So... someone murdered my compure's screen ( *whisper* Sorry... ), but here is the new chapter, full of fire, blood and pain! Wow, that sounds sick...
Chapter 7: Rushing ( obviously )
Typing was something Chuck could do with his eyes closed – hacking wasn't. He of course needed to look at the screen, to see what happened when he did this or that.
Right now, he could tell he had almost made it. Only a few more minutes and, unless the guy whom Daryl Riggs had hired was a secret genius who twisted his work at the end, he'd have an address from the video feed.
He wasn't sure what he felt about that. He didn't question the necessity to find Neal Caffrey, nor did he resent the man for having to be found, but he wasn't sure what it'd bring him, personally, to find the man who wasn't – who had never been – his best friend. He wasn't sure what Caffrey would say to him – if he'd even talk to him.
The more he looked into Neal Caffrey – Chuck had gotten a glimpse of his FBI file and was now processing it thanks to the Intersect in his head – the more he felt like he had failed Bryce Larkin. Chuck had thought himself Bryce's friend... No matter how much Bryce hadn't been real, the fact that he hadn't seen anything, it surely meant something about how good a friend he was. Neal Caffrey was a good forger, that much was certain, and not only of IDs and art pieces; when he tried, he was a frighteningly good faker at being someone else. But it shouldn't have stopped Chuck, or Sarah, from seeing that there was more to him than just Bryce Larkin. They had known the man for too long, for it to be only a con.
Bryce Larkin wasn't Neal Caffrey, Chuck could say that only by looking at the two files, but there was a lot of Caffrey in his old friend.
Chuck... Chuck had only been able to see the surface. Perhaps that was the reason Neal Caffrey hadn't seen the point of coming back, again, and tell him that he was still alive. Because Chuck hadn't ever seen past the mask.
Here, in Manhattan, working with the FBI – because Neal Caffrey didn't work for anyone, even if you put a tracker on him – Bryce had made himself a life. He had people who cared for him, people who, if they didn't approve of all his life choices, still saw more in him than just another CI. They had their own flaws, certainly, and Chuck wouldn't be surprised if, from time to time, Caffrey was at odds with the agents. But at least they cared. They were his friends... And those who weren't, were his colleagues, and not only federal agents he had to deal with reluctantly. Chuck could tell, from the way several agents, other than Burke, Berrigan and Jones, had come in from time to time, asking if there was something they could do, some way they could help.
Or, simply, worrying if the CI was still alive.
Why would Caffrey want to be Bryce again, when he had all this? Bryce had nothing. No friends, no lover, no life. Neal Caffrey had it all – even if, from what Chuck had heard, his love life had recently taken a blow.
Chuck squinted at his laptop's screen.
He finally had an address.
"Bingo! Guys, I know where Riggs is keeping him. I'm sending you the address."
Agent Burke checked the location with his phone immediately, all ready to head out for the Bronx. Chuck was about to follow him – he may have failed Bryce Larkin, but he had yet to fail Neal Caffrey – when Casey stopped him with a hand to his chest and a grave look on his face - though, with Casey, it was hard to tell, since every facial expression looked kind of like a mildly angered scowl; but Chuck had gotten good at deciphering the NSA agent's looks of pent-up rage.
"What are you doing, Casey?"
The colonel hissed back at him, to keep the FBI agents' attention off them for now. Burke was too busy ordering someone to monitor the search while he was heading out, since Jones and Berrigan weren't back yet, but there were other people here, and he didn't particularly want to be overheard.
"Let me remind you, Chuck, that your former best friend is also a criminal who infiltrated the CIA. It's serious enough that we might all end up in trouble if we don't find anything more and he just disappears. So while I am going with Burke, you're staying here, focusing on whatever Caffrey did to manage being Bryce Larkin, and staying under the radar; You're the nerd; so nerd out."
Chuck almost didn't protest, conflicted at first. But he had to go. He had to meet Neal Caffrey for himself. He needed to see the man was still alive.
The younger man steeled himself, and confronted the NSA agent's glare – default setting.
"Count me out on this one, Casey. I have to go and see for myself that Neal Caffrey doesn't die because of Daryl Riggs. Morevover, he'll probably need to go to the hospital for a time. We'll have the time to investigate his motives later on."
Casey snorted, but his hand fell back, leaving the path clear for Chuck.
"As if Larkin wouldn't be able to escape from a hospital if he wanted..."
Chuck walked past him, rolling his eyes. Sure, Caffrey could probably disappear anyway, but that wouldn't change whether or not he started to look into his case right away.
"Given what we saw of his last hours, I'm positive he'll be unconscious for a while if we can get him to a hospital. Bryce might be very good, but he's not good enough to escape the CIA or the NSA agents Beckman will undoubtedly assign to him by sleep walking."
