[fic] Lost Daze || pre-OT3, pg13 || 1/1
Dec. 21st, 2013 09:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hybridshadeTitle: Lost Daze
Pairing: pre-OT3
Rating: pg13
Warnings: hurt!Neal, abduction
Word count: 3.7k
Summary: Neal wakes on the couch with no memory of how he got there, nor what day of the week it is.
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
whitecollarhcs 2013 H/C Advent, although I'm a tad late... blaming my current poor health for that one! Written in several short bursts so hoping it's not too all over the place.
Neal woke slowly.
The side of his face was buried in something soft and squishy, and a deep breath in told him told he was on the couch. June had had the upholstery cleaners called in the week before so everything still had a vaguely chemical smell about it.
He squirmed and sluggishly pushed himself upright, forcing his eyes open and then closing them again to fight the sudden onslaught of dizziness. His right hand immediately rose to his temple, pressing over his brow, but the spinning sensation didn't cease, instead it seemed to drop into his stomach and roll around in there for a bit as if it might send last night's dinner back up to greet him.
Taking long, steady breaths in attempt to calm himself, Neal took stock of the facts in hand. He'd gotten himself home after they'd finished late at the office and had immediately readied himself for bed, intending to be up early so he could pick up a couple of last minute Christmas gifts downtown. He remembered feeling a bit lightheaded when he'd left the bathroom, but couldn't recall a thing after that. He must have gotten himself to the couch before passing out or something. Which was weird in itself, because he'd been tired, admittedly, but not that tired. And he hadn't been drinking, either. Yet now there was a strange floaty feeling in his limbs, and a horrible taste in the back of his throat. It was almost as if he'd-
The sudden bang of metal against wood had Neal immediately on his feet, wide-eyed at the sight of Peter and Jones and several other guys in assault gear, guns in hand, stalking into his apartment like they were on a mission.
He lasted two seconds before he was falling back down onto the couch, his legs not willing to hold him up a moment longer. He felt unexplainably weak and vaguely achy. He pressed his fingers back to his temple.
"Neal—"
"Peter, what the hell is going on? Since when do the FBI bust down people's doors on a Saturday morning? Surely there's a rule against something like that."
At Peter's subsequent silence Neal forced his head up, squinting at the other man, only to find one very worried and serious pair of eyes staring straight back at him.
"What?" Neal gasped, heart in his throat, thoughts immediately going to June, "What's going on? Has something happened to—"
"Yeah, something's happened," Peter cut in, holstering his gun, "To you, Neal."
"I'm sorry?"
Peter took a solemn breath. "You were gone."
Neal cracked a slow grin; this had to be a joke, right? "I'm right here, aren't I?"
"I don't know how, though. Neal, you… You've been missing for three days."
"Huh? Oh, come on, Peter, is this some kind of seasonal prank or something? Though I've gotta say I'm not familiar with the tradition of the Christmas prank. You'll have to enlighten me."
With a sigh Peter took a seat beside him on the couch, wiping one hand over his face and placing the other atop Neal's thigh. Jones holstered his own weapon and remained to the side, sending the assault team on their way with a gesture of his hand.
"Say I was going to ask you what day it was, what would your answer be?"
"Fine," Neal said with a huff, swallowing down the nausea still tossing about in his stomach, "It's Saturday morning and I feel a bit like I've got a hangover, even though I didn't drink last night. Hey, maybe it's a work hangover. That's totally a thing, right?"
"Neal… It's Tuesday afternoon. You've been missing."
Still not convinced, but deciding to entertain the idea for a moment, Neal turned to take a look through the balcony windows. It was light outside, though it was fading. The shadows outside grew long, just as they did of an afternoon. So, then, he'd slept through the day? That wasn't necessarily something to be concerned about. But then there was movement to his right and Jones stepped up to him, holding out a newspaper.
"If that doesn't convince you I don't know what will."
Neal took the paper in hand, his eyes fixating on the date in the corner – December 24th, 2013. Surely it had been faked? And yet something in the back of his mind told him it wasn't. That Peter was right, and that deep down he knew something was very, very wrong.
The paper fell from his hands and the world went sideways.
"Shit, Neal? Neal, don't you… Jones call the—"
~///~
When Neal woke again it was to the feeling of a firm mattress at his back and the sharp scent of antiseptic.
