Summary - When a seemingly routine car re-possession goes badly for Sara, she finds comfort in Neal.

Warning – Story contains mild references to violence and threat.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta Jess.

Lean On Me

Sara Ellis slowly opens her eyes, blinking against the florescent brightness of the room. The harsh lighting makes her head hurt worse than it already does. She shifts listlessly against the scratchy covers and the soreness from her injuries stir awake within her. Groaning she closes her eyelids again; she focuses on breathing through the pain and nausea. Once the worst of the sickness has passed, she tentatively opens her eyes up once again.

Disorientated, she lifts her head and takes in her surroundings. She takes in her clinically white cubicle, and the machines and equipment at her side. She's in the hospital. The smell of disinfectant tingles at her nostrils and she moans. She doesn't like hospitals. They hold certain memories that she would much rather forget. After she'd graduated from college she'd spent far too much time inside their walls. She's tried so hard to block out her mother's endless stay at the hospital while she underwent round after round of chemotherapy. Hospitals only serve to make her feel scared and helpless and Sara hates to feel that way.

Sara tries to sit up but the pain sparks within her core. She spies the nurse twitching back the curtains, coming to check on her vitals. And seeing the patient is awake, the rosy-faced woman gives her a light smile. "Lie back, sweetheart," the nurse instructs gently. "You need to rest."

"What- what happened?" Sara rasps. She doesn't fight as the nurse coaxes her to lie down.

"You were attacked," the woman tells her. "Your friends from the FBI brought you in. You're in the ER, Sara."

Sara frowns. The events of the evening are jumbled in her mind. She vaguely recalls walking along the sidewalk of West End Avenue. She was working a case, traveling across town to repossess a car. She remembers spring rain falling against the slick streets, and shining like golden streaks under the tall lamps. She'd arrived at her destination, a bar, while talking to her boyfriend, Neal Caffrey, on her cellphone. He'd told her to be careful and she'd fired back that she always was.

"Did they catch him?" Sara asks then.

"The man who did this?" the ER nurse asks "Yes, Agent Burke said they caught him."

Sara simply nods at that piece of information. She can take some comfort in that. Raising her hand up to touch at her bruised temple she admits to organize her jumbled, hazy thoughts. She remembers seeing Peter Burke and Diana Barrigan sitting at the bar once she entered. The two agents were celebrating the closure of a case; Diana had teased Sara about Neal not being with his girlfriend on a Friday night. She had ordered a straight scotch spying her target, Aaron Schmidt, from the other side of the room. Without taking a sip she'd sashayed across the bar slipping into work mode.

What happened after is a little fuzzy. She remembers Schmidt snatching the car keys from her hand. She remembers being shoved to the ground, and Schmidt looming over her. He'd kicked and hit her, and she hadn't been able to defend herself. Her bag and baton were strewn across the parking lot. It was Peter Burke who tackled the thief, tackling him to the floor while Diana rushed over to tend to Sara.

"You should rest."

"When can I go home?"

"The doctor's running some tests. We'll know more then. But until then you should rest."

Sara knows she's lucky. She sits perched on the edge of the hospital bed, already dress and ready to go. Her hands are shaking and her body is worn from the night's events. She waits for the ER doctor to discharge her, and she concludes things could have resulted in a lot worse than her mild concussion, bruised ribs and a sprained wrist. The doctor had wanted to keep her in the hospital overnight but Sara had insisted, threatening to discharge herself and the doctor eventually gave in.

"Okay, Sara, you're all set," the kind and rosy-faced nurse, Esther, says as she entered the room.

Sara's already up from the bed and reaching for her purse. She just wants to get out of the clinical-smelling building and sink into a hot bath of bubbles.

"You sure you wouldn't like me to call someone for you?" Esther offers gently once again.

Sara had refused point blank early when the nurse had made the offer. She had been focused solely on discharging herself and getting away from the hospital as soon as she possibly could. But now as she's up on her feet she's almost tempted to say yes, she hasn't stopped trembling since she'd been taken from the alley and to the hospital. The thought of traveling to her apartment and being alone isn't one that she relishes. But her pride takes over. "No, thank you." I'll be fine." She just wants to go home.

"Okay," Esther replies with a kind smile. "You take care now."

Sara nods by way of thanks and bids a quiet farewell before she hurries out of the room. As soon as she enters the corridor she spots Peter walking towards her.

