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Special Agent Peter Burke stood over Neal Caffrey, who was seated on the floor in a dark corner of a warehouse. The young man looked up at him, fear in his eyes. Peter frowned and crouched in front of Caffrey, "you're hurt, aren't you? If you weren't, you'd be long gone."
Caffrey slowly nodded.
"Okay, stay still. I'll be right back."
Peter got up and went to his car. He got his first aid kit and returned to the forger's side. Caffrey was watching him, still wary, but much less so.
"What's hurt?" asked Peter.
Caffrey reluctantly opened his suit jacket, and showed Peter where his shirt was torn and dark with blood around his left shoulder. Peter undid Neal's tie, and started on the buttons. Neal blinked tiredly at him.
Peter carefully divested Neal of his jacket. Neal's left arm stayed pretty limp, as Peter maneuvered the jacket off. Neal hissed in pain, and leaned his head forward.
"Sorry, sorry," said Peter, "I just have to get to it, to stop the bleeding."
Neal nodded, and gritted out, "I know."
Peter got the shirt off him, too. The left side of Neal's chest was streaked with fresh and drying blood. There was a deep, jagged wound in his shoulder. Peter gripped Neal's left hand, "can you squeeze my fingers?"
Neal looked down at the two hands, frowning, and tried. It didn't happen.
"Can you feel me squeeze?" Asked Peter.
Neal nodded, "it's weird though. Just pressure, nothing else."
Peter nodded. He cleaned his hands, put gloves on, got clotting sponges and started to pack Neal's shoulder.
Neal got very pale, his head tipped forward, and he started to slump toward Peter. Peter caught him against his chest, hand to the back of Neal's head, holding it up. Neal groaned into Peter's chest and pushed himself back up.
"Sorry, it just really hurt…blacked out for a second."
Peter nodded. He applied a dressing, and then made a sling out of Neal's shirt. He carefully helped Neal put his arm into it.
"Okay," he said, hand on Neal's good arm, "you're technically under arrest but I'm gonna just take you to the hospital for now."
Neal shook his head, "that's sweet, but as long as I'm stable they'll just send me to the jail doctor anyway."
Peter shrugged, "I wasn't necessarily going to tell anyone you were under arrest until after you got treated. Just you, since, due process and all that."
Neal blinked at him. The young man had lost a lot of blood, and he was starting to shiver.
Peter took off his coat and put it around Neal, "come on, Caffrey. Let's get you to the car."
Neal struggled to his feet. It was good that Peter had just had a preview of what Neal passing out looked like, so he was in time to catch the young man around the waist as he started to collapse. Neal held onto Peter, taking big gulps of air, "hey, I don't feel so good…"
Neal's head fell forward against Peter's chest, and he went limp in Peter's arms. Peter heaved Neal up over his shoulder and carried him to the car. He got Neal laying in the front passenger seat, and belted in.
T
Neal woke up to someone trying to pick him up, and searing pain in his shoulder. He pushed away at whoever, and then grabbed his left shoulder with his right hand. The pain from that sequence made his vision darken, and his stomach lurch.
Arms he now recognized as Agent Burke's gently held him upright, as he fought to stay conscious and not barf. He started to lose the latter fight. Peter quickly helped him swivel around so his feet were on the sidewalk and his head was positioned between his knees. Peter kept Neal’s left arm stable against Neal’s chest, even though it put Peter in a position to be hit with blowback.
Neal gripped a handful of Peter's shirt in a tight fist, coughing.
Peter patted his back, "easy, Caffrey. Just let it out."
He nodded, having really not a lot of choice in the matter anyway. He did seem to be mostly finished, though.
Peter left him, he braced himself on the car instead. Then Peter was back, offering him.a water bottle. He took it, hand shaking pretty badly between pain and adrenaline.
He washed his mouth out, then spit, trying not to get Peter's shoes. Peter just rubbed his back some, "done?"
Neal nodded.
"Put your feet back in?"
Neal frowned, but did. Peter pulled the car just a couple feet down the curb, so Neal wouldn't be stepping around what he had brought up.
Peter came back around. Neal started to try to get up. Peter held up a hand, "do you think I should get a wheelchair? To get you in there? I don't want you to pass out again."
Neal decided between the blood loss, pain, and nausea, he was just too tired to second guess everything Peter was doing. At least when they were parked in the emergency department drop off loop. Peter might be a fed but he wouldn't lie about getting someone medical treatment.
