Chapter 15
"It happened again," Sisley's words are almost unintelligibly slurred, and he can hear her tears over the phone. "Help me."
"Just stay there, I'll be right there, okay?"
"You don't have to come, it's my fault-"
"I will be right there. Don't move."
Neal hangs up the phone, pulling on his jacket, and Peter glances at him over the top of his newspaper. "Everything alright?"
Neal shakes his head, looking down at his fingers buttoning the jacket up. "I'll be back in a bit, just need to give a friend a hand."
"Sisley."
Neal nods, straightening the jacket in the reflection of the oven. "Yeah. I'll meet you at the office, okay?"
Peter nods as Neal moves for the door, then calls after him. "Neal." The younger man looks back at this. "I'm proud of you."
Neal looks down with a small smile. "Thanks, Peter."
When he buzzes on the gated door, she doesn't reply, and he just hears the door unlock. He strides up the stairs, two at a time, finding her apartment unlocked. He's careful and slow when he enters, finding her wrapped up in a jacket he had accidentally left there a few nights before, and she's clutching a near empty bottle of wine.
Neal immediately goes to sit next to her, his heart breaking when she throws her arms up to cover her face; despite these actions, though, she presses herself against Neal, kind of half-heartedly, and she doesn't have complete control over her motions right now, she's just limp. He wraps her up in his arms, letting her have a moment.
"Hey. Hey," he tries, after a time, and she sniffles. "It's okay. It's going to be okay." The bottle in her hands, the culprit, threatens to spill when she drunkenly lets her arms fall to her knees, and he reaches over to take it, placing it on the floor by his feet. "I'm here."
She nods a bit, nuzzling in a little closer to him, and he places a few delicate kisses on her hair. "Thank you for coming," she manages, her words muffled against his jacket.
"Of course I came. Thank you for calling." He kisses the top of her head again. "Proud of you."
She smiles, and it's a little lopsided, but it quickly fades. "I keep trying, but I always end up here…" she sighs, trailing off and her words slipping together. She exhales in a whoosh, exasperated, and flails a hand slightly to display her point. "I'm so, so tired." He tilts her chin up at this, searching her eyes.
"I know. Just relax now. It was the hardest thing I've ever done."
"But you did it. And I'm still here."
"Hey," he demands, bringing her back to focus. "You're still here. This hasn't beat you yet. You'll be fine." He laces his fingers in hers, and kisses her forehead. "I promise."
She sniffles again, and after a moment, finally dares to tilt her chin up and press her lips to Neal's for the first time. It takes him a moment, but he reciprocates, and then just pulls her close, tucking her head under his chin and holding her tight. She draws her legs in, curling against him, and he exhales slowly, shutting his eyes and trying to contain the shaking that racks his body as he holds her. He has to keep himself together, at least for her benefit, as hard as it is. When all he wants to do is join her as she destroys herself, he can't, because he's found a reason to stay strong.
"I'm so tired, Neal," she murmurs again, quiet and slurred.
"I know you are. Just rest." She nods, and it gets away from her a little bit, like a small child nodding off close to bedtime. He sighs, staring out the window, then squeezing his eyes shut, bringing one hand to his forehead to press against his temple. This hurts, so much, that he can't help her, and now he knows how Peter felt. He lied, about quitting being the hardest thing he's ever done. Quitting was hard. It was painful, miserable, and he sank into the lowest depression he's ever been in- he's still struggling to claw his way out- but the hardest thing he's ever done is watch someone he cares about in so much pain, and being unable to do anything about it. He's had a few too many servings of that, this is no exception. "Please just rest," he murmurs, rocking her slightly, and he hears her breath even out into soft, steady inhales and exhales. Peaceful oblivion that he hasn't felt in the months since quitting, the kind that he misses desperately. "Please let this be the last time," he quietly murmurs, hoping it will be, but knowing it won't be. He knows she's not there yet, and it kills him.
"In order to get Diana in, we need to have access to Thompson. How can we do that?" Peter asks the group as they gather around the table in brainstorm formation.
Neal's off in his own world, still focused on the events of earlier today. Peter snaps his fingers and Neal looks back up. "Hey. Focus. How do we get to Thompson?"
Neal searches the files for a moment, holding up a finger. "We…need to get into the offices. George could go in for one last meeting, look around."
Peter vigorously shakes his head, crossing his arms. "No way, George is on the shelf."
"If I just went in-"
"Neal. Forget about it," Peter warns, stern, and Neal leans back in his chair, exhaling sharply.
