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The Resurrection of Neal Caffrey, Part One, White Collar, NC-17
Fandom: White Collar
Title: The Resurrection of Neal Caffrey
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Sara Ellis, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke
Word Count: 14723
Rating: NC-17 (for strong language, memory & concequences of rape and torture)
Summary: SPOILER WARNING for the series finale. Sara Ellis is working what she thought was a simple art theft ring, but finds herself in a world where anything, even lives, can be bought, sold or rented out for the right price. When she finds a familiar face in that dark, disturbing world she knows she has to do something.
A/Ns & Warnings: THIS IS VERY DARK FIC. Warnings include graphic violence and rape (off screen), memories of graphic violence and rape, talk of suicide. There are spoilers for the series finale.
She was in over her head, and she knew it. Phillip Dedeaux was far more than the art thief and fence she'd been investigating after the disappearance of several priceless pieces in London. It had been spur of the moment, introducing herself a split second before she would have gotten caught attempting to pick the lock on his office door.
She'd introduced herself as Sarah Ellington, a collector of beautiful things and she insinuated that she wasn't worried about silly things like provenance and legalities. In days she had accompanied him to an underground auction, but before she could alert authorities, he slipped his arm around her and whispered in her ear about Monaco and things of phenomenal beauty she could never see anywhere.
It was when they had gotten on the plane that she started to understand how bad it could get. The servants were far more submissive than any she'd ever seen. Shortly after takeoff, Phillip had called one of them over, stripping away her uniform top to run gloved fingers over her marked up skin. She did her best not to react, to in fact look as though she were inspecting the woman at the same time.
Phillip had released her back to her duties before settling in for the remainder of the flight. They talked of art and collecting pretty things until they landed in Nice where a car was waiting for them. The drive to Monaco was beautiful and she could almost forget she was with a dangerous man with no back up, just a hidden phone in her luggage.
Their first two days were filled with gambling and dining, and spending the evenings at glittering parties. "I'm beginning to think you are just trying to get me to sleep with you, Phillip," she said as they sipped champagne on a balcony overlooking the water. "You promised me a place where I could get anything my heart desired." She pouted at him. "Show me something or I will have to leave you here. I do have business elsewhere."
He smiled at her, though his eyes were sweeping around them. "And what is it your wicked heart desires, my dear?"
"Something beautiful, exquisite. One of a kind."
The corners of his mouth turned up and he took her champagne setting it on the railing before slipping his arm around her and pulling her close, gesturing at the people around them. "What if I told you to pick any one of them, and I would deliver them to you?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Anyone?"
He leaned into her ear, "Any one, naked, broken, begging…or, perhaps just naked. You strike me as one who likes to do her own breaking."
Sara smiled, her eyes wide. "You can do that?"
"And what would you do with such a thing?"
"Anything I want."
He laughed and escorted her through the casino into a poker room, with an elevator at the back of the room guarded by two large men in suits that nodded to Phillip. He held up a gold card and they opened the door for him.
The elevator took well over a minute to reach their destination, somewhere under the casino. Two more guards stood beside the door there. Phillip held up the key card, swiping it through the reader to open the doors. Once inside, they paused. Her immediate understanding was that the front of the house was a whorehouse, men and women in varying stages of undress lounging and flirting with men and women in finery.
They didn't even pause there, Phillip drew her on, past the arched entrances to all the pleasure you could rent for an hour or two, to another guarded door and into a larger room lined with curtained stalls. It looked like any of the street markets one might find around Europe, except that these stalls weren't selling local foods and souvenirs. Just from her place near the center, she could see guns and art, jewelry and drugs.
"Phillip, this place is positively wicked," she purred.
"We're only in the front door, darling. Wait until you've seen the place." He waved a hand at the market. "Individual sellers come and go, of course. When a seller has merchandise they rent a space. We afford them privacy and security to make their trades. In return, we get a cut of the sale."
"Brilliant." She smiled brightly at him, her eyes skipping back to a young man with a half familiar face leaving with a painting.
"But this? This is nothing. Come, darling. I want to show you just how special this place really is."
Sara's stomach tightened, suspecting what came next. They passed through another set of doors into a dimly lit corridor that sloped slightly downward and opened into a hall lined with archways. Each archway hid a room of sorts, she could glimpse chains and beds, benches, odd looking furniture.
"We cater to many tastes here. We buy and sell and trade, and for a few lucky guests, we offer services to appease their darker appetites in the privacy and security of an ancient dungeon." Phillip said, walking them toward a small raised stage. "These rooms serve that purpose. And on this stage, we auction only the finest of wares, exquisite in their beauty, impeccable in their training." They skirted the stage and entered a dark hallway that shortly lead to a heavy metal door. Phillip produced another key card and swiped it through the reader, stepping back as the door opened. "It weighs a ton, the only way to open or close it is with a card to turn on the mechanism that moves the door."
He guided her inside, and a row of lights came on overhead, giving her a first look at how incredibly deep she was in. Cages lined the floor, most barely big enough to hold a person. Most of them were full, men and women, naked, bleeding, caged.
"I had been waiting for tomorrow night when the auction will be held. These are rentals. Anyone can do anything they want to them, for a price. Tomorrow the fresher lot will be in; pretty, trained, ready to serve. Some will get sold, some will end up here."
"How do you find them all?" Sara asked, hoping her horror didn't show in her voice.
He smiled, leading her down the hall. "Some are people who owed a debt, some are people caught stealing…Or there's those like this one." He stopped them in front of a cage.
The man inside was curled up tight, his naked body marked and dirty, his head on his knees. Phillip reached in and grabbed a fistful of hair, lifting his head. There were marks across his face, red welts that slashed down from his hairline, over his right eye and onto his cheek. The eye was swollen shut and the other eye rolled, trying to find something to focus on. Phillip dropped his head, and the man moaned, a low, familiar sound that went straight to her belly. Her breath quickened and she took and involuntary step forward, swallowing around a rising ball of fear and disgust as she squatted in front of the cage, one hand slipping through the bars to comb through his hair and tilt his face toward her.
She blinked and told herself not to react, not with Phillip watching her so closely. She managed a small smile. "And how did he come to be here?"
"A client saw him in the casino upstairs and simply had to have him. We arranged it. Once he'd had his fun, this one was too marked up and broken to try to sell, so he was left here for us to do with as we pleased."
"May I…get a closer look?" Sara asked, already inching closer, hopping her horror didn't break through the cracks in her cover.
"Of course, my darling." He dug the keycard out of his pocket and pressed it to the cage door. It opened and Sara moved a little closer, her fingers moving through sweaty hair, tilting his head back again. His lip was split and now that she was closer she could see that the marks covered more of his skin than she'd imagined. His hands were hidden in leather mitts that were padlocked in place. If he knew who she was, it didn't show on his face. "My, Phillip, he's extraordinary." She reached behind him, fingers trailing over his bleeding back. She turned back to Phillip, eyebrow raised. "How long has he been your guest?"
"Three months or so."
She bit her lip and considered her options. She didn't know if this man would even deal. She had to try though. "I want him." She stood and turned to face Phillip.
"I will find you someone fresher. This one is nearly spent."
"He reminds me of the boy I lost a few years back. The way he cried…" She licked her lips and put as much lust into her voice as she could, considering. "Just look at all of that delicious pain." She pressed up against Phillip, rubbing hands up his legs to cup his cock and leaning in to kiss him. "I can pay for him, if that's what it takes."
