Being locked up was killing him. Neal paced, and he painted. He read, and in a fit of desperation, tried to call Peter and Moz. He stepped in to watch the progress on his room, and found himself amazed at how fast it had improved. June smiled and told him that they owed Byron a favor and were the best in the business. Neal wasn't sure he wanted her to elaborate on the type of business.
By five, Neal's mind seemed ready to dissolve into insanity. He paced some more, tried to paint, and was very tempted to start pulling out fistfuls of hair. His logical side presented the argument that it might take awhile to get Diana out safely, and either way, Sorivelli would have called to gloat if he captured one of Neal's friends. Still, this didn't stop the con man from turning in circles and trying unsuccessfully to read, paint, or do anything that didn't involve thinking about what might have happened to Moz and Peter.
At six thirty, Neal'd had enough. He grabbed some car keys, told June he was leaving, opened the door… and nearly ran into Mozzie.
"Where's Peter?" Neal asked, stopping dead.
Mozzie pushed past him. "Safe, for now."
"What do you mean? Why isn't he here?" Neal followed his friend in, but his fingers tightened around the keys in his hand and his eyes darted to the door. If he ran, Mozzie probably wouldn't catch him.
"He's in the hospital with the Lady Suit. No, Neal, don't argue with me. She's fine, really. Not dead or dying or anything like that. The Suit's waiting for her to get out of surgery." Mozzie pulled Neal further into the foyer and yanked the door shut. "We have orders to stay here."
"Since when do you take orders from the FBI?" Neal retorted, turning towards the door. "I'm going to see Peter."
Moz grabbed his arm. "No, Neal. I started to take orders from the Suit when our ideas for your best interests merged. We're staying here in relative safety, and he'll make sure the Lady Suit lives through the night. You can't go running after Sorivelli right now; he's too aggravated. We pulled her out from his grasp and he didn't even notice."
"I'll be safer with Peter. June will be safer if I'm with Peter." Neal's hand strayed towards the doorknob. He knew that if he wanted to he could throw Moz off his arm and make a run for it, but something made him want to hear the arguments Mozzie undoubtedly had prepared.
"Shower, Neal. You smell horrible."
"Don't change the subject."
"I'm not, I'm telling you to go take a shower and maybe change your clothes."
"That's also known as changing the subject." Neal glanced around the room, unconsciously looking for other possible exits.
"No, it's not. Neal, I remember what happened last time Sorivelli came into your life. You look horrible, kind of like someone is trying to kill everyone close to you, which is fitting but inappropriate for the moment. Shower, change. Then we can talk about going to see Peter."
"You're going to leave as soon as I'm in the shower," Neal accused.
"No, Neal," Moz replied patiently. "I'm not."
"You're lying."
"And you're being petulant. Go shower, and I'll be here when you get out. Probably."
Neal exhaled and shook his head. "Fine."
Mozzie wisely chose not to comment as Neal stormed off, both men fully aware that Neal was being foolish.
…
Neal descended the stairs quickly. His shirt was left untucked, and he was pretty sure his socks didn't match but that didn't matter. Why he was all dressed up to go to a hospital, he didn't know. It might have had something to do with the need to pretend that everything was okay, even though it was falling apart. The best way he knew to pretend was to look the part, and the clothes pushed him a step closer to seeming normal, or at least collected enough to be dressing himself.
Mozzie raised one eyebrow, but didn't comment at the tie and lack of jacket. "Off to a hospital we go."
Neal grabbed his phone off the end table and slipped it into his pocket. "Moz, why'd I have to shower first?"
"You know that answer, Neal. You looked like you were falling apart, and if we're going to beat Sorivelli you have to at least appear confident."
Yeah, of course. Neal knew that, but it was nice to hear it confirmed.
The cab ride to the hospital seemed to go by at a crawl. Traffic jammed in inconvenient places, and the symphony of horns that rose into the evening grated against Neal's ears. Their own cabbie retained a stoic silence and didn't bother to pollute the air, apparently either having figured out that it wasn't necessary or forgotten that the common rule was to make as much noise as possible.