He could sense Peter somewhere at his bedside, the shuffling of papers and the periodic clicking of a pen giving him away. Neal tried to move, hoping to pull himself upright, but only getting as far as lifting a single hand before the pain made itself known in a big way, a groan slipping from between grit teeth.
"Whoa, hey there, buddy."
Peter was immediately by his side, gently pressing his arms back down to the bed.
"You're not exactly in tip-top shape right now, so best just to keep still, okay?"
His head now thudding significantly, Neal made no move to fight Peter's suggestion.
"Peter… Wha's goin' on?"
Barely managing to pry open his eyes, Neal watched with blurred vision as his friend pulled his chair closer to the bed and placed a hand over Neal's wrist, carefully avoiding the tubes attached to the back of his hand.
"You sure you want to do this right now?"
Neal nodded. Not knowing was already driving him crazy, for one, but there was no way he was getting any rest with his body aching as it was.
"Right. Well. You insisted on walking home Friday night. Did you make it all the way there?"
"Yeah, I got home fine," Neal cleared his throat which only started him off on a coughing fit. Peter did his best to get him sipping water through a straw without him having to move much, but it was a struggle with every tiny movement causing him more pain. Eventually though, he calmed enough to carry on with his story. "So I got home… I had errands to run Saturday morning so I decided to go straight to bed. I put my pyjamas on, went to the bathroom and then… nothing. It's just one big blank. I thought I'd just passed out on the couch, since that's where I woke up."
Neal blinked up at Peter. "Your turn."
"Okay," Peter agreed, though he seemed to be fidgeting uncomfortably, "I got a call from the marshals in the early hours of Saturday morning, telling me that your anklet's signal had dropped out. I told them I'd handle it and I tried to call you but got no answer. When I got to your apartment I found it empty. The suit you'd worn on Friday was in the dressing room, and the only things missing were you, the anklet and your pyjamas. Your wallet and phone, all that stuff was still there which didn't sit right with me."
"So?"
"So the marshals had to list you as a fugitive until we could prove otherwise. And it wasn't easy. For the first day I… I don't know."
"You thought I'd run."
Peter sighed and nodded reluctantly. "I didn't want to believe it but there wasn't anything to say otherwise, so I had to go with it at the time. Except that… I knew that if you had run you would have let me know somehow – left me a clue, the smallest breadcrumb, just to taunt me if nothing else. We managed to get a couple of guys from forensics over in the afternoon, and it was one of them that found the small scratches on outside of the balcony door and the marks on the railing."
"Someone came over the balcony," Neal finished off the thought. Thinking was proving to be like swimming through honey, but Neal refused to let the situation get the best of him. Regardless of what it revealed. "So I was abducted."
"Seems so. El got on to Mozzie, and he claimed he knew nothing but said he would look into it. Then it was just a whole lot of waiting. We got security camera footage from near to June's of a black van hauling ass at around three in the morning, but there were no plates, not enough information to make any identifications. The first real sign we got was on Monday. When I got to my desk there was an envelope waiting. It had a lock of your hair in it and nothing else. We had no luck tracing it and things were looking pretty grim by then, but at about two o'clock today I got another call from the marshals saying that your anklet had come back online suddenly."
"That was when you came busting down my door."
"Yep. And here we are."
"So they just… took me away and then put me straight back."
"Essentially. And it looks as though they were able to block the anklet's signal somehow, because it's still on your ankle and it doesn't look like it's been tampered with at all."
Neal said nothing as he turned away and stared up at the empty ceiling. He wasn't really sure how to feel about the whole situation. Perhaps it was a good thing that he didn't remember, and yet it was almost too much to bear that three whole days were just completely missing from his life. Three whole days where something of consequence had happened to him and he might have been none-the-wiser were if not for his situation with the FBI, and that was frightening enough in itself.
No doubt Peter would have come to the same conclusion – that whatever was going on here, it was personal. If it had been Bureau-related there would have been more taunting through the mail or some kind of ransom demand, but to Neal the lock of hair in an envelope seemed more like an afterthought than anything. As if his captors had been after something, and when they didn't get it straight away they changed tactics.
He really needed to talk to Moz. His suspicions were already forming, but the little guy would be the only one capable of confirming them.