"He isn't trained, my dear. He was taken, beaten into submission and raped repeatedly. He is broken at best." Phillip argued.
"The hard work is done then." Sara purred. "Have you ever taken one this close to gone, nursed him back to health, given him hope…only to break him again? The most delicious pain, delicate bones breaking under your foot, the sounds they make…Come, you are only going to throw him away when he is spent. Sell him to me instead. I will enjoy cleaning him up and letting him heal so that I can hurt him all over again."
His eyebrow cocked up as he looked at her. "I may have underestimated you, Sara. You are a truly wicked woman."
"Oh, Phillip, my love, you have no idea."
She managed to hold herself together through a negotiation only by not letting herself acknowledge what she had just seen. Once they had agreed on a trade, she excused herself and went back to their suite, arguing with herself the whole way. It wasn't Neal. It wasn't. It couldn't be. Neal Caffrey was dead. Peter had told her so.
And yet, there was no denying that the man she had seen in that room, days from death, was Neal Caffrey. She paced the length of the suite, kicking her shoes off on the second pass, before crossing into the bedroom and going to the drawers of the dresser, under clothes to the sock that hid her emergency phone, a burner she had picked up with cash on her way to the airport.
She had to be careful. She knew Phillip had people watching her every move. She paced the room some more, the phone in her hand before she flipped it open. She had to assume they were listening here, and she would be followed if she left.
Unless she took a page out of Neal's book.
Nodding to herself, she changed out of the dress she'd worn and into a pair of pants and shirt, pulling on a pair of shoes she could move in. She shoved the burner phone into her pocket and grabbed her keys before grabbing a larger purse. She shoved a jacket and a floppy beach hat into the bag.
She took the elevator down to the ground floor and headed for the ladies room. In the privacy of the stall she donned the jacket and hat, making sure her hair was tucked up underneath. She wandered the casino floor for a few minutes before making for a side exit. Once outside, Sara moved away from the hotel. She didn't have a p3articular destination in mind, she just wanted to be sure she wasn't followed and find a place where she could call for help.
In and out of three cafes and two casinos, she felt fairly sure she was alone. She ducked behind a restaurant and pulled the phone out of her pocket. Now that she'd gotten this far, the danger of her situation was settling in. Her hands shook as she dialed the phone and lifted it to her ear.
When Peter answered, she wasn't sure she could get the words out. Finally, just before she was sure he was going to hang up she managed. "Peter, it's Sara."
"Sara? I haven't heard your voice since…"
"Since you lied to me." Sara finished for him. "You told me Neal was dead." She was shaking all over now. "He isn't dead, Peter."
"Sara, what is it?"
She trembled, tears burning at the corners of her eyes, the image of Neal in that cage wouldn't go away. "God, Peter. I'm in trouble here. I don't have time to explain, but Neal's going to be dead soon if we don't…" She drew in a shaky breath and pulled herself together. "I need your help."
"Where are you?"
"Monaco. Monte Carlo. Can you get here?"
There was a long hesitation before she heard him giving someone instructions, then he cleared his throat. "I can be there tomorrow night."
"Good. Bring a good suit and meet me. I'm staying at the Château Dejardin under the name Sara Ellington."
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Peter, get everything you can on Phillip Dedeaux , and whatever you find, understand it doesn't scratch the surface." She hung up and breathed in deeply, letting it out slowly. Now she just had to arrange to have the painting delivered. There was only one way they were getting Neal out of that cage, and that was to actually complete the sale. They could figure out how to bring Phillip down once they'd gotten Neal out.
She dialed again, this time her assistant in London. "Calm down, I don't have time for hysterics. I'm fine. Just listen. I need you to go to my apartment. There's a painting crated in my office. I need you to courier it to me in Monaco. I have to have it no later than the day after tomorrow."
Once that was done, Sara dropped the hat and the jacket in the nearest trash can and began the walk back to her hotel, knowing that Phillip was either looking for her, or already set up in a game of cards. And somewhere beneath them, Neal was alone in a cage, waiting to die.
It was late in the day when Peter arrived, catching her eye as he was shown out to the patio where she and Phillip were sharing drinks. "Peter, darling, you made it." She stood and swept him into a hug, whispering in his ear, "You're my business partner from New York." His hands tightened on her waist then released as Sara turned to introduce him. "Phillip, this is Peter, my business partner. He handles the New York end of my acquisitions."
Phillip stood, extending his hand. Peter smiled and shook it. "Peter Dupont."
Phillip nodded. "Phillip Dedeaux. I wasn't aware you were coming."
"I wasn't either, until Sara called me to say she was going to need my assistance getting a new acquisition transported home." Peter gestured at the table. "Ah, but I can see I'm interrupting. Why don't I go settle into my room. Sara and I can talk later."
"No, please. Business is business and it always comes first. Please, have a seat. I have some business of my own to attend to." He leaned in and kissed Sara's cheek before he left the patio.
"Not here." Sara said, before Peter could say anything. She had spent the day pretending to be carefree and happy and what she wanted right now was to get as far away from the glitz and glamor of Phillip's world as she could.
She led Peter away from the hotel, down to the waterfront. "He's probably running your name right now."
Peter nodded. "It's backstopped. He'll find a mostly clean business man in import/export with a few shady connections and some suspected, but never proven, illegal activities. Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
She exhaled, trying to keep herself from falling apart, but it wasn't working. Peter's hand was warm on her back and she curled into him, Neal's broken, empty face filling her mind. He put his arms around her and let her work through it. After a few minutes she pulled back, wiping at her eyes. "Phillip…he doesn't just run art and drugs. He's got a dungeon full of…." She closed her eyes and pushed the image away, forced herself to stay on task. "He's got Neal."
"Sara--"
"No!" She pulled away from him. "You told me he was dead, Peter. You said…I believed…." She shook her head and swallowed around the pain.
"When I told you, I thought he was." Peter said softly. "I only guessed at it a few months ago. I wasn't even sure."
"Well, I am. That man was Neal Caffrey."
"Who? You still haven't told me what this is about."
"Phillip has a sort of black market thing going on under the casino. Everything you can think of and then some. He buys and sells…anything. He keeps…people in cages and rents them out for…for sport."
"Are you saying that Neal…"
She nodded. "He's in bad shape, Peter. He's…I can't even begin to tell you what's been done to him."
"Okay, so how do we get him out?"
She shrugged, the hysteria pushed away again for the moment. "Actually, that part won't be too hard. I have payment on its way here."
"You're going to buy him?" Peter asked, shock in his voice.
"Can you think of a safer way? That place is a fortress. Literally. And Neal doesn't have time for us to set up some kind of sting." She paced away and back again. "I'm trading a painting I bought a few weeks ago." She pulled her hands through her hair. "But we can't get caught up in trying to get Phillip, or we won't get Neal out."
Peter nodded. "Neal first. Once he's safe, we can get Interpol involved."
"Yes. I've recorded what I could, but he's cautious, doesn't say things out loud, and he must be using something to jam up electronics in the dungeon, none of that recorded."
Peter nodded. "We'll get him, Sara."