"How are you doing?" Peter asks, she hadn't known he'd waited for her. Esther hadn't mentioned that he'd stayed. But given how tired he looks Sara wonders if he's just finished work and has come to check on her before he goes home himself.

"I'm fine," Sara says as she slings her over-sized black purse over her shoulder and the simple motion causes a wave of tingling pain through her ribs. She feels her own face wrinkle in a grimace but chooses to wave it off. "I'm just a little sore. The doctor said that with some rest I'll be as right as rain."

"Do you want me to drive you home?" Peter offers with that same concern in his voice. "Or call Neal?" In truth he had already tried to call his partner and had left several messages. Neal just hadn't returned his calls yet. Sara shouldn't be alone, at least not tonight. He thinks of his friend, across town in the heart of Manhattan. He knows that much as Neal protests that he and Sara are taking things slowly, the young man cares for this woman. He would want to be there. Peter knows if something like this had happened to El he would want to know and he'd rush straight to her side.

"I'll be fine." She's all too quick to shrug off Peter's concern. She's strong and it's not like danger doesn't come as part of the territory of her job. She can handle it. "I'm just going to catch a cab and go home."

"You're sure?"

"Yes! Really, Peter, I'm fine."

"Okay," Peter replies so calmly and evenly, and she instantly regrets snapping at him.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs her apology. "It's been a long night that I'd rather forget."

Peter offers her a kind smile which she returns. "I'll walk you out," he offers. He leads the way and the strawberry blonde follows. "You're sure I can't drive you?"

"No, it's okay." The drive wouldn't necessarily take him out of his way but Peter looks exhausted. "Go home to Elizabeth."

Peter nods raising his arm and hails down a yellow cab almost instantly. It halts in front of them and she quickly and hastily opens the door. She turns to look over her shoulder. "Good night, Peter."

"Good night, Sara. You take care." Peter moves to close the cab door behind her once she's settled inside. She catches his eye and offers a small, fading smile before the cab pulls away from the sidewalk. She rests her head against the car seat and exhales a fragile sigh. What should have been a quick and easy recovery has resulted in a long and frivolous night that she would rather forget.

The drive from the hospital to her apartment seems to last no time at all. The cab driver pulls up alongside her building and turns toward her. He offers her a look of quiet sympathy and she pushes a wad of bills into his hand.

Sara's just about stopped shaking once she lets herself into her quiet and darkened apartment. She flicks on the light, dropping her purse and her keys out of habit on the nearby chair. Then she simply stands still. She stares about the room, looking blankly at the empty brightness of white walls, lush furniture and expensive pieces of technology. She deposits the bag of prescription painkillers onto the plush couch before she wanders quietly into her bedroom.

She gingerly lowers herself down onto the bed to take off her shoes. The sparks of pain and discomfort travel up and down her side from the simple motion of her bending to slip her heeled pumps off her feet. Taking a deep breath, Sara slowly gets back to her feet. With movement difficult because of her injuries and the tiredness overtaking her, she decides against taking a bath. Instead she carefully peels off her dress, letting it fall to the wooden floor. She doesn't bother to retrieve it. She reaches for her gauzy white robe, huddling inside it and knotting it securely at her waist.

She moves to the mirror in the corner of her room and stares at the woman reflected in the glass. She looks small and scared, and Sara doesn't like it. Her fingers touch at her bruised brow gently and she knows it's going to take at least a week for the marks to fade.

Turning from the reflection she doesn't want to see, she hears the building's door buzzer signaling a visitor. She groans audibly. She knows instinctively who it is, and suspects that Peter is likely to be responsible of this late-night intrusion.

"Go home, Caffrey," Sara says hoarsely over the intercom, not giving him the chance to speak first.

"Sara," Neal's voice sounds clear and crisp over the intercom "Let me in. I'm not going anywhere."

"I'll call you in the morning." She isn't in the mood to talk him. And she definitely isn't in the mood to be baby sat. She's hurt, tired, and maybe a little grumpy.

"Come on, baby," Neal persists from outside. "This is no time to be stubborn. Let me up."

"Go away," she exclaims more out of wounded pride than anything else. Hearing him call her baby in this context does nothing to appease her. She doesn't want him to see her weak and scared.

"Sara, if you don't buzz me in, I'll just find my own way up. You know I will."

