Chapter Text
“Satisfied?” Maria asked Neal as he inspected the book of hours, flipping delicately through its pages.
“Very,” Neal answered, flipping the book shut and pulling out the phone he’d use to wire the money to Maria’s bank account.
“Sending…” he typed in the code to send the money and pressed the necessary buttons, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “It’s on its way.”
“And there it is,” Maria said, looking at her own phone. “Thank you very much.”
She slipped her phone back in her bag, rummaging around for something else. Neal eyed her as she did, knowing exactly what it was she was looking for. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” he said.
“Mm,” Maria said, pulling out a gun and pointing it at Neal. “You’ll never know how much pleasure it could have been.”
“You know, I had a feeling all that lovey-dovey stuff last night was BS,” Neal said, tilting his head to the side casually.
“Next time,” Maria said, taking a step forward, “you should trust your instincts.”
“Oh, I did.” Neal held up the clip to her gun. “Clip. Lifted it when I patted you down.”
“You forgot about the one in the chamber,” Maria countered, gun aimed right at Neal’s chest.
“Damn it,” Neal said, eyes widening. “I’ve never been a gun guy.”
“Give me the book, Neal,” Maria said, voice hardening as she stalked forward.
“Sorry,” Neal stammered, holding the book up in front of him like a shield as he stumbled backwards. “If you’re gonna take me on, it’s gonna cost you a small fortune. What’s the matter, you can’t do it? Is it because of the money? Or the history?”
Distract, distract, distract. It was the only thought running through Neal’s head — the only way he could get out of this without getting a bullet put in him. He just needed to keep her distracted until Peter got there.
“I think you know the answer to that,” Maria growled.
“Is that why you killed Paul?”
“Paul decided that he wanted the money and the book!”
“That’s what happens when you get greedy—“
Bang!
So much for distracting. Neal was knocked to the ground, the gunshot forcing the breath out of him. The bullet was lodged in the book, right over his heart.
Neal swallowed heavily, squeezing his eyes closed as he tried to regain his composure. He really, really hated guns.
“Gun down or I’ll shoot!” Peter yelled at Maria with his gun aimed, his heart pounding in his chest. “Gun down! Right now!”
Agents from all sides swarmed, and Maria was apprehended in seconds. Cruz looked all too happy to slap a pair of cuffs on her.
Peter ignored it all and ran to Neal, shouting as he did.
“Man down! Man down!”
Taking the book from him and handing it off distractedly to the nearest agent, Peter began to search Neal’s chest for a bullet wound. “Are you hit?”
Neal didn’t respond and Peter barked his name in frustration, not looking up from Neal’s chest. “Caffrey!”
“N-no,” Neal whispered.
Peter frowned, his head whipping up to meet Neal’s eyes. Something was wrong. Neal was white as a sheet, his eyes swimming with tears. It was entirely uncharacteristic of him. And if he hadn’t been hit… then what was wrong?
“Neal?” Peter asked. “What’s wrong? Are you sure you weren’t hit?”
Neal shakily nodded, a tear involuntarily slipping down his cheek. He quickly pulled off the gloves he’d been wearing to inspect the book with trembling hands and swiped it away, letting out a shaky and frustrated huff. “J-just need a second,” he answered, voice tight. “I don’t like guns.”
Peter frowned. Something was wrong. Clearly, Neal was not okay but he was fighting against something. Trying to regain control over his emotions, maybe?
Whatever it was, Peter wouldn’t leave his side until he had it sorted out. Unable to fight against his Caregiver instincts any longer, he reached out a hand and placed it on Neal’s back, rubbing small circles into the skin. For a second, Neal relaxed into the touch before inexplicably throwing himself away from Peter’s hand like he’d been burned.
“N-no,” Neal said, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Neal, I need you to tell me what’s wrong,” Peter urged. “You’re really scaring me here.”
