A/N: As promised, the Neal whump chapter and wouldn't you know it would be the longest chapter so far? Be warned, it is a bit graphic, and I make no apologies for Inna and Mikhail. They are mercenaries after all. Also, since I forgot to mention it in the last chapter, the poem Inna quotes to Tyen is called "Our Ruined House" by Anna Akhmatova. Enjoy! :)

Inna should have seen it coming; she should have known. The plan had gone so well, too well. She should have known something bad would happen. But she'd denied that anything could go wrong, that reality woud deviate from the well laid plans of mice and me.

She rushed to the chambers, the holding rooms Tyen had for his unwanted guests, noting some of Mikhail's work as she hurried to the basement. If she was the hardened criminal she liked to believe she was, she would have left Neal there, disappeared without so much as a second thought of the conman. But her hard exterior was slipping and though she was loathe to admit it, she was fond of Neal. It was hard not to be when he'd risked his life to save Sofia.

Which was why, when she reached the chambers, she finally lost all semblance of control.

The two men that had taken Neal had not followed Tyen's orders to not lay a hand on him. Blood matted his hair where his earlier head wounds had reopened; it ran down his face in rivers, soaking into the fibers of his shirt collar and giving him a ghastly appearance. His mouth and nose were bleeding and as he lay on the ground, struggling to get his knees under him, he coughed up blood. And from the way he craddled his ribs, Inna didn't know if the blood was just from his split lip or internal damage.

Whatever its cause, Inna didn't wait to find out. The men turned, hands on their gun handles, as she entered the room. She took in Neal's condition in one heartbeat and attacked in the next.

The first man didn't even know what hit him as she fired two bullets into his head. He fell back as heavy as stone into his partner. As the second man pushed the body away and raised his gun, Inna charged forward, snapping his extended arm to the side, the bullet flying from his gun's chamber harmlessly into the hall. She moved with purpose and anger, slamming her head into his face and breaking the cartilidge of his nose. He gasped, gagging on his own blood, and stumbled back into the wall. He raised his gun, but Inna fired off three shots before he could bring it level. He slumped lifelessly to the ground, leaving behind a crimson smear on the gray wall.

Shaking with anger, Inna dropped to her knees beside Neal, tentatively putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" A stupid question, she knew, but she didn't know what else to say in this moment.

Neal coughed sharply, hissing as the pain in his ribs flared, "Never better." He glanced at the men, quickly looking away, "Glad I'm on your side."

Inna moved, blocking his view of the bodies with her own, "They should not have touched you."

Neal watched her with a curious gaze, "Is that concern I hear?"

Inna frowned, unwilling to admit it out loud, "We must hurry. Mikhail will have armed the bomb by now."

Neal nodded, painfully struggling to his feet. Inna moved under his arm, supporting most of his weight as he fought off the dizziness and pain.

"I take it everything went according to plan then," Neal muttered as they headed down the hall.

"Not completely." At his uncertain look, Inna said, "You were not supposed to be injured. That was not part of the plan."

Neal scoffed, "Yeah, well, that's usually my roll, screwing up plans and attracting trouble. It's what I do."

"You should do less of it," Inna muttered.

They struggled up the stairs, stopping several times for Neal to push through a dizzy spell. Inna was getting antsy. The longer they took to get out of the house, the closer they would be to the bomb blast. If Mikhail had done his part, the bomb would detonate in only a few minutes.

"Quickly," Inna urged, pulling Neal away from the wall he rested against, "Only a few more yards."

Neal nodded, dragging his feet behind her as she pulled him gracelessly through the hall. They were almost to the foyer; Inna could see the door. And then the men came.

Two came from the front, weapons drawn and firing. Inna fired quickly, winging one and driving them both back for cover. Another man came from behind, but Inna quickly ended him, pushing Neal back down the hall.

"What do we do?" he asked breathlessly.

Inna cursed under her breath, "There are more coming from upstairs."

