door to the currently empty conference room, and dialled the number. Peter was not going to like this.
Author's notes:
Thanks for reading! I hope the chapter turned out alright. :)
I'm thinking of changing the title of the story from "Chasing After You" to "Rooftops of New York". I feel like this title can be more fitting, since a lot of the story is happening on rooftops and also, rooftops are where Neal feels safe. If for any reason you don't want me to change it, please let me know. :)
Next(03.10): Receptive Hearts
❤ Replies to guest reviews from the previous chapter ❤
MarJan53, you're right. Neal does not know anything different, but hopefully Peter and Elle will be able to show him what love really means and Neal will begin to get better. :) ❤ I wish you a peaceful day! Take care!
/\_/\
='x'=
Macy, thank you so much! ❤ I'm very honoured that you decided to share your thoughts with me.
If someone asked me "why don't you just forgive", it could make me feel very misunderstood and lonely. I'm very sorry you heard such words. No one should have ever told you that.
Suffering is not something that can be felt by another. When talking about it we should always be very careful and gentle. Even a seemingly helpful word can do a lot of damage.
My experience tells me that I started to want to forgive only after I began to understand with my heart that I was loved long before my parents, friends, teachers or any other people loved or wounded me. I started to want to forgive others, because I understood that they too are beloved children of God with wounded hearts that long to be healed and that He longs to heal. I also began to understand that my hate hurts Him because it makes my heart deaf to His Love. And so in my conversations with Him I began to sometimes mention to Him my hate, how adults who were supposed to protect me, have allowed the harm to come to me and how much I despised struggling with the wounds that their lack of vigilant love have given me. I also kept listening to Him – letting His Word read my life and finding people whose words and experiences of His Love gave me hope.
Someone once told me that the most beautiful prayer is the one that is honest and I like to remind myself of that truth. And so if I don't feel like I want to forgive someone, I just tell God that. And He listens. I did observe that as long as I remember about Him, somehow, very slowly but surely, He enables my heart to love Him, myself and other people (also the ones that I still find it difficult to forgive) more and more fully.
You also said that even after we forgive, it is not a good idea to pretend that nothing bad ever happened and I absolutely agree with that. First, I think remembering the trauma can help us to be less naïve, more aware of the fact that there are people out there who can hurt us and who we can hurt– either intentionally or unintentionally. If we are aware that evil exists, we can take actions to protect ourselves and others.
Second, from my experience I know that even after the wound heals, the scar will usually remain. It is crucial to me to know where my scars and wounds that are still healing are, because those are the places where I am most vulnerable. And so, thanks to this knowledge I know what I should do/watch/read/listen to if I want to continue to heal, and what I should avoid if I don't want to feel afterwards like I reopened my wounds again.
It helps when talking with people too – because sometimes a person can say or do something that hurts and thanks to my knowledge of my scars I can understand why it hurt me so much, give a big hug to my lovable, and yet traumatized emotions and ultimately not react in a way that could further infect either mine or that person's wounds. Or even if I do stumble, the knowledge about where my wounds are makes it much easier to understand my poverty, forgive myself and the person who made me feel unloved, make amends and basically continue to let God's love change my heart.
Thanks for reading. I really tried, but I was incapable of shortening my reply. I hope it did not turn out to be too tiresome to read. Forgiveness and love are very complex topics to talk about. Take care!
Next(03.10 10.10): Receptive Hearts
Update(04.10): I'm very sorry. I don't have a new chapter for you yet. I think I should have the chapter ready by Sunday (10.10). If not, I'll let you know.