(no subject)
Title: Thus-Far-Untitled Caffrey-Burke Day Fic
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Mozzie, Jones, Diana
Context: A different take on the ending of 4.09: Gloves Off
Warnings: Neal whump
Words: ~2700
Summary: How things should could have gone in The Boxing Episode.
Neal saw stars. His eyes rolled back horrifically as he fell, almost in slow motion, his body twisting with the force of the blow. He hit the mat hard, and didn’t move.
Moz moved to enter the ring but the ref held him back with an extended arm. Jones leaned as far as he could to check on Neal without looking more concerned than his cover allowed.
Maintaining cover was the last thing on Peter’s mind as his shock and fear socked him in the gut.
Not caring who saw or heard, or what it meant for the case, Peter rushed forward, dropping to his knees at his partner’s side.
“Neal? Neal!” He shook Neal by the shoulder, his heart pounding as the younger man failed to respond. The ref called the bout in Peter’s favour, reaching for his arm to raise it as a sign of his victory. Peter yanked it away, the ref stepping back as Moz appeared on Neal's other side. Peter turned him gently onto his back. Neal's eyes fluttered openly slowly, rolling loosely in their sockets, unfocused.
“Neal, look at me, please!” Peter’s voice was desperate. One hand lingered on his shoulder, the other rested lightly on his face in an attempt to draw his attention.
Neal was in a daze. His vision blurred, sharp edges running into each other where he vaguely knew they shouldn’t. He could feel something warm and rough on his face, in contrast to the cold, smooth surface at his back. His thoughts were scattered as he tried to recall what had led to this.
He finally locked eyes with a terrified looking Peter, and all sensation came back to him in a rush.
“Shit,” he moaned softly, and the pain that laced his voice brought tears to Peter’s eyes.
***
The two followed their choreographed routine blow by blow perfectly. Feeling confident that things were playing out as they should, Neal met Peter’s eyes and saw a mischievous glint there. Peter was enjoying this challenge; and the unique physicality it had compared to their usual cases.
The slightest of grins turned up the corners of Neal's mouth as he broke from the script, throwing in the opening jab of a move they had practiced but ultimately scrapped in favour of brevity. Peter shifted to avoid the blow, but not quickly enough to escape being clipped in the ribs. Shaking his head slightly as he recognised Neal's intentions, he kept his balance and followed his partner’s lead, exchanging a series of slightly less rehearsed blows, expecting Neal to fall back into the routine. Soon enough, he did, and as they drew to the end of their bout, Peter gave the signal for the knockout punch, tapping his gloves together. Neal met his eyes, and raised his arms to block the left feint he knew was coming. The right cross to his gut hit with more force than expected, and he curled forward reflexively, sucking in a sharp breath. He knew what was coming; he knew he needed to move; to brace himself for the big finale.
It was only mistimed by the slightest moment. But like Jones and Moz had warned them, the timing really had to be right with that one.
***
“Peter Burke?” The doctor read Peter’s name from a page on his clipboard, and Peter jumped to his feet and approached him. “I’m Dr. Westing, I’m overseeing Neal Caffrey’s case, and I see you are his nominated health care agent.”
“I am? Is Neal okay?”
“Why don’t we have a seat,” the doctor indicated to some empty chairs in a quieter part of the waiting room.
Peter was barely sitting before his questions began.
“Why do you need to speak to a proxy, has something happened?” Peter was alarmed by the prospect of Neal being injured badly enough that someone was being asked to make treatment decisions on his behalf. The fact that Neal had chosen him to be the one making those decisions also came as a distinct surprise.
“What is the nature of your relationship with Mr Caffrey?” the doctor asked. “Are you a family member?”
“No. No, I’m his… I’m an FBI agent. Neal is my CI. My consultant. We work together. For the FBI.” Peter’s response was disjointed, and he realised he was repeating himself as he tried to find an appropriate way to describe their situation.
“He’s involved in a sort of federal work-release program, I’m his handler.”
The doctor nodded.
“So that explains the guard it was insisted we allow to remain by his room - even though I doubt he is going anywhere anytime soon,” Dr. Westing said, sounding slightly amused. Peter wasn’t sure whether the amusement was out of annoyance or disbelief.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“He’ll be fine, Agent Burke. We examined him on arrival and it appears he has a mild concussion, as well as his obvious facial injury. He has since paid a visit to the radiology department, and, as suspected, Mr Caffrey suffered a fracture-dislocation of the mandible. We have been able to reduce the dislocation, and his x-rays have shown that the fracture is only minimally displaced, but I’ve referred his case to a colleague in the maxillofacial department, and we believe the best option would be an internal fixation.”
