White Collar fanfic!
Yes. I know. I really, really shouldn't, considering all the other things I need to get written. Buuut... I've been fighting a terribly depressing bout of writer's block, and White Collar has eaten my brain. This is the result.
This started out as a nice little self-contained story idea nefhiriel forced persuaded me to try in order to get myself writing again, and then morphed into a rather-longer-than-intended fill for kriadydragon's prompt here at collarcorner. Rather appropriate for my first venture into WC fic, considering that she was the one who got me into WC in the first place through her episode commentary and stories, and therefore is responsible for my current obsession. ;)
Live by the Currents, Plan by the Tides
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“…Time doesn't move hour to hour but mood to moment. We live by the currents, plan by the tides, and follow the sun."
- Anonymous
He had tripped. Of all the ridiculous things to have saved him, it had been the ever-volatile mixture of a moment’s clumsiness, some loose rocks, and shoes not designed to save him from either.
It was a shame Caffrey hadn’t had the same luck.
By all rights it should be Peter down in that hole, knocked unconscious and with who knew what other injuries. Neal was not typically the one to lead the way when it came to chasing down fleeing suspects. And indeed, when their “buyer” - aka suspect numero uno, who’d been about to get arrested as soon as he finished sufficiently incriminating himself - had suddenly realized what was going on and rabbited on them, Peter had been the first one after him, with Neal close behind. Until that little slip had allowed Neal to get a few strides ahead, that was.
Neal had been in the act of looking back to make sure Peter was alright, and Peter preparing to yell at him not to hold up on his account, not to lose the suspect, when it had happened. Neal had been too distracted to watch his next step, which had fallen on a piece of driftwood. It might have landed him no worse off than Peter, had it not set off a chain reaction - more snaps from brittle pieces of wood not prepared to take the weight, Neal scrambling as he tried to catch his balance, rocks dislodged -and then the earth simply opening up beneath him as he disappeared from sight.
Peter had been there before the dust started to settle, though he forced himself to approach the hole more slowly and cautiously than he would’ve liked. It wouldn’t help anything for both of them to wind up stuck down there, especially if Neal was injured. Which he certainly was, or he would’ve answered Peter’s shouts.
It had taken several nerve-wracking minutes for the air to clear and his eyes to adjust enough to the dimmer light down below that he could see just what position Neal had wound up in. It wasn’t good. He was mostly covered by debris, making the extent of likely injuries impossible to determine, but the blood on his forehead certainly gave ample explanation for his lack of responsiveness. He couldn’t tell from there whether Neal was just unconscious, or -
He searched for some way to get down there that wouldn’t land him with a broken limb, or broken neck for that matter. Nausea rose at the thought, and he glanced back at Neal, willing himself to find something reassuring in the still figure, some sign that - There. Had Neal’s arm just twitched?
No, probably just his imagination, calling up what he wanted to see.
The moan, however, was decidedly not his imagination. Nor was Neal turning his head, eyelids fluttering.
“Neal?” Peter called it out quietly, almost holding his breath afterward, as if afraid of startling away a wild animal.
The only answer was another breathy moan.
“Neal, answer me. Come on, time to wake up. You need to talk to me, buddy.”
“Peter?”
Peter released a sigh of relief. “Yeah, Neal, it’s me. You awake now?”
“Peter?” Neal turned his head to the side. “Where are you?” Then, sounding stronger and more coherent as he began to take in his surroundings, “Where am I? What -“
Seeing Neal move as if to sit up, Peter hastily called out, “Wait, Neal. Don’t try to move around too much yet.”
“Peter? Where are you?”
Okay, so maybe not quite with it yet.
“I’m up here, Neal. You fell through a hole into some kind of… cave, I guess.”
Neal started to tilt his head, looking up toward the hole, only to halt abruptly with a half-strangled groan, and bring his right arm up to shield his eyes.
“Light’s -” Neal paused, swallowing convulsively. “ - really bright.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it is.”
Peter sat back a bit on his heels, frowning. It was sunny, yes, but considering it was late afternoon, not all that bright, really. He could’ve wished that it was closer to mid day, giving them more time to get Neal safely out of there before it began to grow dark. But for Neal, with a concussion… yeah, it was probably a little brighter than he’d like at the moment.
“Neal…” Then, more forcefully, when Neal showed no sign of responding - “Neal.”
“Mmm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Wonderful, Peter. Never better.”
Now that testiness was quite unmistakable. Concerned as he was, the fact that Neal had the energy to be annoyed relieved Peter considerably. And he was certainly sounding reassuringly coherent, now. Small steps. He’d take what he could get.
“Listen, Neal. There’s no easy way for me to get down there. How badly are you hurt?”
“Um… not sure. Everything kinda hurts.” Neal started shifting around again, lifting himself up on his elbows.
The motion sent a few smaller stones skittering down the slight incline created by the pile of driftwood and rock that had landed on and around him. The domino effect that had followed in the wake of one unstable spot giving way had brought down a significant amount of the surrounding area. Most of it was, fortunately, dirt and smaller pieces, though there were some sizeable rocks mixed in.
“Careful,” Peter cautioned him again. “Just - go slowly. You don’t want to make it worse if there is something serious wrong.”
Neal didn’t give any verbal acknowledgement to the warning, but he did move slowly, clearing debris off his upper body as he sat up. Having achieved that position, he remained motionless, slightly hunched over, cradling his head in one hand.
When after a minute he still showed no inclination to move further, Peter prompted again, “Neal?”
Starting a bit, Neal looked up at him. “Yeah, my head hurts.”
“Concussion’ll do that,” Peter replied with a sympathetic grimace. “You were out for a good couple minutes. What else?”
“Mostly just bruises and scrapes, I think.” Lifting up his left hand, with which he’d been steadying himself, he looked at it with an expression of distaste. “I landed on a bunch of seaweed… Mainly seaweed, anyway. It’s slimy, and you can definitely be thankful that you can’t smell it up there, but it probably saved me from getting hurt a lot worse.”
Relieved, Peter nodded. “Lucky. It could have been bad.” Then he noted Neal’s phrasing. Mostly. “Aside from your head, there anything else that’s more than bumps and bruises?”
“Left leg,” Neal sighed.
Yeah, he’d thought as much. It was always important to watch what Neal didn’t say, sometimes more than what he did say. Deflection, keeping information to himself - especially if it meant exposing a potential weakness - was such an ingrained habit that at this point Peter was pretty sure half the time it wasn’t even a conscious choice. The trust might be there, but when confused and hurting Neal’s first instinct was to not let on that he was in trouble, to pull back, but in such a way that most people, and sometimes even Neal himself, didn’t realize he was even doing it.
“How bad? Is it broken?”
“Not sure.”
Neal was focused now, moving around again. His legs were more encumbered than his upper body had been, covered both in more debris and larger pieces. Some he could brush off, or toss away. A few were large enough that he had to maneuver for an angle to push them in order to roll them away from himself. Peter had to clench his hands into fists to stop their twitching with the suppressed need to actually do something, instead of just sitting there watching him struggle.
Having successfully rid himself of most of the weight, Neal bent down to study his left ankle. It was awkward - the foot was clearly still stuck fast, and at such an angle that he couldn’t bend the knee much to get himself closer. He seemed to be giving a few ginger, experimental tugs. With several large rocks blocking his view, Peter couldn’t see exactly what he was doing.
“Well?” he asked.
“Sorry, Peter. Looks like it’s broken.”
Sorry? What was he apologizing for? He certainly sounded calm about it. Then again, Neal excelled at dealing when things went wrong.
“It’s bad?”
“Yeah. Marshalls’ office is probably having a fit about now.”
“The Marshalls’ office? What?”
Neal glanced up. Blinked. “The anklet. It’s broken. Transmitter’s kind of shattered, actually.”
“The anklet’s - “ Looking away, Peter pulled in a deep breath, pausing a moment before turning back to Neal and continuing with exaggerated polite calm, “And what about your leg?”
Peter thought, just for a second, that he caught a flicker of amusement in Neal’s expression. Had he actually done that on purpose, or - ? Then it was gone as he lowered his head again, to examine the leg in question. Peter shook his head. He’d put it down to confused post-concussion thought processes.
“That I believe is not broken,” Neal informed him. Then added wryly, “Small mercies.”
“You sure?”
“No, Peter, I’m not sure. There aren’t any bones sticking out, which I hear is always a good sign, but I forgot to bring my x-ray machine today. So unless you happen to have one handy I think we’re out of luck -“ Stopping abruptly, he lowered his head, then ran a hand over his face, sighing. When he spoke again it was only to say, quietly, “Sorry.”
Peter gave him an understanding half-smile. “Don’t worry about it. You’re allowed a certain amount of leeway, under the circumstances.”
“I am, huh?” Neal returned the smile. If it was somewhat lower wattage than his usual, it had at least the advantage of being genuine and unguarded. Then the spark was back in his eyes. “How much are we talking, exactly?”