"What did they do to me, Peter?"
Not looking away from the ceiling, Neal heard, rather than saw, as Peter rolled his shoulders and sat back in his chair, letting his limbs fall limp.
"We're still waiting for your toxicology results to come back, but it's pretty safe to say that they drugged you with something potent. It's doubtful you were awake at all, if it's any consolation. It's also why you're probably hurting a lot. You've been… beaten, and the doctors can't give you any real pain relief until they know precisely what you've been given. They don't want to make you sick."
"Fair enough," Neal croaked, trying not to focus on the insistent aching of his body.
A hand dropped down on his wrist again. It was a familiar touch, and comforting. And it made Neal's pain just the slightest bit more bearable.
"I just want you to know that I'm gonna find who did this to you. I'm not going to let them get away with it. Not a chance."
And that's what Neal was afraid of.
~///~
"Psst. Neal."
Neal pried open his eyes and was faced with the near-pitch dark of his hospital room, the faint lights of the various monitors attached to him glowing just enough to reveal the rounded shape by his bedside.
"Moz? You crept into a hospital just for me? I'm flattered." And glad that I've got a room to myself.
"I had to get to you somehow… And you're fine now, yes?"
"Yeah, they finally gave me some painkillers, so I feel fine, at least. And I can probably leave tomorrow if I've got someone to look after me. Nothing's broken much, whatever drugs they used are out of my system already, I just need to rest for a while."
"I already talked to Mrs Suit. She said she's going to take you back to their place, no excuses. But I think we've got something a trifle more important to discuss."
"Agreed. Such as was Dvorak behind this, like I think he was?"
"Your suspicions are well founded. Who else could do something so conniving and pull it off with such stealth."
Neal sighed heavily. "I knew that would come back to bite me one day."
"Well, you did convince his daughter to—"
"Hey, there was no convincing involved, okay? And how was I to know she was… new at the whole… sleeping with people thing. She didn't come across that way and it's not like she was still a teenager."
"For some reason I'm not so sure it was that so much as the aftermath."
Neal threw his hands up in surrender. "How was I to know that she had prodigy-level spy skills and would follow me across Europe! I didn't even know she was there until she cornered me in Helsinki. And she had a gun, Moz!"
"Her father being, well, her father, chooses to think you took her against her will, and I doubt anything you say will ever convince him otherwise."
"He's got his revenge now, so what is there to say?"
When Moz remained silent Neal knew there was more going on than he knew. He hung his head.
"What did you do?"
"Look, Dvorak contacted me on Sunday with a ransom demand. If you think there was any way I wasn't going to pay it then I might have to do something drastic to you myself."
"What did he want?"
Moz cleared his throat. "He requested a handsome sum, else he'd do to you what you did to his daughter, though not in so many words."
"I see."
"I set up a storage locker and put as much from warehouse number two in it as I could shift in a day. It took longer than expected, but once it all went down he apparently found it satisfactory. However, he may not feel the same way should he try to leave the country any time soon, wink-wink nudge-nudge."
"Have you told anyone?"
"I told Mrs Suit that I'd handled the problem, since she understands me best of all the suits."
"Yeah, but now there's the matter of getting Peter to drop his crusade of finding my unknown captor and bringing him to justice."
"And I'm going to leave that little problem in your very capable hands. Fare thee well."
~///~
Getting from the car to the Burke's living room was a task and a half, but with Peter on one side and El on the other they got there in the end. He was set down on the sofa and given a pillow to prop himself up with, and El excused herself to go check on the turkey.
"There's no way you're skipping out on Christmas dinner, mister. I don't care what kind of stuff they dosed you with."
Neal watched as she headed into the kitchen, winking back at him on her way. Seemingly Moz had given her the low-down just like he'd said, but he had no idea what Peter knew and if he was still pursuing it as intently as Neal feared, he wasn't really sure what was going to be the best course of talking him down. More so since his mind was already clouded with a many and varied array of hospital-grade pharmaceuticals.
"Peter, I—"
"What's really going on, Neal?" Peter cut in, seating himself on the sofa at Neal's feet, "I know El's been talking to Mozzie, and then she told me earlier that I should talk to you about it before running headlong into a criminal investigation that's not precisely in the White Collar wheelhouse. I know you know more than you're telling me, so I'll say it right now that if you're not honest with me I will investigate this to the fullest extent."
