I'm feeling the love with this story! Thanks again for all the reviews!
***I claim no ownership in, around, on, (enter your own preposition here) White Collar***
XOXOXOXO
"Honey, calm down." Peter tried to sooth his wife, "We found the invitation with that address in Neal's discarded clothes. Dianna and Jones checked it out this morning. It was completely clean; He's going to be fine. I'm on my way." He said as he quickly pocketed the two small envelopes he had received from F.B.I. Special Apparatus Division. "Promise me you won't come within a block of that place."
"Honey! What if something happens to him before you can get there?" She was nearly jogging to get to the address as fast as she could. Mozzie, clenching her hand, tried with all his might to keep up.
"I know, but I can't do my job if I'm worried about your safety. I'll be there in less than ten minutes. Please, El. For me?"
Elizabeth began to slow as she answered, "Okay, okay! Mozzie and I will wait for you on the corner, one block west. Please, just get my little boy safe."
"I will, El. I promise." Hanging up the phone and pulling his car out into traffic, he tersely muttered, "Safe, but in a lot of trouble!"
XOXOXOXO
Quietly popping the lock, Neal slipped inside the dark, empty building. His only light came from the grimy display windows. Startled by a naked manikin, he jumped back into the shadows for a moment. He let out the breath he was holding and shook his head at his own trepidation. "This must have been a clothing store," he thought to himself. Carefully, he crept up behind what would have been the checkout counter, hoping to find some kind of clue. It was empty.
He stole around the large, nearly empty room. There had to be something here. He looked through the few boxes scattered about the place. Other than a few scraps of packaging, he found nothing. Next he searched what would have been the back offices. Surely there was something here. But the offices were even cleaner than the rest of the building. Losing patience and realizing he was running short on time, he decided to check the old dressing rooms before heading back to the museum.
In frustration Neal entered the third and last dressing room, leaned against the back wall and tried to think of what he must have missed.
The soft squeak of a shoe on the store tile made him freeze. He listened for a moment trying to decide what to do. Clearly, the owner of the shoes was looking for something. Neal listened as the footfalls crept around the abandoned store. When he heard them enter the back offices behind him, he quietly but quickly made his way back onto the sales floor and headed for the door.
He was nearly out into the relative safety of the street when he heard the distinct cocking of a gun and an unfamiliar voice utter, "So, there you are, my young Caffrey. Where's your friend?"
Automatically, Neal turned to face this man. He didn't bother to answer the question; he simply glared at the attacker hoping he looked more confident and menacing than he felt.
Aggravatingly, the short round man gave a good-hearted laugh but continued leveling the gun at the boy. "What a brave little man we have here. I am Dr. Gield," he sneered, "and you are the subject of one of my most successful experiments. You and your friend Mozzie, that is. Where is he?" he asked again.
And again Neal ignored the question in favor of one of his own, "Why? Why did you do this?"
Slowly coming down on one knee, Dr. Gield motioned with the gun for the little boy to approach.
It was clear he would get no answers unless he obeyed. Cautiously, he took a couple of steps closer, but made sure to stay out of the man's reach.
Satisfied for now, the doctor explained, "Why not? It's the ultimate youth serum. You can't imagine the number of people who wish they could go back and re-live their youth in the hopes of living it better the second time." With a gratified smile, he continued, "This will make me a billionaire!"
Stunned by what he was hearing, Neal pleaded in his five-year-old way, "Is there a cure?" He was nearly to tears with what he was certain was the answer.
Another explosive laugh escaped the doctor, "Of course there is! It's called time." The sneer that crossed his face worked like the hypnotic sway of a cobra on the little boy. Dr. Gield took his opportunity and lunged at the boy.
Neal struggled as hard as he could against the surprisingly strong arms of his captor. When he began screaming for help, the man clamped a smothering hand over his mouth. Held tightly against the doctor's chest, he switched tactics by going completely limp and turning his brain on instead.
"Good boy." Keeping a tight hold on Neal, he crossed the room to sit on the dusty checkout counter, "Now listen to me. I did not give you the original injection, but since you are the first human subject this has been tried on, I must see this through to the end. Now don't worry, you will grow up eventually, but without regular boosters of the serum, you will age much faster than the average boy."
Feeling the boy tense and hearing a tiny whimper, the doctor soothed, "You'll be just fine. You and Mozzie will come to live with me in my lab where I can record your progress. You'll have the best of everything and will want for nothing. I will raise you as my own sons."
