BABY GIRL

Chapter 1

Despite everything life had thrown his way, he wasn't afraid to love. Love without reason, all consuming, imperious and demanding. The kind that made him make a complete and utter fool of himself, the kind he felt for Kate. Love still seemed possible even after that pain. When surely it would have been far wiser to give up completely, he remained convinced love would win out in the end. The affliction was in his blood. That all changed when he was taken.

He had learned to live without his freedom and now he had come to learn he couldn't any longer. He couldn't love without it. It wasn't a full life he had bargained, yet now it didn't seem like life at all.

He was sad. His sadness was rising up from roots long ago buried, now pushing their way to the surface, threatening his fragile peace. Lying held no value. He didn't try and charm. He was too tired. Peter said it would do him good to get out of the city. Peter had taken him to the hospital and then to specialists and now to his family's cabin upstate. He felt like a package that was undeliverable.

On the ride up Peter's thoughts were interrupted by the haunted look in Neal's eyes when he found him. They'd kept him in a wire cage in the dark for weeks, the frame was so tight against his torso he couldn't fully expand his chest. His imprisonment was torture pure and simple, all about limits, human endurance and payback. He cleared the image from his head.

Peter got out of the car first and grabbed his bag from the back seat. Neal was pulling gear from the trunk when he came up beside him. He absently placed his hand on his friend's shoulder and could feel the slightest shiver as if he had touched an old wound. He hoped it hadn't left a permanent scar. The beauty and stillness of the woods calmed him, it had since he was a boy.

"I have something for you." Peter pulled a box out of the trunk.

"So what is it?"

"Go ahead, open it."

Inside was a red thermal vest. Neal looked at it blankly, a vague ache in his stomach. The man who once wanted everything, seemed now to want nothing at all. It had all floated away from him, with a regret more reflex than real.

"Thank you, Peter."

"From the look of those clouds it's going to snow and you'll need that. Come on, let's get inside."

The moment Peter stepped in the cabin, he was swept up in nostalgia. The Mr. Coffee his dad bought when he was a boy still sat on the maple wood counter. He ran his hand along the surface and put his jacket on the hook next to the window overlooking the lake. Memories of the end of winter played in his mind, he and his father fishing the crystal blue lake, even before the last snow had melted. His father always took things well. He could talk to him about anything. He still came to him for comfort and advice. His overlong hugs had a way of making everything seem absolutely fine. Tomorrow he would take Neal down to the lake.

"Hey buddy, why don't you go unpack your stuff. I'll get some wood for the stove. First room off the hall is yours."

"Sure you don't need some help?" Neal asked politely.

"I'm good. I want to get dinner going. It's Elizabeth's Irish stew recipe, the one you like. I'll be right back. Holler if you need something."

Peter watched Neal head down the hallway. He hoped the fresh air and exercise might improve his appetite. The doctors gave him a clean bill of health, said he would eat when he got hungry enough. But he didn't. Neal didn't seem hungry for anything. It twisted his heart to watch. He continued to press for Neal's early release, but the kidnapping seemed only to strengthen the Bureau's case to keep him on indefinitely. They argued he was safer under their protections. They didn't understand protecting Neal Caffrey belonged to him.

Neal stood at the open window, the cold air hurt his chest as he breathed. His lungs seemed to have permanently adjusted to taking in the least amount of air to maintain life. He watched Peter dodge a pine bough as he gathered the bundle of wood set along the low stone wall. Peter stood for a moment and arched his head back, taking a deep breath as if he smelled answers in the blue pines across the lake.

He remembered the day Peter found him in the dark, caged…trembling for his sanity. It was a memory he was almost successful in forgetting, but sometimes little bits of it rose up and floated on the surface of his consciousness. Peter spoke to him so softly he couldn't tell if his voice was inside his head or not. Time stopped. It was like Peter projected a small force field around him. The very molecules in the air vibrated from the heat of it. It was enough to make him cohere when he was falling apart. He could see the source of it flickering in Peter's dark eyes.

When he stopped sleeping and eating, the force field maintained him in cold waiting rooms, steadied him through conversations with well-intention-ed specialists and silent drives home to June's afterward.

"Neal, I talked to the D.C. office about your appeal. I think we have a real shot at a reversal of the terms of your probation." Neal didn't say anything. He had no idea what to say, so he said what he always did.

"Thank you, Peter."

"Neal, you got to talk to me buddy. I'm trying to help here."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he heard himself say over and over until Peter pulled the car to the side of the road.

"It's okay Neal, its okay. We'll just take everything one day at a time." He saw it flicker in Peter's eyes. It was enough to allow him to rest, sleep a little and not think or feel quite as much.

More and more frequently the force field was fading, threatening to go all together and let in the darkness creeping into his soul. He wanted to scream "Hurry Peter, before it's too late." But he only spoke in whispers now. Peter tried. He was trying still. Neal watched him gather up the wood and head back to the cabin, completely unaware of his super powers.