October

Neal sat in the van, bouncing the end of his cane up and down next to his toes. Diana looked over at him and grabbed the handle, pressing down. Neal chuckled and when Diana let go he didn't start tapping it again.

Jones was coming in over their headphones, but Diana had hers around her neck as she was also listening to the building's security radio channel.

"The shrimp smelled a little fishy," said Jones.

Diana grabbed her headphones, "he said the signal, we're going in. Neal, stay in the van and use the radio to keep us informed if anything changes."

Neal moved his feet out of the way as the junior agents spilled out after Diana, "the shrimp smelled a little fishy? Really, that's the best code phrase you could think of?"

Diana ignored him as she ran into the building.

Neal turned back to the monitor and picked up the radio handset, just in case something exciting happened on the security feed besides Diana arresting the man for smuggling and the human trafficking they had found while investigating the stolen artifacts.

Shots were fired, the man went down. So did a man in the next room over. That man got up and went out a door. Neal frowned, and radioed what he had seen to Diana. Static was the only response he got. He tried again, then tried different frequencies. The man was limping down the back stairs now.

Neal tried Diana's cell, and then Jones's. He looked back at the video screen. The man was almost to the back exit. Neal opened the van door, got out, and stood with his back to the wall next to the back door of the building. The man came out. He was dragging his left leg. Neal didn't see any sign that he was armed.

"Hey," said Neal.

The man turned to look at him. Neal used his cane to knock the man's uninjured foot out from under him, sending him onto his rear, "stay put, FBI…consultant."

The man got back up and tried to run down the street, limping badly, falling, getting back up. Neal stared after him, sighed, and started following him. It was late, near the docks, the street was deserted. Neal kept pace with the man, and called dispatch on his phone, explaining the situation. They sent a squad car and an ambulance.

Neal didn't have a lot of chase left in him, when the man dropped and didn't get immediately back up. He crawled on the ground.

"Come on, man. Just stop. There's an ambulance on its way for that leg."

The man got to his feet, turned to stare at Neal, and made a dive for him. Neal flipped the end of his cane up and the man ran into it and fell down.

With the man face down, Neal sat on the thigh of the guy's uninjured leg. He tried to push himself up, but he couldn't get leverage with his injured leg, nor could he reach Neal behind himself. Neal took out his consultant ID to have it ready.

Red and blue lights pulled up, an older man and a younger woman got out. Neal showed them the ID, "I work with the white collar division of the FBI. This guy ran out of a building after Agent Barrigan or her team fired multiple shots. I couldn't get her or the other agents on the radio or phone."

"Okay, get off him, we'll hold on to both of you while we check into this."

Neal nodded, finding that a perfectly reasonable response. He tried to get up, as the older man knelt to cuff the guy Neal had chased. He couldn't get up. He tried again. He scooted off and sat on the sidewalk, with a sigh.

"Are you hurt?" asked the woman.

Neal shook his head, "no this is normal. I couldn't have caught him if he wasn't hit."

They sat on the sidewalk until the ambulance came. They got him onto a gurney, the officers recuffed him with one hand to that. The van pulled up, and Diana and Jones jumped out and ran up to the assembled group.

"Neal! What the hell! I said stay in the van!"

Neal looked up at her, "you also told me you'd be reachable by radio. Things changed."

Jones put his hand on Neal's shoulder, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," said Neal, "I'm fine. I can't get up though."

"Okay," said Diana, fingers to her forehead in a gesture very reminiscent of Peter, "I'm going to talk to the police for a second and make sure you're free to go, and then we'll get you in the van."

Neal nodded. She went to talk to the police and paramedics. Jones kept his hand on Neal's shoulder, "you scared her, you know?"

Neal chuckled slightly, "Diana knew who I was when she decided to be my handler."

"It's different now," said Jones, waving at Neal's body and cane.

"Well I'm not a different person," objected Neal.

Jones gave him a long look, then chuckled, "you are and you aren't. You'll always be impulsive and…creative. But Peter has rubbed off on you a bit.

Neal gave Jones an offended look.

Jones shrugged, "and you on him."

Neal relented, "well, that's true."

Diana came back over, "okay, we can go."

Neal scooted to the edge of the sidewalk, feet in the road. He tried to push himself up, but nothing had the requisite strength and everything hurt. Jones and Diana each took one of his hands, lifted under his armpits, helping him up. From there he managed to shuffle to the van without help, though it was neither expedient nor graceful. Jones got back in the driver's seat of the van.

Diana left her hand at the small of Neal's back while he hobbled forward, lightly, just a steadying contact. When they reached the van she put her arm around his waist, he put his arm around her shoulders, and they stepped up and in together.

He sat down in the closest belted seat and put on a seat belt. Diana sat down across from him and did likewise.

"Two things, Caffrey. Good job, and never do that again."

Neal laughed, while he slowly, painfully stretched out first his right leg, then even more carefully his left. Jones checked that they were ready, started the van and pulled away from the curb.

Diana reached under the equipment shelf, pulling her duffel forward. She got her FBI jacket out and handed it to Neal. She also pulled out a blue gel pack, with a button in it. She clicked the button and crystals spread out from it, then she handed it to Neal. It was warm, and getting warmer.

Neal watched the exothermic reaction taking place within the pouch, "that's neat."

He sandwiched it between his knees under the jacket.

"Neal," said Diana, "you're a smart guy who doesn't like violence. Why do you do so many things that put you in danger?"

Neal shrugged, tired and distracted by thinking about the way the heat pack worked, "I don't remember not being in danger. It's just what my life has been."

He looked at Diana, realizing he had said more than he meant. He didn't know what he had expected to be on her face, but it wasn't the uncomplicated sadness that he saw there.

"What?" he asked, somewhat defensively.

She shrugged, "I don't know. I guess I always pictured you growing up okay and eventually getting in over your head taking risks, running cons."

"Oh," he chuckled, thinking about it, "no, I had to learn how to lie to keep myself safe before I could read. Getting anything fun out of it came much later."

Diana looked pensive, sorting through her bag. Neal leaned back in the seat, too tired to keep worrying about the conversation. Finally Diana looked at Neal again, "you do know you're allowed to stop now?"

Neal didn't have an answer for that.