The gun went off while Malcolm tried wrestling it out of the assailant’s hand. He manages to free it and it goes skittering away under some disused metal shelving, but in that moment the attacker knees Malcolm in the ribs to buy himself an opening and he bolts out the door while Malcolm tries to push himself to his feet.
Neal doesn't bother going after the guy who's already half-way out the door. He couldn't care less right now about catching him. What he cares about is getting to Malcolm and making sure he's okay.
Neal checks the other man over almost neurotically as he helps Malcolm to his feet, oblivious to his own bruises and the fact that his lip is split and there's blood at the corner of his mouth. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
Malcolm doesn’t look any worse than when they got there, visible injuries from his fight with the elevator shaft, but none from their attacker. He stumbles as he reaches his feet, but Neal steadies him. He doesn’t answer the question, still laser focused, he points out the door.
“He got away,” he notes. He looks at Neal. “I’m so sorry…” He frowns. “You’re bleeding.”
That's right--his dad. Neal gives Malcolm a wide-eyed look that says quite clearly he has no idea, then he's rushing for the stairs again.
James is sitting up by the time Neal reaches him. He tries to wave off Neal's offer of help to stand, but Neal insists, helping the other man to his feet as James groans faintly.
He's definitely the most beat up of the three of them.
“One of the Flynns,” James says, wiping a little blood from his mouth. Neal offers his handkerchief, or starts to, but then moves to clean James’ face himself. The man winces in pain and surprise, but doesn’t draw away.
“Which one?” Neal says quietly.
“The youngest son of their former boss. The only one that really matters anymore.”
James pushes Neal’s hand away so he can glare at Malcolm, and it hurts in a way Neal doesn’t expect. It hurts enough to snap him out of his concern and get between Malcolm and James. “Don’t look at him like that. Did you?”
“No,” James growls. “He must have followed me. He was the one who was following me before, too. I found a picture of him when I was working a lead on Ellen.”
"You've spent the last twenty years looking over your shoulder and you let some mob administrator follow you? To a meeting with your son?" Malcolm asks skeptically.
"He's not an administrator," James says, starting to take a step forward. Neal matches him, blocking his way, hand hovering over James' chest.
The older man stops, and for a second Neal is... scared. Of something. He's not sure what. He eases back to take Malcolm's hand, the gesture both protective of Malcolm and reassuring for himself.
"So who is he?"
"He's the one in charge. He's probably the one who killed Ellen."
“The one in charge rarely does his own dirty work anymore, so what could he want with you that’s worth the risk of dirtying his own hands?” Malcolm asks. “He has people for that. He could have sent one of them if he just wanted you dead.”
“That’s true when a family has power,” James grunts, wiping a fresh but of blood from his mouth. “Not when the youngest son of the dead patriarch is trying to establish significance and clout again. He’s got people. He also wants to make it clear that he’s not afraid of blood.”
“Why Ellen?” Neal’s tone is hard, or he tries to make it hard, but it comes out fractured.
James eyes Neal, a tinge of guilt on his face now. “Me and Ellen were the ones that got his dad arrested. It didn’t stick, but it was the beginning of the end for the Flynn’s reputation.”
“That was his excuse,” Neal murmurs. Something is clicking. He doesn’t like it. “That was his excuse. You said the Flynns didn’t own the police, that it was the other way around.”
He gives James a sharp look. “Someone still owns them. Someone Ellen knew about, hid evidence about. That has to be it. Someone owns Flynn and sent him after Ellen because he had a reason, albeit a flimsy one, to want revenge. But whoever it was had access to federal witness protection records.”
Neal can’t breathe. “Someone on our side sold her out.”
It doesn’t occur to him that he just said said our side.
It very clearly caught James’ attention. He scowls.
Malcolm looks at Neal, ignoring James’ expression without failing to notice it.
“Someone high up. Those records aren’t accessible by just anyone. And it has to be someone who worked in law enforcement when they did. Someone who was compromised by their work. But not only that: why now? There was a trigger. If we find out what, it might lead us to who.”
“We have to tell Peter,” Neal says. He tightens his grip on Malcolm’s hand a little, studying James. “You need to talk to him. Meet him. Tell him what you know.”