“Neal…”
His smile only grew at the warning tone. “Because I’m telling you, Peter, this -“ he waved a hand at the surrounding stone walls “ - was not in our arrangement.”
“An arrangement which you asked for, if you’ll recall.”
“Can’t blame me for a faulty memory, Peter. I’m concussed.”
Peter just shook his head, smiling. Switching tracks again, he gestured toward Neal’s foot. “Can you get it loose?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“What’s the situation?”
“These rocks,” Neal tapped the top one, “are sitting right on top of my foot and ankle. There’s enough of a gap that they’re not crushing it, but not enough room there to pull my foot through.”
“Can you move them at all? Get them off, or make a bigger hole?”
Neal grimaced. “They’re pretty heavy, and I’m not at a great angle for it. I can try, but chances are they’re just going to settle and fall down on my foot.”
”Yeah, I’m not sure it’s worth risking that just yet.”
“And…” Neal added, “even if I can move them, there may still be a problem. The anklet’s twisted around, and - there’s a gap in the rock here, part of what’s giving my foot enough room not to get crushed, but the tracker’s jammed down in there somehow, and it’s stuck. Really stuck. I can’t even get it to wiggle around a little, much less get it free.” He shrugged. “Of course, I don’t exactly have much space. Might be better without the rocks.”
Peter ran a hand over his mouth. Not good. He considered his options. Even knowing it was futile, he pulled out his cell phone, checking. Nope. The coverage black hole here hadn’t magically resolved itself since yesterday. It was part of the reason why, despite their suspect’s distinct lack of violent tendencies, they were supposed to have ample backup for the meet. And they would, in - glancing at his watch, he cursed inwardly - probably not for another forty-five minutes, at least.
When the suspect had called, wanting to move the meeting up two hours from the previously scheduled time, Peter had had no choice but to agree, or risk losing him altogether. Seeing as he and Neal had been in the area already, checking up on a lead from an unrelated case, they’d been able to get there easily. The rest of their team… would take longer. Especially with traffic the way it was today.
Still, they were on their way. For the present, Neal wasn’t comfortable, but his life wasn’t in any immediate danger either. No sense in acting hastily when they had the time to wait and do things properly without anyone else getting hurt.
Not for the first time, Peter wished that the man had been willing to meet anywhere but this beach. The rocky shoreline and sharp drop-off made this area undesirable for most recreational activities, while the un-navigable waters nearby and out of the way location made it commercially impractical. Which meant that they had the area very much to themselves, for the time being - that had been the point of his choosing this spot. Criminals, especially paranoid ones, liked their privacy.
“Peter?”
There was something oddly strained in the inquiry, but when Peter re-focused on Neal the other man wasn’t even looking at him, instead staring off at the far wall of the cave, or hole, or whatever you wanted to call it.
“Yeah? Something wrong?”
“Do you think you can get down here?”
Peter frowned. “Neal, I have no idea how stable the rest of the ground around here is. And even if more of it doesn’t come down, that’s not exactly an easy climb. The others’ll be here soon. I think we’d better sit tight until we’ve got some help.”
“Yeah, we might have a problem there. Or more precisely, it looks like I’m gonna be having a problem pretty soon if I can’t get out of here.”
“What? What is it? I thought you said you weren’t hurt that -“
“It’s not me. It’s the water.” Neal nodded toward the far wall, at the base of which Peter indeed saw some water - moving water, rising and falling regularly, so there must be a crack all the way through the wall, letting sea water in.
“That wasn’t there earlier.”
“No it wasn’t,” Neal agreed grimly. “Tide’s coming in. And judging by this - “ he lifted up a handful of seaweed “ - it gets up at least this high. No saying whether I’ll actually be entirely underwater, but…”
“Yeah, we can’t wait and find out.” So much for Plan A. “Right, I’m coming down.”
Standing, Peter surveyed the rocks beneath him, trying to find the route least likely to end with him taking an unintentional short cut, the fast way down.
“A little to your left.” Neal pointed. “If you go down right there, it looks like you’ll have plenty of hand- and foot-holds. I can tell you where to reach as you’re coming down.”
Taking a couple steps to the left, Peter looked down. “Here?”
“That’s it.” Neal nodded decisively. “Best option I can see.”
“Okay.”
Studying the area in question, Peter couldn’t see anything that looked like a safe way down. But they didn’t have time for him not to trust Neal’s experience right now. Pulling off his suit coat, he deposited it on the ground, along with his currently-useless cell phone, and the much more essential pocket recorder which contained the evidence they’d need for a conviction when they got a hold of their suspect again. If they caught up with him again. But he’d worry about that tomorrow.
Rubbing his hands together, he released a quick, nervous breath, then turned to start down.
True to his word, Neal directed his descent. Also true to his word, the climb proved feasible, though hardly easy. Halfway down, there were a few heart-stopping moments when Peter was sure he was stuck - unable to get down or back up - and began to think he was going to have to just jump for it and risk the consequences. But even then Neal had been confident and calm enough for both of them, and with a bit of jockeying and patient coaching (“No, Peter, you’ll need to move that hand out to the left. I know if feels awkward - trust me, it’ll be better.” “Your right foot first, now. You’ll have to stretch. See, this is why I tell you that you need nicer clothes. You need something that fits properly and moves with you.”) he’d only had to drop the last yard or so in the end.
Peter spared only a glance for the water on his way to Neal’s side. Had it risen in the time it’d taken him to get down? Hard to tell.
Up close, Neal looked far worse. Partly just the blood on his forehead and the side of his face - head injuries, even minor ones, tended to bleed profusely, he reminded himself. Then there were the bruises nicks, tears in his clothing, the full effect of which hadn’t been apparent at a distance. The things that caught his concern most, however, were more subtle - the tension, shifts in his posture, every movement cautious, guarded, and his expression carefully controlled. Oh yes, Neal was definitely hurting. He could only hope that there really wasn’t anything more serious than a whole lot of strained and sore muscles to worry about.
Sometimes the worst injuries weren’t visible ones.
But that was a question for later. As Neal had pointed out, whether or not that was the case it wasn’t as if they had the tools needed to find out. Or do anything about it if they did. Still, he couldn’t resist asking -
“How’re you doing?”
Neal grimaced. “Better once I get free of this.” He gave a halfhearted tug at his leg, stopping short with a wince.
“Let’s see what we can do about that.” Peter gave him a reassuring smile. Turning to see for himself how things were situated, he let out a startled hiss.
Neal had been right - there could certainly be no doubt that the anklet was broken. And here he’d thought the casing was supposed to be “exceptionally durable, crack resistant, shatter resistant, fire resistant, water resistant…” So much for the hype. Oh, the strap was still quite securely wrapped around his ankle, but the transmitter itself was badly mangled. Several of the sharp plastic pieces that’d broken off were now embedded in Neal’s lower leg. It appeared to have mostly stopped bleeding by now, so at least there were probably no major blood vessels or arteries compromised, but still - it looked nasty, and if it was hurting even half as bad as it looked….
“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” he demanded.
“And you would have done - what, exactly, if I had?” Neal shook his head. “I didn’t think it was important.”
“That’s beside the point! Neal, I need to know about these things.”
“I know, I know.” Neal rolled his eyes. “Because as long as I’m with the FBI you own me, and if anything happens to me it’s your responsibility to deal with it…”
“No. Because you’re my partner.”
Neal stilled, studying his face for a moment, then narrowed his eyes.
“So, that time when the suspect fell off the ladder onto you and broke two of your ribs, and you didn’t say anything until El found out and made you get checked out by a doctor and Hughes put you on desk duty - ”
“ - is completely beside the point.”
“Really?” Neal raised his eyebrows. “So how’s that work, then? I’m your partner but you’re not mine, or what?”
“Fine.” Peter raised a hand in surrender. “So we both need to tell each other about these things. Agreed?”
Neal flashed him a bright smile. “Agreed. From now on you will receive a news bulletin on every paper cut and hangnail I suffer in the line of duty. But just so you know, I’ll expect those announcements to be met with the appropriate sympathy and concern.”
“Oh, I’ll give you appropriate sympathy and concern all right.”
“That’s what I thought,” Neal muttered with mock resentment. “Maybe I should report to El instead. She’s nice to me.”
“She’s not your partner. In any sense of the word.”
“True,” he sighed.
Peter shook his head, smacking Neal’s leg lightly. “Alright, thoughts off my wife. Let’s get to work, here.” Trying to decide how best to proceed, he had to resist the instinct to pull the pieces of plastic from Neal’s leg - he’d taken enough first aid classes to know that removing anything from a puncture wound was rarely a good idea. Any attempt at bandaging would probably be futile, too, and wasn’t immediately necessary with the bleeding stopped. Still, he could do something. “Hand me your suit coat.”
Neal blinked. “What?”
“I’m going to see if I can fit it into the gap here for some padding. That way if the rocks slip at all your leg will have at least a little protection. Might not do much good, but -“
“ - better than nothing,” Neal agreed, pulling off the coat.
