tj_teejay: (Peter Neal - Apartment Bike)
[personal profile] tj_teejay
Title: Questions And No Answers
Author: TeeJay
[ profile] whitecollar100 Prompt: #8 Interrogation
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Peter knew he needed answers to questions he didn't really want to ask.
Author's Note: Continues my stories "And Isn't It Ironic, Don't You Think?", "Thou Shalt Not Kill", "At The Mercy Of Fate" and "Through The Haze". Guess I'm gonna have to find a name for this particular series soon. Ideas?
Disclaimer: White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.

Peter had so many questions, and no answers whatsoever. He'd spent hours by Neal's bedside, but conversation was scarce.

Of course Peter knew that couldn't be helped. Neal was only conscious for brief periods of time, and even then he was barely alert or coherent. But with a recent lowering of the morphine dose, Peter had high hopes of getting some answers. Answers as to what had happened, how Neal had gone from perfectly fine to lying bleeding in the street with a .38 caliber bullet embedded in his lung.

"Peter," he heard a thready voice from where he was sitting in the visitor's chair.

"Hey," Peter smiled at him. "Sleeping Beauty has woken."

"I wish," came the strained reply.

"How are you feeling?" Really, it was kind of a dumb question, but...

"I can honestly say I've been better."

"Yeah, I'll bet."

They both fell silent as Neal's eyes searched around the room, and Peter felt suddenly uncomfortable, unsure how to ask the questions at the tip of his tongue.

"Neal," he started, "I... I need to ask you some questions."

Please, he thought. Don't let him think this is an interrogation.

"About the shooting?"

This was good. Neal seemed to recall. "Yeah. How much do you remember?"

"Not much."

"Anything will help."

"It was dark..."

Yeah, they already knew that part.

"The guy, he— He had a gun. He shot me. That's all I remember."

"Do you remember why? And by who?"

His forehead creased. Silence. Then, "No. Peter, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Neal."

It really wasn't, but Peter hoped that it would come back to Neal. There was nothing he wanted more than catch this guy. And all the clues they had left were lodged somewhere in Neal's memory. There was still hope, and possibly also time.


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