They had slowed to a stop in the third (or was it the fourth?) of these traffic jams – Neal was starting to think everyone had stayed late at work – when a phone chirped. Neal jumped, and Mozzie reached for the door.
The phone went off again, and Neal suddenly recognized his ringtone. He dug through his pockets and answered with trembling nerves, expecting a call from Peter that someone else had been kidnapped, or Diana was gone, or…
"H-Hello?" He was Neal Caffrey. Neal Caffrey did not stammer when he answered the phone. He most certainly did not appear nervous while pretending to be the picture perfect example of calm and collected.
"Ah, Neal. How is this fine evening treating you?" Sorivelli's pleasant voice held a biting edge of steel, and Neal felt chills run up and down his spine.
"Fine, thank you." Neal swallowed back fear and forced himself to sound relaxed. "I trust your evening is going as well as mine?"
"Oh, I'm sure it's been worse," Sorivelli still sounded cheerful, but the words held something sinister. Neal knew what he meant. Oh, did Neal know what he meant.
"After all, my delightful prisoner has been stolen from me," he continued. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you Neal?"
Neal fought to think of a response, but Sorivelli pressed on.
"You violated the rules of our little game, and as such, I've decided to stop playing by the rules. I'm going after everyone you care about, and just so you might have a head start, I'll let you know that the first person to die will be your beloved FBI agent. He'll be dead before tomorrow morning. You know what happens when you make me angry, Neal. You should have known better."
"Sorivelli-"
"Don't, Neal. I mean it. You stole my plaything, and now I'll set about really making your life hell. Have a nice night!"
The line went dead, and Neal thought his heart might have stopped beating.
…
Peter's face was the most reassuring thing Neal had ever seen. Mozzie slipped away as Neal walked towards Peter, trying to look calm despite the sterile white of the waiting room.
"Is she okay?" Neal asked, forcing himself not to cut right to the chase.
"She'll live, or so they say," Peter replied quietly. "She's still in surgery."
"Why?" Neal knew he probably didn't want to know the answer, but he couldn't help but ask.
"Someone shot her as we were pulling away. The glass shattered and… well." Peter shrugged, clearly not wanting to continue.
Neal settled into one of the plastic chairs on Peter's right side. "You won't be happy about this, but I think it's time I tell you the whole story about Sorivelli. He's promised to kill you before tomorrow morning."
"Why am I not surprised?" Peter shook his head in resignation. "First Diana, now me…"
Neal started talking. The only place to start was the beginning, and they had more than enough time.
…
"Neal, I need you to leave."
"What?" He turned from his book and frowned at his mom. "Why would I need to leave?"
"Don't question me!" The rebuttal came out sharp and unexpected.
He studied her familiar face. Laugh lines around her eyes like usual, but she seemed pale and drawn. Her hands shook, so she covered them by crossing her arms. Neal had never seen his mom this upset, and she had never before tried to hide something from him.
"Okay," he replied calmly, trying to defuse a situation that seemed like it could get out of hand almost instantaneously. "Where do I need to go? And what should I bring?"
She turned to look around the room, and then threw her hands up in the air. "I don't know. You just need to leave… out of town should be good enough. I have a number, contacts. They'll keep you safe. You'll disappear. Perfect."
Neal wasn't sure if he should reply. Her words sounded as if they were directed at herself, but it was clear enough that he wouldn't be allowed to come back for awhile, if at all.
"Neal, I'm serious. Pack. You need to leave; it's the only way to keep you safe."
He set the book down and grabbed an old backpack from before he dropped out of the school system. Wordlessly, he started shoving essentials into it, being careful not to make much noise. It was past midnight, and the urgency in his mom's voice worried him.
Less than five minutes later, he had enough to sustain him for a day or two. The essentials were mostly books, as everything else could be bought or stolen at a later date.
"Now what?" he asked.
She put her arms out and he stepped obediently towards her. She drew him into her chest and kissed the top of his head, even though he was almost taller than her. "I love you. You'll always be my baby."
"Mom," he protested, trying to lighten the mood some.
"Don't," she warned. "This will probably be the last night… No, never mind. I want you to remember me. I love you, okay?"
"Yeah." He nodded, and pulled away when her grip loosened.