Peter was as careful as he could manage, taking the time to un-snag it every time the fabric caught on the sharp edges of the plastic. Even so Neal flinched, several times hastily biting back a yelp at the tugs. When he finally had the coat situated, Neal let out a shaky breath. Peter rested a hand on his knee.
“Sorry. You okay?”
Neal gave him a wry look. “What, no ‘cowboy up’?”
“Hey, I said appropriate sympathy and concern, remember? You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks.” The reply was quiet, almost subdued. Then, before Peter could press the issue of whether he was alright, he gestured to the offending rocks, saying more lightly than Peter believed he could feel. “I think I’m as ready as I’m going to get. Heave away.”
Nodding, Peter addressed himself to finding the best angle to push the rocks. It wasn’t nearly as easy as it seemed in theory. He was by no means a weakling, and prided himself on being a pretty fit guy. But those rocks were heavy, more flat than round (which didn’t exactly lend itself to rolling), wedged up against each other in such a way that they made a remarkably thorough trap… and he was hampered by the fact that he couldn’t risk pushing them in a direction that’d end with them landing on Neal’s leg. Even setting aside the obvious fact that that would hurt him, a lot, Neal having a broken leg wouldn’t exactly get him any less stuck. He knew Neal was capable of working through pain to pull some pretty incredible stunts when necessity called for it, but he very much doubted that included scaling a vertical wall with a broken limb.
After several minutes of shoving, with no measurable fruits for all his labors, he paused. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with a sleeve, he shook his head.
“Okay, this isn’t working. Time to try something else. Maybe something I can use for a lever…” Before he could even start looking for something suitable, Neal leaned over to snag a nearby piece of driftwood, about a yard long and a decent thickness. Taking it, Peter nodded in approval. “That ought to do.”
Unfortunately, it didn’t. At the first heave the brittle wood crackled ominously. On the second it snapped in half entirely, throwing Peter off balance. Flailing, he just managed to catch himself in time to keep from meeting the ground face-first.
He tossed the now-useless stub away with a curse, and more force than was strictly necessary. Forcing calm, he turned to survey the area around them. Okay, that hadn’t worked, but surely there must be something…
An instant later he turned back again at the sound of something striking the rocks behind him. He was just in time to see Neal pulling back his free leg for another - utterly useless - kick at the rocks trapping him. This time the jolt to his injured leg pulled a sharp cry from him.
“Neal! Neal, stop!” Judging by Neal’s white face, and the way he was now hunched forward, tightly gripping his left leg below the knee, the command was hardly necessary. Still, impelled by worry as much as anger at the situation in general, he added, “That’s not going to do anything. We will find a way to get you out of there, but hurting yourself worse won’t help.”
“I know that!” Neal snapped. Then, as Peter crouched down next to him, he repeated more quietly. “I know, Peter. I just…” he swallowed before ending, “I don’t like being… stuck.”
“Wouldn’t have figured you for being claustrophobic,” Peter commented lightly. However, instead of shooting back with the expected retort about how ‘not liking this was hardly the same as…’ etc., etc., Neal remained quiet. Peter blinked, startled. “Seriously, Neal? You’re claustrophobic?”
“Forgive me if I fail to find that fact particularly funny just now.” Neal pressed his lips together into a thin line, seeming caught between annoyance and embarrassment.
“Sorry.” Peter raised his hands defensively. “Sorry. I’m not laughing at you, honestly. I just can’t believe it. Some of the heists you’ve pulled -“
“ - alleged, ” Neal put in testily.
“Fine, some of the highly illegal stunts you’ve allegedly pulled - Neal, you’ve climbed through ventilation shafts! Spent hours lying in one waiting for your chance on at least two occasions, if what I’ve heard is true - no, I don’t expect you to actually confirm that, don’t bother with the denials. Seriously, you’ve spent plenty of time in tight spaces. How could you possibly be claustrophobic?”
“That’s different.” It was muttered, almost as if he hoped Peter wouldn’t hear.
But Peter wasn’t going to let this pass so easily.
“How so?” he challenged.
“It’s…” With a sigh, Neal gave a gesture of reluctant surrender. “It’s different. Even if it’s small, I’m not stuck. When I might think that I am, that I’ve gotten myself into a spot that’s too tight, I know that if I fit going in one direction, I can fit on the way back too. I’m still in control because I can get out whenever I need to.”
Okay, that made sense. Sort of. Still… Peter tilted his head, considering. “What about in prison?”
“What about it?”
“I never heard anything about you panicking while you were there. You mean to tell me you felt in control then too?”
“Same principle.” Neal shrugged. “Didn’t need to panic, because I knew I could get out if I had to.”
“You knew -“ Peter frowned at him.
“No need to scowl like that. You didn’t honestly think that was the only escape plan I’d made, did you? I started making plans from day one. Just - in case.”
“So why didn’t you ever use them? Until then, that is.”
“I’d decided to do the time. I wanted to try starting fresh, with Kate. No one chasing us, just…” Neal shook his head. “Doesn’t really matter now.”
Peter had been intrigued enough by the rare moment of honest sharing on Neal’s part that their situation had momentarily faded to the background. He was brought back to it abruptly by water splashing against his shoes.
Even as he shot to his feet, turning to watch it, the water was retreating once more to a deceptively innocuous level. Somehow, before that moment the danger it presented had seemed unreal, so confident had he been that he would be able to get Neal out before they were in any serious trouble. Come on, this was Caffrey they were talking about. The man never seemed to get himself into a situation he couldn’t slide back out of - even if he did sometimes rely on last-second saves too much for Peter’s liking. Apparently the idea that there was always a way out had started to rub off on him more than he’d realized.
But watching that water splash innocently against the rock wall, he could no longer dismiss the threat as distant, improbable. They were in trouble. Serious trouble.
“That’s… not good,” Neal remarked, echoing his thoughts.
Peter might have made a sarcastic comment about his stating the blatantly obvious, had he not caught the tremor of nervousness in his voice. Instead, he patted Neal’s shoulder, assuring him again with all the confidence he could muster, “I told you, we’ll get you out of here.”
“Alive?” No question, Neal was scared.
“Well, it’d be kinda pointless otherwise, now wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Neal agreed fervently, “it really would.”
Peter attacked the rocks with even greater vigor, adrenaline and urgency lending him strength as well as determination. The rocks moved - slowly, not enough, useless, but they could be moved. The water’s back-and-forth ebbing and flowing was growing increasingly frequent, with swirling currents created by its forceful entry through the small openings in the wall. Even now the majority of it drained away between swells, but each high was increasingly violent, the water slapping against the confining rocks.
Ironically, it was the very force of the water that gave him a much-needed spark of renewed hope. As a new wave surged up, washing over his shoes, he felt the rock he was pushing at wobble more than before. When the water retreated, sucking with it some of the dirt and loosening smaller rocks, the stone shifted some more. Encouraged, he took a moment to glance at Neal. Stuck as he was in a sitting position, the younger man was already thoroughly wet. Still, he looked more alert than outright panicked at the moment, nodding in response to Peter’s look.
“Yeah, I saw that. Looks like the water might make enough of a difference -“
“It’ll be enough.”
He re-focused on the task at hand, trying to time his pushes to take the most advantage of both the added buoyancy and the pull exerted by the waves. He didn’t need to move the rocks much, just shift them enough to make room for Neal’s foot.
It got a little easier with the next few attempts. The pile was like the world’s most aggravating logic puzzle, the end goal obvious enough but each move still requiring forethought to decide which piece to move when, and in what direction - both to avoid wasting time and effort, and to keep from triggering a dangerous collapse. As he finally shoved the last rock out of the way, the combination of effort expended and triumphant relief threatened to make him go weak at the knees.
“That should do it,” he informed Neal, pulling the - now sodden and useless - suit coat out of the way. “See if you can -“
The low rumbling gave him only an instant’s warning before he was nearly knocked off his feet by a renewed surge of water. He had turned just enough to see that same wave catch Neal full in the chest, sending him backward into the water.
Peter was there in seconds, helping him pull himself back up, steadying him as he coughed out the water he’d been surprised enough to swallow. As he finally managed to pull in a few deeper uninterrupted breaths Peter could feel him trembling slightly - though Peter put that down as much to the temperature of the water he’d been sitting in as anything.
“Can you get up now?” he asked, compassion vying with urgency. They had to get out of here, and the sooner the better.
But Neal shook his head. “Anklet’s still stuck. Thought maybe when I had more room to move it’d come loose, but -“ He grimaced, and Peter winced in sympathy. Getting shoved backward like that with his ankle still tethered in place couldn’t have been fun.
“I’m sure I can get it loose,” he said, exuding all the confident reassurance he could manage as he moved to do so. “I’ve got a lot more range of motion to work on it than you do.”