"One thing at a time." She tried to calm herself, settle back into the role she had to play, but she kept seeing Neal in her mind, imagining him being beaten for the pleasure of it, and worse. "I should get back. We're going to need transportation." She shook her head. It was time to call in some favors. "Call Devin Rafferty, tell him you're calling on my behalf and I'm calling in the favor he owes me. Tell him I need his private jet on the ground in Nice tomorrow, and a pilot who isn't going to ask questions."
"Where are we going to take him?" Peter asked, frowning.
"I don't know. " Sara admitted. "just away from here."
"Okay, leave that to me. I'll take care of the arrangements, you just tell me when and where."
She hugged him impulsively. "Thank you." She needed to get back to Phillip, despite the way her skin crawled with just the thought of it. She only had to play the part until they got Neal out. Less than 24 hours from now.
Peter waited by the van he had procured to get them from the exchange to the airport, his eyes scanning around him. Sara appeared first, her face hard. "They're right behind me."
Two men appeared, one of them pushing a wheelchair. In that wheelchair…Peter had to look away to keep his composure. Sara said he was in bad shape, but this was worse than he had anticipated. Behind the men came Phillip, smiling brightly.
Peter turned away, reaching to help them move Neal out of the chair. He whimpered in pain, collapsing against Peter as they lifted him into the van. He was so frail, so light and Peter had to bite his lip to keep from doing something they would all regret.
"Does this mean you're leaving me?" he heard Phillip ask.
"I do have business that requires my attention in New York." Sara said. "Perhaps we shall find each other again."
"Soon, I hope. " Peter turned in time to see him kiss Sara's hand.
"I'll call you when I'm on my way back to Europe." Sara said.
Peter settled Neal onto the blanket he'd put on the floor of the van beside Sara's luggage and shut the doors. He didn't bother speaking to the bastard, afraid he'd lose his ability to keep his anger in check. Instead, he went to the front and started the engine.
Sara got in a few moments later, nodding to him to go. Her face was white and she glanced back at Neal before she looked up at Peter. He drove them out of the city and headed them toward the airport. "What did they do to him?" Peter asked fiercely as they approached the gates to the private side of the strip.
Sara looked back again, shaking her head. "I…can't." She drew in a deep breath as they stopped at security.
Peter opened the window. "Peter Burke." He handed the man his passport. "Mr. Rafferty is expecting us." The guard turned away, checking the passport against his computer before he nodded and returned the passport, pointing .
"Hangar 7, Mr. Burke. Take a left there, and follow it down."
"Thank you."
They were quiet then, up to the point where they pulled into the open hangar. Sara was the first out of the van, going in search of the pilot while Peter got out and unloaded her luggage first, then moved to kneel beside the broken body of his friend. He could hear Sara, but it was distant, beyond the buzzing in his ears as he really looked at Neal. He was thin, thinner than Peter ever remembered seeing him. He was dressed in a pair of sweatpants that wouldn't stay on him if he stood and a t-shirt that was sticking to his body, blood soaking through the material. His hands were covered in leather mitts that would keep him from using his fingers for much of anything, the straps securing them to his wrists pulled tight over a D ring that probably had been locked down.
Peter reached out to touch him, but he pulled back, unsure that he wasn't going to hurt him more. "Neal, I don't know if you can hear me, but it's Peter. You're safe. We're taking you home."
"Peter, we're ready."
Peter nodded, licking his lips as he tried to decide the best way to get Neal up and out of the van. In the end, there was nothing to do but pick him up and Peter slid the blanket closer to the door, stepping out, then leaning in to get an arm under Neal's knees and the other under his head.
Neal made a sound that felt like terror and pain mixed and shot out of an air gun. "Hang on, Neal." Peter got him lifted, shocked at how light he was and turned toward where Sara stood by the plane stairs. Sara said nothing as Peter passed her and started up the stairs.
He moved past the seats to the couch toward the back of the plane, lowering Neal as easily as he could to the soft cushions. Sara appeared a moment later, shaking out a blanket. Peter help her cover Neal, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. He was surprised to find Neal's one eye open, the blue startling against the red of blood. "Neal?"
That eye swiveled, panic filling it as it came back to Peter.
"No." His voice was almost nonexistent, and his eye closed, his breathing tight and shallow as the plane started to move.
"It's okay, Neal. You're safe."
His hand moved out from the blanket, reaching for Peter, but it stopped when he saw the leather covering his hand, his one open eye widening. His other hand joined the first and he pushed them together. "Off. Off."
"Okay, hold on." Peter caught his hands and worked on the first strap, getting the mitt off and tossing it somewhere behind him. As he worked at releasing the other, Neal pulled the first hand in to his face, feeling over his skin and weakly opening and closing his fist.
"We've been cleared for takeoff," the pilot called back through the open door of the cockpit.
Peter got the last mitt off and Neal was already out again. He got into a seat and buckled in, not taking his eyes off of Neal. "He's in bad shape."
Sara didn't respond. Peter glanced at her, but she was staring at Neal too. "Hey, we've got him."
She was trembling. "Peter--" She closed her eyes.
Peter reached across the aisle and touched her arm. "I know. But we've got him, and we're going to get him home and…" And what? He wasn't sure.
He knew one thing. He'd never seen that kind of fear in Neal's eyes before.
Sara was asleep, or pretending to be. Peter hadn't shut his eyes. He had already had the pilot call ahead to make sure that they would have a medical team waiting for them. Now he was sitting on the floor beside Neal with the first aid kit from the plane's bathroom, but he was at a loss for where to even begin.
He'd cut the t-shirt off, and then wished he hadn't. Neal's skin was dirty, but it was also burnt, cut, welted and there were bruises, deep, dark bruises. For the moment he settled for cleaning around injuries, using gentle touches and gauze soaked in antiseptic. He worked slowly, over the skin of Neal's chest, wincing any time he came close to open wounds.
"Peter?" It was almost not even a word, but it pulled his attention up from a nasty burn to Neal's face. That eye was open again, locked on him.
Peter tried to smile. "Neal."
Neal's hand touched his face and he blinked slowly. "Real?"
Peter nodded, taking his hand. "Yes, Neal. It's real."
Neal's hand fisted in Peter's shirt and he buried his face against Peter's stomach, his whole body shaking. It took a moment for Peter to recognize it for sobbing, and by the time he did, Neal was already starting to quiet, his body relaxing as he once more fell into unconsciousness.
The plane was descending and Peter wiped at his eyes as he got up, returning to his seat beside Sara who was awake now, her eyes on Neal's still form.
"We'll be on the ground in 15 minutes," the pilot called back. "As requested there is an ambulance on site, and Mr. Rafferty's personal physician is with them.
"Thank you." Sara replied, though her eyes never left Neal. Peter reached across to touch her hand. She blinked and looked at him, fear haunting her eyes. "He's so…" She shook her head. "I don't want to see how bad it is, but I can't look away."
He squeezed her hand. "We'll be on the ground in a few minutes, and he'll be safe." He was aware, on some level, that there was no guarantee Neal would even survive, but he couldn't think about that, not if he was going to hold it together. "He'll be fine, Sara. He's Neal."
Her eyes widened. "No, he's not. Peter, Neal is dead. He has to stay dead."
He nodded, scrambling through all the aliases he could remember and realizing if he knew them, they would track back to Neal. "We need to give him a name, and get it backstopped pretty fast."
They were quiet then as the plane landed. Sara was the first one off, and in moments, the doctor was kneeling beside Neal, checking his pulse and lungs before looking up grimly at Peter. "My men will get him to the ambulance. Ms. Ellis has my information, you can meet me at the hospital. Once I have him stable, we will talk."