Neal blinked. Swallowed. More than a little stunned that Peter was being so forthright and practically threatening him about it.
"I… I do know who did this to me—"
"I knew it."
"—I had my suspicions as soon as you gave me the details, and trust me, I should have expected a lot worse. But, Peter, I can't tell you any more than that. It was payback for something that happened a long time ago and that's all I'll say. Even if I gave you a name you'd never find enough proof and, more importantly, the law wouldn't let you touch him anyway."
Peter sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't like this, Neal."
"I know you don't. I know it's not in your nature to let something like this slide, but I'm telling you with near complete certainty that there's nothing you can do about it and I need you to be content that Mozzie's got a handle on it. It'll be taken care of one way or another."
"Haven't I told you before? There's always another way—"
"Yeah, maybe if we waited long enough, planned long enough, we might find an alternative. But I refuse to deal with this madness for any longer than I have to." Neal took a steadying breath. "I've been violated in such a way that… well, I'm probably more freaked out about it than even I realise, but I need to deal with it by moving on. The more I dwell on it the more it's going to run me down, so I'm asking you – as a friend – to let this go and let Mozzie take care of it. For all out sakes."
Peter stared at him for a long moment, considering. Neal knew it wasn't really like him to be putting something so personal out into the open like that, so he could only hope that it might have prompted Peter to take his plea seriously. And it was the truth, too. The more time Neal was given to think over his abduction, the more likely it would start to eat him up from the inside. It was best to just let himself heal and then move on already – as much as he was able to, at least. Not to mention that interfering with Dvorak would by no means lead to anything good – Neal had seen firsthand what a guy like that could make of his enemies, and Neal would admit without hesitation that he'd gotten the light end of the stick by a long way.
The silence was broken when El returned from the kitchen, a plate in each hand filled with roast meat and vegetables.
"Alrighty," she said, placing a plate each on Neal and Peter's laps, "Who wants gravy?"
She left the room and returned with her own plate as well as the gravy boat, and they ate their meal comfortably in front of the TV. Neal had only been given a small portion but he still barely picked at the food, nice though it was. There were simply too many things tossing and turning in his head, dousing more than his appetite. That was even before he got a look at the Burke Christmas tree sitting over in the corner, adorned with tinsel and lights, and with plenty of wrapped boxes still sitting underneath – they hadn't even taken the time to open their presents of Christmas day. All because of him and the whole ridiculous situation.
"Neal, honey," El admonished, clearly having noticed where his attention was directed, "Don't you dare go blaming yourself."
Peter looked up from his dinner with concern. "Who's blaming—"
"It's just," Neal sighed and put his cutlery down, "I was supposed to pick up my gifts for you on Saturday, and… I didn't get a Saturday, you know? I mean, it's just one day – or rather, three days – but it's still hard reconciling the fact that I didn't get to live it."
El took hold of his hand.
"Having you here and alive is far better than any present you could have bought us, right Peter?"
"Yep. She's right, y'know."
Neal picked his fork back up and finished as much of his meal as he could manage, his heart feeling just a little lighter than before.
Once all the dishes were cleaned and the leftovers put away, Neal's eyes were starting to droop and El made the decision that an early night was in order. She gave Neal his next dose of pills and helped get him comfortable on the sofa. The living room lights went out and Neal was just about to drift off when he heard two lots of footsteps coming back down the stairs. He watched with confusion as a pyjama-clad Peter moved the coffee table off to the side and El threw a great pile of sheets and quilts down onto the rug in front of the sofa.
"What're you doin'?"
A couple of pillows were tossed down and the Burkes got themselves settled on their makeshift bed.
El grinned up at him. "Well, since we can't take you to our bed right now, we thought we'd bring ours to you."
"Huh?"
"You've lost three days," Peter continued, "And while we can't give them back to you, we can stop wasting any more of your time. And ours."
"Oh."
"Yeah, you just wait til you're all better, mister. Then we can have a proper slumber party."
Neal held his breath as a hand snuck under the quilt tucked in around him and took hold of his own, winding their fingers together. Whatever Peter and El had gotten him that was still sitting wrapped up beneath the Christmas tree, it was surely nothing in comparison to the promise he held there in his hand.
