White Collar - "Drop Your Weapons"

[tj_teejay]

Title: Drop Your Weapons
Author: TeeJay
whitecollar100  Prompt: #27 Partner
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter
Word Count: 300
Rating: definitely PG-13 for language, maybe even R-ish for physical violence
Summary: Partners had each other's backs. Didn't they?
Author's Note: Apologies to Neal for the whump. Do I have regrets? No. :-P
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.

 

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Partners had each other's backs. So where the hell was Peter?

The air from Neal's lungs was expelled in a quick breath when another forceful kick hit his right ribcage. A groan escaped his lips as he protectively wrapped his arm around the point of impact, bending into a fetal position on the floor.

Any time now would be good, Peter, he thought and surprised himself at the way his brain could still fabricate sarcastic calmness that way.

Sudden movement in the semi-darkness made him flinch, and he could barely react before his head was yanked up by his hair. He had to suppress a scream that was way too close for comfort.

"You sneaky son of a bitch, did you think you could trick us?" the voice snarled.

"Maybe?" Neal quipped and immediately regretted it. Something that was too solid to be a fist collided with his face, and he could feel the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

"Should we kill him, Boss?" the voice asked.

"Nah," the boss—invisible somewhere in dark corners—responded. "I'm thinking we might want to extract some more information first."

The hold on Neal's hair tightened and Neal let out a moan.

"Talk, asshole!"

Tell them everything! his gut screamed. Stall, Peter will be here soon! his brain countered.

"Go to hell," Neal let out through clenched teeth. Where are you, Peter?

The gun barrel that collided with his temple made his brain rattle in its hinges.

"Boss, I'm thinkin' he doesn't get the mes—"

And then the most beautiful words Neal had ever heard reverberated through the open room.

"FBI! Drop your weapons!"

Commotion followed, then quick footsteps, a warm hand on his shoulder. "Neal." Coexistent relief and worry in Peter's voice.

Partners had each other's backs. Even if they were late.

 

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I wrote kind of a follow up to this story, which you can read right here.

Comments

[tj-teejay.livejournal.com]

Thank you. I'm worried for Neal too. In fact, I kinda wrote this with another story in mind that I have in the works, which might be a sequel to this.

[nynine.livejournal.com]

"Maybe?"-- :) That's pure Neal. I also like the way you present Neal's decision-making process: he isn't all that keen on the hero role, and perhaps might cave if it didn't mean disappointing Peter. Since it does, he hangs in there until rescue comes. Lots of story in a few words!

[tj-teejay.livejournal.com]

Thank you for the great feedback. I agree, Neal doesn't do this because he wants to be a hero. He likes the challenge. And he surely doesn't want to disappoint Peter.

[ladygray99]

Sorry for the late reply. Just wanted to say I loved this. It was a great use of the prompt and you can never go wrong with a little Neal whumpage.

[tj-teejay.livejournal.com]

Hey, no worries about being late. Any comment is better than no comment. :o) And thank you.

[ferryboat george (from livejournal.com)]

Poor Neal, at least Peter made it to rescue him.