Neal didn’t exactly look overwhelmed with relief at his assurance. Maybe because he was a little too used to putting on his own bluffs to be easily taken in by others’.
“I really don’t want to drown, Peter.”
The quiet fear in the words made him pause momentarily, but he didn’t turn from working at the anklet - made more difficult by its being under nearly a foot of silt-filled water.
“You won’t. You’re going to be fine.” The hesitation before his reply had lasted barely a second, but he knew that it wasn’t missed.
Neal huffed, an entirely mirthless laugh. “Hey, that’s my role, remember? You’re not supposed to go making promises you’re not going to keep.”
“Hey.” He turned to meet Neal’s eyes. “Have I ever broken my word to you?”
Neal’s gaze slid away, and Peter knew what he was thinking. But for some people “never” was not just another way of saying “not yet.” Peter could only hope that he could live up to it on this one.
“Neal…” He sighed inwardly at Neal’s wary expression. They didn’t have time for this conversation. Not now.
“The transmitter’s really wedged in there. Getting it out’s going to mean twisting it around a bit, and probably a few good yanks. It’s going to hurt.”
Neal seemed to accept the change of direction as the reprieve it was.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “Not as if there’s much choice.”
“Yeah. Just try not to pass out, okay? There’s no way I’m getting you up that wall without help.”
At that a grin that was as much genuine as façade crept onto Neal’s face. “Why Peter. I believe I’m insulted.”
Mission accomplished. Peter snorted, turning back to trying to work the anklet loose. He had to kneel to get a better grip on it. Even the water’s “low” ebb was now at a disconcerting height, given Neal’s limited range of motion. Never had a couple feet of water loomed so threatening.
“Be insulted all you want, as long as you don’t faint while you’re at it,” he said mildly, trying to maintain the lightened atmosphere with the distraction.
“Please. You underestimate me, Peter. If you had any -“
What it was Neal had intended to enlighten him on Peter never heard. Further elaboration was abruptly cut off when, as promised, he pulled up sharply on the anklet, trying to break off through brute force some of the plastic shards more gentle persuasion was getting nowhere with. Neal hissed through gritted teeth.
Peter could feel Neal’s leg twitching with the instinctive need to pull away from pain, but he didn’t hesitate until one of the tugs finally produced an audible cracking of plastic - and a simultaneous cry of pain from Neal. He glanced up, concerned, but Neal waved a hand at him.
“Not fainting,” he choked out, though his ashen face seemed to belie the claim. Then, after an unsteady breath - “Don’t stop on my account. Sounds like it’s working.”
He nodded, prepared to give it one more good pull - but unfortunately the distraction had come at just the wrong moment. He didn’t have time even to register the incoming roar of water before he was knocked sideways.
Blind panic at being forced under gave way almost immediately as he found his feet again, but a glance told him Neal hadn’t been so fortunate. The water was getting too high now - a sitting position wouldn’t be enough to keep his head clear of the water.
Two steps, and a flailing arm connected with his leg. He grabbed onto it, then shifted for a better grip, hauling Neal’s head and shoulders above the surface, which was now at mid-chest level. Neal hadn’t recognized the help his restraining grasp represented yet, and was still fighting, threatening to make Peter lose his grip entirely. He could only hope Neal’s leg wasn’t being damaged too badly, between the thrashing and the angle it was currently twisted at.
“Neal - stop! I’ve got you!”
Neal stilled, though his whole body was still tense, one hand fisting in Peter’s shirt as he gasped, close to hyperventilating.
“Easy, I’ve got you,” Peter repeated. “Just breathe. You’re okay.”
Neal nodded, breaths finally coming more slowly. “Thanks,” he managed.
“Don’t mention it,” Peter returned wryly. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just - don’t go away.”
“About that… I’m guessing your foot’s still stuck.”
Neal gave him a wary look. “Very much so. Unfortunately.”
“Well, the water level doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to go down again.” An understatement at this point - the draining away from the high point of this latest surge was barely perceptible now. “If we wait for the next wave -“
Neal let out a heartfelt curse. Unusual for him, but Peter could well sympathize with the sentiment.
“Yeah. Think you can keep your head up on your own for a minute?”
Neal nodded, his expression rearranging itself once more pure overconfident façade. “If not - guess we’ll get to see which of us can hold our breath the longest.”
Peter chuckled. “I think we can avoid turning this into a contest.”
Letting go of Neal - who wavered halfway between standing and treading water - he pulled in a deep breath and ducked under the water. It was murky, but he could see that the crack he’d heard earlier had indeed indicated a measure of success, at least. Part of the tracker had come free, allowing it to angle upward a bit, which had given Neal just the room he’d needed to reach the surface without seriously damaging his leg.
Even as he grabbed onto the band of the anklet, Peter could feel a new current of incoming water pushing against him. A moment later Neal’s free foot slipped, catching Peter lightly in the side as he tried, unsuccessfully, to regain his balance. So, Peter thought, looked like it was going to be a breath-holding contest after all.
The water that helped with moving the rocks earlier was now making life doubly difficult, and not just in the ever-essential area of breathing. Water might be helpful when it came to moving heavy objects, but it was not so helpful when it came to things like gaining traction, building momentum, or retaining a hold on slippery plastic. He’d hoped one more good pull might do it, but the tracker was not so obliging.
Realizing that Neal might not have had enough warning to take a proper breath before going under, Peter headed back to the surface. As soon as his head broke free of the water, he knew they were beyond “in trouble” and into countdown. Neal’s head wasn’t visible above the surface - not unexpected. Peter also couldn’t touch the bottom with his face out of the water. Which meant Neal couldn’t get up for air, even with help.
He dove again immediately. No time to see if Neal was alright. If he was now, he soon wouldn’t be.
Bracing his feet against the bottom, he pulled, throwing his entire weight against the anklet’s resistance. Once - twice - and on the third pull there was finally a pop, muffled under the water, and the far more reassuring feel of something giving way. Neal was loose. Finally.
Neal didn’t show any indication that he was aware of the fact - or make any attempt to swim to the surface. Pushing off the bottom, Peter grabbed at the back of his shirt, pulling the both of them toward the surface.
Neal’s eyes were closed. Pulling in deep breaths of his own as he treaded water, Peter couldn’t tell whether Neal was breathing at all. Holding onto Neal with his left arm, he struck out for the rock wall, struggling to keep their combined waterlogged weight afloat.
In a few strokes he was close enough to find a handhold. He shifted Neal to get a better grip on him. He couldn’t very well do CPR here. He couldn’t get Neal up the wall, either.
“Come on, Neal,” he half ordered, half pleaded. “Don’t you dare make a liar out of me. Come on.”
He squeezed the arm wrapped around Neal as tightly as he could - the closest he could currently get to pounding the water out of him. Whether it was successful or just a matter of making his own way back to consciousness, a moment later Neal’s body went from utter slackness to all coiled tension. Neal sucked in a breath, lifting his head. Peter tightened his grip, fearing Neal might start to fight him.
“Easy, Neal - I’ve got you. You’re loose, it’s okay. You’re okay now.”
“Pet -“
The attempt to talk was cut off by a coughing fit, which only seemed to grow worse as his body fought between the equally urgent needs to rid itself of water and pull in much-needed air. The tension in his body gradually faded into limp exhaustion by the time he was done, and his head started to droop once more.
“Hey, Neal, stay with me.” Peter shook him slightly. “No passing out, remember? I told you I couldn’t get you up this wall alone.”
“Thought you said… no drowning,” Neal mumbled hoarsely.
Peter winced. “Sorry about that. You know how I am for last-minute rescues.”
A smile twitched at the corners of Neal’s mouth. “Got me out. Knew you would. ’S what counts.”
“Oh, you knew, did you?” Peter couldn’t help smiling in response.
“Mm. Never doubted. Always knew I could -”
A sound from above made Peter start. He shushed Neal hastily, all but holding his breath as he waited for it to be repeated. When it came again, Peter let his head fall back in relief.
“Oh thank God. About time the cavalry showed up.” Then, as loudly as he could, he shouted, “Jones! We’re down here!”
A few pebbles came tumbling over the edge, and a moment later he saw Jones peering down. His eyes widened, and he spun around, shouting to the others to grab the rope from the van, and hurry up. Then he turned back, worry plain on his face.
“Just hang on, we’ll have you out in a minute. Are you guys okay?”
A short laugh escaped Peter, more relief than amusement.
“More or less,” he replied.
“Mostly less,” Neal muttered.
The mild glare Peter shot him was lacking in any real power of reproof.
“We’ll be fine, Jones. Just get us out of here. I think we’ve both had enough of this water to last us a while.”
The End - for now.
Heh, I so hate to leave it there, because I love good aftermath for stories like this. And I so want to write a follow-up to use some of the more interesting details I've learned on the differences between saltwater vs. freshwater near-drowning. I've been hanging on to them for a while, just waiting for the right story to come along. *g* But. I really Do Not Want to write hospital stuff just now, so I'll have to figure out if I can avoid that first. Shall see how that works out!