~end
Pairing: pre-OT3
Rating: pg13
Warnings: hurt!Neal, abduction
Word count: 3.7k
Summary: Neal wakes on the couch with no memory of how he got there, nor what day of the week it is.
A/N: Written for
whitecollarhcs 2013 H/C Advent, although I'm a tad late... blaming my current poor health for that one! Written in several short bursts so hoping it's not too all over the place. Neal woke slowly.
The side of his face was buried in something soft and squishy, and a deep breath in told him told he was on the couch. June had had the upholstery cleaners called in the week before so everything still had a vaguely chemical smell about it.
He squirmed and sluggishly pushed himself upright, forcing his eyes open and then closing them again to fight the sudden onslaught of dizziness. His right hand immediately rose to his temple, pressing over his brow, but the spinning sensation didn't cease, instead it seemed to drop into his stomach and roll around in there for a bit as if it might send last night's dinner back up to greet him.
Taking long, steady breaths in attempt to calm himself, Neal took stock of the facts in hand. He'd gotten himself home after they'd finished late at the office and had immediately readied himself for bed, intending to be up early so he could pick up a couple of last minute Christmas gifts downtown. He remembered feeling a bit lightheaded when he'd left the bathroom, but couldn't recall a thing after that. He must have gotten himself to the couch before passing out or something. Which was weird in itself, because he'd been tired, admittedly, but not that tired. And he hadn't been drinking, either. Yet now there was a strange floaty feeling in his limbs, and a horrible taste in the back of his throat. It was almost as if he'd-
The sudden bang of metal against wood had Neal immediately on his feet, wide-eyed at the sight of Peter and Jones and several other guys in assault gear, guns in hand, stalking into his apartment like they were on a mission.
He lasted two seconds before he was falling back down onto the couch, his legs not willing to hold him up a moment longer. He felt unexplainably weak and vaguely achy. He pressed his fingers back to his temple.
"Neal—"
"Peter, what the hell is going on? Since when do the FBI bust down people's doors on a Saturday morning? Surely there's a rule against something like that."
At Peter's subsequent silence Neal forced his head up, squinting at the other man, only to find one very worried and serious pair of eyes staring straight back at him.
"What?" Neal gasped, heart in his throat, thoughts immediately going to June, "What's going on? Has something happened to—"
"Yeah, something's happened," Peter cut in, holstering his gun, "To you, Neal."
"I'm sorry?"
Peter took a solemn breath. "You were gone."
Neal cracked a slow grin; this had to be a joke, right? "I'm right here, aren't I?"
"I don't know how, though. Neal, you… You've been missing for three days."
"Huh? Oh, come on, Peter, is this some kind of seasonal prank or something? Though I've gotta say I'm not familiar with the tradition of the Christmas prank. You'll have to enlighten me."
With a sigh Peter took a seat beside him on the couch, wiping one hand over his face and placing the other atop Neal's thigh. Jones holstered his own weapon and remained to the side, sending the assault team on their way with a gesture of his hand.
"Say I was going to ask you what day it was, what would your answer be?"
"Fine," Neal said with a huff, swallowing down the nausea still tossing about in his stomach, "It's Saturday morning and I feel a bit like I've got a hangover, even though I didn't drink last night. Hey, maybe it's a work hangover. That's totally a thing, right?"
"Neal… It's Tuesday afternoon. You've been missing."
Still not convinced, but deciding to entertain the idea for a moment, Neal turned to take a look through the balcony windows. It was light outside, though it was fading. The shadows outside grew long, just as they did of an afternoon. So, then, he'd slept through the day? That wasn't necessarily something to be concerned about. But then there was movement to his right and Jones stepped up to him, holding out a newspaper.
"If that doesn't convince you I don't know what will."
Neal took the paper in hand, his eyes fixating on the date in the corner – December 24th, 2013. Surely it had been faked? And yet something in the back of his mind told him it wasn't. That Peter was right, and that deep down he knew something was very, very wrong.
The paper fell from his hands and the world went sideways.
"Shit, Neal? Neal, don't you… Jones call the—"
~///~
When Neal woke again it was to the feeling of a firm mattress at his back and the sharp scent of antiseptic.
