The Whistler's Whistle.
The Longest Night.
A/N: I'm back with a new chapter! I hope it's okay, I wasn't too sure about it at first. I want to say thanks to my Beta SherlockXHolmes23 and to everyone who reviewed or added this fic to their alerts. I really appreciate it!
Warning: Again, medical inaccuracies - any faults are my own.
Disclaimer: I own nothing here.
"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls. The most massive characters are seared with scars." - Khalil Gibran
Monday night came quickly, as did Tuesday night but Neal wasn't one for staring at the grandfather clock. To be quite honest, he'd forgotten it was there. Without the clanging at the dawn of every hour, he found that they all seemed to blend in one, very long hour. He lost track of time and didn't see the point of keeping it.
He didn't have to go into the hospital until the morning of the surgery, which meant Neal spent his time at home doing….well, very little.
He read.
But he found that when he read, his eyes would just skim the lines and by the time he'd gotten to the bottom of the page, the words were lost and there was no point in it.
He cooked pasta for himself then left it on the table, not a single morsel touching his lips because the pangs of hunger he'd had were gone, replaced with a gnawing feeling of apprehension.
Fear.
Though Neal wouldn't ever admit to that either.
He also spent an abnormal and slightly worrisome amount of time staring at his own reflection in the mirror by his bed. The light didn't improve the tired and worn face that gazed back at Neal.
But that Neal, the one trapped inside the mirror, he looked the same as Neal Caffrey always had and yet, he also looked unfamiliar. Like it wasn't really his face, just a carbon replica. A fake.
Sure, his face had had many names over the years but as the clock struck seven on an uneasy Tuesday evening, Neal grew to resent the baby blue eyes and mop of dark hair because despite what had happened to him, he still looked the same.
Neal expected to look different because he was different.
He was not the same person as he was last Tuesday night, when things were the way they should be.
It was then, as Neal ran his finger across the mirror surface, tracing his clenched jaw line, that he noticed a slight shaking of the door of his apartment. It was minuscule. Tiny and Neal wouldn't have noticed but he found himself alert, watching those tiny details because they were all he had left.
He frowned deeply, stood up and slowly approached the door.
He wished to God that he could hear if someone was knocking because if he was honest with himself (which Neal Caffrey very rarely was) then he'd admit that he was just a little bit frightened.
How was he supposed to know who waited on the other side?
With a deep breath, he put his hand on the door knob and pulled it open.
His face betrayed the surprise that he tried to keep hidden at the sight of Mozzie.
A flustered Mozzie, one with a bottle of wine in his hand.
Neal stepped back to let the man in, ignoring the lingering gaze he felt on him as Mozzie looked him over.
They stood facing each other, one unsure what to say, the other unsure whether there was any point in saying anything. Then Mozzie began to talk, his lips moving so very quickly and Neal wondered how anyone could ever learn to read, comprehend such complicated movements. The younger man gestured to his ears with a shake of his head and Mozzie looked away and for the first time, Neal actually noticed the awkward atmosphere.
It must have been bad if he could feel it inside his impenetrable bubble of silence.
"Hi, Mozzie."
Neal felt even more uncomfortable speaking aloud, but did so anyway, eying the bottle of expensive alcohol that hung from his friend's hand.
Mozzie said nothing. His face gave very little away and as much as that irritated Neal, it was something he'd come to accept about his strange friend.
Mozzie was as good as hiding his emotions as Neal Caffrey was.
Perhaps better, depending on the occasion.
But again, Neal had known Mozzie a long time so he knew that the other man was finding things…..hard to believe because his face was a blotchy red, his foot tapped a mindless rhythm upon the floor and he hadn't been drinking. Mozzie wasn't an alcoholic, but he used alcohol to take the edge of the day. It wasn't an unhealthy dependency, in fact, Neal found himself worrying if Mozzie wasn't drinking.
That usually signaled that something was wrong but Neal already knew what it was.
He envied Mozzie.
Mozzie could be sad for his friend, angry for him but he wasn't the one who had to deal with it, was he?
The one who had to look life in the face every single day and just watch it roll by while he was thrown out the loop and stranded at the side-lines.
