I own nothing, although I really wish I did.

"Peter!" Neal's bright blue eyes were open wide, a look of sheer terror marring his typically passive expression.

Peter saw the fear on his friend and partner's face, but wasn't sure why until he felt an arm tighten around his neck and a cloth was pushed over his nose and mouth. He smelled a sweet, sickly odor and his vision started going blurry around the edges. He pushed against the man's body behind him but his huge arm was around Peter's neck, and his struggling was futile. He reached towards his holster, trying to grab his gun, but he was too weak from the lack of air and the chloroform.

Peter started to black out when he felt, rather than saw, someone lunge past him and suddenly the arm around his throat was released and the rag taken off his mouth. He fell to the ground, with no one to hold him up. His breathing came in spurts, and he tried to focus on what was going on.

He heard grunts and cries, and saw two blurry figures fighting above him.

One of them was wearing what had, a minute before, been a very nice suit and a fedora. But the fedora had fallen off as he ran to save his friend, and the suit was already ruined, dotted with blood and ripped from the fight.

Neal was struggling, as Peter knew physical combat was not his thing. Neal seemed to be aware that Peter was directly behind him, and he was trying to dodge a punch while avoiding stepping back on Peter's immobile body.

The man he was fighting was a couple inches taller than Neal and twice as large, but thankfully slower than Neal. He was wearing a black ski mask over his face. But even as Neal ducked punches and swung at the man, it was clear that it was a hopeless fight. The man punched Neal squarely in the face, then grabbed his arm and yanked him up before he fell to the ground. Neal struggled in his grasp, but couldn't free himself. It was all he could do to raise his head and look at the small slits in the ski mask where the man's eyes were. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I work for an old friend of yours," the man responded in a deep voice that matched his stature.

"Who?" Neal gasped, fighting for air as the man gripped his throat tightly.

"I think you should come find out," he said.

Neal had barely registered the words when he was thrown into a van, his head hitting the door frame as he blacked out.