She saw at least three more men hurrying down the staircase. They were pinned and she knew her gun was running out of ammunition fast. And the bomb was ticking down.

"Inna!" Neal shouted, pointing to the stairs.

She turned, firing, and realized a moment too late that it was a distraction. She had a fraction of a second to curse before the man came up behind her, wrapping his arm around her neck and pulling back. She arched her back to alleviate the crushing pressure and turned her gun towards his face, but he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and held it away.

Neal was pinned against the wall, struggling against his own guard and losing badly. The guard smiled as he drove his fist into Neal's ribs, sending the con man to his knees, gasping and wheezing for breath.

The last two men came through the foyer, guns raised and fingers on the triggers. Inna knew they would not hesitate to kill them. There would be no questioning, no interrogation or negotiations. Only a bullet through the brain.

And then Mikhail, beautiful, wonderful Mikhail, appeared in the door way, a gun in his hand and a feral snarl on his face.

Inna didn't watch as he took out the two men, trusting that he had it under control. She stomped her foot down on her captor's instep and plowed her elbow into his ribs. He cried out, doubling over and loosening his grip on her throat slightly. But it was enough. Inna leaned forward and then drove her head back against his face. He stumbled away, releasing her neck and wrist. She turned, fired off a shot into his shoulder, and then spun away, not even waiting for the body to fall to the ground.

The gun in her hand was spent of bullets, but that didn't make it any less of a weapon. As Neal's attacker turned towards her, pulling a knife from his belt, she spun the gun in her hand, grabbed it by the still warm barrel, and cracked against his skull. He stumbled, but charged her anyway, sending both of them tumbling to the ground.

His hands went for her throat, pressing and squeezing and denying air into her lungs. She clawed at his face, arching her neck as she desparately searched out Mikhail. But he was fighting with his own hoard of men, taking them out one by one and with methodical precision. As good as he was, he wouldn't make it to her in time.

Inna pressed her thumbs into the man's eyes, kicked at his tender stomach, anything she could do to get free, but he outweighed her by fifty pounds of muscle and she was rapidly losing air. Deep in her heart, even as fear and desparation filled her, she knew she wasn't making it out of this one.

And then the man stilled above her. His hands loosened as his face clouded with pain. Something slammed into his head again, and he tumbled to the side, falling on her shoulder. Coughing, Inna scrambled out from under him, staring up in wonder at her rescuer.

Neal stood unsteadily above her, a cracked marble statue in his hands, and smirked at her.

"Not the way I usually admire art," he wheezed, tossing the statue to the ground.

Inna rubbed her throat, "Took you long enough."

Neal smirked and extended his hand to her. She smiled her thanks, moving to accept his help, when the world seemed to slow to a crawl.

She heard Mikhail shout a warning, saw the man move from the corner of her eye, saw the flash of the gun muzzle as it fired, and heard the two shots in rapid succession, followed closely by a third. Neal jerked back once, twice, the bullets slamming into his body without mercy or remorse. Shock and pain and disbelief flickered across his face as he stumbled back from her and collapsed to the ground.

Inna screamed. Not with words; there were no words she could say at that moment. There was only emotion, anger and guilt, rage and fear. She scrambled across the tile to Neal, automatically pressing her hands against his wounds as he choked and shuddered against the pain. Her eyes surveyed the damage, noting the higher wound in his shoulder was a through-and-through. The second wound was worse, lower, just below his collar bone and above his heart, the bullet still lodged in his flesh.

There was so much blood. It poured out of him, soaking his clothes and pooling beneath him, running in streams over her fingers as she tried to staunch the flow. He gasped in pain and fought to catch his breath, searching out her face.

"That-" he gasped, loudly, painfully, "was not...part of the plan."

Mikhail dropped beside them, gun still at the ready and eyes still looking for a potential threat, though Inna didn't miss that his hand found its way to Neal's uninjured shoulder.