Neal took two large glasses from the draining board and handed one to Mozzie.
It was going to be a long night.
Peter was awake before his alarm went off, so it was no effort for him to throw back the duvet get up from the warm mattress as carefully as he could, so as not to wake Elizabeth.
He swayed for a moment, before walking towards the windows and drawing back the curtains slightly.
The sun barely peaked out from behind the thick array of dark clouds that hung low and threatening, but it was there. Long, yellow slivers of light struck the ground and the puddles shimmered after the light downpour of rain that Peter had heard during the early hours.
He'd been awake then too.
He glanced at the alarm clock.
7:30.
He had about two hours until he and Neal were supposed to be at the hospital and while the operation itself wasn't that serious, what it could do most certainly was.
It could make or break Neal Caffrey.
"Hun?"
Elizabeth had rolled over and sat up, pulling her silk dressing gown tighter around her frame, shivering in the morning chill. She had shadows under her eyes from being kept awake as her husband tossed and turned all night long.
"Morning, Elle." Peter's usual chirpiness wasn't there.
"What time are you picking up Neal?" Elizabeth stood and came around to the window, wrapping her arms around her husband's waist and resting her chin on his shoulder as he continued to gaze out at the street.
"Nine." Peter murmured, letting his head drop to rest on hers and he sighed.
"I'll go put breakfast on and you shower first."
"First?"
"Yeah, I'm coming too." Elizabeth drew away and crossed over to the dressing table and sat down, movements jagged as she ran her brush through her dark hair.
Peter nodded. He knew just how much Neal meant to his wife, his co-workers. The young man had that effect on everyone and the ability to get close to people was what made him a great con man.
It also made him a great friend, once trust wasn't an issue anyway.
Agent Burke was in and out of the shower in only a few minutes, too anxious to stay under the warm water for too long and his usual breakfast cereal tasted bland, even though he'd had the same cereal for years and never grown bored.
It was one of those days.
The days when nothing felt right anymore. And for Neal, perhaps never would again.
Elizabeth came down from the bathroom twenty minutes later, as Peter fixed his tie. He wasn't sure what to wear, khakis and a shirt would have been fine, but without his suit, he didn't feel quite like himself. He left his top button undone, not on purpose but because Satchmo wrapped himself around his owners legs, eyes large and round.
"Hey, Satch." Peter ruffled the dog's ears, as he always did but the Labrador didn't yelp with glee. He whimpered quietly, detecting the tense atmosphere of the house, the way none of humans smiled that morning.
Elizabeth grabbed her handbag and gave the dog a quick kiss on the nose before he retreated back to his basket and Peter took the car keys from the hook and they left the house.
Once inside the car, they turned the heating right up and drove in silence for a few moments, before Elle turned the radio down and turned to face Peter.
"He's gonna be okay, hun." She truly believed that, deep down and Peter could see that, but he couldn't believe as she did. Calling him pessimistic wouldn't have made a difference because he had empty, frightening feeling inside.
A feeling that it just wasn't going to work out how it was meant to.
"The doctor…..Elle, he basically said Neal wasn't going to hear again." Peter looked into her eyes, searching them for any doubt and there was none. That's what he loved about her.
Faithful until the end.
"That doesn't mean he won't. And if he doesn't….then he'll cope. Neal won't let this beat him."
"Maybe, but what's going to happen if the board decides he can't work for me anymore? Will they send him back to prison?"
"They won't do that." The panic set in across her beautiful face, "They can't."
"Except, they can, honey." Peter reached over and took her hand in his, squeezing it once to reassure the both of them. "But let's not think about that."
When they arrived at June, the entered the large, pristine house to find June sipping coffee in the dining room, alone as she waited for Neal to come down.
She too insisted on coming to the hospital and Neal hadn't protested simply because he couldn't be bothered. They weren't going to listen or care what he had to say and the CI found it a struggled to drag himself out of bed that morning. June had woken him with gently shakes, her fingers running through his mused hair and he wasn't at all surprised to see that Mozzie had left while he slept.
It didn't disappoint him either.
With a blank expression, the con man had showered, dressed and smoothed out his wild hair with trembling hands.