"Alright, but you're sticking with Burke. He'll probably go for Caffrey. Me, I'll be looking for Riggs."
Chuck and Casey stared at each other for a second.
A young FBI agent, probably one or two years younger than Chuck, knocked on the glass wall next to them. It broke the staring contest immediately.
"Say, if you two want to follow Peter, you'd better get to it, because he's leaving with Haversham."
oOo
Neal had walked down two flights of stairs, and was pretty sure he had to be close enough to ground level, by now. Only a few more minutes, and he'd be out of this damned building – that is, if Riggs hadn't condemned the doors too, as he had the windows. Then it'd take several more minutes.
And Neal wasn't sure he had these minutes.
He knew the buildings in this area; he couldn't be higher than third floor by now, not with the floors he had already walked down. Now, that was considering that Riggs had first jailed him on the top floor, which wasn't certain, though logical. The bomb, if there was one, was probably closer to the ground – better to destroy the bottom than the top, since the top would come down too if the bottom collapsed. Which meant that Neal was probably getting closer to the bomb as he headed for the exit.
He'd have done without – then again, he'd have done without being abducted too. The other solution to get out without coming too much closer to the potential exploding device was not one he could afford in his state – namely, beating open a window and jumping. Too high, too long, too strenuous.
So he was going for the front door, hoping he'd be out before the bomb exploded.
Just as he turned around to take yet another flight of stairs, Neal noticed a stream of natural light which made his heart leap. So far, he had only seen artificial lights, to make up for the closed windows, when there had actually been lights.
He glanced back at the stairs, but his curiosity was too strong, and his hope in too much need of some sunlight, some fresh air. The conman headed for the stream of light – at this point, it was a miracle he wasn't limping, but he'd take any miracle he was offered.
Neal turned into a ruined apartment, from where the light was coming.
He took in the room with a wry, broken smile, which he was certain had been recorded by the camera that was there, just on top of the open window. Just above the rectangle of sunlight, the square of blue sky and the other abandoned buildings in sight. The camera spying on him, again.
But Neal wasn't looking at the sky, at the outside world, at the window, not anymore.
No, he was looking at the device that stood in the middle of the room, in front of the window, just so that it was in the camera's angle. His eyes were fixed on the bomb – why shouldn't they?
00:27
Twenty seven seconds before the end. And here he was, standing next to it.
Should he thank Riggs for offering him one last look at the outside, at liberty, through that window, as he was standing before a bomb, ready to explode? Should he thank Daryl Riggs? Should he? Was it a gift... Or was it yet another taunt?
00:24
Neal glanced one last time at the window, and turned back. He walked two steps. Turned back again, facing the bomb, facing the window.
He needed to forget the pain, even more so than before. He needed to focus.
00:22
Suddenly, Neal broke into a run. As fast as he could – Peter always said he ran fast, faster than most, but here he didn't have much space to gain momentum, nor the time to, really. He just hoped it'd be enough. He hoped he'd be fast enough.
00:21
No time to turn around the bomb. Better to simply jump over it, and hope he'd land well enough to continue, despite his wounded thigh, and the fact that his sight was starting to blur.
00:20
The shock when his feet landed back on the floor was hard, but nothing compared to what he was about to do. He was lucky it was only the first floor, from what he could see throught the window. In his state, he wasn't even sure he'd survive with it being only the first floor.
00:19
The moment he crashed through the window, the world went numb – it really was a recurring occurrence, lately, he'd have to be careful. For half a second he felt dozens of shards of glass slicing through his skin, cutting his flesh, tearing him apart, deep enough to hurt a lot. He was almost certain he had a broken piece of window in his right hand.
Then it wasn't hurting anymore – perhaps it was just too much, and he was already too hurt, he wasn't registering anymore.
Neal managed to land on his feet, again, about three meters lower from where he had jumped, but barely. The pain came back suddenly, without warning, and he fell to the ground.
He had just ruined his left ankle. Broken or simply twisted, he wasn't sure.
He slowly checked no big glass shard had embedded itself in any very dangerous, very lethal artery. He thought he'd probably know if it was the case, but well, everything was hurting everywhere, and he had a hard time focusing. But no, he was cut, bleeding, a sight, surely, but mostly unhurt.
Except he couldn't walk. Or stay upright anymore.
Not that it would have been better to be standing when the blast from the bomb reached him. At least, that way, he already was on the ground; he didn't have to fall down. The heat and the sound were enough to worsen his state, though.
Ears ringing, Neal tried to look behind him. Half the building had collapsed on itself, and the ground floor was engulfed in a raging fire. That, at least, would get the firemen on site...