"We could look at his rap sheet, see if there's anything we can re-open to spook him a bit. Sisley could get us in. If we dropped a bug and re-opened a case, we could get him talking, find out something about this side business other than its nature," Jones offers.
Peter considers this, but Neal looks up. "We don't use Sisley. Not now," he shakes his head, keeping his eyes on Peter. "Not right now, Peter."
"She's not doing too well, is she?" Diana ventures, quiet, and Neal shakes his head again, looking down to hide the pain on his face. The pain that pulses through him at every moment, the pain that gets worse with time, the pain he desperately needs to just bury, but can't. She needs him.
He drops his head against a palm, exhaling slowly, and Peter studies him. "Go home, Neal. Don't worry about this one." Neal looks up at this.
"You're kidding. Peter, we can do this. You need my help."
"Not this time. For you, it's personal. I can't let that become an issue. It's not safe for anyone involved."
"Peter," Neal starts, his eyes slightly wider than they were a moment before, shaking his head, slow.
"Go, Neal." Neal stares at Peter for a moment, unblinking, then just scoffs, closing the case files and pushing himself up, moving to head out the door. Peter stops him when he passes by, and leans over to him, close. "Go take care of her," he says, barely above a whisper, and Neal stops in his tracks, looking down. After a moment, he just nods, still not looking up at Peter, and walks out the door.
++++++++
When Neal hears no response from the other side of the door, he goes into a mild panic, fishing out the spare key he swiped from Sisley's drawer the last time he was there.
The victorious click and squeak as the door moves open soothes him, but that's all lost the moment he takes in the scene. She's there, on the sofa, curled up as tight as she can possibly make herself. He's not sure if she's asleep or awake, so he goes to sit next to her, wincing when he hears the broken glass crunching beneath his shoe. His body sinks down into the sofa, and he leans over, gathering her limp body in his arms and pulling her close, resting his face against her hair and deeply inhaling her scent through his nose. A gentle movement and a light noise from her throat indicates a slight stirring, and he glances over at her, just rocking her gently. "Oh, no…" she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here. How'd you get in?" she manages, her voice sleepily cracking.
His reaction is minimal, a light shushing and a kiss on her hair. "I'm here." She nestles up against him, and exhales slowly, swallowing. The nausea that grips her doesn't let go, and she wants to get a glass of water. She goes to climb off the sofa, but Neal grabs her arm, pulling her back before her bare feet touch the wood floors.
"Broken glass," he warns, and gets her settled back in her spot on the sofa, climbing off himself. "What do you need?"
A weak smile indicates her thanks, and she just manages the one word. "Water."
In the kitchen, he's opening cabinets and drawers, trying to figure out the locations of her glasses, when he stumbles across a few things. The first is the liquor cabinet. It's primarily made up of the cheapest wine, some mid-range whiskeys and tequilas, but the entire back row is very, VERY expensive wine. The kind Neal might steal. He glances over at Sisley again, trying to figure out where she might of gotten this level of poison. The second thing he notices is the small bundle behind the cabinet that holds the glasses. He reaches in, unwrapping the parcel from it's blankets, holding it up and letting it dangle. It's a rosary, but it's not any ordinary rosary. The entire thing is made of threads of gold, and every bead and detail is decorated in diamonds.
The brain that he's still letting recover races at a mile a minute, and he tucks the item back inside the cabinet, filling a glass with water and bringing it back over to her.
She sips delicately at it, avoiding Neal's eyes, and he leans into her slightly, taking one of her hands in both his own. "I'll take you to a meeting. When's the last time you went?"
She shakes her head, hands trembling slightly, and she keeps her head down. "No. You have work to do. You have to get him." She pauses. "I'd kill him, if I could."
"No, you wouldn't. You can't say things like that. They'll take care of Wilcox, let me take care of you. One meeting."
She doesn't need to be taken care of. She's just broken, that's what she thinks Neal doesn't understand. Of course, Neal does understand, he's been there, but she doesn't feel that way. He can't just waltz into her life and declare her his new project and fix her; but she'll admit, she's thankful he waltzed into her life. There's an unspoken bond, an understanding, between people like them, where they just get each other; but it's more than that. When her father, the only man who ever understood her, passed away, all she felt was lost in this deep sea of kind and willing souls who wanted to help but didn't know how. That kind of misguided support just builds false hopes, and makes it all that much harder when she slips and they give up on her. There's a glimmer of hope she feels, just for a second, whenever this strange man she's only just met wraps her up in his arms. She feels safe, and protected. He understands her, he is her, in a way, and he's all she can aspire to be, with his success story and recovery.