It was nine fifteen when he left the apartment and wandered towards the stairs, stopping at the sight of Peter Burke half way up them.
The older man stopped and waited for Neal to reach him, expecting the other trip and fall forwards because he looked so damn fragile.
"You okay, Neal?"
The younger man nodded and Peter couldn't be sure whether he understood his handler or was just nodding because he didn't want the hassle. Neal held his overnight back in a bag over one shoulder, a pair of pajamas and a change of clothes, toothbrush, sketch pad and few others things he picked up simply because June told him too.
He didn't plan on staying in the hospital overnight if he could help it, regardless of the outcome of the surgery.
By 6 PM that very same day, Neal would know how he would be forced to live every other day after wards.
Every day of his life came down to a few hours in the early afternoon on a Wednesday.
Or at least, it seemed that way to Neal.
Elizabeth embraced Neal once he stepped from the stairs, lightly, delicately as if a single touch from her and he would break. He returned it limply, before June, Peter, Elle and he left the house.
The Taurus pulled away from the curb and Neal, sat in the front with his bag on his lap, watched bleakly as the world rushed by his window.
It went too fast and the second he blinked, it was gone.
"We're just getting Neal prepared for surgery, but you can see him before we take him in if you want too." Dr Arnold's said to the Burke's and June as they stood nervously in the family waiting room. They'd signed Neal in and the young con had been led away by nurses.
So all they could do was wait, apparently.
"Yes, how long will that be?" Elle asked, entwining her fingers instinctively with her husband's.
"Not too long. Now, what are the arrangements for Neal once he leaves the hospital?"
"Well, he's coming home with us, isn't he, Hun?" Elle looked up at Peter and he nodded slowly, though one look from June confirmed his suspicions.
"I think Neal might prefer to be at home, Elle….." He trailed off because although he knew that Neal was going to need help, he also knew that Caffrey wasn't going to accept it.
Not unless he had too.
"I know, Peter but-"
Dr Arnold's, having glanced at his watch and seen the time, cut in. "I'm sorry. Perhaps this should be discussed later? Neal's in room 222B, you have about five minutes to go see him."
The three nodded and after getting directions from the nurse, they left to go find their friend.
It was Elizabeth who approached Neal first and sat on the edge of his bed, her hand searching out Neal's. She pulled out her notepad from her oversized handbag and wrote Neal out a quick note which Peter didn't see. The young man's lips flickered upwards in a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was barely there; just a glimpse of happier times and Peter forced himself to look away.
June sat down also and the three exchanged words for a few minutes as Peter hung awkwardly in the background. He wanted to talk to Neal, he needed too, but he felt intrusive. He'd never been one for caring and sharing and he found himself leaving the whole 'comforting' thing to Elle, who had every maternal bone in her body.
After a few minutes, Neal glanced up at his handler momentarily as the two women scribbled away.
"Elle, June." Peter stepped forward, suddenly feeling very shy and vulnerable. "Do you mind if I talk to Neal alone before…..?"
June nodded and gave Neal a quick peck on the cheek before leaving. Elizabeth stayed a moment longer, her waterfall of dark hair shielding Neal's face from sight before she too leaned down to press her lips against his forehead in goodbye.
Her hand brushed Peters as she left and the Agent hesitated a moment before sitting in the chair beside Neal, wringing his hands unconsciously in his lap.
Neal's blank blue gaze seemed out Peters face for any tell-tale signs of what the man was thinking. He was nervous, blinking rapidly, his fingers twitching and the young con man found himself studying the lines beneath the agent's eyes, deep and engraved in the skin.
He didn't remember Peter looking so old.
The agent picked up the pen.
Are you nervous?
Neal gave a quick shake of his head, at which Peter raised an eyebrow.
It's okay to be scared Neal.
"I'm not scared."
The con man was very sure about that, it was the truth. He wasn't scared, not yet. But he was going to be. The full force was going to hit him like a freight train.
Well, the doctor says it's a very simple procedure. No longer than a few hours.
Another nod.
Then afterwards, they'll take you for an audio gram and a couple other tests. But you don't need to worry about that yet, let's just focus on this first.
Another look of quiet confirmation.