ETA: The follow-up story is now written! It can be found posted here.
This started out as a nice little self-contained story idea nefhiriel forced persuaded me to try in order to get myself writing again, and then morphed into a rather-longer-than-intended fill for kriadydragon's prompt here at collarcorner. Rather appropriate for my first venture into WC fic, considering that she was the one who got me into WC in the first place through her episode commentary and stories, and therefore is responsible for my current obsession. ;)
Live by the Currents, Plan by the Tides
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“…Time doesn't move hour to hour but mood to moment. We live by the currents, plan by the tides, and follow the sun."
- Anonymous
He had tripped. Of all the ridiculous things to have saved him, it had been the ever-volatile mixture of a moment’s clumsiness, some loose rocks, and shoes not designed to save him from either.
It was a shame Caffrey hadn’t had the same luck.
By all rights it should be Peter down in that hole, knocked unconscious and with who knew what other injuries. Neal was not typically the one to lead the way when it came to chasing down fleeing suspects. And indeed, when their “buyer” - aka suspect numero uno, who’d been about to get arrested as soon as he finished sufficiently incriminating himself - had suddenly realized what was going on and rabbited on them, Peter had been the first one after him, with Neal close behind. Until that little slip had allowed Neal to get a few strides ahead, that was.
Neal had been in the act of looking back to make sure Peter was alright, and Peter preparing to yell at him not to hold up on his account, not to lose the suspect, when it had happened. Neal had been too distracted to watch his next step, which had fallen on a piece of driftwood. It might have landed him no worse off than Peter, had it not set off a chain reaction - more snaps from brittle pieces of wood not prepared to take the weight, Neal scrambling as he tried to catch his balance, rocks dislodged -and then the earth simply opening up beneath him as he disappeared from sight.
Peter had been there before the dust started to settle, though he forced himself to approach the hole more slowly and cautiously than he would’ve liked. It wouldn’t help anything for both of them to wind up stuck down there, especially if Neal was injured. Which he certainly was, or he would’ve answered Peter’s shouts.
It had taken several nerve-wracking minutes for the air to clear and his eyes to adjust enough to the dimmer light down below that he could see just what position Neal had wound up in. It wasn’t good. He was mostly covered by debris, making the extent of likely injuries impossible to determine, but the blood on his forehead certainly gave ample explanation for his lack of responsiveness. He couldn’t tell from there whether Neal was just unconscious, or -
He searched for some way to get down there that wouldn’t land him with a broken limb, or broken neck for that matter. Nausea rose at the thought, and he glanced back at Neal, willing himself to find something reassuring in the still figure, some sign that - There. Had Neal’s arm just twitched?
No, probably just his imagination, calling up what he wanted to see.
The moan, however, was decidedly not his imagination. Nor was Neal turning his head, eyelids fluttering.
“Neal?” Peter called it out quietly, almost holding his breath afterward, as if afraid of startling away a wild animal.
The only answer was another breathy moan.
“Neal, answer me. Come on, time to wake up. You need to talk to me, buddy.”
“Peter?”
Peter released a sigh of relief. “Yeah, Neal, it’s me. You awake now?”
“Peter?” Neal turned his head to the side. “Where are you?” Then, sounding stronger and more coherent as he began to take in his surroundings, “Where am I? What -“
Seeing Neal move as if to sit up, Peter hastily called out, “Wait, Neal. Don’t try to move around too much yet.”
“Peter? Where are you?”
Okay, so maybe not quite with it yet.
“I’m up here, Neal. You fell through a hole into some kind of… cave, I guess.”
Neal started to tilt his head, looking up toward the hole, only to halt abruptly with a half-strangled groan, and bring his right arm up to shield his eyes.
“Light’s -” Neal paused, swallowing convulsively. “ - really bright.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it is.”
Peter sat back a bit on his heels, frowning. It was sunny, yes, but considering it was late afternoon, not all that bright, really. He could’ve wished that it was closer to mid day, giving them more time to get Neal safely out of there before it began to grow dark. But for Neal, with a concussion… yeah, it was probably a little brighter than he’d like at the moment.
“Neal…” Then, more forcefully, when Neal showed no sign of responding - “Neal.”
“Mmm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Wonderful, Peter. Never better.”
Now that testiness was quite unmistakable. Concerned as he was, the fact that Neal had the energy to be annoyed relieved Peter considerably. And he was certainly sounding reassuringly coherent, now. Small steps. He’d take what he could get.
“Listen, Neal. There’s no easy way for me to get down there. How badly are you hurt?”
“Um… not sure. Everything kinda hurts.” Neal started shifting around again, lifting himself up on his elbows.
The motion sent a few smaller stones skittering down the slight incline created by the pile of driftwood and rock that had landed on and around him. The domino effect that had followed in the wake of one unstable spot giving way had brought down a significant amount of the surrounding area. Most of it was, fortunately, dirt and smaller pieces, though there were some sizeable rocks mixed in.
“Careful,” Peter cautioned him again. “Just - go slowly. You don’t want to make it worse if there is something serious wrong.”
Neal didn’t give any verbal acknowledgement to the warning, but he did move slowly, clearing debris off his upper body as he sat up. Having achieved that position, he remained motionless, slightly hunched over, cradling his head in one hand.
When after a minute he still showed no inclination to move further, Peter prompted again, “Neal?”
Starting a bit, Neal looked up at him. “Yeah, my head hurts.”
“Concussion’ll do that,” Peter replied with a sympathetic grimace. “You were out for a good couple minutes. What else?”
“Mostly just bruises and scrapes, I think.” Lifting up his left hand, with which he’d been steadying himself, he looked at it with an expression of distaste. “I landed on a bunch of seaweed… Mainly seaweed, anyway. It’s slimy, and you can definitely be thankful that you can’t smell it up there, but it probably saved me from getting hurt a lot worse.”
Relieved, Peter nodded. “Lucky. It could have been bad.” Then he noted Neal’s phrasing. Mostly. “Aside from your head, there anything else that’s more than bumps and bruises?”
“Left leg,” Neal sighed.
Yeah, he’d thought as much. It was always important to watch what Neal didn’t say, sometimes more than what he did say. Deflection, keeping information to himself - especially if it meant exposing a potential weakness - was such an ingrained habit that at this point Peter was pretty sure half the time it wasn’t even a conscious choice. The trust might be there, but when confused and hurting Neal’s first instinct was to not let on that he was in trouble, to pull back, but in such a way that most people, and sometimes even Neal himself, didn’t realize he was even doing it.
“How bad? Is it broken?”
“Not sure.”
Neal was focused now, moving around again. His legs were more encumbered than his upper body had been, covered both in more debris and larger pieces. Some he could brush off, or toss away. A few were large enough that he had to maneuver for an angle to push them in order to roll them away from himself. Peter had to clench his hands into fists to stop their twitching with the suppressed need to actually do something, instead of just sitting there watching him struggle.
Having successfully rid himself of most of the weight, Neal bent down to study his left ankle. It was awkward - the foot was clearly still stuck fast, and at such an angle that he couldn’t bend the knee much to get himself closer. He seemed to be giving a few ginger, experimental tugs. With several large rocks blocking his view, Peter couldn’t see exactly what he was doing.
“Well?” he asked.
“Sorry, Peter. Looks like it’s broken.”
Sorry? What was he apologizing for? He certainly sounded calm about it. Then again, Neal excelled at dealing when things went wrong.
“It’s bad?”
“Yeah. Marshalls’ office is probably having a fit about now.”
“The Marshalls’ office? What?”
Neal glanced up. Blinked. “The anklet. It’s broken. Transmitter’s kind of shattered, actually.”
“The anklet’s - “ Looking away, Peter pulled in a deep breath, pausing a moment before turning back to Neal and continuing with exaggerated polite calm, “And what about your leg?”
Peter thought, just for a second, that he caught a flicker of amusement in Neal’s expression. Had he actually done that on purpose, or - ? Then it was gone as he lowered his head again, to examine the leg in question. Peter shook his head. He’d put it down to confused post-concussion thought processes.
“That I believe is not broken,” Neal informed him. Then added wryly, “Small mercies.”
“You sure?”
“No, Peter, I’m not sure. There aren’t any bones sticking out, which I hear is always a good sign, but I forgot to bring my x-ray machine today. So unless you happen to have one handy I think we’re out of luck -“ Stopping abruptly, he lowered his head, then ran a hand over his face, sighing. When he spoke again it was only to say, quietly, “Sorry.”
Peter gave him an understanding half-smile. “Don’t worry about it. You’re allowed a certain amount of leeway, under the circumstances.”
“I am, huh?” Neal returned the smile. If it was somewhat lower wattage than his usual, it had at least the advantage of being genuine and unguarded. Then the spark was back in his eyes. “How much are we talking, exactly?”
“Neal…”
His smile only grew at the warning tone. “Because I’m telling you, Peter, this -“ he waved a hand at the surrounding stone walls “ - was not in our arrangement.”