"We have to move," he said, "There is only two minutes left on the bomb."

Inna grabbed the gun from him and another from the floor where one of the guards had dropped it.

"Carry him," she ordered.

"Inna-"

"Carry him, Mikhail," she hissed, and this time he wisely didn't question her.

Neal choked out a pained cry as Mikhail gathered him in his arms, following only a few steps behind Inna.

"There are more men," Mikhail warned her as they neared the door.

"Good," Inna whispered.

She cocked the guns, stepped outside, and shot anything that moved. Her anger made her aim accurate and deadly. There were five guards in all that came from the garage and the security shed. She did not waste ammunition, firing only one bullet at each man and watching in morbid satisfaction as each and every one fell with a bullet in the brain or the heart or the belly.

"The van is at the end of the drive," Mikhail said, "but it is a half mile lane."

Inna walked purposefully to the Jaguar sitting in the circle driveway and shot out the window. Reaching in, she unlocked the doors and popped off the panel beneath the steering wheel. By the time Mikhail had put Neal in the back seat, she had hot wired the car.

Mikhail leaned over the back seat as she drove madly out of the gravel drive and up the lane, "He is losing blood rapidly."

Inna gripped the steering wheel tightly, "De'mor. Where is Burke?"

"Waiting in the van."

Inna raised an eyebrow, "Really?"

Mikhail shrugged, "I may have persuaded him to remain there."

Neal gasped in a painful chuckle, "You tied...him up,...didn't you?"

Mikhail grunted in response, pressing his hands against the worst wound, "Quiet. Bleeding gunshot victims do not talk."

"Hold on," Inna ordered as she hit the brakes, stopping the Jag only inches from the rear of the van.

Mikhail moved Neal as gently as he could from the back seat, but Neal still gasped in pain, clutching at the back of Mikhail's shirt. Inna rounded the van and threw open the side door, only to stand in shock at the sight before her.

Peter was sitting behind the passenger seat, his hands and feet duct taped and a bruise swelling on his cheek bone. He glared at Inna.

"He hit me," Peter growled, "and then trussed me up like a Thanksgiving turkey."

"Something tells me you deserved it," Inna said. Peter's eyes widened as he saw her hands.

"Is that blood?" he demanded.

Mikhail appeared behind her and Peter swore loudly, calling for Neal and cursing Inna all in one breath. She moved to the back of the van, helping Mikhail lay Neal flat before searching for the first aid kit. Mikhail slammed the door shut and slid behind the wheel.

"What the hell-"

Peter was cut off as the bomb finally counted down to zero. The explosion rocked the van and was nearly deafening. Peter swore as he was knocked to the floor, unable to catch himself with his hands tied. He glared daggers at Inna.

"Untie me," he hissed.

Inna ignored him, finally finding the kit and tearing out gauze packets. Mikhail drove down the road, eyeing the side view mirrors.

"The house is destroyed," he told her, but even she could hear the disinterest.

It was startling to her how much their priorities had changed. For years, it had only ever been about the mission. Now, it was about saving a man's life, a man who she hadn't known for more than twenty-four hours, but couldn't imagine failing.

Neal craned his neck, blinking sluggishly at his friend, "Peter?"

Peter lifted desperate eyes to Inna, "Please, get this tape off me."

Inna quickly grabbed the scissors from the kit and cut part of the tape. Peter tore through the rest, not having the patience for her to cut it. He didn't bother with his legs, but scooted across the van to Neal's side.

"Jesus," he whispered, his hands hovering over his friend hesitantly.

"Press here," Inna ordered, pushing Peter's hands over the higher wound, "Do not let up on the pressure."

Peter obeyed, wincing as Neal bit back a groan.

"This is all your fault," Peter hissed, "You promised this wouldn't happen!"

"I know," Inna snapped, "Yell at me later. Focus on Neal."