Sara knows from his tone that it isn't a threat. It's a promise and she momentarily imagines him trying to sweet talk her neighbors to gain entry. Either that or he'd resort to climbing up the fire escape. Neal's tenacity has her irritated, and maybe mildly amused, at times. She gives up with a loud huff, and presses the button to let him in. She takes a deep breath and attempts to gather her wilting strength as she waits for him.

"Hey." Neal's beautiful blue eyes are full of concern as he pushes open the door and enters her apartment. "Are you alright?"

"Peter called you?" Sara utters accusingly. She can't help the defensiveness lacing into her tone. She doesn't like to show any form of weakness, she's let herself believe for so long that she doesn't need anyone.

"Of course he did," Neal states. He only wishes his own girlfriend had been the one to call him over, and not his friend. But he pushes the thought aside and steps further inside her apartment. She doesn't try to stop him.

"I'm fine you know," she murmurs in a disgruntled tone. She pulls the robe ever tighter around her frame. "It really wasn't necessary for you to come over."

"I wanted to," he tells her simply. After hearing Peter's messages and returning his partner's call there was no way he could not come to visit her. His blood had run cold as Peter informed him about Sara's attack. And from the ugly dark bruises tainting her fair skin he's more than glad that he did. "Jesus Repo…."

"I was repossessing a car," Sara explains as Neal's hand reaches forward to brush back the tangled red locks she's let hang forward in attempt to conceal the tenderness of her blackened left eye. She has to try hard not to break down into tears as she sees his eyes shadow with hurt and concern for her. And she hates it, she hates to be pitied; her father, when he was alive had taught her to be tough and independent. He strokes back her hair, cupping her face gently in his hands and she can't even look him in the eye. She casts her eyes downward, she feels ashamed. She hates it, she hates that Aaron Schmidt bested her, and that he made her a victim.

"It's okay."

"You should see the other guy. He got the business end of my baton." She attempts to joke now, to act her strong and capable self. But even to her ears her voice sounds strained and uneven.

"Sara…, it's okay," Neal lets her name pass his lips and his fingers trace so lightly against the curve of her jaw line. She looks close to tears but her stubbornness won't let her break. He wants her to know that she can allow herself to be vulnerable with him. He wants her to know that she can come to him and he'll be there to take care of her. He realizes what started off as a causal fling is slowly but surely building up into something much more. He's starting to want to be the person she counts on when things don't go her way and when she needs someone to lean on.

"I'm fine, Neal. Really," she objects with as much self-assurance as she can muster. She's already trying to move away from him, she peels herself from his grasp. She's intent on moving to the bedroom and out of his sight, in the hopes that he'll take the hint and leave her be. But, instead, Neal catches her hand. He gently takes hold of her wrist keeping her in place.

"You're not fine," he replies sternly. His eyes meet with her own; his expression is firm and set, telling her silently that he isn't leaving.

Neal presses a delicate kiss to her forehead. Even the slight, gentle touch causes her to wince. And he backs up a fraction in response. "Let's get some ice for that eye?"

Sara nods at the suggestion, ice sounds good right now, something to alleviate some of the hot throbbing in her skull. "Okay, there's plenty in the freezer," she grumbles. Neal's teased her many a time about the lack of food she keeps inside her fridge, he'd chuckled seeing that she buys bags of ice from the store. After a long, hard day at Sterling Bosch, her tried and tested remedy is a glass of straight scotch with one cube of ice.

Neal crosses the room leaving Sara to settle back on the couch. He moves into the kitchen, flicking on the lights as he goes. He hasn't wanted to take care of anyone in such a long while. He hasn't tended to anyone since Kate, and Kate was never a difficult patient. Not like Sara; Kate had liked the attention and she'd liked to be taken care of. Sara, on the other hand, doesn't seem to like it one bit. She doesn't want to be weak and he can understand that. Sara's tough, willful and feisty. He's like that too.

Neal finds a towel and wraps the ice cubes inside it. He returns back into the living area and sees Sara lying on the plush orange couch. She's curled beneath the furry white blanket that's normally draped over the back of the sofa. She looks more at ease now and that relieves him. She smiles a slight but warm smile as he moves to sit down beside her. And she watches his hand press the ice to her. The coldness connects with her delicate, injured skin and she hisses in protest. She recoils in an almost unconscious reaction.

"Sorry," Neal apologies, adjusting the pressure he's applying to the ice slightly.

"It's okay."

"Better?" he whispers.

