Thanks for the reviews! They were really appreciated.
Sorry, galloping mare, this one is actually shorter. I promise the next will be longer!
Disclaimer: Don't own White Collar. If I did, we wouldn't have to wait 2 weeks for another episode!
"Do it," a hiss from above. "I dare you!"
Agent Peter Burke glared at the figure standing on top of the roof. To make matters worse, Neal just had to pick a building that was directly in front of the morning sun. He couldn't even lift his hand to shade his eyes because he needed to look intimidating.
This whole entire thing was a nightmare. Just a horrible dream, but something that he would eventually wake up from. Neal couldn't…He wouldn't…kill anyone. Right? He hated guns. So that made it a dream. "It's just a dream. I'll wake up soon and I'll be able to look back and think, Oh, now that was a bad dream," he was muttering under his breath, rambling on and on, and people were starting to give him strange looks. He eyed them back, and then remembered that it was just a dream and it didn't matter what they thought of him. But, his mind whispered treacherously to him, it this is a dream, how could the sunlight shining directly into your eyes feel so real?
Peter shook himself. This was ridiculous. This was a dream, and he'd wake up from it soon.
But suppose…he didn't? Neal had said that he was the only one he trusted. He knew that Peter was finally starting to trust him. He wouldn't have betrayed him, right? But the evidence! that cold, analytical part of him cried, it points straight to him! How he hated that part of him right now. Why couldn't he believe Neal? Why did he have to see the case from all angles, and concede that everything really did lead to Neal? Because it was what made him such a good agent. Neal helped too, another part of him argued, he always tried to help. But suddenly the warring sides of him were swept over by rage.
"I trusted you! Against my better judgment, I trusted you!" he heard himself shout, "But never in my worst nightmares did I ever think you would do something like this!"
There was no reaction from the dark figure standing above us. The damn sun turned his face into a shadow. If he could only see his face! Then he'd know.
The head turned slightly, and he realized it was staring directly at him. His hands shook, but then he managed to regain control and steady the gun. The head turned away again, staring into the crowd once more.
"Do it," it hissed again, "I dare you."
Did Neal have a death wish? he wondered briefly. The week before…the incident…he'd been acting strange. He hadn't always been himself. The constant little annoyances had seemed a little forced. At the time he'd thought nothing of it. Now, he wondered if this was somehow his fault. Neal was his responsibility. He knew he was a good person, whatever his past mistakes.
But the evidence! that cold, cold part of him shouted again, The evidence!
Neal was his friend. Neal was a criminal! He groaned; this was making his head ache. Neal was his friend, he knew this. So why the suspicion? The trail of blood, the voice murmured. The bodies, the empty staring eyes. Neal's fingerprint on the bullet.
A movement caught his eye. The shadow had turned its head, looking at…what? What was it looking at. This was the second time the head had turned to look behind it. This was important, he was sure of it! He looked around him and sensed that the other agents were getting desperate.
Murderer! No, friend.
Criminal! Friend!
If only he could see his face!
Another turn of the head from the shadow.
Time was running out.
No verse in the beginning this time--couldn't think of one. Maybe I'll add one in if one comes to mind.