Peter nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket, dialing his office while the EMTs came to get Neal. "Jones, it's Peter. I don't have time to explain, just get me an identity package for a Henry Longabaugh and overnight it to Sara Ellis in London. "
"And who is Henry Longabaugh?"
"A witness. Give him an academic background in art, nothing big. Keep it simple. This is huge and I need to protect him before I get Interpol involved."
"Interpol? Peter, what have you gotten into?"
"Let me worry about it Jones." He hesitated, making a decision that might come back to bite him. "Use a picture of Caffrey. This guy's about the same size, and his face is badly damaged. It should pass."
"Caffrey?"
"Just get me the ID. I'll fill you in later."
"You got it. It will be there as soon as I can get it there."
Peter followed the EMT's out of the plane, watching as they settled him gently to a gurney and got him loaded into the ambulance. Sara was coming his way, a well dressed man in a suit at her side. "Peter Burke, this is Devin Rafferty. Devin, Special Agent Peter Burke, with the FBI."
He raised an eyebrow , but stuck out his hand. "Agent Burke, you're a long way from home."
"I am. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Rafferty."
"Judging from the little I saw, your friend is in very bad shape."
Peter nodded, watching Sara shiver. "He is, and to be honest, I wasn't sure he was going to make it."
"He is in the best hands now. Dr. Marcus Bell is a man who has seen the worst humanity can do to one another. "
"Even he hasn't seen this." Sara said, inhaling and pulling herself up. "We should get to the hospital. They're going to want his information."
"Come, let me drive." Devin said. "Neither of you looks up to the task."
Peter followed, the weight of the last 48 hours without sleep pulling on him. If he wasn't so worried about Neal, he could fall asleep in the car.
It was nearly four hours before Dr. Bell emerged to give him the highlights of Neal's condition, worse than Peter ever imagined and almost couldn't bear to hear.
"That young man is lucky to be alive. He has multiple broken bones, several third degree burns…he was beaten pretty severely on multiple occasions, with a number of different weapons. Several of his wounds are deeply infected, and the infection has begun to spread." Dr. Bell drew him closer and lowered his voice. "He was also sexually assaulted. I can't tell exactly, but most certainly by more than one assailant, and repeatedly over at least the last two months."
Peter's stomach churned and he inhaled deeply to try to keep it from exploding. "Is he…will he be okay?"
Dr. Bell licked his lips and crossed his arms. "We are debriding his open wounds, and he's going to need surgery, and if he survives all of that, and we can get him rehydrated and keep him from going septic, then he stands a chance. I should get back to him. I thought you would want to know."
"Thank you." Peter watched him go, then went back to the waiting room, pacing as the words played over and over in his head.
He looked at his phone, wondering if he should call Sara, or let her get some rest. She'd gone home to freshen up, promising to return once the package had been delivered. Instead, he did the math and called Elizabeth, knowing it would be early, but that she'd be up with the baby.
"Hey, hon."
"Peter, are you okay?"
"I am. Yes. I just needed to hear your voice."
"You sound tired. Where are you?"
"London. Listen, hon. I'm not sure how long I'm going to be here."
"Is it a case? You didn't say much before you left."
He hesitated, he hadn't ever told El, even after he'd figured it out.
"Peter?"
"El, it's Neal."
There was a catch in her throat and a pause. "Is he okay?"
"You knew?"
"I guessed. Is he okay?"
"No, El. He really isn't. He's in surgery now…but we aren't even sure…" His throat closed up and he closed his eyes against the burn. "So, just don't tell anyone and I'll call you when I know more."
"Take as long as you need. And give him my love."
"I will. I love you."
"I love you too."
He paced the waiting room a few times, then sat, then paced some more. When he finally sat again, with some of the adrenaline fading, he dozed. It was restless and fitful and when Sara woke him, he was sore from the awkward position.
She offered him coffee and a manila envelope before taking the seat beside him. "Any news?"
"Not for a while." Peter responded. "They were taking him to surgery."
She nodded, staring at the floor. "You should go get some rest. I'll stay."
He shook his head and sipped at the coffee. "No, I'm not leaving."
They were both still sitting there then when the doctor approached. He held up both hands as Peter and Sara both jumped up. "He is stable, for the moment. We're getting him settled into a room and once he's there you can see him. "
"How is he?"
"As I said, Agent Burke, he's a fortunate young man. Had he gone another day without medical treatment he might not have survived. He's going to have a long road to recovery, and how much he recovers will depend a lot on these next few days." He put his hands in his pockets and the frown on his forehead deepened. "There is significant trauma on both sides of his head. It is entirely possible that he will develop some level of amnesia, and with whatever he went through, that just might be a blessing."
A nurse approached with a clipboard and he took it before looking back at them. "I'll have someone come get you when he's settled into his room."
Nameless, faceless terror chased him through hazy corridors and up into a level of awareness that made him freeze, listening for signs of danger. Everything was different, starting with his body. The pain was there, but it was muted and he sluggishly deduced that meant someone was giving him drugs.
He was also laying down, which meant he wasn't in the cage, and instead of the stench of human waste and dried on bodily fluids, he smelled antiseptic. A slow beep behind him gave away a machine of some kind. He opened the only eye that seemed to respond slowly, confirming his suspicion that he was in a hospital. Slowly, he turned his head, his breath catching in his throat as he saw Peter asleep in the chair beside him.
Peter.
He closed his eye and tried to remember past the last time he'd been hauled from the cage. But all he could remember was the beating, the whip, the fury in the man's face as he forced Neal to take his cock. He pulled on his hands, only to find them in restraints, which only brought back other memories, his hands locked behind leather, helpless and useless. Hhe pulled all the harder , yelling though his voice didn't make much sound.
Suddenly there were hands on his and a soothing voice telling him to calm down. One buckle, then the other came loose and Neal dragged his hands to his face, feeling over the bruises and swelling, gasping as the tender tips of his fingers found the long welts from when the whip had curled up under his shoulder to cut across his face.
"Neal?"
Slowly he realized that Peter was talking and forced his hands down, turning so his one good eye could see. Peter met his gaze and something inside him calmed a little.
"You're safe. You're in a hospital in London."
Neal frowned. London didn't seem right. "How?" Neal asked.
"Don't try to talk. Your throat is in rough shape. It's a long story."
"You found me?" It didn't make sense. Peter wouldn't have been looking for him. He was dead, and either Peter believed that, or had let him go because it had been nearly a year and Neal had left enough clues behind for Peter to follow if he didn't believe.
"Not exactly." Peter conceded, pulling chair closer and sitting. "But I helped get you out."
Neal could feel the heat rising in his face, knowing that it meant that Peter knew exactly what had happened to him. "Who?"
Peter licked his lips. "Sara called me."
Sara. Neal closed his eyes and turned away. It had been a dream. A delusion. He was sure of it. Sara's hand on his head, soft, telling him without words that he would be free. He had assumed it meant he was dying.
"Neal, are you listening?"
He blinked back to Peter, still trying to rationalize any of it. "No." He wasn't sure what he was protesting, but no other word would come but "No," in an endless litany as he pulled away and tried to curl up, but his body wouldn't move and pain seared through him from countless wounds . He could hear Peter yelling, but couldn't find his way back out again, even as hands found him and held him down and something cold sank into him, blanketing everything in a layer of darkness that permeated into him.