“An arrangement which you asked for, if you’ll recall.”
“Can’t blame me for a faulty memory, Peter. I’m concussed.”
Peter just shook his head, smiling. Switching tracks again, he gestured toward Neal’s foot. “Can you get it loose?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“What’s the situation?”
“These rocks,” Neal tapped the top one, “are sitting right on top of my foot and ankle. There’s enough of a gap that they’re not crushing it, but not enough room there to pull my foot through.”
“Can you move them at all? Get them off, or make a bigger hole?”
Neal grimaced. “They’re pretty heavy, and I’m not at a great angle for it. I can try, but chances are they’re just going to settle and fall down on my foot.”
”Yeah, I’m not sure it’s worth risking that just yet.”
“And…” Neal added, “even if I can move them, there may still be a problem. The anklet’s twisted around, and - there’s a gap in the rock here, part of what’s giving my foot enough room not to get crushed, but the tracker’s jammed down in there somehow, and it’s stuck. Really stuck. I can’t even get it to wiggle around a little, much less get it free.” He shrugged. “Of course, I don’t exactly have much space. Might be better without the rocks.”
Peter ran a hand over his mouth. Not good. He considered his options. Even knowing it was futile, he pulled out his cell phone, checking. Nope. The coverage black hole here hadn’t magically resolved itself since yesterday. It was part of the reason why, despite their suspect’s distinct lack of violent tendencies, they were supposed to have ample backup for the meet. And they would, in - glancing at his watch, he cursed inwardly - probably not for another forty-five minutes, at least.
When the suspect had called, wanting to move the meeting up two hours from the previously scheduled time, Peter had had no choice but to agree, or risk losing him altogether. Seeing as he and Neal had been in the area already, checking up on a lead from an unrelated case, they’d been able to get there easily. The rest of their team… would take longer. Especially with traffic the way it was today.
Still, they were on their way. For the present, Neal wasn’t comfortable, but his life wasn’t in any immediate danger either. No sense in acting hastily when they had the time to wait and do things properly without anyone else getting hurt.
Not for the first time, Peter wished that the man had been willing to meet anywhere but this beach. The rocky shoreline and sharp drop-off made this area undesirable for most recreational activities, while the un-navigable waters nearby and out of the way location made it commercially impractical. Which meant that they had the area very much to themselves, for the time being - that had been the point of his choosing this spot. Criminals, especially paranoid ones, liked their privacy.
“Peter?”
There was something oddly strained in the inquiry, but when Peter re-focused on Neal the other man wasn’t even looking at him, instead staring off at the far wall of the cave, or hole, or whatever you wanted to call it.
“Yeah? Something wrong?”
“Do you think you can get down here?”
Peter frowned. “Neal, I have no idea how stable the rest of the ground around here is. And even if more of it doesn’t come down, that’s not exactly an easy climb. The others’ll be here soon. I think we’d better sit tight until we’ve got some help.”
“Yeah, we might have a problem there. Or more precisely, it looks like I’m gonna be having a problem pretty soon if I can’t get out of here.”
“What? What is it? I thought you said you weren’t hurt that -“
“It’s not me. It’s the water.” Neal nodded toward the far wall, at the base of which Peter indeed saw some water - moving water, rising and falling regularly, so there must be a crack all the way through the wall, letting sea water in.
“That wasn’t there earlier.”
“No it wasn’t,” Neal agreed grimly. “Tide’s coming in. And judging by this - “ he lifted up a handful of seaweed “ - it gets up at least this high. No saying whether I’ll actually be entirely underwater, but…”
“Yeah, we can’t wait and find out.” So much for Plan A. “Right, I’m coming down.”
Standing, Peter surveyed the rocks beneath him, trying to find the route least likely to end with him taking an unintentional short cut, the fast way down.
“A little to your left.” Neal pointed. “If you go down right there, it looks like you’ll have plenty of hand- and foot-holds. I can tell you where to reach as you’re coming down.”
Taking a couple steps to the left, Peter looked down. “Here?”
“That’s it.” Neal nodded decisively. “Best option I can see.”
“Okay.”
Studying the area in question, Peter couldn’t see anything that looked like a safe way down. But they didn’t have time for him not to trust Neal’s experience right now. Pulling off his suit coat, he deposited it on the ground, along with his currently-useless cell phone, and the much more essential pocket recorder which contained the evidence they’d need for a conviction when they got a hold of their suspect again. If they caught up with him again. But he’d worry about that tomorrow.
Rubbing his hands together, he released a quick, nervous breath, then turned to start down.
True to his word, Neal directed his descent. Also true to his word, the climb proved feasible, though hardly easy. Halfway down, there were a few heart-stopping moments when Peter was sure he was stuck - unable to get down or back up - and began to think he was going to have to just jump for it and risk the consequences. But even then Neal had been confident and calm enough for both of them, and with a bit of jockeying and patient coaching (“No, Peter, you’ll need to move that hand out to the left. I know if feels awkward - trust me, it’ll be better.” “Your right foot first, now. You’ll have to stretch. See, this is why I tell you that you need nicer clothes. You need something that fits properly and moves with you.”) he’d only had to drop the last yard or so in the end.
Peter spared only a glance for the water on his way to Neal’s side. Had it risen in the time it’d taken him to get down? Hard to tell.
Up close, Neal looked far worse. Partly just the blood on his forehead and the side of his face - head injuries, even minor ones, tended to bleed profusely, he reminded himself. Then there were the bruises nicks, tears in his clothing, the full effect of which hadn’t been apparent at a distance. The things that caught his concern most, however, were more subtle - the tension, shifts in his posture, every movement cautious, guarded, and his expression carefully controlled. Oh yes, Neal was definitely hurting. He could only hope that there really wasn’t anything more serious than a whole lot of strained and sore muscles to worry about.
Sometimes the worst injuries weren’t visible ones.
But that was a question for later. As Neal had pointed out, whether or not that was the case it wasn’t as if they had the tools needed to find out. Or do anything about it if they did. Still, he couldn’t resist asking -
“How’re you doing?”
Neal grimaced. “Better once I get free of this.” He gave a halfhearted tug at his leg, stopping short with a wince.
“Let’s see what we can do about that.” Peter gave him a reassuring smile. Turning to see for himself how things were situated, he let out a startled hiss.
Neal had been right - there could certainly be no doubt that the anklet was broken. And here he’d thought the casing was supposed to be “exceptionally durable, crack resistant, shatter resistant, fire resistant, water resistant…” So much for the hype. Oh, the strap was still quite securely wrapped around his ankle, but the transmitter itself was badly mangled. Several of the sharp plastic pieces that’d broken off were now embedded in Neal’s lower leg. It appeared to have mostly stopped bleeding by now, so at least there were probably no major blood vessels or arteries compromised, but still - it looked nasty, and if it was hurting even half as bad as it looked….
“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” he demanded.
“And you would have done - what, exactly, if I had?” Neal shook his head. “I didn’t think it was important.”
“That’s beside the point! Neal, I need to know about these things.”
“I know, I know.” Neal rolled his eyes. “Because as long as I’m with the FBI you own me, and if anything happens to me it’s your responsibility to deal with it…”
“No. Because you’re my partner.”
Neal stilled, studying his face for a moment, then narrowed his eyes.
“So, that time when the suspect fell off the ladder onto you and broke two of your ribs, and you didn’t say anything until El found out and made you get checked out by a doctor and Hughes put you on desk duty - ”
“ - is completely beside the point.”
“Really?” Neal raised his eyebrows. “So how’s that work, then? I’m your partner but you’re not mine, or what?”
“Fine.” Peter raised a hand in surrender. “So we both need to tell each other about these things. Agreed?”
Neal flashed him a bright smile. “Agreed. From now on you will receive a news bulletin on every paper cut and hangnail I suffer in the line of duty. But just so you know, I’ll expect those announcements to be met with the appropriate sympathy and concern.”
“Oh, I’ll give you appropriate sympathy and concern all right.”
“That’s what I thought,” Neal muttered with mock resentment. “Maybe I should report to El instead. She’s nice to me.”
“She’s not your partner. In any sense of the word.”
“True,” he sighed.
Peter shook his head, smacking Neal’s leg lightly. “Alright, thoughts off my wife. Let’s get to work, here.” Trying to decide how best to proceed, he had to resist the instinct to pull the pieces of plastic from Neal’s leg - he’d taken enough first aid classes to know that removing anything from a puncture wound was rarely a good idea. Any attempt at bandaging would probably be futile, too, and wasn’t immediately necessary with the bleeding stopped. Still, he could do something. “Hand me your suit coat.”
Neal blinked. “What?”
“I’m going to see if I can fit it into the gap here for some padding. That way if the rocks slip at all your leg will have at least a little protection. Might not do much good, but -“
“ - better than nothing,” Neal agreed, pulling off the coat.