He could sense Peter somewhere at his bedside, the shuffling of papers and the periodic clicking of a pen giving him away. Neal tried to move, hoping to pull himself upright, but only getting as far as lifting a single hand before the pain made itself known in a big way, a groan slipping from between grit teeth.
"Whoa, hey there, buddy."
Peter was immediately by his side, gently pressing his arms back down to the bed.
"You're not exactly in tip-top shape right now, so best just to keep still, okay?"
His head now thudding significantly, Neal made no move to fight Peter's suggestion.
"Peter… Wha's goin' on?"
Barely managing to pry open his eyes, Neal watched with blurred vision as his friend pulled his chair closer to the bed and placed a hand over Neal's wrist, carefully avoiding the tubes attached to the back of his hand.
"You sure you want to do this right now?"
Neal nodded. Not knowing was already driving him crazy, for one, but there was no way he was getting any rest with his body aching as it was.
"Right. Well. You insisted on walking home Friday night. Did you make it all the way there?"
"Yeah, I got home fine," Neal cleared his throat which only started him off on a coughing fit. Peter did his best to get him sipping water through a straw without him having to move much, but it was a struggle with every tiny movement causing him more pain. Eventually though, he calmed enough to carry on with his story. "So I got home… I had errands to run Saturday morning so I decided to go straight to bed. I put my pyjamas on, went to the bathroom and then… nothing. It's just one big blank. I thought I'd just passed out on the couch, since that's where I woke up."
Neal blinked up at Peter. "Your turn."
"Okay," Peter agreed, though he seemed to be fidgeting uncomfortably, "I got a call from the marshals in the early hours of Saturday morning, telling me that your anklet's signal had dropped out. I told them I'd handle it and I tried to call you but got no answer. When I got to your apartment I found it empty. The suit you'd worn on Friday was in the dressing room, and the only things missing were you, the anklet and your pyjamas. Your wallet and phone, all that stuff was still there which didn't sit right with me."
"So?"
"So the marshals had to list you as a fugitive until we could prove otherwise. And it wasn't easy. For the first day I… I don't know."
"You thought I'd run."
Peter sighed and nodded reluctantly. "I didn't want to believe it but there wasn't anything to say otherwise, so I had to go with it at the time. Except that… I knew that if you had run you would have let me know somehow – left me a clue, the smallest breadcrumb, just to taunt me if nothing else. We managed to get a couple of guys from forensics over in the afternoon, and it was one of them that found the small scratches on outside of the balcony door and the marks on the railing."
"Someone came over the balcony," Neal finished off the thought. Thinking was proving to be like swimming through honey, but Neal refused to let the situation get the best of him. Regardless of what it revealed. "So I was abducted."
"Seems so. El got on to Mozzie, and he claimed he knew nothing but said he would look into it. Then it was just a whole lot of waiting. We got security camera footage from near to June's of a black van hauling ass at around three in the morning, but there were no plates, not enough information to make any identifications. The first real sign we got was on Monday. When I got to my desk there was an envelope waiting. It had a lock of your hair in it and nothing else. We had no luck tracing it and things were looking pretty grim by then, but at about two o'clock today I got another call from the marshals saying that your anklet had come back online suddenly."
"That was when you came busting down my door."
"Yep. And here we are."
"So they just… took me away and then put me straight back."
"Essentially. And it looks as though they were able to block the anklet's signal somehow, because it's still on your ankle and it doesn't look like it's been tampered with at all."
Neal said nothing as he turned away and stared up at the empty ceiling. He wasn't really sure how to feel about the whole situation. Perhaps it was a good thing that he didn't remember, and yet it was almost too much to bear that three whole days were just completely missing from his life. Three whole days where something of consequence had happened to him and he might have been none-the-wiser were if not for his situation with the FBI, and that was frightening enough in itself.
No doubt Peter would have come to the same conclusion – that whatever was going on here, it was personal. If it had been Bureau-related there would have been more taunting through the mail or some kind of ransom demand, but to Neal the lock of hair in an envelope seemed more like an afterthought than anything. As if his captors had been after something, and when they didn't get it straight away they changed tactics.
He really needed to talk to Moz. His suspicions were already forming, but the little guy would be the only one capable of confirming them.
"What did they do to me, Peter?"
