I Believe In You

The Fall

Neal swallowed and winced at the pain in his chest. He stood there, hunched over and unsure what to do. Peter didn't believe him.

He had to follow his handler, there was no way around it. The spot where he head hit his head on the planks was throbbing, the dizziness had increased and so had the fever, he thought.

Pull yourself together. You can do this. And then sleep for a couple of days straight.

He almost tripped when he started staggering after Peter, his breath hitching in his throat. At this point, he not only felt physically miserable but his heart ached even worse now that Peter did not seem to care anymore.

With his whole body hurting like this, he didn't know how long he would last. He never felt this weak before. What would Peter think of me, if I passed out?, he thought since black spots had started dancing in front of his eyes, making the world around him blur in and out of focus. He tried to keep his gaze on Peter's back while they crossed the lot.

The shutter of the storage room had been pulled up and Peter entered it whilst turning around to check if Neal had followed. Neal could not read his expression. Peter's warm brown eyes seemed cold, his brows drawn together in anger. He was eyeing Neal suspiciously.

With his chin almost on his chest, the con stepped past his handler, gave Jones a friendly nod and a half-smile and looked up to see a couple of easels with paintings on them lined up. All of them were spinning violently.

A shiver ran down Neal's way too hot back for the millionth time that day, rattling his bones, pain radiating through his body, whilst he tried not to shake, but tensed his muscles, grinding his teeth behind tightly pressed lips.

He achingly pulled his hands out of his pockets as he passed Jones, who looked at him wide-eyed, like he'd seen a ghost. Would he believe me, if I said I was sick?

With his hair falling over his brows in waves and with flushed cheeks, he came to a halt in front of the first painting, swaying a little as he stood. How am I supposed to authenticate this, if I can't even see straight?

He inhaled wheezily and tried to blink away the fever induced tears that were additionally blurring his vision.

Turning slightly on his axis, he sought out Peter's gaze, barely able to focus on his friend's wavering form in the distance. When he finally got a hold of the agent's defiant gaze, it made him sharply gulp in air and his chest exploded in pain. Stars were dancing in front of his eyes. He felt like he couldn't breathe and the world started to spin faster. His arms, which where hanging limply by his side were starting to shake and all he could do was part his lips weakly and breathe out one word ever so softly. A silent, desperate plea. "P'tr."

He felt his eyes rolling back, his knees buckle and his vision going dark. He was falling. And then there was nothing.