1 - Withdrawel

"Thank you" Peter greeted as Renee unlocked the door for them.

She smiled, as innocent looking as ever, "Sure".

"I appreciate your taking the time".

"You said you had a theory?"

He nodded, "Our faceless friends may have left something behind. I'd like to re-examine the vault, just in case".

"No rest for the weary, huh?" Neal smirked, but she shook her head.

"Those creeps held a gun to my head. I'll rest when you catch them".

He shared a look with Peter.

This might just be easier than they thought.


"Your team was pretty thorough" Renee said as the vault door buzzed open, "What is it you think that they missed?"

"213".

For a brief moment, fear flickered over her face.

"Excuse me?"

"Deposit box 213" Peter continued, "Pretty sure no one's looked in there yet".

"Sounds like it's worth a shot" Neal added.

"Uh, I'm sorry, that's the property of one of our customers" She said quickly, "You'd need his authorization or a warrant".

Peter held up the master key.

"Got this from the Bank President. But the box doesn't belong to one of your customers… It belongs to you".

She was starting to look desperate.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken".

"No, we did a background check on all the boxes in this vault".

Neal nodded, "Did you know 213 was rented to your uncle two months ago?"

"... I don't see why that would be a problem".

"I do" Peter said, "He died two years ago. Either it's a miracle…"

"... or you forged his application" Neal finished.

"My money's on the latter".

There was a tense beat before she finally smiled and reached into her handbag to pull out the right key.

"Okay, fine. Why don't you have a look?"

The door opened silently, the weight of the money barely causing the wheels to stutter as the box slid out.

"Wow" Peter said, understatement of the year, "1.5 million in cash".

Neal smirked and glanced back only to see-

Gun.

He froze before slowly raising both hands above his head.


"Did you know she had a gun?"

Peter stepped away from the money.

"I did not".

Renee gestured with the weapon, "Okay, get the bag, and put the money in the bag".

He quickly did as told, grabbing a cloth container behind him and stacking the money inside.

"Not a bad plan" Peter started, "Walker leaves your cut, and all you have to do is walk out with it once the dust settles. Pretty good plan, I'd say… Except we figured it out. You really think you can outrun the FBI?"

"For the record, it's a marathon, not a sprint" Neal couldn't help but add.

"He would know".

He gave the agent a dirty look but Peter ignored him.

"Stop talking, and put the money in the bag!"

"That was a pretty nice acting job you did for the cameras".

"Even the best laid plans…"

"Shut up!" She snapped.

Neal ignored her, instead focusing on the dye pack inside the stack of cash he pulled out. He subtly left in on the table in front of him, giving a pointed look to Peter who nodded silently in response.

Distract her.

"Walker convinced you to help him, didn't he?"

"He convinced me I shouldn't wait 20 years to have a mediocre pension to retire on".

Which, you know, fair.

"Why wait when I can have three times that right now?"

Neal hid another dye packet.

"Because you'll get caught".

"Again, he would know".

Game.

"Did I tell you to stop? Keep filling the bag!"

He carefully flipped up the top dollar bill to show Peter the plastic beneath.

"Could you stop doing that, please?"

"What?"

"Rubbing it in" Neal snapped, "It's very hypocritical".

"Well, it's not untrue. I caught you".

Renee glared at them, "Hey!"

Set.

"Okay, you know what? I'm tired of this".

"Of being held hostage or what?"

"No, bickering with you!"

He stepped back, both dye packs in his hands.

"Well, you're not the only one".

"Really?"

"Yea, really".

"Wow. Okay".

"Maybe it is time for this partnership to end".

"Okay, that's fine by me. I can finally start my novel".

"Novel?! You can barely write a parking ticket".

"You know, that's very immature".

"Hey!" Renee yelled.

Match.

"Hold on!"

"You really want this to end?"

"Do you?"

"I'm ready".

"Let's do it".

"SHUT UP!"


*BANG*


Peter rushed forwards, grabbing the gun from Renee as she sank to the ground, purple dye staining her face and clothes.

"Ah, my eyes!"

"In here!" He yelled, "We're in here!"

The FBI agents ran in just in time.

"Right there" He gestured, "Handcuff her. Somebody read her her rights".

"Yes, sir".

He let out a heavy breath and turned to face Neal who was-

Standing.

Right where he'd left him.

With a strange sort of… blank expression.

"Neal?"

He slowly turned to him.

Peter took a step forward.

And his partner collapsed.


"NEAL!"

He staggered back against the safety deposit boxes, shaking hands coming up to press against his side as he slowly sank down to the floor.

Peter was by his side in an instant.

"Neal? Neal! Hey, buddy, talk to me!"

He opened his mouth to reply but no words came out, the shocked and almost surprised look on his face remaining in place. Peter carefully pried away his hand despite the man's groan, and pulled back his suit jacket.

His shirt was clinging to him, a red circle widening on his left side, dampening the fabric and making his fingers strangely warm.

He stared in disbelief.

Then raised Renee's gun to his face and-

Gunpowder.