Title: The Resurrection of Neal Caffrey
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Sara Ellis, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke
Word Count: 14723
Rating: NC-17 (for strong language, memory & concequences of rape and torture)
Summary: SPOILER WARNING for the series finale. Sara Ellis is working what she thought was a simple art theft ring, but finds herself in a world where anything, even lives, can be bought, sold or rented out for the right price. When she finds a familiar face in that dark, disturbing world she knows she has to do something.
A/Ns & Warnings: THIS IS VERY DARK FIC. Warnings include graphic violence and rape (off screen), memories of graphic violence and rape, talk of suicide. There are spoilers for the series finale.
She was in over her head, and she knew it. Phillip Dedeaux was far more than the art thief and fence she'd been investigating after the disappearance of several priceless pieces in London. It had been spur of the moment, introducing herself a split second before she would have gotten caught attempting to pick the lock on his office door.
She'd introduced herself as Sarah Ellington, a collector of beautiful things and she insinuated that she wasn't worried about silly things like provenance and legalities. In days she had accompanied him to an underground auction, but before she could alert authorities, he slipped his arm around her and whispered in her ear about Monaco and things of phenomenal beauty she could never see anywhere.
It was when they had gotten on the plane that she started to understand how bad it could get. The servants were far more submissive than any she'd ever seen. Shortly after takeoff, Phillip had called one of them over, stripping away her uniform top to run gloved fingers over her marked up skin. She did her best not to react, to in fact look as though she were inspecting the woman at the same time.
Phillip had released her back to her duties before settling in for the remainder of the flight. They talked of art and collecting pretty things until they landed in Nice where a car was waiting for them. The drive to Monaco was beautiful and she could almost forget she was with a dangerous man with no back up, just a hidden phone in her luggage.
Their first two days were filled with gambling and dining, and spending the evenings at glittering parties. "I'm beginning to think you are just trying to get me to sleep with you, Phillip," she said as they sipped champagne on a balcony overlooking the water. "You promised me a place where I could get anything my heart desired." She pouted at him. "Show me something or I will have to leave you here. I do have business elsewhere."
He smiled at her, though his eyes were sweeping around them. "And what is it your wicked heart desires, my dear?"
"Something beautiful, exquisite. One of a kind."
The corners of his mouth turned up and he took her champagne setting it on the railing before slipping his arm around her and pulling her close, gesturing at the people around them. "What if I told you to pick any one of them, and I would deliver them to you?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Anyone?"
He leaned into her ear, "Any one, naked, broken, begging…or, perhaps just naked. You strike me as one who likes to do her own breaking."
Sara smiled, her eyes wide. "You can do that?"
"And what would you do with such a thing?"
"Anything I want."
He laughed and escorted her through the casino into a poker room, with an elevator at the back of the room guarded by two large men in suits that nodded to Phillip. He held up a gold card and they opened the door for him.
The elevator took well over a minute to reach their destination, somewhere under the casino. Two more guards stood beside the door there. Phillip held up the key card, swiping it through the reader to open the doors. Once inside, they paused. Her immediate understanding was that the front of the house was a whorehouse, men and women in varying stages of undress lounging and flirting with men and women in finery.
They didn't even pause there, Phillip drew her on, past the arched entrances to all the pleasure you could rent for an hour or two, to another guarded door and into a larger room lined with curtained stalls. It looked like any of the street markets one might find around Europe, except that these stalls weren't selling local foods and souvenirs. Just from her place near the center, she could see guns and art, jewelry and drugs.
"Phillip, this place is positively wicked," she purred.
"We're only in the front door, darling. Wait until you've seen the place." He waved a hand at the market. "Individual sellers come and go, of course. When a seller has merchandise they rent a space. We afford them privacy and security to make their trades. In return, we get a cut of the sale."
"Brilliant." She smiled brightly at him, her eyes skipping back to a young man with a half familiar face leaving with a painting.
"But this? This is nothing. Come, darling. I want to show you just how special this place really is."
Sara's stomach tightened, suspecting what came next. They passed through another set of doors into a dimly lit corridor that sloped slightly downward and opened into a hall lined with archways. Each archway hid a room of sorts, she could glimpse chains and beds, benches, odd looking furniture.
"We cater to many tastes here. We buy and sell and trade, and for a few lucky guests, we offer services to appease their darker appetites in the privacy and security of an ancient dungeon." Phillip said, walking them toward a small raised stage. "These rooms serve that purpose. And on this stage, we auction only the finest of wares, exquisite in their beauty, impeccable in their training." They skirted the stage and entered a dark hallway that shortly lead to a heavy metal door. Phillip produced another key card and swiped it through the reader, stepping back as the door opened. "It weighs a ton, the only way to open or close it is with a card to turn on the mechanism that moves the door."
He guided her inside, and a row of lights came on overhead, giving her a first look at how incredibly deep she was in. Cages lined the floor, most barely big enough to hold a person. Most of them were full, men and women, naked, bleeding, caged.
"I had been waiting for tomorrow night when the auction will be held. These are rentals. Anyone can do anything they want to them, for a price. Tomorrow the fresher lot will be in; pretty, trained, ready to serve. Some will get sold, some will end up here."
"How do you find them all?" Sara asked, hoping her horror didn't show in her voice.
He smiled, leading her down the hall. "Some are people who owed a debt, some are people caught stealing…Or there's those like this one." He stopped them in front of a cage.
The man inside was curled up tight, his naked body marked and dirty, his head on his knees. Phillip reached in and grabbed a fistful of hair, lifting his head. There were marks across his face, red welts that slashed down from his hairline, over his right eye and onto his cheek. The eye was swollen shut and the other eye rolled, trying to find something to focus on. Phillip dropped his head, and the man moaned, a low, familiar sound that went straight to her belly. Her breath quickened and she took and involuntary step forward, swallowing around a rising ball of fear and disgust as she squatted in front of the cage, one hand slipping through the bars to comb through his hair and tilt his face toward her.
She blinked and told herself not to react, not with Phillip watching her so closely. She managed a small smile. "And how did he come to be here?"
"A client saw him in the casino upstairs and simply had to have him. We arranged it. Once he'd had his fun, this one was too marked up and broken to try to sell, so he was left here for us to do with as we pleased."
"May I…get a closer look?" Sara asked, already inching closer, hopping her horror didn't break through the cracks in her cover.
"Of course, my darling." He dug the keycard out of his pocket and pressed it to the cage door. It opened and Sara moved a little closer, her fingers moving through sweaty hair, tilting his head back again. His lip was split and now that she was closer she could see that the marks covered more of his skin than she'd imagined. His hands were hidden in leather mitts that were padlocked in place. If he knew who she was, it didn't show on his face. "My, Phillip, he's extraordinary." She reached behind him, fingers trailing over his bleeding back. She turned back to Phillip, eyebrow raised. "How long has he been your guest?"
"Three months or so."
She bit her lip and considered her options. She didn't know if this man would even deal. She had to try though. "I want him." She stood and turned to face Phillip.
"I will find you someone fresher. This one is nearly spent."
"He reminds me of the boy I lost a few years back. The way he cried…" She licked her lips and put as much lust into her voice as she could, considering. "Just look at all of that delicious pain." She pressed up against Phillip, rubbing hands up his legs to cup his cock and leaning in to kiss him. "I can pay for him, if that's what it takes."