"I'll bring you some chips." Her voice sounded strange, and as she turned away Neal was sure he saw her brush tears away from her face.
As soon as she was out of sight, he added a picture to his pack: The three of them: her, dad, and him, all perched on a wooden porch swing. She was laughing at some joke his dad had just told, and his face held a goofy, childish grin. In the picture, he was four, maybe five.
She returned with a bag of chips. He added it to the bag and slung it over his shoulder. She also pressed a wad of cash and a paper into his hand.
"Don't lose that phone number," she told him. "Catch the bus to any other town that you have money for, and then call that number. Say I sent you, and the people there will keep you safe. Be careful, Neal."
"I will," he promised solemnly. "I love you."
"Love you too," she replied, suddenly choked up. "I'll miss you. Be safe, and leave out the window. I don't want to see you here in five minutes."
Neal nodded and hugged her one more time. As soon as she was out of the room, he slipped out the window and onto the roof. With soft, expert steps, he crossed to the huge oak and climbed down. He hit the ground running, and kept going until he was at the end of the street.
Then he paused. He looked left, right, prepared to cross, and then turned around to look at the house. As soon as his eyes locked on the building he had grown up in, a shot rang out. Gunshot. He knew that sound.
Neal was torn between running for his life and running to save his mom. Mom won out, and he shoved the pack into a nearby bush and sprinted back to the house. He shoved his way through the door and stumbled into the kitchen.
Sorivelli stood over Neal's mom. Her face was frozen in shock, and Sorivelli held a gun. A dark stain spread across her pastel yellow shirt, and Neal watched in horror and Sorivelli turned to him.
"What were you doing outside?" The cold words froze Neal in place for a fraction of a second.
"Catching some platypeople." Neal didn't stay to see the confusion flicker across Sorivelli's face at that gibberish statement. His life was clearly in danger, and there was only one thing left to do.
Neal ran, and somehow he made it. Somehow he slipped out of Sorivelli's grasp and he didn't stop running until he was out of the state. By then the paper was worn and dirty from being pulled out so often, but the number was still legible.
At a payphone outside a obscure gas station, Neal finally stopped for long enough to make that phone call. With shaking fingers and vision blurred from exhaustion, Neal dialed the number…
…
"… Neal."
"Don't say anything. I had a kind of messed up childhood." Neal gave Peter a weak smile. "I'm not kidding when I tell you I'm okay." Neal shrugged and slouched into the chair. "Now you know some of the history, and I don't think either of us have the energy to go into the other part."
"There's another part?"
Neal gave Peter a look. "Yeah. To put it kindly."
"Ah." Peter backed down and they settled back into silence.
There was nothing left to do but wait.
…
A doctor walked in. "Family of Diana Berrigan?"
Neal and Peter rose to their feet simeultaneously. "Yes."
"How's she doing?" Neal asked.
"She's fine," the doctor assured him. "She's stable, doing well under the circumstances. Do you want to see her?"
Peter nodded and answered for both of them. "Yeah."
Neal followed the doctor and Peter through the pastel halls and eventually into a room. There, in front of them, was Diana.
Neal almost puked at the number of machines the agent was hooked up to. She looked anything but peaceful, a small frown creasing her forehead. The most disconcerting thing was that she didn't move at all, other than the steady rise and fall of her chest.
A wave of nausea hit him. Neal turned to Peter. "I need to leave."
"Okay. Do you want me to drive you to June's, or are you going to stay with us?" Peter didn't look away from Diana.
Neal shook his head. "Peter, you don't understand. Diana is here because of me. I have to leave, and leave fast. Otherwise Sorivelli will kill everyone close to me. I need to get as far away from New York as I can."
Peter turned to face Neal. "Caffrey, you aren't leaving. You will stay here, we will catch Sorivelli, and everything will go back to normal. I'm not letting you leave. I know some of the story, and I know that it's dangerous, but we'll catch him."
"Do you think I want to leave?" Neal snapped. "I have to leave to protect you. To protect El. And June, and Diana, and Jones, and Hughes, and Mozzie. Hell, I have to leave to protect Satchmo. If I stay here..."