Peter glared at her, and Inna suspected that if looks could kill she would have been rotting with the worms. Shooting her one more accusing glance, Peter turned to Neal, his expression instantly softening to worry.

"Easy, Neal," Peter whispered, "Try to calm your breathing."

"Hurts, Peter," Neal muttered, squeezing his eyes shut, "Feels like...fire."

"I know, buddy," Peter murmured, "but you're going to be fine."

Neal scoffed, hissing in pain, "You're a bad liar."

"Inna," Mikhail said from the front, "we need to vanish. The others-"

"Go to the hospital," Inna ordered without looking at him.

"Inna-"

"Go to the hospital!" Inna shouted.

"If we do that, we're done," Mikhail yelled back, "They will lock us up-"

Inna moved away from Neal to the driver's seat and pressed the gun against Mikhail's neck, "Pull over."

He stilled, watching her through the rear view mirror. Reluctantly, angrily, Mikhail obeyed and stopped the van on the side of the road. Inna reached around him and tossed open the door, ordering him out. She slid into his vacated seat, still holding the gun on him through the open window.

"You are making a mistake," he told her.

She pulled out her cell phone, tossing it to him without meeting his eyes, "Call the others. You follow the rest of the plan and you vanish."

Mikhail clenched his fist around the phone, "If you are doing this, you are no longer in charge. Why should we do what you say?"

Inna threw the van into drive and finally met Mikhail's eyes, "Goodbye, Mikhail."

She left him standing on the side of the road in a cloud of dust.

"Neal? Neal, open your eyes! Come on, we're so close."

Inna flew through the parking lot of the hospital, Peter's choked words fuelling her desperation. She glanced in the mirror and wished she hadn't. Blood coated the van floor like red paint. It covered Peter's hands, soaking the sleeves of his shirt. Neal lay lifelessly in the middle of the scene, far too pale and far too still. She couldn't even tell if he was breathing.

She slammed on the brakes outside the ER, leaving the engine running and the door hanging open on its hinges. She screamed for help in Russian and in English as she ran around the van, throwing open the door. Peter was pleading with Neal to wake up, unshed tears making his voice crack.

Nurses streamed out of the ER, surrounding the van and demanding answers to questions Inna barely heard. The noise of the world had turned to a drone. It rang in her ears, blocking out any intelligent sound or thought. All she could see was Neal's blood-soaked body lifted onto a stretcher and rolled away, his pale, lifeless hands dangling over the edge.

She and Peter were ushered into the hospital, but neither of them acknowledged the nurses asking about their own injuries. Whatever bruises and scrapes she had seemed meaningless. Though she probably looked like a car wreck victim, covered in blood from head to toe.

"I need to be with him," Peter argued with the head nurse, "He's my partner-"

"He's in the best hands," she assured him, "The two of you stay back here. Another doctor will be with you shortly."

And with that, she left Inna and Peter alone.

Peter whirled on her, "If he dies, I swear to God, I will do everything I can to-"

"To what?" she hissed, "Are you going to go on your own journey for revenge?"

Peter stilled, "I'm not letting you walk for this. What you did was murder, and if Neal dies, it will be on your hands."

Inna raised her crimson stained hands, spanning her fingers, "It already is."

Peter gulped and turned away, "Do you have any idea what kind of mess you've left us with? Aside from the fact that Neal might die, we helped criminals commit murder."

Inna brushed past him, "You were kidnapped by criminals and used against your will."

Peter glared at her, "You really think that's going to make a difference? You've probably ended my career."

Inna stopped at the door, "Somehow, I think your career will remain in tact, Agent Burke."

"Don't you walk out that door," Peter warned.

Inna stopped with her hand on the door knob. She cast a glance over her shoulder, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips, "Will you stop me, Agent Burke?"

They held each other's gaze, a thousand words and warnings and promises passing between them. And then Inna opened the door and simply walked away.

She did not vanish. She merely hid in the shadows.