"He isn't trained, my dear. He was taken, beaten into submission and raped repeatedly. He is broken at best." Phillip argued.
"The hard work is done then." Sara purred. "Have you ever taken one this close to gone, nursed him back to health, given him hope…only to break him again? The most delicious pain, delicate bones breaking under your foot, the sounds they make…Come, you are only going to throw him away when he is spent. Sell him to me instead. I will enjoy cleaning him up and letting him heal so that I can hurt him all over again."
His eyebrow cocked up as he looked at her. "I may have underestimated you, Sara. You are a truly wicked woman."
"Oh, Phillip, my love, you have no idea."
She managed to hold herself together through a negotiation only by not letting herself acknowledge what she had just seen. Once they had agreed on a trade, she excused herself and went back to their suite, arguing with herself the whole way. It wasn't Neal. It wasn't. It couldn't be. Neal Caffrey was dead. Peter had told her so.
And yet, there was no denying that the man she had seen in that room, days from death, was Neal Caffrey. She paced the length of the suite, kicking her shoes off on the second pass, before crossing into the bedroom and going to the drawers of the dresser, under clothes to the sock that hid her emergency phone, a burner she had picked up with cash on her way to the airport.
She had to be careful. She knew Phillip had people watching her every move. She paced the room some more, the phone in her hand before she flipped it open. She had to assume they were listening here, and she would be followed if she left.
Unless she took a page out of Neal's book.
Nodding to herself, she changed out of the dress she'd worn and into a pair of pants and shirt, pulling on a pair of shoes she could move in. She shoved the burner phone into her pocket and grabbed her keys before grabbing a larger purse. She shoved a jacket and a floppy beach hat into the bag.
She took the elevator down to the ground floor and headed for the ladies room. In the privacy of the stall she donned the jacket and hat, making sure her hair was tucked up underneath. She wandered the casino floor for a few minutes before making for a side exit. Once outside, Sara moved away from the hotel. She didn't have a p3articular destination in mind, she just wanted to be sure she wasn't followed and find a place where she could call for help.
In and out of three cafes and two casinos, she felt fairly sure she was alone. She ducked behind a restaurant and pulled the phone out of her pocket. Now that she'd gotten this far, the danger of her situation was settling in. Her hands shook as she dialed the phone and lifted it to her ear.
When Peter answered, she wasn't sure she could get the words out. Finally, just before she was sure he was going to hang up she managed. "Peter, it's Sara."
"Sara? I haven't heard your voice since…"
"Since you lied to me." Sara finished for him. "You told me Neal was dead." She was shaking all over now. "He isn't dead, Peter."
"Sara, what is it?"
She trembled, tears burning at the corners of her eyes, the image of Neal in that cage wouldn't go away. "God, Peter. I'm in trouble here. I don't have time to explain, but Neal's going to be dead soon if we don't…" She drew in a shaky breath and pulled herself together. "I need your help."
"Where are you?"
"Monaco. Monte Carlo. Can you get here?"
There was a long hesitation before she heard him giving someone instructions, then he cleared his throat. "I can be there tomorrow night."
"Good. Bring a good suit and meet me. I'm staying at the Château Dejardin under the name Sara Ellington."
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Peter, get everything you can on Phillip Dedeaux , and whatever you find, understand it doesn't scratch the surface." She hung up and breathed in deeply, letting it out slowly. Now she just had to arrange to have the painting delivered. There was only one way they were getting Neal out of that cage, and that was to actually complete the sale. They could figure out how to bring Phillip down once they'd gotten Neal out.
She dialed again, this time her assistant in London. "Calm down, I don't have time for hysterics. I'm fine. Just listen. I need you to go to my apartment. There's a painting crated in my office. I need you to courier it to me in Monaco. I have to have it no later than the day after tomorrow."
Once that was done, Sara dropped the hat and the jacket in the nearest trash can and began the walk back to her hotel, knowing that Phillip was either looking for her, or already set up in a game of cards. And somewhere beneath them, Neal was alone in a cage, waiting to die.
It was late in the day when Peter arrived, catching her eye as he was shown out to the patio where she and Phillip were sharing drinks. "Peter, darling, you made it." She stood and swept him into a hug, whispering in his ear, "You're my business partner from New York." His hands tightened on her waist then released as Sara turned to introduce him. "Phillip, this is Peter, my business partner. He handles the New York end of my acquisitions."
Phillip stood, extending his hand. Peter smiled and shook it. "Peter Dupont."
Phillip nodded. "Phillip Dedeaux. I wasn't aware you were coming."
"I wasn't either, until Sara called me to say she was going to need my assistance getting a new acquisition transported home." Peter gestured at the table. "Ah, but I can see I'm interrupting. Why don't I go settle into my room. Sara and I can talk later."
"No, please. Business is business and it always comes first. Please, have a seat. I have some business of my own to attend to." He leaned in and kissed Sara's cheek before he left the patio.
"Not here." Sara said, before Peter could say anything. She had spent the day pretending to be carefree and happy and what she wanted right now was to get as far away from the glitz and glamor of Phillip's world as she could.
She led Peter away from the hotel, down to the waterfront. "He's probably running your name right now."
Peter nodded. "It's backstopped. He'll find a mostly clean business man in import/export with a few shady connections and some suspected, but never proven, illegal activities. Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
She exhaled, trying to keep herself from falling apart, but it wasn't working. Peter's hand was warm on her back and she curled into him, Neal's broken, empty face filling her mind. He put his arms around her and let her work through it. After a few minutes she pulled back, wiping at her eyes. "Phillip…he doesn't just run art and drugs. He's got a dungeon full of…." She closed her eyes and pushed the image away, forced herself to stay on task. "He's got Neal."
"Sara--"
"No!" She pulled away from him. "You told me he was dead, Peter. You said…I believed…." She shook her head and swallowed around the pain.
"When I told you, I thought he was." Peter said softly. "I only guessed at it a few months ago. I wasn't even sure."
"Well, I am. That man was Neal Caffrey."
"Who? You still haven't told me what this is about."
"Phillip has a sort of black market thing going on under the casino. Everything you can think of and then some. He buys and sells…anything. He keeps…people in cages and rents them out for…for sport."
"Are you saying that Neal…"
She nodded. "He's in bad shape, Peter. He's…I can't even begin to tell you what's been done to him."
"Okay, so how do we get him out?"
She shrugged, the hysteria pushed away again for the moment. "Actually, that part won't be too hard. I have payment on its way here."
"You're going to buy him?" Peter asked, shock in his voice.
"Can you think of a safer way? That place is a fortress. Literally. And Neal doesn't have time for us to set up some kind of sting." She paced away and back again. "I'm trading a painting I bought a few weeks ago." She pulled her hands through her hair. "But we can't get caught up in trying to get Phillip, or we won't get Neal out."
Peter nodded. "Neal first. Once he's safe, we can get Interpol involved."
"Yes. I've recorded what I could, but he's cautious, doesn't say things out loud, and he must be using something to jam up electronics in the dungeon, none of that recorded."
Peter nodded. "We'll get him, Sara."
"One thing at a time." She tried to calm herself, settle back into the role she had to play, but she kept seeing Neal in her mind, imagining him being beaten for the pleasure of it, and worse. "I should get back. We're going to need transportation." She shook her head. It was time to call in some favors. "Call Devin Rafferty, tell him you're calling on my behalf and I'm calling in the favor he owes me. Tell him I need his private jet on the ground in Nice tomorrow, and a pilot who isn't going to ask questions."
