White Collar - "Thou Shalt Not Kill"
Jun. 28th, 2011 11:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tj_teejayTitle: Thou Shalt Not Kill
Author: TeeJay
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whitecollar100 Prompt: Bright (special prompt)
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Neal
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Neal was mugged, then shot, then found and rescued. Is he going to make it?
Author's Note: Since almost everyone who commented practically begged for this, here is the follow-up to mythenewpub story "And Isn't It Ironic, Don't You Think?". It's not absolutely necessary that you read it, but it would probably make sense if you did. And before you beg some more, let me go and ponder how I can use the other special prompt to wrap this up properly.
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.
The light was bright—way too bright. He blinked, once, twice, three times. There were voices and people and too much light.
"Where the hell am I?" he wanted to say, but all that came out was a pained moan, and—Fuck! This hurt!
"Sir? Sir?" a hectic, resolute female voice said. It took a while for Neal to realize she was addressing him.
"It hurts," he managed through clenched teeth.
"I know. You've been shot. Can you tell me your name?"
"Neal. Caffrey," he squeezed out.
"Okay, Mr. Caffrey, you're in the emergency room at Mount Sinai. Is there anyone you want us to call?"
"Peter," Neal rasped. "Peter Burke. FBI agent, White Collar. My tracker. He'll know."
"Okay, we'll get right on that. Are you allergic to anything? Anesthesia, antibiotics, drugs?"
He had a hard time following the questions. If the pain would just lessen a tiny bit, maybe he could... maybe he could keep up.
"No, I don't think so."
"Okay, that's good. Mr. Caffrey, we need to perform emergency surgery. There are risks involved that we have to tell you about, and I need to know that you understand what I'm about to tell you."
He just wanted her to go away. He didn't want to hear about any risks. He just wanted the pain to abate—to vanish.
"My chest... hurts."
"Push more morphine," Neal heard someone say, and then, "Get a cross match, we need some blood in here!"
It was then that he felt like something was pushing a dead weight on his chest, and suddenly it was impossible to suck air into his lungs. The panic was overwhelming. 'Can't. Breathe,' was all he could think.
The last thing he heard before everything faded to black was, "I need an intubation tray. NOW."
Author: TeeJay
whitecollar100 Prompt: Bright (special prompt)Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: Neal
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Neal was mugged, then shot, then found and rescued. Is he going to make it?
Author's Note: Since almost everyone who commented practically begged for this, here is the follow-up to my
thenewpub story "And Isn't It Ironic, Don't You Think?". It's not absolutely necessary that you read it, but it would probably make sense if you did. And before you beg some more, let me go and ponder how I can use the other special prompt to wrap this up properly.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.
The light was bright—way too bright. He blinked, once, twice, three times. There were voices and people and too much light.
"Where the hell am I?" he wanted to say, but all that came out was a pained moan, and—Fuck! This hurt!
"Sir? Sir?" a hectic, resolute female voice said. It took a while for Neal to realize she was addressing him.
"It hurts," he managed through clenched teeth.
"I know. You've been shot. Can you tell me your name?"
"Neal. Caffrey," he squeezed out.
"Okay, Mr. Caffrey, you're in the emergency room at Mount Sinai. Is there anyone you want us to call?"
"Peter," Neal rasped. "Peter Burke. FBI agent, White Collar. My tracker. He'll know."
"Okay, we'll get right on that. Are you allergic to anything? Anesthesia, antibiotics, drugs?"
He had a hard time following the questions. If the pain would just lessen a tiny bit, maybe he could... maybe he could keep up.
"No, I don't think so."
"Okay, that's good. Mr. Caffrey, we need to perform emergency surgery. There are risks involved that we have to tell you about, and I need to know that you understand what I'm about to tell you."
He just wanted her to go away. He didn't want to hear about any risks. He just wanted the pain to abate—to vanish.
"My chest... hurts."
"Push more morphine," Neal heard someone say, and then, "Get a cross match, we need some blood in here!"
It was then that he felt like something was pushing a dead weight on his chest, and suddenly it was impossible to suck air into his lungs. The panic was overwhelming. 'Can't. Breathe,' was all he could think.
The last thing he heard before everything faded to black was, "I need an intubation tray. NOW."