"Okay, yes, that's probably a good idea."
Peter nodded. Neal watched Peter go into the lobby.
It had been a good thing Peter had suggested the wheelchair. Neal was starting to feel really light headed again. He realized he was going to faint in time to get onto the sidewalk on his right hand and knees, but not in time to keep from collapsing face first onto the pavement.
T
"Mr. Burke?"
Peter opened his eyes with a start. He looked over at the hospital bed, but Neal was still asleep. He looked at the door. The nurse was standing there, holding a clipboard.
"Hi, yes, sorry," said Peter, rubbing his face with his hands.
"His latest bloodwork came back. He's doing better. Going in for that bleeder was what he needed."
Peter nodded, sighing heavily and slumping back in the chair, "thank you."
She nodded, and hesitated, then added, "it would really help if you could tell us what happened. Then we would know what infections he might be most at risk for."
"I don't know what happened. I found him hurt. He was awake but I didn't ask him, I was focused on getting him here."
"You know him, though?"
"Yeah."
"Do you have contact for his next of kin?"
Peter shook his head, "he doesn't have any. At least not that he's been in contact with since he was 18."
"So are you his emergency contact?"
"No."
"Do you know who is?"
"It would probably have been his girlfriend but they broke up."
"Okay, then who are you to him?"
Peter hesitated. She raised her eyebrow. He finally relented, "the FBI agent who had been chasing him for three years."
"He's some sort of fugitive?"
Peter shook his head, "no, he's just a kid who's too smart for his own good."
She nodded, "okay. Do we need security, or anything?"
"You have any valuable art in this hospital room?"
She snorted, "no."
"Then I think you'll be fine. He's a good kid. His instinct is to be a good person. He'll go out of his way to help people. He's just impulsive and the only people who took an interest in him so far are con artists–"
Peter realized the nurse did not need these details and stopped himself abruptly, "sorry."
She shrugged, "if rambling was the worst stress response I ever encountered my job would be much easier."
Peter laughed, sheepishly, "well, thank you. And thank you for helping him."
She nodded, about to head out. Then she hesitated, "he is going to have a lot of work ahead of him with that arm. It's probably going to hurt a lot. I'm guessing you took him here instead of turning him in and letting him get treated in jail because you know what the prison medical system is like."
Peter nodded. He got stiffly to his feet and looked at Neal, sleeping off anesthesia, his left arm and shoulder in a wrap, holding it immobile.
Peter looked back at the doctor, "I'm open to suggestions."
She shrugged, "just don't arrest him."
"Technically I already did."
"Well if he's under arrest, I have to notify the hospital. Is he under arrest?"
Peter looked back at Neal for a moment, and then shook his head, "no. No, he's not."
"Good choice."
She left. Peter turned back to Neal.
The younger man's eyes were blinking open.
"Wha's all the talking?" Complained Neal, sleepily. He moved slightly, and immediately gasped and put his hand to his shoulder.
"That was the nurse. Now that they stopped the bleeding, you're not running out of blood."
Neal chuckled a little bit, carefully, looking around, "I'm in the hospital…you brought me here?"
Peter leaned over the hospital bed, and gently pushed Neal's hair back from his face, "yeah. You passed out just outside the ER. You just had surgery, they had to go in and tie something off."
"Oh…that explains why I'm so fuzzy…"
"The nurse wanted to know what happened, in case there are any infection concerns."
"I was swinging from a railing and it gave way, I got caught…I tested it yesterday, but…" Neal stopped talking, his right hand tightening on his left shoulder.
"Do you need the nurse? You shouldn't be in pain like this."
"I don't know. I think it's just…" Neal's hand twitched, and his inner forearm cramped so hard Peter could see the muscle groups moving under his skin.
"Yeah," panted Neal, "it's the nerves…"
Neal put his head back, and ground out, "okay, maybe get the nurse…"
Peter went to the hall, and flagged down the nurse. He returned to the bed. Neal was not there. Nor was he anywhere in the vicinity.
Peter groaned, and put his hand to his temple. The nurse came in. She looked at the empty bed, and then at him, "he faked you out to escape?"
Peter shook his head, "he was really in pain, his arm was all locked up."
"Okay. I'll have security look for him. He still has an IV in so technically we can't let him leave anyway. Is he a drug user at all?"
