Peter drove like a man possessed. His eyes were fixed on the road and his hands gripped the wheel like as if they were holding on to life itself, but his mind had gone back, revisiting that memorable day: the day he had caught Neal Caffery. They had figured out what the con- man had wanted most and had set out a trap using his ex-girlfriend Kate as bait. And Neal had fallen right for it. Peter remembered the triumph he had felt on finally saying the one sentence he had been waiting to utter for three years: "Neal Caffery you are under arrest."
And then Neal had put out a hand and thanked him. There wasn't anything but sincerity in those clear blue eyes as he had thanked Peter for helping him find his Kate. Peter's resolve had faltered for a moment when he had grasped Neal's warm hand in a cordial hand shake. As they had led him away in hand cuffs, he had turned to gaze at her. At Kate. And that one look had soured Peter's triumph. That wasn't the look of defeat, nor was it shamed or angry. No, it was a look of pure love, a look which apologized for all the promises that had been broken and a look that hoped for happiness and contentment for his lover. It was a look of a torn man and even today Peter could close his eyes and see the conflict of happiness at finding his love and the anguish of losing her all over again displayed on the young, chiseled face of Neal Caffery as if it was etched into his memory forever.
Peter finally saw the warehouse in sight and pulled on the brakes. It was in a deserted area in the outskirts of the city and there wasn't a soul in sight. The shutters were half down and Peter had to duck to go in after parking his Ford haphazardly outside. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the semi darkness which engulfed the warehouse. After a few minutes he could make out the long rows of large crates and boxes illuminated by the few bulbs which hung from the high ceiling. He started walking down the same row of crated that he had walked that afternoon. But then he had felt an eager anticipation of finally closing in on his quarry which he had hunted for almost half decade. Now a feeling of dread engulfed him as he prayed fervently that he find Neal at the same place he had found him then. Alive.
He broke out in a run down the long narrow passage in between the crates, stopping when he got to the place where he had shook hands with his adversary all those years ago. "Neal?" he called out tentatively. A strange sixth sense pulled him in between two crates and he entered a small clearing in between the boxes. A single lamp provided enough light to barely make out the shape of someone huddled in the corner. Peter picked up the lamp and approached cautiously, his hand on the holster of his gun, though he did not draw it. He bended over the shivering figure and was able to make out the pale skin shining with a thin film of sweat; forehead almost hidden behind a torrent of black bangs and eyes shut close.
"Neal?" he whispered reaching out carefully. Suddenly the man shot up and lashed out hitting Peter square in the jaw and shoving him back.
"Get away from me!", Neal shouted, trying to stand up only to collapse halfway through. Peter tried going to him but the look on Neal's face stopped him. His big blue eyes were glazed but filled with distrust and wariness.
"Hey buddy, it's OK I'm not going to hurt you.", Peter tried to calm the agitated man down and moved closer when he didn't strike out again. Peter slowly knelt down to help Neal sit up. The kid was delirious with fever, but his eyes focused on Peter.
"Pet'r?", his voice was hoarse from disuse.
"Yea buddy, it's me." Peter sighed in relief. "We have got to get you out of here. You are burning up."
Neal had relaxed slightly when Peter had removed his hair from his face but seemed to tense up again at these words. "NO! I won't...", he started thrashing. "I won't go back!"
Peter mentally slapped himself. Of course! The poor kid must be thinking that he was back to arrest him. Well… That was what he was here to do, right? But after finding out what had happened, he couldn't possibly haul him back to that hell hole, could he? And especially not in such a fragile state of body and mind. But...what else can he do? He was a fugitive on the run, wasn't he?
Making up his mind rapidly, he caught Neal's thrashing arms in a firm grip till he looked up at him. "Relax son. I'm not taking you prison." he said slowly so as to not agitate him further.
"No, no prison... bad people, hurts..." Neal spluttered unable to form coherent sentences. Confusion clouded his eyes and they focused on him again. "Pet'r?"
"Yes buddy it's me. And I'm not taking you to prison. I am taking you home." Peter smiled at the weak man in front of him through the tears shining in his eyes. The amount of horrible things that he must have endured at prison to get such a reaction out of him even in his feverish state made Peter tremble with rage and grief.
"Home? Don't 'ave home...", Neal blinked, still confused.
"Yes you do, now tell me honestly, are you hurt anywhere?" Peter asked needing to know if he could move him without hurting him.
"No...head 'urts... badly." Neal managed to whisper before closing his eyes and slumping back against the crate.
"Hey C'mon buddy. Stay with me." Peter said lightly slapping Neal to get his attention.
Blue eyes fluttered open, pleading. "I'm tired...Want sleep."
Peter stood back and surveyed the young man in front of him. He was too frail with the fever coursing his body to get up and walk so there was really one thing left to do. Peter bent down and slid one arm beneath Neal's legs and the other beneath his head.
Neal awoke with a start as Peter got up with him in his arms, bridal style. "Huh... you're strong..." Peter glanced down at the man in his arms, surprised to see him smiling softly.
"No Buddy, you are the one who is too thin." He chuckled shaking his head and making his way out of the warehouse and towards his Ford.
He carefully opened the door to the passenger seat, trying not to jostle the sick man in his arms too much, and set him down lightly on the seat, shoving the papers and files out of the Neal was seated he pulled and secured the seat belt against his waist and lowered the back of the seat so that Neal would be comfortable. He shut the door and got in on the other side, gathering up all the files which he had shoved to the floor and dumping them on the backseat. He took in the youth sleeping peacefully besides him, looking even younger and innocent than his original 26 years. He softly pushed back the hair that was falling on his eyes again. "Peter?", the con- man seemed to sense him in his sleep. Peter smiled and started the engine, on his way home.
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