“No way,” James snaps. “I’m not sticking my head in the lion’s mouth before we know who’s holding the leash.”
“You don’t trust Neal’s judgement?” Malcolm asks. “That doesn’t seem right, when you’re the one that made him the kind of person who always looks over his shoulder.”
James growls under his breath, rubbing his lips with his fingertips. Neal's grip on Malcolm's hand tightens a little when Malcolm gives voice to something that Neal had been thinking without intent to say it.
James studies Neal, and something about the look on Neal's face apparently decides him. "...Fine," he murmurs. "All right, fine."
Malcolm is careful to keep James between them, without seeming like he's trying to keep James between them. He wants one of them to have an eye on him all the time.
Not that he doesn't trust him.
He brings up the rear as they head up the stairs to Neal's place.
Neal called Peter on their way. He's waiting in the apartment already, facing the veranda, hands on his hips. He turns around as the door opens, scrutinizing James with suspicion.
It's weirdly reassuring, the expression on Peter's face, and the fact that it's not directed toward Neal himself.
"This him?"
Neal shuts the door behind Malcolm, taking a deep breath. "James Bennett, Peter Burke. Peter, this... is James."
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And then he hears gunshots from where Malcolm and the stranger disappeared. Emotion takes over again and he runs for the stairs.
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Neal checks the other man over almost neurotically as he helps Malcolm to his feet, oblivious to his own bruises and the fact that his lip is split and there's blood at the corner of his mouth. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
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“He got away,” he notes. He looks at Neal. “I’m so sorry…” He frowns. “You’re bleeding.”
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He assumes it’s not, anyway. Neal presses a hand against Malcolm’s cheek. “You’re sure he didn’t hurt you?”
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“I’m okay,” he promises. “How’s your dad?”
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James is sitting up by the time Neal reaches him. He tries to wave off Neal's offer of help to stand, but Neal insists, helping the other man to his feet as James groans faintly.
He's definitely the most beat up of the three of them.
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“Who was that?” he asked without preamble.
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“Which one?” Neal says quietly.
“The youngest son of their former boss. The only one that really matters anymore.”
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“No,” James growls. “He must have followed me. He was the one who was following me before, too. I found a picture of him when I was working a lead on Ellen.”
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The older man stops, and for a second Neal is... scared. Of something. He's not sure what. He eases back to take Malcolm's hand, the gesture both protective of Malcolm and reassuring for himself.
"So who is he?"
"He's the one in charge. He's probably the one who killed Ellen."
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“Why Ellen?” Neal’s tone is hard, or he tries to make it hard, but it comes out fractured.
James eyes Neal, a tinge of guilt on his face now. “Me and Ellen were the ones that got his dad arrested. It didn’t stick, but it was the beginning of the end for the Flynn’s reputation.”
Neal shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
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He gives James a sharp look. “Someone still owns them. Someone Ellen knew about, hid evidence about. That has to be it. Someone owns Flynn and sent him after Ellen because he had a reason, albeit a flimsy one, to want revenge. But whoever it was had access to federal witness protection records.”
Neal can’t breathe. “Someone on our side sold her out.”
It doesn’t occur to him that he just said said our side.
It very clearly caught James’ attention. He scowls.
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“Someone high up. Those records aren’t accessible by just anyone. And it has to be someone who worked in law enforcement when they did. Someone who was compromised by their work. But not only that: why now? There was a trigger. If we find out what, it might lead us to who.”
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“No way,” James snaps. “I’m not sticking my head in the lion’s mouth before we know who’s holding the leash.”
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James studies Neal, and something about the look on Neal's face apparently decides him. "...Fine," he murmurs. "All right, fine."
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“Where do you want to meet him?”
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And he's not taking James anywhere near Elizabeth.
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"We should get out of here, then."
Malcolm is careful to keep James between them, without seeming like he's trying to keep James between them. He wants one of them to have an eye on him all the time.
Not that he doesn't trust him.
He brings up the rear as they head up the stairs to Neal's place.
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It's weirdly reassuring, the expression on Peter's face, and the fact that it's not directed toward Neal himself.
"This him?"
Neal shuts the door behind Malcolm, taking a deep breath. "James Bennett, Peter Burke. Peter, this... is James."
He can't bring himself to say my father.
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