Peter was as careful as he could manage, taking the time to un-snag it every time the fabric caught on the sharp edges of the plastic. Even so Neal flinched, several times hastily biting back a yelp at the tugs. When he finally had the coat situated, Neal let out a shaky breath. Peter rested a hand on his knee.
“Sorry. You okay?”
Neal gave him a wry look. “What, no ‘cowboy up’?”
“Hey, I said appropriate sympathy and concern, remember? You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks.” The reply was quiet, almost subdued. Then, before Peter could press the issue of whether he was alright, he gestured to the offending rocks, saying more lightly than Peter believed he could feel. “I think I’m as ready as I’m going to get. Heave away.”
Nodding, Peter addressed himself to finding the best angle to push the rocks. It wasn’t nearly as easy as it seemed in theory. He was by no means a weakling, and prided himself on being a pretty fit guy. But those rocks were heavy, more flat than round (which didn’t exactly lend itself to rolling), wedged up against each other in such a way that they made a remarkably thorough trap… and he was hampered by the fact that he couldn’t risk pushing them in a direction that’d end with them landing on Neal’s leg. Even setting aside the obvious fact that that would hurt him, a lot, Neal having a broken leg wouldn’t exactly get him any less stuck. He knew Neal was capable of working through pain to pull some pretty incredible stunts when necessity called for it, but he very much doubted that included scaling a vertical wall with a broken limb.
After several minutes of shoving, with no measurable fruits for all his labors, he paused. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with a sleeve, he shook his head.
“Okay, this isn’t working. Time to try something else. Maybe something I can use for a lever…” Before he could even start looking for something suitable, Neal leaned over to snag a nearby piece of driftwood, about a yard long and a decent thickness. Taking it, Peter nodded in approval. “That ought to do.”
Unfortunately, it didn’t. At the first heave the brittle wood crackled ominously. On the second it snapped in half entirely, throwing Peter off balance. Flailing, he just managed to catch himself in time to keep from meeting the ground face-first.
He tossed the now-useless stub away with a curse, and more force than was strictly necessary. Forcing calm, he turned to survey the area around them. Okay, that hadn’t worked, but surely there must be something…
An instant later he turned back again at the sound of something striking the rocks behind him. He was just in time to see Neal pulling back his free leg for another - utterly useless - kick at the rocks trapping him. This time the jolt to his injured leg pulled a sharp cry from him.
“Neal! Neal, stop!” Judging by Neal’s white face, and the way he was now hunched forward, tightly gripping his left leg below the knee, the command was hardly necessary. Still, impelled by worry as much as anger at the situation in general, he added, “That’s not going to do anything. We will find a way to get you out of there, but hurting yourself worse won’t help.”
“I know that!” Neal snapped. Then, as Peter crouched down next to him, he repeated more quietly. “I know, Peter. I just…” he swallowed before ending, “I don’t like being… stuck.”
“Wouldn’t have figured you for being claustrophobic,” Peter commented lightly. However, instead of shooting back with the expected retort about how ‘not liking this was hardly the same as…’ etc., etc., Neal remained quiet. Peter blinked, startled. “Seriously, Neal? You’re claustrophobic?”
“Forgive me if I fail to find that fact particularly funny just now.” Neal pressed his lips together into a thin line, seeming caught between annoyance and embarrassment.
“Sorry.” Peter raised his hands defensively. “Sorry. I’m not laughing at you, honestly. I just can’t believe it. Some of the heists you’ve pulled -“
“ - alleged, ” Neal put in testily.
“Fine, some of the highly illegal stunts you’ve allegedly pulled - Neal, you’ve climbed through ventilation shafts! Spent hours lying in one waiting for your chance on at least two occasions, if what I’ve heard is true - no, I don’t expect you to actually confirm that, don’t bother with the denials. Seriously, you’ve spent plenty of time in tight spaces. How could you possibly be claustrophobic?”
“That’s different.” It was muttered, almost as if he hoped Peter wouldn’t hear.
But Peter wasn’t going to let this pass so easily.
“How so?” he challenged.
“It’s…” With a sigh, Neal gave a gesture of reluctant surrender. “It’s different. Even if it’s small, I’m not stuck. When I might think that I am, that I’ve gotten myself into a spot that’s too tight, I know that if I fit going in one direction, I can fit on the way back too. I’m still in control because I can get out whenever I need to.”
Okay, that made sense. Sort of. Still… Peter tilted his head, considering. “What about in prison?”
“What about it?”
“I never heard anything about you panicking while you were there. You mean to tell me you felt in control then too?”
“Same principle.” Neal shrugged. “Didn’t need to panic, because I knew I could get out if I had to.”
“You knew -“ Peter frowned at him.
“No need to scowl like that. You didn’t honestly think that was the only escape plan I’d made, did you? I started making plans from day one. Just - in case.”
“So why didn’t you ever use them? Until then, that is.”
“I’d decided to do the time. I wanted to try starting fresh, with Kate. No one chasing us, just…” Neal shook his head. “Doesn’t really matter now.”
Peter had been intrigued enough by the rare moment of honest sharing on Neal’s part that their situation had momentarily faded to the background. He was brought back to it abruptly by water splashing against his shoes.
Even as he shot to his feet, turning to watch it, the water was retreating once more to a deceptively innocuous level. Somehow, before that moment the danger it presented had seemed unreal, so confident had he been that he would be able to get Neal out before they were in any serious trouble. Come on, this was Caffrey they were talking about. The man never seemed to get himself into a situation he couldn’t slide back out of - even if he did sometimes rely on last-second saves too much for Peter’s liking. Apparently the idea that there was always a way out had started to rub off on him more than he’d realized.
But watching that water splash innocently against the rock wall, he could no longer dismiss the threat as distant, improbable. They were in trouble. Serious trouble.
“That’s… not good,” Neal remarked, echoing his thoughts.
Peter might have made a sarcastic comment about his stating the blatantly obvious, had he not caught the tremor of nervousness in his voice. Instead, he patted Neal’s shoulder, assuring him again with all the confidence he could muster, “I told you, we’ll get you out of here.”
“Alive?” No question, Neal was scared.
“Well, it’d be kinda pointless otherwise, now wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Neal agreed fervently, “it really would.”
Peter attacked the rocks with even greater vigor, adrenaline and urgency lending him strength as well as determination. The rocks moved - slowly, not enough, useless, but they could be moved. The water’s back-and-forth ebbing and flowing was growing increasingly frequent, with swirling currents created by its forceful entry through the small openings in the wall. Even now the majority of it drained away between swells, but each high was increasingly violent, the water slapping against the confining rocks.
Ironically, it was the very force of the water that gave him a much-needed spark of renewed hope. As a new wave surged up, washing over his shoes, he felt the rock he was pushing at wobble more than before. When the water retreated, sucking with it some of the dirt and loosening smaller rocks, the stone shifted some more. Encouraged, he took a moment to glance at Neal. Stuck as he was in a sitting position, the younger man was already thoroughly wet. Still, he looked more alert than outright panicked at the moment, nodding in response to Peter’s look.
“Yeah, I saw that. Looks like the water might make enough of a difference -“
“It’ll be enough.”
He re-focused on the task at hand, trying to time his pushes to take the most advantage of both the added buoyancy and the pull exerted by the waves. He didn’t need to move the rocks much, just shift them enough to make room for Neal’s foot.
It got a little easier with the next few attempts. The pile was like the world’s most aggravating logic puzzle, the end goal obvious enough but each move still requiring forethought to decide which piece to move when, and in what direction - both to avoid wasting time and effort, and to keep from triggering a dangerous collapse. As he finally shoved the last rock out of the way, the combination of effort expended and triumphant relief threatened to make him go weak at the knees.
“That should do it,” he informed Neal, pulling the - now sodden and useless - suit coat out of the way. “See if you can -“
The low rumbling gave him only an instant’s warning before he was nearly knocked off his feet by a renewed surge of water. He had turned just enough to see that same wave catch Neal full in the chest, sending him backward into the water.
Peter was there in seconds, helping him pull himself back up, steadying him as he coughed out the water he’d been surprised enough to swallow. As he finally managed to pull in a few deeper uninterrupted breaths Peter could feel him trembling slightly - though Peter put that down as much to the temperature of the water he’d been sitting in as anything.
“Can you get up now?” he asked, compassion vying with urgency. They had to get out of here, and the sooner the better.
But Neal shook his head. “Anklet’s still stuck. Thought maybe when I had more room to move it’d come loose, but -“ He grimaced, and Peter winced in sympathy. Getting shoved backward like that with his ankle still tethered in place couldn’t have been fun.
“I’m sure I can get it loose,” he said, exuding all the confident reassurance he could manage as he moved to do so. “I’ve got a lot more range of motion to work on it than you do.”
Neal didn’t exactly look overwhelmed with relief at his assurance. Maybe because he was a little too used to putting on his own bluffs to be easily taken in by others’.