The logical part of her brain said to leave. It wasn't safe for her to hang around, eavesdropping and watching, waiting for word on Neal. Peter had already contacted the FBI and they were milling around the hospital, swarming it like a horde of wasps. Statistically, she could only remain hidden for so long before they discovered her.

But she could not bring herself to leave.

So she'd cleaned herself up and borrowed scrubs and a face mask. She wondered the halls, pretending to be working, but really only biding her time. After two hours, the doctor finally came out of the operating room and gave Peter the good news.

She wasn't close enough to hear the words they exchanged, but she'd watched Peter enough to know what his body language meant. She saw his shoulders sigh, and his face ease. He uncrossed his arms and let them hang idly by his sides, his hands curled in slightly. He nodded along with what the doctor was saying, but Inna knew he wasn't really hearing the man. He was too busy praying, sending a thousand silent 'thank yous' heaven ward.

As the doctor continued to tell Peter the details of Neal's injuries, Inna moved through the hospital up to ICU and waited patiently outside Neal's room. Finally, the nurses finished settling him in and wandered back to their stations. Inna guessed she had only minutes before the doctor led Peter up there, but a few minutes would be enough.

Neal lay in the bed, shrouded in white scrubs and blankets, surrounded by a dozen machines. His arm was secured to his side with a blue sling and she could see his bandages peeking out from under his shirt. Swallowing convulsively to bite back the tears forming in her eyes, Inna stepped lightly across the room and brushed the dark curls from his forehead, wary of the large white bandage covering his temple.

A year ago, when she'd discovered Neal's connection to Tyen and decided to use him in her plot, she did not allow herself to consider the consequences. He was only a tool, a thing she could use to get what she wanted. She refused to see him as a person, unable to fathom what it would mean if something went wrong. If she only saw him as a pawn, then it wouldn't hurt as much.

But she had been so wrong. And despite her best efforts, he'd broken past her guarded walls without really meaning to, only being his normal self, protecting those he cared for and risking his life for an innocent girl he didn't know.

She would never be able to repay him for what he'd done. If she'd had it all over to do again, she would not have given up her quest for vengeance, but maybe, maybe she would have found another way. A way that didn't put him in harm's way and leave him fighting to live.

Blinking back tears, Inna leaned forward and tenderly kissed Neal's forehead, allowing a solitary tear to roll down her cheek to his mess of curls.

"Blagodaryu tebya, moy drug," she whispered.

She left the room just as Peter and the doctor arrived. By the time she reached the lobby, her tears had dried and her usual stony mask was in place. As she walked out of the hospital, she was startled to see Elizabeth walking in.

Disheveled and worried, Elizabeth rushed by her to the receptionist, demanding to know where her husband was. Inna smiled, content to know that everything had been put right in the world. Tyen was dead, Neal was alive, and the Burkes were safely together.

She walked down the street two blocks before turning into the alley. A nondescript SUV idled patiently, awaiting her arrival. Dropping the surgical mask on the ground, she climbed into the passenger seat and lit a cigarette.

"Is he alright?" Lanka asked from the back seat.

Inna nodded, glancing at her sister and offering a small smile. Serge sat next to her, clutching Lanka's hand. Sofia slept soundly between them.

"He will be alright," Inna answered, "They all will."

Mikhail grunted. Inna inhaled on her cigarette, watching the road as they drove away.

"Something the matter, Mikhail?" she asked.

"Do not ever," he growled, "pull a gun on me again."

She smirked at the window, "Did I anger you?"

He grunted again and she turned to him, impulsively reaching across the console to grab his hand. He tensed but did not pull away, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Maybe I can make it up to you," she whispered.

"How?"

She cast him a mysterious glance and watched as New York slowly faded behind them. And for the first time in years, Inna let the smile on her face reach her eyes.

A/N: There is one more chapter left to wrap it all up. After all, we can't have Neal whump without a little bit of Neal comfort!

Blagodaryu tebya, moy drug- Thank you, my friend