frith_in_thorns | [fic: white collar] Search Pattern

Back to posting snippets; apologies for spamming.

Title: Search Pattern
Characters/Pairing: Peter, Neal; Gen
Genre/Rating: Hurt/comfort; T
Word count: 900
Warnings: Allusions to violence
Notes: Written for

sholio on

whitecollarhc. She has the best prompts.
Also a fill for the "Captivity" square on my

hc_bingo card.

Summary: Prompt: "Peter's been, I don't know, chained to a pipe in a dank basement or something while the bad guys work him over, and Neal's the one who gets him loose and catches him."

- - -

"Peter?" Neal says, barely above a whisper, and for a moment he's completely frozen.

Only for a moment, and then he's over by Peter almost before he realises. He's not supposed to be here yet — it's a large building and the FBI haven't finished clearing it. He doesn't care.

Peter is chained by his wrists to a heavy pipe running along the ceiling, pulled up high enough that his heels can't quite make contact with the floor. His shirt is hanging open and bruises are blooming darkly on his chest and face. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is harsh.

"Peter!" Neal insists, and touches Peter's unbruised cheek. Lightly; he's afraid of hurting him more.

Peter jerks back slightly at the touch, and his eyes open slowly.

"It's me," Neal reassures him. "It's Neal. God, Peter, are you —" alright? He bites the word off in time. "I'm going to get you out of here." He doesn't wait for acknowledgement before sliding a pair of picks out of his pocket and studying the chain's padlock.

"Is it," Peter begins, and has to stop to catch his breath, "Safe?"

"Yeah," Neal says. "Yeah, we got them." He focuses on the lock, rather than Peter. It hurts to look at Peter, at what's been done to him. Neal signed up to identify fraud, not for this.

He hopes Peter can't see him not looking.

It's an easy lock, and it clicks open after only a couple of seconds' effort. "Are you ready?" Neal asks. This is the bad bit, the bit where he won't be able to avoid causing Peter pain.

"Yes," Peter says.

Neal lets the chain go and grabs Peter under his arms before he can fall. Peter moans through gritted teeth as his stiffened arms drop, and then his legs give way and it's all Neal can do to make his landing as gentle as possible as they both end up crumpling to the floor.

"Peter?" he asks, desperately. Now is the time when you find out just how badly you were hurt, now that the overwhelming scream of badly stretched tendons and muscles stop overriding more serious pain signals. Peter lies across him, pinning him, and Neal doesn't dare wriggle free without knowing first how much damage the movement might cause.

"I'm okay," Peter groans.

"You really aren't," Neal says, more sharply than he'd intended. Because, god, for a moment he'd thought Peter was dead, strung up like a piece of meat. And that's really, really not okay.

Peter, very slowly and hissing through his teeth at the effort, rolls himself off Neal, and lies on the concrete floor clearly exhausted by the effort. Neal has no jacket to cover him with, so he bends over Peter, who's shivering, and carefully re-buttons his shirt, to try to keep him warm. "I'll fetch help," he says.

"No!" Peter says, quickly, and grabs Neal's wrist. His grip is weak, but it's obviously the tightest he can currently manage. "Don't…"

Neal, who desperately doesn't want to leave Peter, is only too happy to have an excuse not to. "Okay," he says. "We'll stay here." The others will find them soon. He puts a hand on Peter's shoulder, to show that he doesn't plan on going anywhere in the meantime.

However, Peter continues to completely disregard common sense, and starts pushing himself up. "I can manage," he says, when Neal tries to hold him down.

"Peter, you're hurt. Stop moving."

"I'm fine," Peter insists, which is so obviously false that Neal decides not to waste time debating it, but puts his arm around Peter instead. If he can't make Peter stay still, he's damn well going to help him all he can.

Peter doesn't object to Neal assisting him in getting up, or to Neal taking a large portion of his weight once he's (slightly unsteadily) on his feet. "This is a bad idea," Neal mutters, and Peter huffs a laugh in response as he determinedly starts walking.

They meet Diana at the top of the stairs. "Caffrey!" she snaps. "I told you to wait until we'd cleared the place!"

"It's clear down there," Neal says, helpfully, and she glares at him before slipping under Peter's other arm.

"Are you alright, Boss?" she asks, anxiously.

"Don't bother asking that," Neal says.

"Yep," Peter says, at the same moment.

Diana laughs wryly, and radios for paramedics to meet them outside.

Once they've (somehow) got as far as the front step Neal forces Peter to sit down by the simple method of sitting down himself and bringing Peter with him. Diana pats Peter gently on the shoulder and goes off to supervise things. Neal leans back against the wall and Peter leans against him, hesitantly at first and then properly, with his head on Neal's shoulder.

"You're an idiot," Neal says, torn between exasperation and fondness. "You should have stayed there, caught a free ride out."

"I hate being carried," Peter says, between breaths. He's still panting.

Neal nods slowly. He can understand that. "You're still an idiot. A stubborn one."

"Takes one to know one," Peter says, and nestles into Neal's shoulder some more.

- - -