He can't say he feels the same. He's taken with her, absolutely, hopelessly, completely, but he's not sure he would refer to himself as an inspiration. When he was forced to rid himself of the only thing that stayed with him through everything, the one thing that protected him from the darkness, it created a hollow, empty void within him; one he hasn't been able to fill or replace since. He's just as much the broken man he was before recovery, if not broken twice over, and it's starting to get to him. Every day brings a fresh hell; he finds himself swimming through darker and darker places in his mind, places he wasn't aware even existed. Unable to sleep, unable to think, unable to make all of it go away; he's a little more broken down with each passing day. Being here for her, however, at least slows down the process. It's not making it any better, but it's definitely stunting the depression's rapid growth as it tears through him, desperate to rip him to pieces.
"Not yet. Not while I'm like this," she murmurs, shaking her head.
"Like what."
"Drunk," she concludes, raising her eyebrows, staring at the floor. He sighs, pushing himself up from the sofa and grabbing the broom from the kitchen, cleaning up the shattered bottle on the floor. She studies him, running her fingers through her dark waves, and when he returns, he helps her up, guiding her to the bedroom. She climbs on, immediately curling up, and he pulls off his jacket and shoes, climbing in next to her, drawing up the blanket, and wrapping his arms around her. She freezes, but after a moment, nestles against him. His lips find her hair, and she provides a weak smile.
"How do you feel right now?" he asks, quiet. She hesitates, then nuzzles in a little closer.
"Safe. Warm. Protected." Neal shuts his eyes, exhaling.
"Let's make a deal. Whenever you start craving, just call me. I'll be here in ten minutes. We can climb in bed, and I'll hold you, just like this, so you can feel that way again. And if it doesn't work, then I won't stop you from doing whatever you need to do."
She smiles, but it's sad. "I wish it worked that way."
"Just try. For me."
She hesitates, then nods, turning in the bed to face him, tucking her head underneath his chin. "Okay."
He tilts her chin up and presses his lips to hers. "Thank you." She settles, then shifts.
"That glass on the end table, could you grab that for me?" He shifts, glancing over to the end table on his side, and reaches out for the glass. He takes a quick swig himself without thinking, before passing it over to her, and winces when he does; it's definitely not water. Sisley's feet kick the blanket down, and she sits up in bed, gripping the cup with shaking hands and sipping. Neal brings a palm to his temple, squeezing his eyes shut, and a light moan falls from his lips. The cycle's starting again, and all he can focus on is how warm and relaxed his body was the moment he felt the liquid rush down his throat. It consumes his thoughts, and he barely makes it through the next minute without absolutely losing it. But he does. He keeps it together, his head in his hands, and after a moment, glances over at Sisley, who has set the glass on the end table on her side. She's staring at him, horrified and remorseful, just studying him. "Did you…" she starts, but he just cuts her off, scoffing.
"Yeah."
"Neal," she starts again, but he holds up a hand, waving it off.
"It's fine." He takes a deep breath, then looks over at her. "I'm fine."
"I'm sorry, I didn't think, I-"
He gathers her up in his arms, settling back down under the blankets again, tangling his legs with hers. "Sh," he scolds, kissing her hair. "I said it was fine."
She sighs, just staring up at him for a moment, before exhaling slowly. "Let's go." His brows furrow, and Neal just studies her, shaking his head, not understanding. "The meeting." She hesitates. "I want help."
He smiles, very faintly, then hesitates. "Let me take you somewhere else. I know someone. She can help."
Sisley blinks, then nestles closer to Neal, now wanting to take it all back, unsure if she's ready. "Who?"
"A friend. Come on." He climbs out of bed, shrugging on his jacket and running his hand through his hair before flipping on his hat.
+++++++
"Wait here, okay?" Sisley nods, just staring at her hands as she plops down on one of the chairs right inside the FBI entryway. "I'll be right back."
Neal saunters over to the desk, and Sisley watches him, her hands shaking and her breathing unsteady. He exchanges a few words with the woman at the desk, and they share a small laugh. Sisley can't help but notice how smooth he is in every interaction; it seems making people feel comfortable and at ease is his specialty, his strong suit. It's the hand he'll always deal if he can.
When he turns back to her, he smiles, giving her a quick nod to signal he's ready, and she hesitates before standing, keeping her head down. Suddenly, he's right in front of her, holding her hands in his and leading her into the elevator.
"Elaine. Looking wonderful, as always."
"Oh, Neal," the woman waiting for them when the elevator door opens smiles and laughs. "So good to see you. You look fantastic, as well."