Sara nods and relaxes back against the cushions; the ice is already helping to relieve with the swelling around her eye.

"I don't know what happened tonight," Sara admits quietly to Neal, and to herself. "I thought I had it. I thought I could handle myself."

Neal swallows hard. The Sara he knows has always been ballsy, but she isn't invincible. No one is in her line of work. As they continued to get closer he realizes that he couldn't help but worry about her. He'd never tell her not to continue her career, he doesn't have that right. She's accepted him, for all his misdeeds, and he can accept that she's dedicated to her job and that she likes to walk on the wild side. It is, indeed, what attracted him to her in the first place. But her job comes with certain dangers and he doesn't like that.

Peter had filled him in on what could have happened if he and Diana hadn't been there to intervene, and Neal feels sick to his stomach. The idea of what could have happened makes him angry. He has done a lot of things in his life but, in his book, there are some things that are just unacceptable, and hitting a woman is one of them. Peter had told him earlier that the man responsible had been taken in and would be charged.

"I was scared tonight."

"I know," he says gently. "It's okay." He keeps the ice pressed lightly to the left side of her face while he strokes back her hair. He doesn't often see the vulnerable side of Sara. She doesn't let him see it, at least not voluntarily, but from time to time it peeks through. "It's okay to be scared sometimes."

"Not where I'm from," Sara mutters.

"Hmm?" Neal's questioning gaze meets her eyes.

"My father," she explains, "he was cold and he was strict. I had to grow up strong, never weak. It's just…, hard for me to admit that I need anyone, that I can't do everything alone. "

Neal smiles sadly. He understands that a little too well. "Well I guess that's another thing we have in common."

They share a look of mutual understanding and she relaxes somewhat. Neal likes talking about his past about as much as she does. They don't talk a lot about the painful parts of their histories, probably out of the interests of self-preservation, but from time to time they indulge in the odd nugget of information. When she gets a glimpse of whom he truly is, behind the shining smile and charm, she likes it. She appreciates the frankness and the honestly. That's all she wants from him. Getting a peek behind the veil of mystery that is Neal Caffrey makes her feel that much closer to him.

"Can you stay tonight?" The request slips out of her mouth somewhat involuntarily. She needs him; she really doesn't want to be alone.

"Yes, of course I can stay."

"Good," Sara murmurs sleepily. She stifles a little yawn with the back of her hand.

"Let's get you to bed."

Sara doesn't object as Neal helps her up and leads her to the bedroom. Her entire body welcomes the softness of her bed and Neal pulls the comforter up to her chin. He slips off his jacket, tie and shoes before turning out the lights and lying down beside her. He stays close to her, holding her but minding her injuries.

"Neal," she utters gently, not bothering to open her eyes.

"Hmm," Neal's mutter of a reply travels into the darkness.

Sara opens her eyes, propping herself up on her elbow and taking in Neal's appealing features in the dusky room. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For doing this. For coming…, for just being here," she murmurs. She didn't know how to ask for help but she was glad he cared enough to come all the same. She feels better with him being there.

"It's what boyfriends do."

"I suppose so," Sara smiles at his remark, and she guesses it is. In her experience they hadn't. Bryan McKenzie had been more occupied with work than his fiancée. But then she had kept him at arm's length. She'd kept up a fortress to keep from being hurt. She had done so both before and after Bryan. No boyfriend or lover had ever managed to penetrate her defenses. And yet here they both are, Neal taking care of her and stroking her hair while she let him. And as she stares back into those all-encompassing blue eyes she feels safe and content. Leave it to Neal Caffrey to chip away at her walls.

"Try and get some sleep," he encourages. "You need to rest."

Sara nods, lying back down with him. "Caffrey."

"Hmm."

"I kinda like you, you know that?"

Neal chuckles lightly. "I like you too, Sara." He presses a kiss gently to the crown of her head. "Get some sleep."

Sara settles and closes her eyes. Throughout their relationship she's been reluctant to define what they are to one another. They're two very different people, and she's tried to simply take each day and enjoy what they have in the moment. And after Kate Moreau, Neal seems happy with that arrangement. But as they get to know each other, and grow closer, it seems to Sara that maybe someday they could really be happy. And its nights like this one, with Neal showing how much he cares, that give her hope.

It's a nice thought for her to end the eventful evening on as she finally gives in to sleep.

~fin~

Thank you for your time.

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