Neal was again beginning to panic. He forced himself not to struggle and tried to get his brain to work. Clenching his eyes tightly shut, he willed away the tears that threatened.
"Now, we need to get that booster into you. We'll worry about Mozzie later. He got a much larger dose of the original serum than you and should be fine without the booster for a while."
Neal could hear the insanity behind the carefully guarded words. He had to get out of there! Where the hell was Peter? Isn't this when he's supposed to come bursting through the door to save him? Vaguely, he realized the doctor was shifting his position. He found himself laying stomach down over one of his abductor's knees with his legs clamped tightly between the doctor's legs. His back was being pressed down by a heavy hand. He managed to remain calm until he realized the doctor was trying to pull down his khakis. "No!" He screamed as he renewed his fiercest struggling, "Stop! You can't do this!"
From above him he heard, "settle down now child. Just a tiny prick, and then we can go home."
He struggled harder. The doctor responded with a tighter hold that essentially stilled Neal's small body. He whimpered when he felt the cold alcohol swab cleaning a spot high up on his hip. He tried not to tense when he heard the cap pop off the needle. In desperation he cried out, "Peter! Help me!" There was no response from his constant protector, only the sharp pinch of the syringe plunging into his skin and the burn as the serum was injected. The deed was done. Losing all of his fight he gave into his tears and began to sob uncontrollably.
Dr. Gield replaced the boy's clothing and sat him upright in his lap. With gentle, fatherly strokes he rubbed Neal's back and cooed, "There, there. That wasn't so bad now was it? You're going to be just fine. Shh-shh-shh. We need to figure out how we're going to get Mozzie back into the folds of our little family."
This made Neal cry even harder. How could he protect his friend when he couldn't even keep himself out of trouble? "P-please, let me go." He sobbed, "I want to go home!"
"I told you," Dr. Gield's voice hardened, "You are home – with me."
Neal wanted to start crying again, but he bit down on his lip to make himself stop. Reduced to sniffles and the occasional hiccup, the little boy searched for some means of escape. This guy was obviously delusional. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. With large watery eye, he twisted on the doctor's lap to look up at the man's face, "Yes, sir. That's what I mean. I want to go home with you. Can we go now?" He was trying to gain his trust.
Dr. Gield's face softened at the request, "Of course my boy. We'll go home now and make a plan to get Mozzie. Will you help me with that?" He said it in the patronizing manner of a father talking to his simple child.
Neal felt a blaze of anger at being talked to in this fashion, but he schooled his face not to show it. "Yes, sir. I'll help you. C-can I get down now?"
His captor gave a sickening smile, but he lifted Neal off his lap and set him gently on the floor. While the man stood to straighten his own clothing, Neal slowly backed away.
Suddenly, a loud crash erupted behind him. Out of self-preservation the little boy threw himself behind a pillar and hit the floor, hard.
XOXOXOXO
Confident that his wife and Mozzie were a safe distance away, Peter led a small team of trained F.B.I. agents to the entrance of an old, abandoned store front. The door was cracked open. Peter decided a soft entry would be best – just in case.
The display windows were filthy, but still not a good cover if someone other than Neal was in there. He crouched down and moved in fast, stopping just outside the door. He listened carefully. A crying child. Neal! He had to force himself not to move in immediately. There was another voice. A man. Peter couldn't make out what he was saying over Neal's crying.
He motioned to the agents telling them to stay low and quiet, and to wait for his signal. Being as careful as possible, Peter inched his way inside. It broke his heart to hear Neal crying like that, but the man with him didn't seem to be inflicting any damage at the moment. Unfortunately, the man was holding the little boy close. Peter didn't trust him not to hurt Neal if he was startled. He searched the room trying to find a way to get them apart before he made any sudden moves.
It was Neal though who devised a method of escape. Peter watched from his dark corner as the man set Neal on the floor. The second the boy had backed away enough, Peter signaled to his men to move in. They crashed through the door as Peter leveled his weapon on the man. "F.B.I! Hands in the air!" He demanded, "Where I can see them!"
Peter waited only long enough for his agents to take this man into custody before he holstered his gun and ran to the shaking little boy behind the pillar.
Neal threw himself into Peter's arms and began sobbing uncontrollably.
Peter held his little boy tightly to his chest and comforted, "You're safe now, Buddy. You're safe." The relief was evident in his voice
XOXOXOXO
Sorry this one was so short, but it felt like a good stopping place. Thank you for reading! Please keep the reviews (and ideas) coming; they really keep me writing!