Not looking away from the ceiling, Neal heard, rather than saw, as Peter rolled his shoulders and sat back in his chair, letting his limbs fall limp.
"We're still waiting for your toxicology results to come back, but it's pretty safe to say that they drugged you with something potent. It's doubtful you were awake at all, if it's any consolation. It's also why you're probably hurting a lot. You've been… beaten, and the doctors can't give you any real pain relief until they know precisely what you've been given. They don't want to make you sick."
"Fair enough," Neal croaked, trying not to focus on the insistent aching of his body.
A hand dropped down on his wrist again. It was a familiar touch, and comforting. And it made Neal's pain just the slightest bit more bearable.
"I just want you to know that I'm gonna find who did this to you. I'm not going to let them get away with it. Not a chance."
And that's what Neal was afraid of.
~///~
"Psst. Neal."
Neal pried open his eyes and was faced with the near-pitch dark of his hospital room, the faint lights of the various monitors attached to him glowing just enough to reveal the rounded shape by his bedside.
"Moz? You crept into a hospital just for me? I'm flattered." And glad that I've got a room to myself.
"I had to get to you somehow… And you're fine now, yes?"
"Yeah, they finally gave me some painkillers, so I feel fine, at least. And I can probably leave tomorrow if I've got someone to look after me. Nothing's broken much, whatever drugs they used are out of my system already, I just need to rest for a while."
"I already talked to Mrs Suit. She said she's going to take you back to their place, no excuses. But I think we've got something a trifle more important to discuss."
"Agreed. Such as was Dvorak behind this, like I think he was?"
"Your suspicions are well founded. Who else could do something so conniving and pull it off with such stealth."
Neal sighed heavily. "I knew that would come back to bite me one day."
"Well, you did convince his daughter to—"
"Hey, there was no convincing involved, okay? And how was I to know she was… new at the whole… sleeping with people thing. She didn't come across that way and it's not like she was still a teenager."
"For some reason I'm not so sure it was that so much as the aftermath."
Neal threw his hands up in surrender. "How was I to know that she had prodigy-level spy skills and would follow me across Europe! I didn't even know she was there until she cornered me in Helsinki. And she had a gun, Moz!"
"Her father being, well, her father, chooses to think you took her against her will, and I doubt anything you say will ever convince him otherwise."
"He's got his revenge now, so what is there to say?"
When Moz remained silent Neal knew there was more going on than he knew. He hung his head.
"What did you do?"
"Look, Dvorak contacted me on Sunday with a ransom demand. If you think there was any way I wasn't going to pay it then I might have to do something drastic to you myself."
"What did he want?"
Moz cleared his throat. "He requested a handsome sum, else he'd do to you what you did to his daughter, though not in so many words."
"I see."
"I set up a storage locker and put as much from warehouse number two in it as I could shift in a day. It took longer than expected, but once it all went down he apparently found it satisfactory. However, he may not feel the same way should he try to leave the country any time soon, wink-wink nudge-nudge."
"Have you told anyone?"
"I told Mrs Suit that I'd handled the problem, since she understands me best of all the suits."
"Yeah, but now there's the matter of getting Peter to drop his crusade of finding my unknown captor and bringing him to justice."
"And I'm going to leave that little problem in your very capable hands. Fare thee well."
~///~
Getting from the car to the Burke's living room was a task and a half, but with Peter on one side and El on the other they got there in the end. He was set down on the sofa and given a pillow to prop himself up with, and El excused herself to go check on the turkey.
"There's no way you're skipping out on Christmas dinner, mister. I don't care what kind of stuff they dosed you with."
Neal watched as she headed into the kitchen, winking back at him on her way. Seemingly Moz had given her the low-down just like he'd said, but he had no idea what Peter knew and if he was still pursuing it as intently as Neal feared, he wasn't really sure what was going to be the best course of talking him down. More so since his mind was already clouded with a many and varied array of hospital-grade pharmaceuticals.
"Peter, I—"
"What's really going on, Neal?" Peter cut in, seating himself on the sofa at Neal's feet, "I know El's been talking to Mozzie, and then she told me earlier that I should talk to you about it before running headlong into a criminal investigation that's not precisely in the White Collar wheelhouse. I know you know more than you're telling me, so I'll say it right now that if you're not honest with me I will investigate this to the fullest extent."
