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White Collar ficlet (missing scene for 5x11)
How about a brief little White Collar ficlet? I haven't been writing much fanfic lately and I miss it. So here, have a bit of fluff.
Title: Near Miss
Fandom: White Collar
Word Count: 800
Summary: Missing scene for 5x11 - spoilers! Summary under the cut.
Cross-posted: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1148845
This is a missing scene right after Rebecca almost shoots Neal in her apartment. The actual follow-up scene was lovely -- worried, protective Peter! shaken Neal! :D -- but I felt there was some missing time that needed to be accounted for.
---
The window glass shattered and Neal yelped.
Peter reached the window in a single leap and threw an arm over him, half covering Neal with his body and trying to poke his head high enough to see out the window as well. He'd drawn his gun without even being aware of it. "Shot fired!" he barked. "Everybody down!"
"Sniper?" Jones asked from the doorway. His voice came from near the floor.
"Yeah." Peter couldn't see anything useful -- no tell-tale glint of sunshine on a rifle scope, no furtive movement on a rooftop. "We need NYPD to cordon off the area. And an ambulance too."
Jones vanished back into the living room. "Keep people away from windows!" Peter called after him. Next to him, Neal was struggling to get up. "No," Peter said, pushing him down again. Neal was pressed against him so closely that he could feel Neal's heart racing. "No windows. No standing. Did she get you?"
"Arm," Neal said between his teeth. "I think."
He was pale and panting -- but it was mostly shock, Peter thought; there was no visible blood and Neal wasn't gasping like he was having trouble breathing. Peter manhandled Neal's arm gently, raising above his heart. "Put pressure on that."
"I feel ridiculous," Neal retorted, clutching his forearm with the arm sticking stiffly into the air.
If he could complain, he was probably all right. Still, Peter held him against the radiator with a hand planted on his chest until it looked like he might stay there.
"I have to go coordinate the response." He felt like he was being torn in two -- he wanted to stay here with Neal, protect Neal (by lying on top of him if that's what it took) but he couldn't send his team into danger without him.
"Go, go," Neal said. His breathing was starting to slow down, and his movement was almost natural when he tipped his head to the side to look at his torn sleeve. "I'll be all right here."
"Stay away from windows," Peter ordered him.
He found most of his agents clustered in the hallway outside the apartment's open door, guns drawn. "NYPD's on their way," Jones told him. "Ambulance too. Was Caffrey hit?"
"More like grazed," Peter said, hoping it was true. The lack of visible blood and Neal's general calm made him think it wasn't too bad, but he'd seen people shot without even realizing they'd been hit until they fell down. A cold shiver wracked him, and he tried not to let it show.
"We're ready to roll," Jones said, indicating his team, "but waiting for your go-ahead."
"Go," Peter said. "We need NYPD for a proper search, though -- we don't have enough people to canvass the area, and we have to get civilians out of the fire zone --"
"-- but the shooter could be getting away while we're talking. Yeah, got it." Jones jerked his head at the bedroom. "Think she might've said anything to him that'd help?"
"I don't know. I'll be down in a minute. Be careful out there -- I don't want anyone else getting hurt."
He returned to the bedroom, where he found Neal standing in front of the spiderwebbed glass. Peter yanked him down to the floor again. "What are you doing? You heard me tell you to stay away from windows, right?"
Neal shook his head. "I think she's gone."
"Why don't you let the professionals make that call?" Peter nodded at Neal's arm; he was still holding a hand pressed to it, though no longer keeping it elevated. "How bad?"
"Not bad," Neal sighed, but he let Peter peel back his jacket and shirtsleeve to take a look. There was an angry-looking gash across his forearm and blood soaking through the sleeve, but Neal was right, it wasn't that bad.
Still, Peter could feel fine tremors running through Neal, and his own hands were a bit shaky as well. A close call like that could really mess a person up even if the shot had missed entirely. And six inches to the left -- he didn't want to think about it.
"Do you know where she might have gone to ground?"
Neal shook his head. There was an inexpressible weariness in that gesture. "I have no idea."
Peter could hear sirens now. "C'mon then, let's go downstairs and get you looked at."
"I thought I wasn't supposed to stand up," Neal groused, but he let Peter help him to his feet. He was still wobbly enough that Peter kept a hand on his back for support.
-- yeah, for support, and not at all to feel Neal breathing, reaffirming that Rebecca had missed with each inhale and exhale.