"Fuck".

When the dye packet exploded she must have automatically tightened her grip on the weapon.

Tightened her grip on the trigger.

Neal's breathing was ragged, skin pale and sweaty.

"Hey, hey, stay awake! I need you to stay with me alright!" He ordered, "Somebody call an ambulance!"

"Pe'tr-"

"No, don't try to talk, just stay awake, okay?"

He replaced the suit jacket and pressed down on it, hard, hating himself for it when Neal choked in pain.

"Just stay awake" He repeated, "Paramedics are on the way, alright?"

A trembling hand found its way to Peter's shirt, fingers clutching at the fabric like a drowning man would clutch a straw and he hoped to god that that's where the similarity to the analogy ended.

"Hey, come on, let's think about what we're going to tell Hughes".

He forced a small smile.

"First job out of a prison and you get yourself shot? He's not going to be too impressed, huh?"

Neal didn't even try to smile back, breathing loud in the quiet room, eyes glazed over.

"Or- Or what about Jones? What do you think he's going to say? Or Diana? She'll never let you live this down, you know".

Hot sticky red was starting to pour between his fingers and Peter desperately tried to remember if there was anything vital that could have been hit.

The wound wasn't that high up on his left side, resting an inch or so in from the conman's waist. Okay. So. The bullet would have most likely hit his spleen, which nobody needed anyway so that was fine. But it just as easily could have hit his stomach. Or his liver.

A gunshot liver didn't sound too good.


Neal's eyes started to drift shut.

"No! No, hey! Stay awake, come on!" Peter demanded, pressing down more firmly on the wound as he hurriedly glanced back at the door for help.

Asides from a just-as-terrified looking FBI agent, there was no one there.

"Where's that ambulance?!" He snapped, and the newbie visibly shook in his standard issue boots.

"I- I d-don't know, s-sir but I- I'll, uh, I'll c-check!"

He ran.

"Pe'tr".

He immediately turned back.

"Neal? Neal!"

The grip on his shirt loosened.

"... Thanks" He gasped out, "F'r gettin' me out 'gain".

He felt his eyes water and angrily bit back tears.

"You gotta hold on, buddy. Don't want all my hard work going to waste now, do you?"

He gave a weak smile and his fingers loosened further.

"You're almost a law abiding citizen now" Peter continued desperately, "So stay awake, you hear me?"

His hand, blood stained and pale, fell limply to his lap.

"Neal?"

The room was suddenly painfully silent.

"Neal!"

He quickly reached up to feel for a pulse on his neck, but his partner's head merely lolled forward, eyes closed and breathing shallow.

"No, no, no, don't do this to me!" Peter snapped, propping up the far-too-still conman back against the deposit boxes.

Keeping one hand pressed against the bullet wound, he reached up with the other to gently tap the side of the unresponsive man's face, blatantly ignoring the red streaks he left behind on pale skin.

"Come on, wake up! Neal!"

Nothing.

Cursing both loudly and expressively, he turned back to the door to see if the young agent had reappeared.

He hadn't.

But in the distance, Peter could hear sirens.

Looking back at his unconscious C.I., he tried in vain wake him once more.

"Come on, Neal" He muttered, "Just hang on for me, please".


Peter paused once he reached the hospital room, hovering at the door as a nurse finished twisting knobs and checking stats. She jotted down some notes on the clipboard at the end of the bed, and then smiled at him as she passed.

"Can you believe that they cut up my Devore?"

He blinked and turned back to face the man lying in the same bed.

Neal grinned at him.

He was tired and too pale and ever-so-slightly high on the morphine being constantly injected into him.

But he was alive.

"No! Really?" Peter said in mock affront, "Didn't you tell them what it was?"

"I was unconscious during my jacket's hour of need" Neal pouted, "But where were you, Agent Burke?"

"Probably throwing away my own jacket" He replied easily, pulling up a hard plastic chair to the side of the bed, "That's half a dozen shirts you've cost me by now. I should start sending you my dry cleaning bills".

"Or you could do what I do and just wash your shirts at home".

"Neal. It's blood".

"Peter. Use hydrogen peroxide".

He stared at him.

"You're against violence. How do you know that?"

Neal started back.

"You're married to a woman. How do you not?"

It was silent for a moment.

Peter cleared his throat and looked away.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid this one was rather a lost cause. No thanks to you, of course".

"Not my fault she pulled a gun".

"And yet you always seem to be the only one who ever gets shot".

"That was one time!"

"Twice, now" He retorted, "Not to mind the three close calls you've had! What are you, a magnet?"

"Yea! A magnet for unappreciation!"

Peter sighed, exasperated.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know that Walker confessed. After we got Renee to turn on him, of course. Good thinking with the dye packs, by the way".

Neal hummed, "I thought you'd like that. And the whole fake argument thing? Brilliant. Especially the bit about you wanting to write a novel. I almost started laughing".

Peter snorted and shook his head, but smiled all the same.

Neal glanced over at him and smiled back.

"Nice job".

"Not so bad yourself".