He grins, looking down, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. "Well, I wasn't fishing, but thanks." He motions to Sisley, who's quiet. "Sisley, this is Elaine. She helped me," he explains, pulling one hand out of a pocket to gesture. He shrugs. "She'd like to help you."
Sisley smiles, it's soft and weak, she's nervous, but she accepts Elaine's handshake. "Good to meet you."
Elaine smiles back, bright and confident. "Please, come in."
Neal sinks into the couch, draping an arm over the back of the sofa, and Sisley nestles in next to him. Elaine surveys the two of them for a moment, then settles into her chair, crossing her legs, her deep skin contrasting with the bright red dress she wears, adjusting her legal pad in her lap. "What can we do for you, Sisley?"
She hesitates, and Neal nudges her lightly, tipping his hat at her. He flashes a smile and she smiles softly, looking down. "I want to get better."
Neal feels his heart grow, just hearing these words. He's a destroyed man, not even half of the man he was, and it's taking days and weeks and months but he's slowly re-building himself. He's not there yet, but he will be, and he couldn't be happier to see Sisley take the same first steps he had to take. Elaine smiles after a moment. "We can do that."
Neal audibly sighs in relief, leaning back against the sofa, and Sisley draws her legs up, curling next to him. They're broken out of this relief when the door swings open, and Diana is standing there looking concerned. Sisley glances back at her, and Neal stands, tilting his head at Diana, face full of concern and worry.
She sighs. "Wilcox is dead."
Neal blinks, then furrows his brow, stepping away from the couch. He looks back to Sisley, and she looks just as shocked as him, but there's a hint of relief in her eyes. She glances up at Neal, and he's lightly shaking his head, almost angry.
"Tell me you didn't do this," he pleads, remembering her earlier words, voice shaking as he steps back again. Her hazel eyes widen, and she sinks a little lower in the sofa, shaking her head vigorously.
"Neal, no. I couldn't. I wouldn't. I'm right here!"
"You wanted to!" he challenges. "An hour ago you said you would if you could!"
She stands, going to him, but he steps back again, and Elaine stands at this, trying to contain the situation.
"Please, Neal, listen to me. I didn't do this. I didn't."
He's just staring at her, eyes wide, and he calls over to Diana, not taking his eyes off Sisley. He's let himself get very close to this woman he barely knows, and now he's thinking that was a mistake. "What happened to him."
Diana shifts, looking down at the file in her hand. "Toxicology says alcohol, lethal dose, main-lined."
"Murder?" he guesses, still studying Sisley, and she shrugs. "That's our guess as of now."
Neal grabs his hat, flipping it on and grabbing Sisley's hand. "You stay here." He looks to Elaine, and she just nods, waving him off. He's out the door and on his way up to the WCU in seconds.
Diana and Neal don't speak to each other during the elevator ride, except for one exchange.
"Do you think she did it?" Diana asks, glancing over at Neal. He just stares at the elevator door, showing no emotion.
"I don't know."
Peter is standing outside the conference room door, arms crossed, tapping a foot. He plants his hands on his hips as soon as Neal and Diana step out of the elevator. "What the hell happened here, Neal."
He raises up his hands. "I have no idea, this wasn't me. I'm a lot of things, Peter, but I'm not a killer. You know that."
"He was given a lethal dose of alcohol, injected. People don't do that, they don't shoot up alcohol. This was murder, and it was someone who wanted him to suffer the same way they did."
"Someone he was blackmailing. Revenge."
Peter nods, looking at Neal knowingly. "How's your friend?" he asks, and the question inside holds much more weight than the words themselves.
"I don't think she would do this, Peter."
That's true, he doesn't think she would, but the honest reality of all of this is that he knows very little about her. That is the mistake he made, he'd always been careful before but he got too involved too quickly. He won't be making that mistake again.
"Anything left behind at the scene?" Neal wonders aloud, and Peter shakes his head.
"Whoever did this was a professional, this isn't amateur work."
"Sisley's an addict, not a criminal mastermind."
"Is it impossible to be both?" Peter ventures, and Neal tips his head, knowing that Peter's applying the comparison to Neal.
"Thanks, Peter." He pauses, and straightens up, reiterating his point, voice strong. "I don't think she did this."
"Can you prove that?"
"I can't." Neal's voice wavers slightly when he admits this, but resolves almost immediately. "But I will."
Peter nods slowly, pressing his lips together. "You do that."
Neal cocks his head, studying Peter, and there's an unspoken challenge that is born from the moment. Peter has questioned Neal, and that never goes over well.
Never.