"Where are we going to take him?" Peter asked, frowning.
"I don't know. " Sara admitted. "just away from here."
"Okay, leave that to me. I'll take care of the arrangements, you just tell me when and where."
She hugged him impulsively. "Thank you." She needed to get back to Phillip, despite the way her skin crawled with just the thought of it. She only had to play the part until they got Neal out. Less than 24 hours from now.
Peter waited by the van he had procured to get them from the exchange to the airport, his eyes scanning around him. Sara appeared first, her face hard. "They're right behind me."
Two men appeared, one of them pushing a wheelchair. In that wheelchair…Peter had to look away to keep his composure. Sara said he was in bad shape, but this was worse than he had anticipated. Behind the men came Phillip, smiling brightly.
Peter turned away, reaching to help them move Neal out of the chair. He whimpered in pain, collapsing against Peter as they lifted him into the van. He was so frail, so light and Peter had to bite his lip to keep from doing something they would all regret.
"Does this mean you're leaving me?" he heard Phillip ask.
"I do have business that requires my attention in New York." Sara said. "Perhaps we shall find each other again."
"Soon, I hope. " Peter turned in time to see him kiss Sara's hand.
"I'll call you when I'm on my way back to Europe." Sara said.
Peter settled Neal onto the blanket he'd put on the floor of the van beside Sara's luggage and shut the doors. He didn't bother speaking to the bastard, afraid he'd lose his ability to keep his anger in check. Instead, he went to the front and started the engine.
Sara got in a few moments later, nodding to him to go. Her face was white and she glanced back at Neal before she looked up at Peter. He drove them out of the city and headed them toward the airport. "What did they do to him?" Peter asked fiercely as they approached the gates to the private side of the strip.
Sara looked back again, shaking her head. "I…can't." She drew in a deep breath as they stopped at security.
Peter opened the window. "Peter Burke." He handed the man his passport. "Mr. Rafferty is expecting us." The guard turned away, checking the passport against his computer before he nodded and returned the passport, pointing .
"Hangar 7, Mr. Burke. Take a left there, and follow it down."
"Thank you."
They were quiet then, up to the point where they pulled into the open hangar. Sara was the first out of the van, going in search of the pilot while Peter got out and unloaded her luggage first, then moved to kneel beside the broken body of his friend. He could hear Sara, but it was distant, beyond the buzzing in his ears as he really looked at Neal. He was thin, thinner than Peter ever remembered seeing him. He was dressed in a pair of sweatpants that wouldn't stay on him if he stood and a t-shirt that was sticking to his body, blood soaking through the material. His hands were covered in leather mitts that would keep him from using his fingers for much of anything, the straps securing them to his wrists pulled tight over a D ring that probably had been locked down.
Peter reached out to touch him, but he pulled back, unsure that he wasn't going to hurt him more. "Neal, I don't know if you can hear me, but it's Peter. You're safe. We're taking you home."
"Peter, we're ready."
Peter nodded, licking his lips as he tried to decide the best way to get Neal up and out of the van. In the end, there was nothing to do but pick him up and Peter slid the blanket closer to the door, stepping out, then leaning in to get an arm under Neal's knees and the other under his head.
Neal made a sound that felt like terror and pain mixed and shot out of an air gun. "Hang on, Neal." Peter got him lifted, shocked at how light he was and turned toward where Sara stood by the plane stairs. Sara said nothing as Peter passed her and started up the stairs.
He moved past the seats to the couch toward the back of the plane, lowering Neal as easily as he could to the soft cushions. Sara appeared a moment later, shaking out a blanket. Peter help her cover Neal, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. He was surprised to find Neal's one eye open, the blue startling against the red of blood. "Neal?"
That eye swiveled, panic filling it as it came back to Peter.
"No." His voice was almost nonexistent, and his eye closed, his breathing tight and shallow as the plane started to move.
"It's okay, Neal. You're safe."
His hand moved out from the blanket, reaching for Peter, but it stopped when he saw the leather covering his hand, his one open eye widening. His other hand joined the first and he pushed them together. "Off. Off."
"Okay, hold on." Peter caught his hands and worked on the first strap, getting the mitt off and tossing it somewhere behind him. As he worked at releasing the other, Neal pulled the first hand in to his face, feeling over his skin and weakly opening and closing his fist.
"We've been cleared for takeoff," the pilot called back through the open door of the cockpit.
Peter got the last mitt off and Neal was already out again. He got into a seat and buckled in, not taking his eyes off of Neal. "He's in bad shape."
Sara didn't respond. Peter glanced at her, but she was staring at Neal too. "Hey, we've got him."
She was trembling. "Peter--" She closed her eyes.
Peter reached across the aisle and touched her arm. "I know. But we've got him, and we're going to get him home and…" And what? He wasn't sure.
He knew one thing. He'd never seen that kind of fear in Neal's eyes before.
Sara was asleep, or pretending to be. Peter hadn't shut his eyes. He had already had the pilot call ahead to make sure that they would have a medical team waiting for them. Now he was sitting on the floor beside Neal with the first aid kit from the plane's bathroom, but he was at a loss for where to even begin.
He'd cut the t-shirt off, and then wished he hadn't. Neal's skin was dirty, but it was also burnt, cut, welted and there were bruises, deep, dark bruises. For the moment he settled for cleaning around injuries, using gentle touches and gauze soaked in antiseptic. He worked slowly, over the skin of Neal's chest, wincing any time he came close to open wounds.
"Peter?" It was almost not even a word, but it pulled his attention up from a nasty burn to Neal's face. That eye was open again, locked on him.
Peter tried to smile. "Neal."
Neal's hand touched his face and he blinked slowly. "Real?"
Peter nodded, taking his hand. "Yes, Neal. It's real."
Neal's hand fisted in Peter's shirt and he buried his face against Peter's stomach, his whole body shaking. It took a moment for Peter to recognize it for sobbing, and by the time he did, Neal was already starting to quiet, his body relaxing as he once more fell into unconsciousness.
The plane was descending and Peter wiped at his eyes as he got up, returning to his seat beside Sara who was awake now, her eyes on Neal's still form.
"We'll be on the ground in 15 minutes," the pilot called back. "As requested there is an ambulance on site, and Mr. Rafferty's personal physician is with them.
"Thank you." Sara replied, though her eyes never left Neal. Peter reached across to touch her hand. She blinked and looked at him, fear haunting her eyes. "He's so…" She shook her head. "I don't want to see how bad it is, but I can't look away."
He squeezed her hand. "We'll be on the ground in a few minutes, and he'll be safe." He was aware, on some level, that there was no guarantee Neal would even survive, but he couldn't think about that, not if he was going to hold it together. "He'll be fine, Sara. He's Neal."
Her eyes widened. "No, he's not. Peter, Neal is dead. He has to stay dead."
He nodded, scrambling through all the aliases he could remember and realizing if he knew them, they would track back to Neal. "We need to give him a name, and get it backstopped pretty fast."
They were quiet then as the plane landed. Sara was the first one off, and in moments, the doctor was kneeling beside Neal, checking his pulse and lungs before looking up grimly at Peter. "My men will get him to the ambulance. Ms. Ellis has my information, you can meet me at the hospital. Once I have him stable, we will talk."
