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Disclaimer: All characters, etc belong to their respective creators, etc. I am only playing.
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I am not what you think I do.
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Neal leaned against the elevator wall, eyes closed, keeping his breathing; if not as deep as usual, steady.
The cut on his face was easy to explain away.
Bugsy escaping from June or Cindy and nipping at his ankles while he was shaving.
The bruise close to his left eye is carefully hidden by some hard earned make-up artistry.
As for his other injuries...
Bruised ribs, a twisted ankle, the scrapes on his fore arms, an almost black bruise on his back, the cut down his right thigh.
Byron's suits concealed more than a number of pockets, more than any honest suit should have.
The elevator came to a stop, the bell pinged and Neal's eyes opened just as the doors did.
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He knew the con.
How to blend in and stand out simultaneously.
How to leave a conversation and a room without being noticed.
How to make it seem like he'd been part of a room and the conversation for hours, instead of minutes or even seconds.
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Everything ached in time with his heartbeat.
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A cheerful flirty smile.
A flip of his hat.
Sitting at his desk, a leg crossed over the other in a way that makes some agents wonder,
Is he or isn't he?
No one seeing.
No one noticing.
No one asking.
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Peter dropping a pile of reports on his desk.
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A 'Good job on these'.
A hard slap on his back.
Another cheerful, but not quite respectful smirk.
A friendly grimace at the next stack of files to write reports for.
Ignoring the pain that shoots down his back and wraps around his ribs and has him wanting to throw up and pass out.
Or possibly pass out, and then throw up.
Or pass out while throwing up.
Waiting for the bathroom to be clear before doing the throwing up part.
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A joke while (not) eating lunch, that makes everyone laugh.
Diversion.
A quick touch up of the makeup.
Camouflage.
A question about Martha's baby shower before anyone realises how little he'd eaten.
Misdirection.
A trip to the file room to catch his breath, take the weight off of his ankle, to lean over and hug his ribs.
Fall back to a recovery position.
Swapping a few files around...
A reason to get sent home early?
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Mozzie gives his hobbyist's opinion of the ribs, before checking the stitches he'd done in the very early hours of the morning.
June stands by to provide bandages and heat packs and advice, as if she knows every trick in the book.
As if she wrote the book and still has a few chapters hidden away somewhere.
And Cindy taking it all in and wanting to know when her turn out in the world will be, despite her grandmother's protests and evidence of some of the lesser consequences right in front of her.
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Then a trick to unlock the anklet without it alerting the Marshalls.
Mozzie reluctantly agreeing to occasionally shift the tracking device during the night.
And Neal's gone.
No capes, no tights, no cowls
And definitely no voice in his ear.
Just a zip line, the city and the night.
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The end.
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Thank you to TattooedLibrarian for betaing.
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