Rebecca screwing with Neal's heart was bad enough, but this -- She's not getting away after this, Peter thought grimly, and kept his hand on Neal all the way down the stairs.
~
Title: Near Miss
Fandom: White Collar
Word Count: 800
Summary: Missing scene for 5x11 - spoilers! Summary under the cut.
Cross-posted: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1148845
This is a missing scene right after Rebecca almost shoots Neal in her apartment. The actual follow-up scene was lovely -- worried, protective Peter! shaken Neal! :D -- but I felt there was some missing time that needed to be accounted for.
---
The window glass shattered and Neal yelped.
Peter reached the window in a single leap and threw an arm over him, half covering Neal with his body and trying to poke his head high enough to see out the window as well. He'd drawn his gun without even being aware of it. "Shot fired!" he barked. "Everybody down!"
"Sniper?" Jones asked from the doorway. His voice came from near the floor.
"Yeah." Peter couldn't see anything useful -- no tell-tale glint of sunshine on a rifle scope, no furtive movement on a rooftop. "We need NYPD to cordon off the area. And an ambulance too."
Jones vanished back into the living room. "Keep people away from windows!" Peter called after him. Next to him, Neal was struggling to get up. "No," Peter said, pushing him down again. Neal was pressed against him so closely that he could feel Neal's heart racing. "No windows. No standing. Did she get you?"
"Arm," Neal said between his teeth. "I think."
He was pale and panting -- but it was mostly shock, Peter thought; there was no visible blood and Neal wasn't gasping like he was having trouble breathing. Peter manhandled Neal's arm gently, raising above his heart. "Put pressure on that."
"I feel ridiculous," Neal retorted, clutching his forearm with the arm sticking stiffly into the air.
If he could complain, he was probably all right. Still, Peter held him against the radiator with a hand planted on his chest until it looked like he might stay there.
"I have to go coordinate the response." He felt like he was being torn in two -- he wanted to stay here with Neal, protect Neal (by lying on top of him if that's what it took) but he couldn't send his team into danger without him.
"Go, go," Neal said. His breathing was starting to slow down, and his movement was almost natural when he tipped his head to the side to look at his torn sleeve. "I'll be all right here."
"Stay away from windows," Peter ordered him.
He found most of his agents clustered in the hallway outside the apartment's open door, guns drawn. "NYPD's on their way," Jones told him. "Ambulance too. Was Caffrey hit?"
"More like grazed," Peter said, hoping it was true. The lack of visible blood and Neal's general calm made him think it wasn't too bad, but he'd seen people shot without even realizing they'd been hit until they fell down. A cold shiver wracked him, and he tried not to let it show.
"We're ready to roll," Jones said, indicating his team, "but waiting for your go-ahead."
"Go," Peter said. "We need NYPD for a proper search, though -- we don't have enough people to canvass the area, and we have to get civilians out of the fire zone --"
"-- but the shooter could be getting away while we're talking. Yeah, got it." Jones jerked his head at the bedroom. "Think she might've said anything to him that'd help?"
"I don't know. I'll be down in a minute. Be careful out there -- I don't want anyone else getting hurt."
He returned to the bedroom, where he found Neal standing in front of the spiderwebbed glass. Peter yanked him down to the floor again. "What are you doing? You heard me tell you to stay away from windows, right?"
Neal shook his head. "I think she's gone."
"Why don't you let the professionals make that call?" Peter nodded at Neal's arm; he was still holding a hand pressed to it, though no longer keeping it elevated. "How bad?"
"Not bad," Neal sighed, but he let Peter peel back his jacket and shirtsleeve to take a look. There was an angry-looking gash across his forearm and blood soaking through the sleeve, but Neal was right, it wasn't that bad.
Still, Peter could feel fine tremors running through Neal, and his own hands were a bit shaky as well. A close call like that could really mess a person up even if the shot had missed entirely. And six inches to the left -- he didn't want to think about it.
"Do you know where she might have gone to ground?"
Neal shook his head. There was an inexpressible weariness in that gesture. "I have no idea."
Peter could hear sirens now. "C'mon then, let's go downstairs and get you looked at."
"I thought I wasn't supposed to stand up," Neal groused, but he let Peter help him to his feet. He was still wobbly enough that Peter kept a hand on his back for support.
-- yeah, for support, and not at all to feel Neal breathing, reaffirming that Rebecca had missed with each inhale and exhale.
Rebecca screwing with Neal's heart was bad enough, but this -- She's not getting away after this, Peter thought grimly, and kept his hand on Neal all the way down the stairs.
~