/*** Warning: Blood, injury and hurt in this chapter. Someone will die, but it's not Neal. If you're too young or sensitive for this, or simply don't like it: Stop here ***/
Peter was singing out of tune, with hushed voice, short of breath. Repeating the refrain over and over.
Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
There are plenty of ways you can hurt a man and bring him to the ground
You can beat him you can cheat him
You can treat him bad and leave him when he's down
He pushed hard and fast in the center of Neal's chest to the beat of that old song. Pressing down about 2 inches with both hands directly over the breastbone to perform a compression. He knew the song's fast rhythm was roughly the recommended 103 beats per minute.
Peter's hands were covered in blood, his own blood as well as Neal's blood. Caffrey lay on the floor, eyes wide open, showing no vital signs.
Another FBI agent has placed her hand on the unconscious man's forehead and two fingers on his chin tilting the head back to open the airway.
When Burke paused the CPR, he switched to a begging tone. "Come on, Neal, don't do this to me. I still own you for the next two years. I won't allow you die on me. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe."
Then, he continued the cardiac massage. Another one bites the dust...
After an eternity of 4:37 minutes during another pause, Neal suddenly drew a breath. His eyelids fluttered. The agent felt for a pulse. It was weak and arrhythmic, but it was there.
Just then, they heard siren noise announcing the arrival of the rescue team. A couple of moments later, the paramedics turned up taking charge immediately with professional care.
Peter stepped back to sit down, finally giving in to his own meltdown. He was completely spent. Leaning against a wall, he was wondering how things could have gone south so fast.
"Sir?"
Neal has been carried into the ambulance where the professional emergency team was working frantically to save his life. They've rushed with wailing siren and flashing lights to the hospital.
Burke gazed at his hands. He couldn't make any sense of all the red fluid on his fingers and palms.
He watched a clutter of fussy FBI agents bustling around an unmoving male body on the opposite side of the room. Someone from the medical team filled out a form, but unlike the team around Neal had done no busy resuscitation attempts were made. He couldn't identify the man sprawled over the floor.
"Sir! Can you hear me?"
El wouldn't be amused. There was a hole in his suit, his new suit. The same suit they had bought together only 3 weeks ago. She would kill him. And all that red liquid, sticky with a metallic smell, staining the woolen fabric didn't improve things.
The stranger's voice became more urgent. "Sir, you were shot. We need to treat your wounds."
The ASAC shook his head in disbelief. "He wasn't carrying. Neal doesn't like guns. I told him there's no need to worry. I told him."
The paramedic called for help. "Steve, I need a hand here. Gunshot injury in the shoulder region. Injured person is unable to focus, with cold skin, fails to respond, probably he's in shock."
They lifted the bleeding man on a stretcher and carried him to another ambulance preparing him for the transport.
Agent Jones came over looking through the open door. "Will he be alright?"
The emergency doctor reassured him. "He was hit by a gun and is in shock. It's a through-and-through wound, lots of blood, but probably no permanent damage done. We'll take him to the hospital though."
Peter suddenly took notice of the other agent's presence. "Clinton, good to have you here! Seigel can't remain Neil's handler. In the long run, I will take over the job myself. But while I'm in hospital you'll be in charge. Make sure Seigel does not get his hands on him, and furthermore, Caffrey won't get into any trouble at the office or elsewhere."
Jones was caught off guard by his boss's unusual behavior. After hesitating for a while, he decided not to beat about the bush. "Seigel's dead. He won't handle anyone nevermore. If ... "
He fell silent for a couple of seconds before he corrected himself and went on. "… When Neal comes back to the Bureau, you'll be there to take care of him. Right now, he's well looked after."
All the way to the hospital, Burke turned one question over in his mind:
"What the hell has happened?"
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Author's Note:
I came to realize that I will need a bit to wrap it up. Right now, I know what's going to happen. But so far, the story is a big messy hodgepodge inside my head.
Since I felt a bit bloody, I decided to start with a little whump, giving in to my violent streak.
So, please enjoy this short chapter while I work out the next – and probably last - chapter.