He didn't hear the footsteps coming his way, but he felt the gun pushing against the back of his head. Neal wanted to turn around, and look Daryl Riggs in the eyes as the man was preparing to kill him. He couldn't. Just like he couldn't hear the rogue NSA agent's last words to him.
oOo
Peter jumped out of his car, not even bothering with parking it correctly – he didn't have the time, and, frankly, the whole area was abandoned anyway. He could only stare at the collapsed building, at the fire that was raging, two block of flats away, for a moment. From where he was, he couldn't see if there was anyone outside, but for now, the place looked pretty deserted.
They had heard the blast only seconds before, and Peter had dangerously swerved while driving – not that he had been the only one in the street to. Now he was here, and he needed to do something. He vaguely heard Carmichael asking Mozzie to stay back here, and wait for the ambulance they had called ahead of time to arrive, and the NSA colonel saying he was going to find a location with a better sight of the place, just so that Riggs couldn't try to escape in the chaos.
Peter snapped out of it when the fire blared loudly, and a part of the exploded building collapsed yet again, just a bit more. He had to go there, and see if...
Perhaps Neal had gotten out.
The FBI agent ignored Charles Carmichael, as the man yelled at him to wait, to be careful. The man would follow, or wouldn't, he didn't really care. For now, Peter needed to find Neal.
He ran around the nearest building, and found himself in sight of the damaged building.
His eyes immediately zeroed on the two figures he could see, a few meters away from the chaos. Two people, one on the ground, the other standing – something in their hand. Peter reached for his gun, and ran yet a bit faster.
The racket of the collapsing building covered his advance, he guessed, because the man left standing didn't react. A good thing, probably, as Peter now knew for sure that the thing in his hand was a gun – not that he hadn't guessed beforehand.
He recognized Daryl Riggs, even from behind. He had stared at the last CCTV shot of him for long enough while worrying about Neal.
The other person was Neal, no doubt about it; covered in more blood than Peter had ever seen on a crime scene, looking tired, broken, even, but still Neal. Still alive.
But with a gun to his head.
Peter raised his weapon, aimed it at Daryl Riggs, and was about to speak up, to ask for him to drop the gun and surrender, as he was supposed to do – even if it was Neal with the gun to his head, even if... – but Riggs spoke first. Peter barely heard the words, as the man was facing the other way, and the blare of the fire was providing a background music of chaos.
"Really, Larkin, you don't know when to die."
The shot resounded badly to Peter's ears.
Daryl Riggs, rogue NSA agent, fell without another word – without even triggering his own gun, most likely because he hadn't been pressing the trigger yet. About to, surely, but not yet.
Neal's eyes moved with difficulty past the body, onto Peter, who had let go of his gun as soon as he had realized he'd shot Riggs. The weapon fell to the ground with a loud clang, but it went unnoticed in the general chaos. Especially as Peter was now rushing to Neal's side.
"Can... can you move? I don't like how close to that fire you are right now."
Neal blinked at his best friend, not totally sure of what he had heard – his sense of hearing was still pretty shaken from the explosion. His throat was dry, too.
"Sor... Sorry. Twisted my ankle. And I... don't feel my other leg. And..."
He wasn't sure what else anymore. The only reason he hadn't fainted yet was because he had the vague idea it might not be the best thing to do now, even if he wasn't sure why anymore. The ambulance siren he somehow distinguished in the background sounds had something to do with it, Neal was certain, but...
"Alright, alright. Just... I know it's not the best, but I'd really feel better if I could drag you, say, five feet away at least, just the time for the ambulance workers to get here. I mean, sure, it might worsen something, but at least you wouldn't be roasted...?"
Luckily for Peter, Chuck and Mozzie arrived with the medics just at that moment.
"Bry... Neal! You're still alive!"
The look the young man got from his former friend wasn't exactly kind, but perhaps it had to do with his choice of words. Peter left them alone, just the time to watch one of the medics check Riggs' pulse – no point there, with the clear bullet hole in his back, and the amount of blood, but the FBI agent guessed you never knew, and the ambulance worker certainly didn't want to have to explain why no one had taken care of someone who wasn't dead yet.
Satisfied that they didn't have a second patient, the medic turned to look at Peter, taking in his badge and his apparent lack of wounds.
"You're alright, sir?"
"Yea... yeah. Just... take care of Neal, would you? I'm going to..."
Peter didn't know what he was going to do, but it seemed to be enough for the ambulance worker, who went to assist his colleague. The FBI agent's gaze wandered over the scene, the fire, the ruins, the crowd they had attracted, but who still kept well away from the chaos, just in case – kids, recording the whole thing with their cellphones, as if they had nothing better to do.
Ah, right. He needed to get his gun back.
