Neal prided himself on being a light sleeper. But somehow he didn't wake up when Jones arrived and Peter decided to spend the rest of the night. No one bothered to wake Neal up when Peter left to get coffee and call El. And Neal definitely should have woken when the silenced gun went off in the hall as Peter was making his way back.
But Neal didn't, so here he was.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this. No. When Neal thought about what his future might hold, it seemed inevitable that he would be injured at some point. What seemed just as inevitable was that Peter would be the one sitting at his bedside and cursing the day they ever took on that case, and not the other way around.
To put it kindly, Neal was anything but equipped to deal with this. Seeing his friend lying there, heavily medicated and unconscious managed to top the list of things he never wanted to see again. Peter was supposed to be alive, and there for Neal. Peter was not allowed to die on him! If anything, Neal was the one who deserved the bullet – after all, it was his fault Sorivelli was here. Sorivelli wanted him.
"Neal, it's not your fault. Peter's still alive, and the doctors say that he should make a full recovery."
Neal stared listlessly at the wall. "El, it is my fault. Hell, I'm putting you in danger just by being here with you."
Diana would have died, and Peter was only alive through blind luck. Sorivelli was cocky, sending someone to kill Peter in a hospital. Neal couldn't help but admit that there was only so much luck to go around. The next time Sorivelli went after someone his bullet was likely to hit its mark.
The uniform walls started to press in on him. Neal knew that he needed to leave, and he needed to leave soon. The only question was how. He could cut the anklet and run, but that would send US Marshals after him immediately. He needed the key, but the idea of stealing it sickened him.
Neal stood up. "El, I have to go. I – Tell Peter I'm sorry when he wakes up."
She looked at him. "Okay, Neal. Be careful."
"Yeah."
Neal opened the door and nodded to the agent standing outside. He slipped down the hall without a backward glance. When Peter woke up, he would be pissed.
….
By the time the sun went down, Neal's room had been fully repaired. The shelves were empty, yes, and the room still smelled of fresh paint, but that didn't matter. In a futile attempt to soothe his frayed nerves he set up his canvas and painted. When the door swung open, his heart missed a beat and he jumped reflexively.
"It's me," Mozzie said quickly. "I heard about the Suit."
"He'll live," Neal replied. "The bullet missed his heart."
"Tell him I send my condolences. I know how it is."
Neal set down his paintbrush and reached for the rag. He kept his eyes fixed on his hands as he wiped some of the fresher paint off. "I can't go back, Moz."
"I didn't think so. Do you want out?"
Neal froze. "What?"
"I have the key to your anklet."
A/N: A shorter chapter… I don't even want to know how long it's been since I last updated. However, the next update should be coming by tomorrow, since I already have it written. This whole thing should be finished by Monday.