“I really don’t want to drown, Peter.”
The quiet fear in the words made him pause momentarily, but he didn’t turn from working at the anklet - made more difficult by its being under nearly a foot of silt-filled water.
“You won’t. You’re going to be fine.” The hesitation before his reply had lasted barely a second, but he knew that it wasn’t missed.
Neal huffed, an entirely mirthless laugh. “Hey, that’s my role, remember? You’re not supposed to go making promises you’re not going to keep.”
“Hey.” He turned to meet Neal’s eyes. “Have I ever broken my word to you?”
Neal’s gaze slid away, and Peter knew what he was thinking. But for some people “never” was not just another way of saying “not yet.” Peter could only hope that he could live up to it on this one.
“Neal…” He sighed inwardly at Neal’s wary expression. They didn’t have time for this conversation. Not now.
“The transmitter’s really wedged in there. Getting it out’s going to mean twisting it around a bit, and probably a few good yanks. It’s going to hurt.”
Neal seemed to accept the change of direction as the reprieve it was.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “Not as if there’s much choice.”
“Yeah. Just try not to pass out, okay? There’s no way I’m getting you up that wall without help.”
At that a grin that was as much genuine as façade crept onto Neal’s face. “Why Peter. I believe I’m insulted.”
Mission accomplished. Peter snorted, turning back to trying to work the anklet loose. He had to kneel to get a better grip on it. Even the water’s “low” ebb was now at a disconcerting height, given Neal’s limited range of motion. Never had a couple feet of water loomed so threatening.
“Be insulted all you want, as long as you don’t faint while you’re at it,” he said mildly, trying to maintain the lightened atmosphere with the distraction.
“Please. You underestimate me, Peter. If you had any -“
What it was Neal had intended to enlighten him on Peter never heard. Further elaboration was abruptly cut off when, as promised, he pulled up sharply on the anklet, trying to break off through brute force some of the plastic shards more gentle persuasion was getting nowhere with. Neal hissed through gritted teeth.
Peter could feel Neal’s leg twitching with the instinctive need to pull away from pain, but he didn’t hesitate until one of the tugs finally produced an audible cracking of plastic - and a simultaneous cry of pain from Neal. He glanced up, concerned, but Neal waved a hand at him.
“Not fainting,” he choked out, though his ashen face seemed to belie the claim. Then, after an unsteady breath - “Don’t stop on my account. Sounds like it’s working.”
He nodded, prepared to give it one more good pull - but unfortunately the distraction had come at just the wrong moment. He didn’t have time even to register the incoming roar of water before he was knocked sideways.
Blind panic at being forced under gave way almost immediately as he found his feet again, but a glance told him Neal hadn’t been so fortunate. The water was getting too high now - a sitting position wouldn’t be enough to keep his head clear of the water.
Two steps, and a flailing arm connected with his leg. He grabbed onto it, then shifted for a better grip, hauling Neal’s head and shoulders above the surface, which was now at mid-chest level. Neal hadn’t recognized the help his restraining grasp represented yet, and was still fighting, threatening to make Peter lose his grip entirely. He could only hope Neal’s leg wasn’t being damaged too badly, between the thrashing and the angle it was currently twisted at.
“Neal - stop! I’ve got you!”
Neal stilled, though his whole body was still tense, one hand fisting in Peter’s shirt as he gasped, close to hyperventilating.
“Easy, I’ve got you,” Peter repeated. “Just breathe. You’re okay.”
Neal nodded, breaths finally coming more slowly. “Thanks,” he managed.
“Don’t mention it,” Peter returned wryly. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just - don’t go away.”
“About that… I’m guessing your foot’s still stuck.”
Neal gave him a wary look. “Very much so. Unfortunately.”
“Well, the water level doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to go down again.” An understatement at this point - the draining away from the high point of this latest surge was barely perceptible now. “If we wait for the next wave -“
Neal let out a heartfelt curse. Unusual for him, but Peter could well sympathize with the sentiment.
“Yeah. Think you can keep your head up on your own for a minute?”
Neal nodded, his expression rearranging itself once more pure overconfident façade. “If not - guess we’ll get to see which of us can hold our breath the longest.”
Peter chuckled. “I think we can avoid turning this into a contest.”
Letting go of Neal - who wavered halfway between standing and treading water - he pulled in a deep breath and ducked under the water. It was murky, but he could see that the crack he’d heard earlier had indeed indicated a measure of success, at least. Part of the tracker had come free, allowing it to angle upward a bit, which had given Neal just the room he’d needed to reach the surface without seriously damaging his leg.
Even as he grabbed onto the band of the anklet, Peter could feel a new current of incoming water pushing against him. A moment later Neal’s free foot slipped, catching Peter lightly in the side as he tried, unsuccessfully, to regain his balance. So, Peter thought, looked like it was going to be a breath-holding contest after all.
The water that helped with moving the rocks earlier was now making life doubly difficult, and not just in the ever-essential area of breathing. Water might be helpful when it came to moving heavy objects, but it was not so helpful when it came to things like gaining traction, building momentum, or retaining a hold on slippery plastic. He’d hoped one more good pull might do it, but the tracker was not so obliging.
Realizing that Neal might not have had enough warning to take a proper breath before going under, Peter headed back to the surface. As soon as his head broke free of the water, he knew they were beyond “in trouble” and into countdown. Neal’s head wasn’t visible above the surface - not unexpected. Peter also couldn’t touch the bottom with his face out of the water. Which meant Neal couldn’t get up for air, even with help.
He dove again immediately. No time to see if Neal was alright. If he was now, he soon wouldn’t be.
Bracing his feet against the bottom, he pulled, throwing his entire weight against the anklet’s resistance. Once - twice - and on the third pull there was finally a pop, muffled under the water, and the far more reassuring feel of something giving way. Neal was loose. Finally.
Neal didn’t show any indication that he was aware of the fact - or make any attempt to swim to the surface. Pushing off the bottom, Peter grabbed at the back of his shirt, pulling the both of them toward the surface.
Neal’s eyes were closed. Pulling in deep breaths of his own as he treaded water, Peter couldn’t tell whether Neal was breathing at all. Holding onto Neal with his left arm, he struck out for the rock wall, struggling to keep their combined waterlogged weight afloat.
In a few strokes he was close enough to find a handhold. He shifted Neal to get a better grip on him. He couldn’t very well do CPR here. He couldn’t get Neal up the wall, either.
“Come on, Neal,” he half ordered, half pleaded. “Don’t you dare make a liar out of me. Come on.”
He squeezed the arm wrapped around Neal as tightly as he could - the closest he could currently get to pounding the water out of him. Whether it was successful or just a matter of making his own way back to consciousness, a moment later Neal’s body went from utter slackness to all coiled tension. Neal sucked in a breath, lifting his head. Peter tightened his grip, fearing Neal might start to fight him.
“Easy, Neal - I’ve got you. You’re loose, it’s okay. You’re okay now.”
“Pet -“
The attempt to talk was cut off by a coughing fit, which only seemed to grow worse as his body fought between the equally urgent needs to rid itself of water and pull in much-needed air. The tension in his body gradually faded into limp exhaustion by the time he was done, and his head started to droop once more.
“Hey, Neal, stay with me.” Peter shook him slightly. “No passing out, remember? I told you I couldn’t get you up this wall alone.”
“Thought you said… no drowning,” Neal mumbled hoarsely.
Peter winced. “Sorry about that. You know how I am for last-minute rescues.”
A smile twitched at the corners of Neal’s mouth. “Got me out. Knew you would. ’S what counts.”
“Oh, you knew, did you?” Peter couldn’t help smiling in response.
“Mm. Never doubted. Always knew I could -”
A sound from above made Peter start. He shushed Neal hastily, all but holding his breath as he waited for it to be repeated. When it came again, Peter let his head fall back in relief.
“Oh thank God. About time the cavalry showed up.” Then, as loudly as he could, he shouted, “Jones! We’re down here!”
A few pebbles came tumbling over the edge, and a moment later he saw Jones peering down. His eyes widened, and he spun around, shouting to the others to grab the rope from the van, and hurry up. Then he turned back, worry plain on his face.
“Just hang on, we’ll have you out in a minute. Are you guys okay?”
A short laugh escaped Peter, more relief than amusement.
“More or less,” he replied.
“Mostly less,” Neal muttered.
The mild glare Peter shot him was lacking in any real power of reproof.
“We’ll be fine, Jones. Just get us out of here. I think we’ve both had enough of this water to last us a while.”
The End - for now.
Heh, I so hate to leave it there, because I love good aftermath for stories like this. And I so want to write a follow-up to use some of the more interesting details I've learned on the differences between saltwater vs. freshwater near-drowning. I've been hanging on to them for a while, just waiting for the right story to come along. *g* But. I really Do Not Want to write hospital stuff just now, so I'll have to figure out if I can avoid that first. Shall see how that works out!
ETA: The follow-up story is now written! It can be found posted here.