Hi, guys! So, I've been super busy, but here! Have a story! :D I have no idea if the fandom is still active, but I wrote the first scene a few years back and just remembered about it a day or so ago. Hope you enjoy it! :3
Neal's mind raced. Fowler had killed Kate. He had to make the agent pay, to make him feel the same pain Kate had. A bullet through the head or heart wouldn't do Kate justice, but it was as close as Neal could make it. Fowler had killed Kate. Everything else Neal knew was foggy, far-off in his mind. Only one thing seemed clear. In the last case he had helped Peter with, a young woman had wanted to kill her boss the way the man had snuffed out the life of her lover. To her, it mattered not that her exterminating him would make her a murderer like he was. She burned with the desire to make him suffer exactly as her beloved had. It was this zeal (and her acting upon it) that had ultimately caused her eventual arrest.
In Neal's head, he knew that killing was wrong. He had striven so long not to allow anyone to die while under his watch. Their lives were not his to take. He could not—but Fowler had killed Kate. Like a mantra, those word repeated themselves in his mind. Why?! He ignored the buzzing in his mind (sounding suspiciously like Mozzie) that, if he did this, if he murdered Fowler, then he would be no better than that despicable man. Despite this, he burned with righteous indignation. What right had Fowler to take Kate from him? How could he have assassinated her in cold blood, caused her to be killed by a bomb? Everything Neal had held dear, integrity and morals included, seemed to him to be fuzzy. He was consumed with the thought of recompensing Fowler's evil deed with one of his own. Fowler would forfeit his own life in exchange for taking Kate's.
Somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, Neal heard Peter tell him to drop the gun. "This isn't you," Peter stated. One part of Neal's mind wanted to obey. He hated guns. Why was he here again? The other part of Neal's mind refused. He had to—had to make Fowler experience the pain Kate had endured. His hand trembled. Whether or not he effectively communicated that to Peter he could not say. His mouth automatically returned Peter's words, but his body acted as though it were on autopilot. Maybe he was. He honestly could not tell at that point in time. Fowler killed Kate! his brain screamed.
For a second, Neal lowered the gun. The fogginess would not go away. He could not make a clear decision. Fowler had killed Kate. His arm rose once more. Peter was telling him that he didn't want to do this. Neal hesitated. Could he truly murder Fowler? The compromised agent was evil, but he had started somewhere. He had, no doubt, experienced his first kill at one point in his life, which then morphed into another and another. If Neal executed Fowler, he would be taking the first step toward becoming like the evil man. He heard Peter tell him that he would always regret his action. He exhaled a shaky breath. He could not—no, would not—kill anyone. He had no right, he reminded himself, trying to ignore the pang in his heart, to take the life of anyone. Many years before he had become a con man, he had visited church with his aunt. He remembered some Bible verse about not exacting revenge and leaving it up to God. Well, he mused angrily, I suppose God's wrath is even worse than mine. He lowered the gun.
Peter took over the situation and had him step back to join Diana. Neal sighed at the feel of handcuffs around his wrists. I really messed up this time. He froze when Fowler admitted that he had not actually murdered Kate. Neal's heart dropped as he realized that he had almost killed the wrong man! If he had squeezed that trigger, he would have been . . . guilty of manslaughter. He gazed at the floor. Guilt began to gnaw at him. What he had been about to do . . . If she were still here, Kate—precious, beautiful Kate!—would not have been proud of him for his actions. He hung his head.
~\*/~
Peter sighed. This day had turned into a nightmare. He glanced at the person slouched forlornly in the passenger seat and grimaced. Neal had almost completely broken during that time with Fowler. After they had left the building, he had remained strangely silent and dejected throughout most of the day, as though his mind had shut down completely. From the looks of it, his body was not too far behind.
"Neal?" Peter thought better of saying more, instead waiting to see what the con man's reaction would be. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the young man start and turn to face him, eyes wide. Whether that was because of shock or fear, Peter could not decipher. After all, he had to keep his gaze on the road while driving.
There was a moment of silence before Neal answered, "Yeah?" He spoke slowly, as though the one word took a tremendous amount of effort.
Peter struggled with what to say before deciding upon ". . . I knew you'd do the right thing."
Neal hung his head and, after a short pause, mumbled softly, " . . . Well, that makes one of us." He leaned his head against the window. Minutes passed. "Peter, I would've killed him. What does that make me?"
Without hesitation, Peter replied, "Someone who is loyal to his loved ones. Neal, listen to me. You didn't know. There was no way you could have known that Fowler didn't kill Kate. That doesn't make killing him right, but it does mean that you wouldn't have killed an innocent man."
Neal grunted in response and closed his eyes. When next he opened them, he found himself staring at Peter and Elizabeth's house. He blinked in confusion. Peter stepped into his vision and began to open the door.
"You ready to come inside? Elle's made chicken pot pie," the agent stated happily. He seemed entirely too cheery for Neal's current mood, but he ignored it in favor of food. If the rumbling in his stomach was any indication, the chicken pot pie would go down well.
Satchmo was incredibly excited to see the young man enter the house. Neal rewarded him with lots of petting. The rest of the evening consisted of Peter and Elizabeth making Neal feel at home. He could not quite bring himself to laugh at Peter's jokes, but his mouth did quirk up in a small grin every once in a while. By the time that Neal accidentally fell asleep on Peter during their movie, he had begun to feel a little bit better.
Smiling softly, Peter resigned himself to sleeping on the couch that night and snuggled underneath the fuzzy blanket his wife had draped over them both. Thanking her with his smile, he settled himself in for the night.
Soli Deo gloria!
~LHDD