Neal hadn't been sleeping long when he was suddenly, completely awake, though he wasn't sure why, or what had awakened him. However, he did immediately know where he was – in the simple but warm and inviting guest bedroom at the Burkes' house – but something was different. Something was wrong.
He couldn't move.
Alarmed, Neal tried to sit up, but his body couldn't seem to respond to his brain's commands. His arms and legs simply stayed where they were, keeping him flat on his back on the mattress. He opened his mouth to call out, but no sound escaped, his voice as paralyzed as his body.
A malicious laugh echoed in the darkness around him, a familiar voice taking pleasure in his rising fear. The words were soft with a false sympathy, and far too close to Neal's ear.
"Don't bother fighting, Neal. It's not going to do any good."
Panicked, Neal could do nothing but try to fight anyway, as useless as his efforts might prove to be. His assailant, invisible in the darkness, was abruptly upon him on the bed, vice-like hands grasping his wrists and holding him fast. Just as Neal seemed to find the strength to rise, the weight of the body over him pinned him down, familiar hands moving over Neal's body with the ease and intimacy of frequent practice – while still, somehow, seeming to hold his hands down. Neal tried to scream, tried to curse and yell at his attacker, to plead for him to stop, anything – but he could barely breathe, let alone get out any sound.
"Shhh," the man hushed him, his gentle sympathy sending a sick shiver down Neal's spine, tears of shame prickling behind his eyes. "Quiet, Neal… no one's going to hear you anyway…"
Peter… Peter, please help me…
As if his words were made audible by his sheer desperation, the man responded with a mocking laugh, his hand stroking down Neal's cheek with invasive gentleness. "He can't hear you, Neal," he informed him in a conspiratorial whisper. "He's not coming to help you. No one's coming to help you. You're mine, Neal… always will be…"
Abruptly, the weight was gone, along with the blankets, the clothes he'd worn to bed – even the room around him. Bright light assaulted Neal's eyes, and he struggled to see his surroundings – his heart plummeting into his stomach when he recognized where he was.
The cell where he'd spent the greater part of the past eight months, only the bed, the sink, his few personal possessions were all gone. There was only the narrow gurney on which he was lying – complete with the firm leather restraints that held his wrists and ankles, preventing him from rising. He struggled frantically, panicked, desperate… but he already knew there was no escape.
No, no, no! This can't happen, someone, help me… Please, Peter, help me!
"Doesn't matter where you try to go, Neal," his captor whispered into his ear, hands trailing over his exposed body with possessive familiarity. "Doesn't matter how far away you think you've gotten. You'll always be right here… with me…"
"Neal! Neal, wake up!"
Elizabeth rushed into the guest room, just a few seconds behind Peter, who was already leaning over Neal, reaching out to shake his shoulder to wake him; but Neal didn't awaken, just kept thrashing against the blankets tangled around him, crying out with a plaintive, desperate sound that tore at Elizabeth's heart.
"Peter!" he gasped, voice breaking, trembling with panic. "Peter, help me… please…"
"I'm right here, Neal," Peter insisted, his own voice shaky with alarm, as he desperately shook Neal's arm, trying to rouse him. "Come on, buddy, wake up… you're dreaming. Come on, Neal…"
Neal didn't seem to even register that Peter was there, struggling wildly against the layers of fabric wound around his limbs, not reassured by Peter's words or touch, in fact only seeming to grow more panicked by the moment. An abrupt realization came to Elizabeth, and she reached out to touch Peter's arm, waiting until he met her eyes, frantic and worried, to point out her conclusion.
"He can't move. He's all tangled up in the blankets, and whatever he's dreaming, that's making it worse. We have to get the blankets off."
Peter nodded, turning back toward Neal and focusing his efforts instead on the layers of bedding that covered him, doing his best to strip them away and give Neal back his freedom of movement. It took a couple of minutes, their efforts hindered by Neal's struggles, and Neal continued fighting for a few moments longer even after he was free, until Elizabeth cautiously reached out to touch his arm.
"Neal, sweetie," she softly pleaded, "come on, wake up. You're okay…"
Neal jerked away from her, eyes suddenly wide open as he frantically scrambled away from her, drawing himself up against the headboard and staring as if he didn't quite recognize her. Alarmed, Peter stepped forward, a hand on El's shoulder pushing her gently back and placing himself between his wife and his thoroughly freaked out, clearly not-in-control friend.
"Neal," Peter said, his voice low and firm. "Neal, you're okay. Look at me, Neal."
Neal stared up at Peter blankly for a long moment, his breath quick and shallow, before averting his gaze and taking in the room around him, visibly beginning to calm as he remembered where he was, and why. He closed his eyes, lowering his head and swallowing hard, before letting out a shaky, thoroughly unconvincing laugh.
"Wow," he said at last, breathless and falsely light. "That was some nightmare."
"Yeah." Peter's tone was flat, an eyebrow raised skeptically. "Some nightmare, all right. Looks like it came complete with 3D and surround sound." He paused, sitting down on the edge of the bed before adding with a forced casualness, "Want to tell me what it was about?"
Neal started to cross his arms over his torso, but then seemed to remember what an obvious tell that would be, and ended up with a single arm cast loosely across his waist, his other hand picking idly at the sheet beneath him. He was back to avoiding eye contact, his tone carefully neutral.
"Not really. Just need to get back to sleep. It's been a really long day."
"Neal…" Peter's voice was warning, stern.