Peter struggled with what to write. There was a lot he wanted to say. A lot he had to say but it was so hard because to be quite frank, he wasn't sure what he felt himself.
This was more than some operation.
This was the feeling he had, the one that lingered and choked him and Peter tried to push it away, hide.
But Neal, being as perceptive as he was, could see the fear in the older man's eyes.
Another silent silence.
You're going to be fine. I'll see you when you wake up Neal, okay?
Neal faked a Caffrey grin and Peter paused before settling his hand on the crown of the young man's head, brushing through his dark hair like he had on that day Neal got himself caught and drugged.
The day Neal admitted just how much he trusted Peter.
The agent said a goodbye and just before he left the room, he spared one last look at Neal.
But Neal was a million miles away.
Like everything else in that place, the sheets were cold.
Unwrinkled.
And unnaturally white.
Neal ran his finger over the thin material tucked tightly around his body, so tightly that Neal felt constricted and cocooned in the sterile cloth. He'd heard that young babies liked the feeling of being trapped, wrapped like a parcel because it gave them security.
The echo of safety they craved in the real world which they 'de suddenly been born into.
Neal didn't feel safe.
Or secure.
Not in the slightest.
The IV drip they'd stuck in his arm was itchy and he was tempted to rip it out and watch the blood trickle out and stain the bed sheets.
Not quite so white anymore.
With a frustrated sigh, Neal let his head drop back against the bed railing because he refused to just lie down and wait. Wait for them to knock him out and wheel him into the lab, electrodes ready, scalpel sharpened.
Neal Caffrey.
The Lab Rat.
Neal admitted that in some aspects, he was a rat. He was certainly a thief. A liar. A criminal. In his everlasting solitude, Caffrey wasn't afraid to admit what he was, what he had become.
He wasn't ashamed of that.
Perhaps he should have been, but what really shamed him was his vulnerability.
Neal Caffrey didn't do vulnerability. He had a perfectly sculptured mask, one he'd honed and tweaked and refined for many years, one of false confidence and bravado. He hardly ever took it off but if someone, anyone, caught a glimpse of just how fragile he truly was, then Neal would hide away again and tweak the mask a little more.
It was just the dance he did.
The routine.
Well, that had certainly gone to Hell.
They'd put a nasal cannula on Neal, it hooked over his ears and again, he didn't like the way it constricted the way he moved his face. There were other wires that he became tangled in, woven in. He'd move one arm and it'd end up caught like a fly in a spider's web.
Poor, helpless fly. Stupid enough to think it could outwit the spider, get past something so much stronger than himself.
So much bigger.
Neal gave up trying to get his limb back and instead, he focused on just how much he had to drink the night before. He shouldn't have drank, he knew that, but he didn't have much. Mozzie finished off most of the bottle, as well as four others, before passing out on Neal's couch.
Yet the company did nothing to help Neal get to sleep.
It was ten minutes later that Dr Arnolds entered the room, eyes running over the charts and he smiled at Neal, a reassuring smile that was supposed to make him feel better.
It didn't.
The doctors and nurses busied around for a little while, talking to each other as Neal waited, teeth gnawing absently at his lip.
They made him lie down, positioning his arm and legs so he lay straight and aligned and that's when Neal Caffrey began to feel anxious. Their gloved hands and air of professionalism made him feel sick and through yet another note, they told him he had only a few minutes until he was going to be put under.
A few minutes to truly think about his future, what lay ahead for Neal George Caffrey.
The road was going to go one of two ways and one of those paths, Neal dared not think about.
He couldn't stay this way. Deaf.
It was not an option.
A mask was placed over his nose and mouth and Neal gripped the blankets tightly with his fists as he waited for the darkness, but he was suddenly desperate to keep hold of reality, frantic to remain awake.
His eyes began to feel heavy and his grip loosened as this dense, numbing sensation took over his limbs and encased them and he felt his head loll.
The last thing Neal saw was Dr Arnold's face and the last thing he felt was a coldness clutching at his chest, refusing to let go.
And then, he was asleep.
"Pain so constant, it's like my stomachs full of rats. There isn't an inch of me that doesn't hurt." - Ianto Jones, Torchwood.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a review!