Neal shook his head, burying his face in his hands. Peter looked around, noting that surprisingly, they were being largely ignored by the other agents on the scene. Good. Only Jones and Cruz were occasionally glancing over with slight concern written on their faces.
“Alright,” Peter sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on, but can you get up so we can go somewhere private?”
Neal sniffled behind his hands and nodded once. Peter felt a surge of panic shoot through his chest. By now, he’d expected Neal to have gotten ahold of the crying… thing. The fact that he hadn’t was seriously concerning.
“Okay. Good boy,” Peter said. As soon as the words were out he cringed, not sure where they’d come from. Hopefully, Neal didn’t take offense to them later.
He helped Neal up and walked him over to the van, closing the doors behind them. Peter turned around, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, but every one of them died at the sight that met him. Neal was in hysterics.
“I can’t,” Neal sobbed. “Can’t do it, Peter, ‘m sorry! I tried!”
“What can’t you do?” Peter asked, utterly confused. “Neal, buddy, you’ve gotta talk to me here. I’m not a mind reader.”
“Just can’t,” he hiccuped, rubbing at his eyes with one of his fists, his other hand slowly inching up to his mouth. As if he were about to...
Peter froze. Suddenly, all the pieces fell together in his mind.
“Neal,” Peter murmured, mouth dry. “Are you a Little?” he asked.
Neal cried harder. It was all the confirmation Peter needed.
“Oh, buddy, it’s okay,” Peter soothed in as gentle a voice as he could possibly manage, coming forward and putting an arm around his shoulders. Automatically, Neal leaned into his side. “That’s alright. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Wasn’t supposed to,” Neal hiccuped, melting under Peter’s arm as Peter rubbed his bicep.
“That’s really important information, Neal,” Peter reprimanded gently. Inside, his head was swimming with thoughts. How had Neal hidden this from them? How had he not been discovered during his years in prison, under near constant watch? Why had Neal hidden this?
Another sniffle pulled him away from his thoughts and back to the present. He didn’t have time to contemplate these things now. Right now, the facts were that his C.I. was a dropped Little in distress — his priority needed to be taking care of Neal. They could talk about the adult stuff when he was talking to an adult.
“In trouble?” Neal finally whispered, curling in on himself. The poor guy looked pitiful, his downturned eyes red-rimmed, his cheeks blotchy, and his thumb trailing around his lips in clumsy circles.
“You’re not in trouble, but we need to know that kind of thing. It should be in your file,” Peter said. He hesitated for only a second before his curiosity won out and he asked Neal one question, “How come it says you’re a Baseline on all of your paperwork?”
“Mozzie,” Neal sniffled.
“Of course,” Peter huffed, shaking his head.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the back of the van. Neal looked at Peter in terror, curling further in on himself.
“Just hang tight, I’ll take care of it,” Peter soothed, patting his shoulder as he stood up. He went to the back of the van, opening the door and slipping out before whoever was outside could see Neal.
It was only Jones, concern outlining his features. “Everything okay, Boss?”
“Well, ‘okay’ is a relative term, but…” Peter sighed. “Neal’s not injured.”
Jones frowned. “I’m sensing there’s a ‘but.’”
Peter looked around and lowered his voice to a murmur. “He’s a Little.”
Jones blinked. “Woah. Did not see that one coming.”
“Neither did I,” Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But now that I know, it’s starting to make some sense.”
Jones thought for a second. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Caffrey’s never been exactly what I’d consider mature. But how did he..?”
“Get away with some of the best crimes of the century and spend four years in jail without giving himself away? No idea,” Peter replied. “But having a gun fired at him made him drop and he’s not doing good. We can deal with the repercussions of this on Monday, but right now, I just want to get him out of here. I’m gonna take him back to my place and I’m hoping to get him past medical. Think you can help me out?”
“Sure thing, Boss. How do you wanna do this?” Jones asked.
Peter thought for a second. “I think I have a plan…”