Work Text:
Peter shifts on the hard wooden chair. Files, pictures and memos are spread all over the dining room table. He has been sitting so long, his bum is getting numb.
He gets up and walks up to the kitchen counter for coffee. He shakes the pot but it is empty. He considers making a fresh pot, but decides against it, knowing his stomach will thank him for it.
He stares out of the kitchen window, contemplating to call El, making sure she is alright. Intellectually he knows she is safe. She was taken to a safe house with Satchmo. As long as he doesn´t know who is up against it is the safest he can keep her. Ever since June called and told him there had been a forced entry, they have been working round the clock to find out what happened, who took Neal. But they have no clue where Neal is. It´s his fault. The look Neal gave him when they last spoke was one of pure betrayal. And to Neal it must have felt that way, Peter telling him he is just a criminal. He didn´t mean it, doesn´t, but he was angry, and…
He needs to focus, it is no use mulling over the past. He needs to concentrate on finding Neal.
When June called him, he immediately sent in ERT. June would never call him for help if it wasn´t an emergency, not after the way he spoke to her about Neal, treating him like a common criminal. When he arrived at the scene, it was more than clear, Neal hadn´t left the building voluntarily, starting with the breaking and entering through the back door. Neal hadn´t gone willingly, there was clear evidence of a struggle which had resulted in Neal being drugged. A syringe containing traces of Ketamine had been found on the floor, no fingerprints.
June´s camera´s had picked up how four masked individuals carried a clearly unconscious Neal outside and put him in a black sedan. Once it drove away they traced it until it entered a street without traffic or private surveillance cameras. The car was found burned out, leaving no traces.
That was ten days ago.
Peter picks up his notes and goes through them again, maybe he missed something, maybe…
A notice in the background alerts Peter and he has his gun in his hand before the door opens.
‘Good evening s…’ Mozzie stares wide eyed at his gun.
‘Jesus Mozzie, why can´t you just use the front door like any other person?’ Peter bites out, putting his gun away and trying to get his heart rate down.
‘Well, excuse me for wanting to take care of you now Misses suit isn´t here.’
Mozzie holds out a bag with take out. Peter gives a tired smile.
‘Sorry, I… I´m a little on edge.’
‘Sit down.’ Mozzie instructs. He goes to the kitchen , taking plates, filling them with takeout Thai.
‘There is wine from El´s latest venue.’
‘Oh good.’ Mozzie takes the bottle and studies the label, before pouring two glasses.
‘I don´t want any.’
‘Suit, just drink, unless a miracle happens and Neal manages to get away on his own, we are not going to find him tonight.’
‘No luck either, hmmm?’
‘Nothing, it seems like Neal just vanished from the face of the earth.’
Peter nods, ‘we should go over…’
‘Peter, we went over them. There is nothing. The trail has gone cold. As much as I hate to admit it, Neal is on his own until we can find a new clue. Get some rest, I will go shake some tree.’
‘I can´t Mozzie, I…’
‘I know what you said to him and I still can´t believe you said that. But I´m not going to dwell on it. Finding Neal is our first priority. You running yourself into the ground isn´t helping.’
‘I know, I…’
‘I will clean up, go rest.’
Peter does as he is told and the familiarity of the couch and the sounds from the kitchen are so homey, safe, that he is out as a light almost immediately.
* * *
Out of nowhere, a letter arrives at the FBI. It is a printed envelope with a printed letter. The only thing in the letter is an address. A SWAT- team is assembled and they are on their way under thirty minutes. The address turns out to be an old abandoned apartment building and SWAT enters it, clearing it room by room.
‘We found POI, apartment 16 A. We need medical assistance.’ A detached voice reports over the radio.
While Peter sprints towards the mentioned apartment, he can hear the instructions from the SWAT leader to keep looking for suspects. Peter enters the empty apartment and almost gags on the scent coming from the living room. He breathes through his mouth while further entering the room. It takes two leaps to get to Neal, who is sitting in a chair, bound, bloody and unconscious.
‘Neal?’
The SWAT leader reassures him Neal is alive. Peter nods, not knowing where he can put his hand. It appears that there is no spot that isn´t injured.
‘Neal? I´m here.’
There is no movement except Neal´s labored breathing, it sounds like Neal developed pneumonia and judging from the heat pouring off of him, that diagnosis is probably not far off.
‘Let´s get him out of the restraints.’
‘No, leave him. Paramedics will get him loose,’ the SWAT-leader stops Peter, pointing at Neal´s wrists. Peter just stares at them in horror. The wire used to bind Neal has ton through the flesh and it is clear infection is already raging.
‘Oh Neal… Come on, can you wake up for me? You’re safe.’
Nothing happens and Peter knows that it is probably for the better, but he needs to see Neal awake. Paramedics enter the room and they quickly and efficiently start working on Neal. The moment one of the paramedics cuts through the restraints, Neal wakes. The pain must have reached his addled brain. He doesn´t look at anybody and quickly bits his lip to keep all the noise inside of him.
‘Neal?’ Neal, we’re here. You’re safe. We’ve got you. Are you with us?’
Neal still doesn´t look up, but gives a tired smile. It is clear he is confused that his hand are free, but he doesn´t move to get up or anything.
‘Neal, you’re safe.’
The paramedic gently lifts Neal´s head, but he keeps his gaze down, avoiding looking anyone in the eye.
‘Hi Neal, my name is Barbara, I´m a paramedic. Can you please look at me?’
Neal hesitantly looks up, his pupils huge. The paramedic smiles.
‘Hi Neal, can you tell me where you hurt the most?’
Neal blankly stares at the woman.
‘Neal?’
‘Please don´t.’ Neal whispers.
Just hearing his voice makes everybody wince at how raw and broken it sounds.
‘It’s OK, Neal. You’re safe. But we need to move you on the gurney and it is going to hurt, OK?’
Neal closes his eyes and slowly shakes his head. Tears start to form in his eyes, ‘No, no more, please;’
The paramedic looks at the agents.
‘We’re gonna lift him onto the gurney, can you help.’
‘Sure, tell us what to do.’
The paramedic re-assigns everybody their task but the moment they take a hold of Neal, he panics. His breathing becomes irregular and all remaining color drains from his face.
‘Now, lift!’
But Neal is clearly at the end of his endurance and goes completely limp. They quickly stretch him out on the gurney, checking vitals and starting IV´s before carrying him to the waiting ambulance.
Peter watches the ambulance pull away with lights and sirens when the SWAT-leader comes out and calls Peter.
‘What’s the matter, I´m going to the hospital.’
‘There is something you need to see.’
Peter can see on the man´s face that he isn´t going to like it. He follows the man back into the apartment. What didn´t he see before, being too focused on Neal, is now in plain view. It is painted in blood.
I´m done playing … for now.