“What exactly does that involve?” Peter asked, not entirely sure if he wanted to know.
“It’s a relatively simple procedure,” the doctor offered. “We’re arranging a consultation with a member of the surgical team, to give Mr Caffrey an opportunity to hear the options available to him. If he chooses to undergo surgery, a small compression plate would be inserted in his mandible to bridge the fracture site. It helps to support the bone during the healing process, and is more comfortable than some of the other treatments we can offer. Of course, the decision is his to make, and his concussion would have to be taken into consideration when planning a surgical timeframe.”
Peter nodded mutely. Surgery. He had injured Neal severely enough that he needed surgery. After his concussion passed. He was having trouble processing how something that was meant to be so simple had managed to go so terribly wrong.
***
“Help me get him up,” Peter summoned Jones from where he was lingering at the side of the ring.
The crowd of watching traders had dissipated rapidly when it became clear that there would be no further action to see in the Slauson-Halden bout. Many had cheered loudly when Peter first put Neal down, but when he failed to regain his feet after the first few minutes, most were already gone, and the rest were dismissed by Dunham, who himself had now also seemingly vanished.
Peter had let Mozzie take over, despite having basic first aid skills of his own, as the shorter man spoke to Neal slowly in hushed tones. He traced his fingers through the air above Neal's face, forcing Neal to follow their movement. Using a penlight that Peter was surprised and yet not that surprised to see he was carrying, he examined Neal's pupils, seeming dissatisfied with the sluggishness of their response to the light. Neal groaned at the brightness, closing his eyes and trying to turn away, but failed as Moz held his head in position.
“Don’t move, Neal, not yet, okay? You gotta stay still for me buddy, just for a minute,” he said softly, and Peter didn’t recognise the soothing tone he had taken on. It seemed to have a calming effect on Neal, who stilled under his hands.
“We need to get him to a hospital, Suit,” Moz said, turning to Peter. There was a concern in his face Peter hadn’t seen before, which coupled with his surprise at the fact that of all of them, Moz was the first to mention visiting a hospital, left Peter somewhat stunned.
He nodded, calling Jones over, and together, with Moz hovering beside them, they helped Neal into a sitting position. Upright, the damage to his face became clearer, and Peter felt slightly sick. His jaw was slack, seeming lower on one side, and was swelling fast. Neal's eyes were tightly closed now, and he was breathing rapidly through his nose.
The muscles in his jaw tensed and he let out a soft, distressed sound, raising his head slowly and opening his eyes to meet Moz’s gaze questioningly.
Moz nodded, and Peter wasn’t sure what piece of information had been wordlessly exchanged, but Neal dropped his head again, and Moz placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as if to comfort him.
Jones called Diana to bring her car around, and then turned back to Peter, who was manoeuvring Neal's arms into his hoodie with Mozzie’s help. Neal himself offered little assistance, seemingly focusing all his efforts on remaining upright and conscious.
Jones and Peter positioned themselves on either side of Neal, and with his arms draped over their shoulders, they slowly stood, lifting him to his feet. Neal was slight, but all muscle, and essentially dead weight between them. One hand clutched a fistful of Peter’s jacket as he rapidly drew shallow breaths, trying to calm his spinning head and steady his blurring vision.
The relatively short trip to the car was a struggle, but they made it without further incident, and Jones didn’t comment when Peter slapped the flashing light onto the roof of the Taurus and then proceeded to break several traffic laws on their way to the nearest hospital. Moz took responsibility for his admission paperwork as Neal was whisked away from them, and Peter was left to his thoughts and his sickening guilt as the time slowly ticked by.
***
“Agent Burke..? Agent Burke, is everything okay?”
Peter started when he realised the doctor was speaking to him again. He could see it in his mind, Neal's head jerking backwards with the force of being struck, and then he was falling, falling, unconscious before he hit the mat. He shook his head slightly, as if that could erase the image, and turned back to face the other man.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“Just that you can see Mr Caffrey now, if you like. Talk to him, let him know that you’re here. He’s still a little out of it; we had to sedate him to reduce his jaw - oh, don’t worry, that’s perfectly normal,” the doctor adjusted his explanation at seeing fresh alarm in Peter’s expression.
“Ah… Yes, yes of course, I’d like to see him, thank you,” Peter replied, hoping he hadn’t paused for an inappropriately long time before answering. It felt like he had. There were things he needed to tell Neal, and he knew it was cowardly to do it when Neal couldn’t respond - when perhaps he wouldn’t even hear it - but it could well be the only way he was going to get this out.