Peter nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket, dialing his office while the EMTs came to get Neal. "Jones, it's Peter. I don't have time to explain, just get me an identity package for a Henry Longabaugh and overnight it to Sara Ellis in London. "
"And who is Henry Longabaugh?"
"A witness. Give him an academic background in art, nothing big. Keep it simple. This is huge and I need to protect him before I get Interpol involved."
"Interpol? Peter, what have you gotten into?"
"Let me worry about it Jones." He hesitated, making a decision that might come back to bite him. "Use a picture of Caffrey. This guy's about the same size, and his face is badly damaged. It should pass."
"Caffrey?"
"Just get me the ID. I'll fill you in later."
"You got it. It will be there as soon as I can get it there."
Peter followed the EMT's out of the plane, watching as they settled him gently to a gurney and got him loaded into the ambulance. Sara was coming his way, a well dressed man in a suit at her side. "Peter Burke, this is Devin Rafferty. Devin, Special Agent Peter Burke, with the FBI."
He raised an eyebrow , but stuck out his hand. "Agent Burke, you're a long way from home."
"I am. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Rafferty."
"Judging from the little I saw, your friend is in very bad shape."
Peter nodded, watching Sara shiver. "He is, and to be honest, I wasn't sure he was going to make it."
"He is in the best hands now. Dr. Marcus Bell is a man who has seen the worst humanity can do to one another. "
"Even he hasn't seen this." Sara said, inhaling and pulling herself up. "We should get to the hospital. They're going to want his information."
"Come, let me drive." Devin said. "Neither of you looks up to the task."
Peter followed, the weight of the last 48 hours without sleep pulling on him. If he wasn't so worried about Neal, he could fall asleep in the car.
It was nearly four hours before Dr. Bell emerged to give him the highlights of Neal's condition, worse than Peter ever imagined and almost couldn't bear to hear.
"That young man is lucky to be alive. He has multiple broken bones, several third degree burns…he was beaten pretty severely on multiple occasions, with a number of different weapons. Several of his wounds are deeply infected, and the infection has begun to spread." Dr. Bell drew him closer and lowered his voice. "He was also sexually assaulted. I can't tell exactly, but most certainly by more than one assailant, and repeatedly over at least the last two months."
Peter's stomach churned and he inhaled deeply to try to keep it from exploding. "Is he…will he be okay?"
Dr. Bell licked his lips and crossed his arms. "We are debriding his open wounds, and he's going to need surgery, and if he survives all of that, and we can get him rehydrated and keep him from going septic, then he stands a chance. I should get back to him. I thought you would want to know."
"Thank you." Peter watched him go, then went back to the waiting room, pacing as the words played over and over in his head.
He looked at his phone, wondering if he should call Sara, or let her get some rest. She'd gone home to freshen up, promising to return once the package had been delivered. Instead, he did the math and called Elizabeth, knowing it would be early, but that she'd be up with the baby.
"Hey, hon."
"Peter, are you okay?"
"I am. Yes. I just needed to hear your voice."
"You sound tired. Where are you?"
"London. Listen, hon. I'm not sure how long I'm going to be here."
"Is it a case? You didn't say much before you left."
He hesitated, he hadn't ever told El, even after he'd figured it out.
"Peter?"
"El, it's Neal."
There was a catch in her throat and a pause. "Is he okay?"
"You knew?"
"I guessed. Is he okay?"
"No, El. He really isn't. He's in surgery now…but we aren't even sure…" His throat closed up and he closed his eyes against the burn. "So, just don't tell anyone and I'll call you when I know more."
"Take as long as you need. And give him my love."
"I will. I love you."
"I love you too."
He paced the waiting room a few times, then sat, then paced some more. When he finally sat again, with some of the adrenaline fading, he dozed. It was restless and fitful and when Sara woke him, he was sore from the awkward position.
She offered him coffee and a manila envelope before taking the seat beside him. "Any news?"
"Not for a while." Peter responded. "They were taking him to surgery."
She nodded, staring at the floor. "You should go get some rest. I'll stay."
He shook his head and sipped at the coffee. "No, I'm not leaving."
They were both still sitting there then when the doctor approached. He held up both hands as Peter and Sara both jumped up. "He is stable, for the moment. We're getting him settled into a room and once he's there you can see him. "
"How is he?"
"As I said, Agent Burke, he's a fortunate young man. Had he gone another day without medical treatment he might not have survived. He's going to have a long road to recovery, and how much he recovers will depend a lot on these next few days." He put his hands in his pockets and the frown on his forehead deepened. "There is significant trauma on both sides of his head. It is entirely possible that he will develop some level of amnesia, and with whatever he went through, that just might be a blessing."
A nurse approached with a clipboard and he took it before looking back at them. "I'll have someone come get you when he's settled into his room."
Nameless, faceless terror chased him through hazy corridors and up into a level of awareness that made him freeze, listening for signs of danger. Everything was different, starting with his body. The pain was there, but it was muted and he sluggishly deduced that meant someone was giving him drugs.
He was also laying down, which meant he wasn't in the cage, and instead of the stench of human waste and dried on bodily fluids, he smelled antiseptic. A slow beep behind him gave away a machine of some kind. He opened the only eye that seemed to respond slowly, confirming his suspicion that he was in a hospital. Slowly, he turned his head, his breath catching in his throat as he saw Peter asleep in the chair beside him.
Peter.
He closed his eye and tried to remember past the last time he'd been hauled from the cage. But all he could remember was the beating, the whip, the fury in the man's face as he forced Neal to take his cock. He pulled on his hands, only to find them in restraints, which only brought back other memories, his hands locked behind leather, helpless and useless. Hhe pulled all the harder , yelling though his voice didn't make much sound.
Suddenly there were hands on his and a soothing voice telling him to calm down. One buckle, then the other came loose and Neal dragged his hands to his face, feeling over the bruises and swelling, gasping as the tender tips of his fingers found the long welts from when the whip had curled up under his shoulder to cut across his face.
"Neal?"
Slowly he realized that Peter was talking and forced his hands down, turning so his one good eye could see. Peter met his gaze and something inside him calmed a little.
"You're safe. You're in a hospital in London."
Neal frowned. London didn't seem right. "How?" Neal asked.
"Don't try to talk. Your throat is in rough shape. It's a long story."
"You found me?" It didn't make sense. Peter wouldn't have been looking for him. He was dead, and either Peter believed that, or had let him go because it had been nearly a year and Neal had left enough clues behind for Peter to follow if he didn't believe.
"Not exactly." Peter conceded, pulling chair closer and sitting. "But I helped get you out."
Neal could feel the heat rising in his face, knowing that it meant that Peter knew exactly what had happened to him. "Who?"
Peter licked his lips. "Sara called me."
Sara. Neal closed his eyes and turned away. It had been a dream. A delusion. He was sure of it. Sara's hand on his head, soft, telling him without words that he would be free. He had assumed it meant he was dying.
"Neal, are you listening?"
He blinked back to Peter, still trying to rationalize any of it. "No." He wasn't sure what he was protesting, but no other word would come but "No," in an endless litany as he pulled away and tried to curl up, but his body wouldn't move and pain seared through him from countless wounds . He could hear Peter yelling, but couldn't find his way back out again, even as hands found him and held him down and something cold sank into him, blanketing everything in a layer of darkness that permeated into him.