Peter looked at her in surprise, "no? I mean I wouldn't be shocked if he had smoked a joint or two, but…"
"Gotcha. People just do try to leave with an IV for drug use."
Peter shook his head, "oh. No, he–"
There was a commotion outside. They went into the hallway. Near the elevators at the far end of the hall, several people were clustered around a form on the floor.
Peter ran down to see what was happening. It was Neal. He was in scrubs, though still wearing grippy socks. He had what looked like a staff ID and a keychain clipped to his shirt. Neither his sling nor his IV were present.
He was curled on the floor on his right side, clutching his left shoulder and upper arm. His whole left arm was stiff and twisted. His body was rigid in the fetal position.
Peter badged his way to the center of the huddle, and sat beside the younger man. The nurse caught up. She seemed to be thinking of intervening between him and Neal.
"Hey, Neal," said Peter, softly.
Neal struggled to turn his head to look up at him, the muscles in his shoulder and neck were getting pulled into the action.
"Peter," Neal sobbed, his feet kicking slightly against the pain.
The nurse backed off the moment it became clear Neal wanted Peter there, and left, presumably to get something to help the situation.
Peter gently pulled Neal to lay with his head resting on Peter's thigh. He rubbed Neal's upper back, and said gentle, comforting things.
Peter saw Neal's tricep bunch up unnaturally, and his elbow went partially backwards. Neal had been keeping some composure until then, but at that point he turned his face to press into Peter's thigh to muffle sounds that escaped him.
The nurse was suddenly next to them on the floor with a doctor beside her mostly watching. She grabbed Neal's left hand, put a new IV in, flushed it, put a bigger syringe with medication in a saline solution, and started slowly pushing it into him, "this is a muscle relaxant, it should help soon."
Neal's cries slowly faded into whimpers, and then to occasional sobs and shudders. Peter just held him, until they showed up with Neal's hospital bed, and a board to scoot under him to lift him into it.
Neal covered his own mouth and nose with his right hand as they lifted him and deposited him on the bed. A strangled cry escaped through his fingers despite his best efforts. They pushed Neal back down the hall.
Peter stood in the room as they stripped Neal of the outfit he had apparently taken from an overstuffed laundry bin. Not trying to see Neal naked, but also now not trusting Neal out of his sight, he kept the younger man in the corner of his eye. Neal was in so much agony that they ended up cutting the shirt off him.
They paused to get Neal more pain meds before they tried to do anything else. Peter pulled the nurse aside and promised to pay for the scrubs. She laughed, "thanks. I will pass it on."
Despite his best efforts to not look, Peter saw how much Neal's chest, side, shoulder, and neck were contracting even with the muscle relaxant. It looked incredibly painful. Peter could see the moment the pain medicine started to kick in, the tension making Neal tremble from head to toe releasing slightly.
They had to maneuver a new gown onto Neal, and put his arm back in a sling. He could do nothing but try not to yell too loudly.
Eventually Neal was all hooked up again, and as comfortable as he was going to get. He was propped up a little bit, blankets tucked up to his chest. He was limp in the bed, his head held up at an awkward angle by the pillows.
Peter gently adjusted them, supporting Neal's neck better as well.
Peter leaned over the young man, "if I go pee am I going to find you gone or on the floor again?"
"No, I think maybe I'll stay here with the medicine that makes my muscles stop going haywire," said Neal, deadpan and exhausted.
Peter nodded, "a wise choice."
Peter got up and went to pee. He was half expecting Neal to be gone when he returned. But no, Neal was there in the hospital bed.
Neal was pretty pale, his eyes dark, eyelids heavy. He still clutched his shoulder, though not where the wound was. Maybe it was cramping, maybe it was nerve pain.
Despite the fatigue clear in every line of Neal's body, he was alert and wary.
Pete leaned over Neal's bed, "listen…"
"So, I ran, which means I lost nice hospital privileges. I get it. When do I go to jail?"
Peter frowned and shook his head, "no. I was going to say, I think you should try to rest. Your body has been through a lot."
"So then what's my punishment?"
"I honestly thought ending up on the floor in all that pain was punishment enough."
Neal seemed hesitant to believe him. But he did slowly relax.
"Why don't you stop running for long enough to sleep? You can always try again another day," suggested Peter.
Neal finally laughed a little bit, and acquiesced, "okay."
Peter pulled the blankets up further, "catch you in the morning."
Neal chuckled drowsily, drifting off the moment he stopped fighting to stay awake.