It was time to tell him the truth. All of it.
***
Peter sat uneasily on the edge of the chair by Neal's bedside. Facing a still and silent Neal was a more daunting prospect than one might expect. Although the sight of his injury was somewhat less unsettling now that his jaw was properly enlocated, the lower part of his face was heavily swollen, and a mean bruise had started to come up which Peter tried not to think of as perfectly glove-shaped. Peter cleared his throat, straightened in his chair, and began.
"Hey, buddy. I'm... really sorry, I don't know how this happened. I'd say it's an occupational hazard, but I don't suppose that would be fair, would it. I'm sure they've told you how you ended up here... I don't know if you'll remember much of it, but there'll be plenty of time for regaling the office with stories of your heroics - or, perhaps of your police brutality claim? - when you get out of here, okay? I'll even let you off case report duty this time out, how's that for a deal?"
The light-hearted comments did nothing to improve Peter's mood, or make him feel any better about what had to be said next. He steeled himself and continued.
“Jokes aside, there is something else I need to tell you, Neal. And I know that telling you like this makes me gutless. But I need to get all of this off my chest, and I need to do it now. I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you will ever want to hear me again after this, but it’s time you knew some things.”
He paused, unsure of precisely where to begin. He settled on the blunt approach.
“Sam… He’s gone, Neal. I looked into him, and I must’ve spooked him, and sometime today, sometime during all of… this…” - he half-heartedly gestured to Neal and his injury - “he just… disappeared.”
Neal stirred slightly and Peter held his breath, not sure which desire was greater - to see Neal awake and okay, or for him to linger a little longer in the twilight of sedation until Peter had finished.
“After we watched the tape, and made our agreement, I had every intention of sticking to it, I really did. Because I thought that you did too. I really believed you. But then El… she saw Sam leaving your place and she told me, and… you have to understand why I would assume the worst. I mean, given your track record…” He tailed off as if giving Neal a chance to respond to his semi-accusation. The younger man remained most assuredly silent.
“When I thought you had broken our pact, I had Diana run background on Sam. Just to find out a few more details; to make sure he was who he said he was. The last thing I wanted was to see you hurt again.”
In the given surroundings, the words were jarring even to his own ears, and he immediately regretted the turn of phrase. Shaking his head slightly, he soldiered on.
“Diana reported back, and something just didn’t feel right. It hasn’t sat right with me from the start, really. I held back because I knew what finding Sam meant to you, and you were already grieving, and I wanted to show you that I trust you, so that you would trust me too - so that you would let me help you.
“I went to see him. He asked if you had sent me, and I told him you didn’t know I was there, and that I just wanted to meet him for myself, because I feel this… responsibility to protect you. He wasn’t happy to see me; he told me he’d need some time to decide whether or not we could work together.
“In hindsight, I should have known better than to think that he wouldn’t notice that he was under surveillance. You don’t do the undercover work he’s done and not notice those things. But I thought if I kept an eye on him, it would be a way of me keeping up with the two of you, without you having to go against him and his ‘no federal agents allowed’ policy.
“Sometime today while we were at Dunham’s gym, he managed to slip away. The crew watching the place didn’t see him go; they had no idea they were watching an empty house for who knows how long. The first they noticed was the two thugs who broke in. They stormed the house and arrested them, but it was too late. Sam was gone.
“I’m sorry, Neal. I should never have gone to see him - I shouldn’t have run his name. I know you hold me at least partly responsible for what happened to Ellen, and I know I am responsible for this. I thought you had broken our agreement, and I should have confronted you about it instead of just doing the same. I am no better than you in this one, and I know it. I promise you I will do everything I can to find him, and to find Ellen’s killer. And I will try to trust you, and back your plays, even if it does go somewhat against my better instincts, as long as you can try something for me in return - try to promise me that you won’t let how emotionally invested in this you are cloud your judgement.
“I know, this time, the fact that I didn’t trust you has cost you a chance at finding out more about your father, and I hate that. And I also know that the Bureau’s involvement - my involvement - could well have been what cost you Ellen. And for that, I could not be more sorry.”
From beneath dark lashes, a single tear ran down Neal's cheek.
Peter rubbed a hand roughly across his own face, only realising when his hand came away wet that he must have been crying too. He took Neal's slender hand in his own, voice firm as he made his pledge.
“We’ll find him, Neal. We’ll find out who killed Ellen, and we will find her locket and the secrets she had about your father. I’m going to make this up to you Neal. I’m going to help you find your truth.”
Neal's fingers curled tightly around his hand in response, and Peter let out the breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.