"You aren't leaving," Peter repeated firmly. "I'm going to get El and June a 24/7 guard. I would do the same for Mozzie but I don't think he would appreciate it. We have FBI resources. We'll catch Sorivelli without you leaving town. Caffrey, if I have to I will handcuff you to my bed to make sure you don't leave."
"Really Peter? That sounds fun. Does El know that you're going to handcuff me to your bed?" Neal asked, trying to force his tone to be lighthearted.
"Yes, she does. Point is, you aren't leaving."
Neal turned towards the door. "I have to, Peter. It's the only way."
Peter moved so fast that Neal didn't register that he was moving. Neal only noticed that his friend had moved from the chair beside Diana's bed when his cheek was pressed against the wall and Peter was securing the cuffs around his wrists.
"I'm serious when I say you aren't leaving, Neal," Peter said softly in his ear.
Neal struggled. "Lemme go, Peter!"
"No. I'm not going to let you run just because some nutjob from your past came and started dropping threats. Yeah, he kidnapped Diana but given the circumstances things could have been a hell of a lot worse. He says he'll kill me, but I have ways of keeping safe. You aren't leaving. Do you understand that, Neal?"
Neal shook his head. "Peter, I can't stay here!"
"You can and you will. I'm not going to let you go until you say you understand that you aren't leaving."
Minutes passed before Neal could bring himself to mutter, "Fine! I won't leave. I understand. But this isn't going to end well."
Peter released the younger man but kept the cuffs on. "We both need to make some phone calls. I'm willing to take the cuffs off, even give you some privacy, but you have to promise not to run."
Neal narrowed his eyes. "The catch?"
Peter sank back into the chair. "Caffrey, go into the bathroom, make your calls. I'm going to stay out here, call my wife, let her know that we're all safe, and then we can work it out from there. I'll also get some agents to watch out for June and El..."
Neal decided not to argue and slipped quietly into the bathroom, pulling out his phone as he went.
"Yes, mon frere?"
Neal leaned heavily against the wall, slowly lowering himself to the ground. "Moz, Diana's fine. Peter's going to get someone to make sure El and June won't be Sorivelli's next target, but you're on that list too, and I still don't know what to do about Peter himself. Sorivelli makes good on his threats."
"I don't need a Suit breathing down my neck. I'll drop off the map. How long until its safe, do you think?"
Neal sighed. "Moz, I don't know anymore. You seriously need to do a good job though. Dante Haversham can't exist anymore. Sorivelli's good, and if you leave a single trace..."
"I'll be fine. So until next time?"
"If there is a next time," Neal replied dubiously.
"Don't talk like that. The universe works in strange ways. This will all work out in the end. Trust me."
Neal closed his eyes and rested his head in the corner. "Sure Moz. This is all gonna end with Sorivelli turning himself in and life going on normally. Diana won't have scars up and down her arms from where he cut her or anything. We'll just forget about all of this."
"Neal, it's only a matter of time before Sorivelli is thrown behind bars, and I think that you have the best odds this time. You do have the Suits on your side this time, after all. So until next time, my friend."
"Bye, Moz. Whatever you do, don't get yourself killed."
"I think you'll have more trouble with that than I, but we'll see."
Neal sat, staring blankly at the wall across from him for a few minutes. He would have stayed longer, if he was allowed to.
"Hey buddy, you alright in there?" Peter asked, banging on the door.
Neal stood up and unlocked the door. "Yeah. Just... tired."
"Yeah, I think we all are. Go home and get some rest. I'll call you in the morning."
Neal nodded dimly and made his way out the door. After he got some sleep he would figure out where to go from here, assuming Peter made it through the night.
"Peter?" he called, halfway out of the hospital room.
"Jones is bringing me a bullet proof vest, and I don't plan on going home tonight. I have my gun right here, and there'll be an FBI guard outside the door in a couple minutes. I'll be fine."
"I'll stay until Jones gets here."
"Whatever floats your boat."
Neal sat in the other chair. He was asleep in less than a minute.
Longer chapter, but it might be less polished. The last part was something that I wrote before this, and I modified it a bit to make it fit, but I'm not sure I caught everything. It's getting late and I need to go do my homework.
I had something else I wanted to include… Ah well.
Reviews, pretty please?