Neal blinked. Swallowed. More than a little stunned that Peter was being so forthright and practically threatening him about it.
"I… I do know who did this to me—"
"I knew it."
"—I had my suspicions as soon as you gave me the details, and trust me, I should have expected a lot worse. But, Peter, I can't tell you any more than that. It was payback for something that happened a long time ago and that's all I'll say. Even if I gave you a name you'd never find enough proof and, more importantly, the law wouldn't let you touch him anyway."
Peter sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't like this, Neal."
"I know you don't. I know it's not in your nature to let something like this slide, but I'm telling you with near complete certainty that there's nothing you can do about it and I need you to be content that Mozzie's got a handle on it. It'll be taken care of one way or another."
"Haven't I told you before? There's always another way—"
"Yeah, maybe if we waited long enough, planned long enough, we might find an alternative. But I refuse to deal with this madness for any longer than I have to." Neal took a steadying breath. "I've been violated in such a way that… well, I'm probably more freaked out about it than even I realise, but I need to deal with it by moving on. The more I dwell on it the more it's going to run me down, so I'm asking you – as a friend – to let this go and let Mozzie take care of it. For all out sakes."
Peter stared at him for a long moment, considering. Neal knew it wasn't really like him to be putting something so personal out into the open like that, so he could only hope that it might have prompted Peter to take his plea seriously. And it was the truth, too. The more time Neal was given to think over his abduction, the more likely it would start to eat him up from the inside. It was best to just let himself heal and then move on already – as much as he was able to, at least. Not to mention that interfering with Dvorak would by no means lead to anything good – Neal had seen firsthand what a guy like that could make of his enemies, and Neal would admit without hesitation that he'd gotten the light end of the stick by a long way.
The silence was broken when El returned from the kitchen, a plate in each hand filled with roast meat and vegetables.
"Alrighty," she said, placing a plate each on Neal and Peter's laps, "Who wants gravy?"
She left the room and returned with her own plate as well as the gravy boat, and they ate their meal comfortably in front of the TV. Neal had only been given a small portion but he still barely picked at the food, nice though it was. There were simply too many things tossing and turning in his head, dousing more than his appetite. That was even before he got a look at the Burke Christmas tree sitting over in the corner, adorned with tinsel and lights, and with plenty of wrapped boxes still sitting underneath – they hadn't even taken the time to open their presents of Christmas day. All because of him and the whole ridiculous situation.
"Neal, honey," El admonished, clearly having noticed where his attention was directed, "Don't you dare go blaming yourself."
Peter looked up from his dinner with concern. "Who's blaming—"
"It's just," Neal sighed and put his cutlery down, "I was supposed to pick up my gifts for you on Saturday, and… I didn't get a Saturday, you know? I mean, it's just one day – or rather, three days – but it's still hard reconciling the fact that I didn't get to live it."
El took hold of his hand.
"Having you here and alive is far better than any present you could have bought us, right Peter?"
"Yep. She's right, y'know."
Neal picked his fork back up and finished as much of his meal as he could manage, his heart feeling just a little lighter than before.
Once all the dishes were cleaned and the leftovers put away, Neal's eyes were starting to droop and El made the decision that an early night was in order. She gave Neal his next dose of pills and helped get him comfortable on the sofa. The living room lights went out and Neal was just about to drift off when he heard two lots of footsteps coming back down the stairs. He watched with confusion as a pyjama-clad Peter moved the coffee table off to the side and El threw a great pile of sheets and quilts down onto the rug in front of the sofa.
"What're you doin'?"
A couple of pillows were tossed down and the Burkes got themselves settled on their makeshift bed.
El grinned up at him. "Well, since we can't take you to our bed right now, we thought we'd bring ours to you."
"Huh?"
"You've lost three days," Peter continued, "And while we can't give them back to you, we can stop wasting any more of your time. And ours."
"Oh."
"Yeah, you just wait til you're all better, mister. Then we can have a proper slumber party."
Neal held his breath as a hand snuck under the quilt tucked in around him and took hold of his own, winding their fingers together. Whatever Peter and El had gotten him that was still sitting wrapped up beneath the Christmas tree, it was surely nothing in comparison to the promise he held there in his hand.
~end