"Really, Peter, I'm sorry for waking you," Neal insisted, looking up to meet Peter's eyes at last with a blindingly bright smile, far too bright to be natural at this hour, nightmare or no. "But it's just a nightmare. It happens. Especially when you've spent the last eight months surrounded by guys who kill other guys for fun. Really, I'm fine. You two should just go back to bed."
Peter persisted, frowning, "Neal, that was pretty intense. I think you should probably…"
"I can spend the night elsewhere after tonight if it's a problem," Neal cut him off, an unusually sharp edge creeping into his voice, his smile settling into stone, the light in his eyes becoming angry and hard. "I would hate to disturb your rest. But I really don't want to talk about this, Peter."
Peter stood and physically withdrew a couple of steps, the expression on his face something like El would have imagined if he'd actually been slapped. "Hate to… to disturb my… Neal, you can't seriously think that that's what bothers me about this? I don't care about having my damn sleep interrupted, I just want to know that you're okay…"
"Well, I am," Neal insisted with a careless shrug. "So you can go back to sleep now, Peter. Honest."
Peter's eyes narrowed. "You know, when people feel the need to add 'honest' to their statements… they're usually not."
"Peter, this is ridiculous," Neal insisted. "I'm going back to bed now, so… thank you very much for the room, and for the concern. But… I'm fine. Just… exhausted. So if you'll excuse me…"
And without waiting for any further response, Neal picked up the blankets from beside the bed where Elizabeth had discarded them, then laid back down and pulled them unceremoniously over him, turning his back toward his overly concerned hosts. Muttering under his breath in irritation, Peter turned on his heel and stomped back down the stairs toward his own bedroom.
Elizabeth didn't move from where she stood beside the bed.
Neal's comment about the type of people he'd been surrounded by in prison lingered in her mind, a vaguely unsettled feeling building in the pit of her stomach. She didn't want to think too much about what prison must have been like for Neal, or the dangers he might have faced inside those walls, with no one there to protect him. That blindingly false smile he'd given Peter flashed through her mind again, and Elizabeth suppressed a shiver.
She definitely didn't want to think about how unbelievably, dangerously beautiful Neal was.
She stood there a moment, collecting her thoughts, drawing in a slow, deep breath. "Neal." Her voice was soft, but insistent.
Neal did not respond.
She hesitated for just a moment before carefully sitting down on the side of the bed. He didn't react, didn't turn over to face her – but he didn't shift away from her, or tell her to leave, either, so she supposed that was something, at least. She was quiet for a moment, carefully weighing her words, trying to find a way to express what was on her mind – a way that wouldn't send Neal running from their house in the middle of the night, the moment she left the room.
"Neal… I know Peter's being a little pushy, but… you know he's just concerned. He just wants to make sure you're okay." She hesitated. "I – I want to make sure of that, too. Because – we love you, Neal. And… if anything happened that you want to…"
"Nothing happened," Neal sighed, his voice a little muffled from the other side of the blankets. "Elizabeth, I appreciate it, but… I'm fine."
"The nightmare you just had? With the screaming and the talking and the almost assaulting a federal officer in your sleep?" Elizabeth pointed out. "That doesn't really spell out 'fine'. Look, no one's going to force you to talk about anything you don't want to talk about. No one's going to… to force you to do anything you don't want to do, Neal, but… we do know that something's wrong. And… we're here for you, if you decide you want to talk after all."
She moved as if to stand, shifting slightly on the mattress.
"Kate." Neal's voice was hushed, thick with emotion that he was still utterly unwilling to allow her to see. "I was… dreaming about Kate. That's all."
There was just a moment when Elizabeth allowed herself to believe that it could be the truth. After all, Kate's death had been brutal and violent and devastating for Neal; it wouldn't be all that surprising to think that the trauma had followed him throughout his prison sentence, even until now, eight months later.
But the only problem with that was, if that was really what he was dreaming about… why not just say so? Perhaps simply because he didn't want to open up, didn't want to show any vulnerability; that was typical Neal, all right. But – then what suddenly changed his mind? It didn't seem so much like an abrupt change of heart and a decision to tell her the truth, as a hastily conceived, last minute cover story for whatever it was he'd really been dreaming about.
El frowned, biting her lower lip and looking down at Neal, almost completely invisible to her under the blankets, except for a shock of dark hair, and part of one hand, clasping the blanket and holding it in place, as if she might try to take it from him again. She wasn't sure whether she was more worried by the fact that it was an obvious lie, or by the fact that it took Neal so long to come up with what was the obvious choice for a lie.
Definitely not Neal Caffrey's best work…
Finally, she reached down and placed her hand gently over his, relieved when he didn't pull away.
"Okay," she conceded softly. "Just… let us know if you need anything, okay? We'll be right downstairs if you do decide you want… well, anything."
"Thanks," Neal said quietly, still not looking at her, and the relief in his voice told her that he was grateful not so much for her offer, as for the fact that she was finally going to leave him alone.
She went back downstairs to her own room, where Peter was lying in the bed, but not sleeping, staring morosely at the wall. When she climbed into the bed, he rolled over and moved in close behind her, wrapping his arm around her. She placed her hand on his arm, stroking slowly, soothingly. No words needed to be spoken; they both knew the concerns they shared.
Those concerns kept Peter awake for nearly an hour after that. He didn't speak, but El heard when his breathing finally became even and slow, and knew that he'd finally fallen asleep. She didn't fall asleep again that night, too consumed with her troubled thoughts, her ears attuned for any further sounds of distress from the guest bedroom upstairs.
She heard none – but couldn't help but wonder, as the morning sun rose and she got out of bed to face her day, if that just meant that sleep hadn't come again that night for Neal, either.