Fic: Birthday Blues - Rated T 1/1
Neal sat at the table in June’s house. He looked around. He was in his thirties and he really had nothing to show for it. He had left no footprint on the world to show that Neal had ever lived, at least none that he felt any real pride in. He’d left a rap sheet but once you were dead, that just would be filed away, never viewed again. It stung to know that he could keel over tomorrow and not really know for sure if anyone would notice or even care. He felt the numbness creep over and through him, into his bones. Ever since Kate died, he’d seen painfully how life just went on. The world stopped for no one. He wondered if he was alive or if he was a dead man walking. He couldn’t feel anything.
There was once a time he liked the numbness. Numbness helped someone survive. It kept him moving forward when the options were to keep going or to lie down and die. He’d sworn that feelings were nuisances. They didn’t seem to accomplish much, other than to go and give others a weapon to use against you. If you didn’t care, well then when people left or died like they did - you could just keep on moving. When the numbness began to drown, there was a solution to that.
He smiled sadly. He’d become very adept at all of this. He was beginning to drown. It was his birthday and no one either knew or cared. Mozzie didn’t believe in birthdays. He thought they were too bourgeoisie. Birthdays really didn’t have many fond memories so he would rather skip it. Oh, there was still that childlike part of him that would love to have a birthday party like other people did. He wondered what cosmic joke he’d stumbled in to miss out on that.
He took a lighter and lit a candle. He sang a sarcastic version of “Happy Birthday”. It was a day when sarcasm beat depression. Sarcasm wouldn’t ever drive him to take his life. Sarcasm also was a comfortable shield to make people stay away. Keeping people at a distance kept you safe. He took his hand and passed it through the flame. He felt his eyes glossing over, hypnotizing him. Fire had that effect on him; it had for as long as he could remember. He was disappointed that the pain wasn’t at the level he needed. He would need to go closer. The danger would be that the pain would potential leave an outer mark. If it did, it might lead to questions Neal didn’t want to answer. It was needed, it helped him cope, but he couldn’t take the looks from people who didn’t understand.
He put his arm on the table like he was going to arm wrestle. He took the candle in the opposite hand and moved the candle until the flames were licking at the underside of the arm. He held it, finally feeling the pain and the release. He got confirmation that at least he would still be able to feel. He was still a person and not a robot. He noticed he had a quarter sized first degree burn. It wouldn’t be noticeable; it would give him the pain he needed for the next few days, and no permanent marks. He knew though that still wasn’t good enough. He went to his art supplies. He took out an exacta blade. The blade was carefully cleaned with antiseptic wipe. Neal figured he was probably cleaner then some doctors. He carefully scrubbed his hands and a patch on his left upper thigh. He noted that he was leaving a lot of tracks. It would be best to leave them more time to heal and to choose a new area. He walked back to the table and held the blade over the flame. He then snapped it into the holder.
Neal did a test stripe. He watched the thin trickle come up. No, the test was too light. It didn’t give him what he needed. He pushed in giving a puncture. It made him gasp, a mix of pain and pleasure. He carefully, methodically went down - one inch, two inch, three inch. He lifted the blade. He began to make an identical cut. He was engrossed in his purpose and didn’t hear the knocking or the door opening. He was in the middle of a fourth cut when he heard a concerned, angry voice call his name.
“NEAL! What in the hell are you doing?” Peter grabbed the holder and tossed it into the sink like it was poisonous.
“It should be obvious. Damn, that’s only going to leave me one blade.” Neal swore, trying to fight away.
“I can see you’re cutting yourself - again. How many?”
“Enough.”
“So help me, Neal. Don’t be a damn smartass. How many?”
“Just three. Relax, I sanitized everything and I heated the blade.”
“Is this the place where I’m supposed to say ‘Congratulations’ or something?” Peter walked into the bathroom and wet a cloth. “Really Neal. I don’t understand why you do this. I thought you promised to call me before you did this.”
“I can’t help it today. It got too much. I was drowning and I couldn’t breath. I just needed to do it to make it. I apologize. I’m not used to someone caring and not thinking I’m a sicko, or a psycho, or a dumbass.”
“Here. Hold it on there.” Peter gave Neal’s shoulder a squeeze. He didn’t understand and couldn’t claim to. He knew it came close to emotions. El was the one who could handle emotion but she was at her sisters. El also didn’t know. Peter wasn’t supposed to know but when Neal got drugged, he let out his secret. Peter knew for Neal to trust him with this secret, it took a lot and he’d protect his secret to the grave. “What makes today any different?” He went a filled a glass with ice. He hated looking at the blade. It made him sick. He opened a cupboard and took out some aspirin.
“It’s a day; it’s not a big deal?”
“Yeah, and Rudolph doesn’t have a nasal condition. Neal, what else did you do?”
“You want the answer to question A or question B?”
“NEAL! Knock it off. I don’t want to have to order you, but you know I will.”
“The answer to question B is this.” Neal held up his arm for Peter to inspect it. He blinked at the whistle from Peter.
“Okay. You did yourself proud there. It’s going to hurt for a week. I suppose though that was part of your reasoning. Go to the bathroom and get the antibiotic cream.” Peter knew at the moment Neal needed someone to take charge. It was unspoken that sometimes Neal needed Peter to take the reins and lead Neal, especially when Neal felt on shaky ground.
“That stuff stinks! I’ll do a cold compress.”
“You are going to do that too. That burn is going to leave you with thinner skin. Its going to be at a danger for scrapes and cuts. You need the antibiotic to heal it quicker and to make sure that you aren’t going to get an infection. Hustle. Now what’s the answer to question A.”
“You are such a mother hen.”
“Overprotective of your ass. I’m the wrong sex to be a mother hen. Now, quit treating me like a mark. Answer the question.”
Neal came back with the antibiotic ointment and sat down. “It’s my birthday and it sucks. I get too much memories and too much gloom. I hate the day. I start drowning and need to prove I can feel. I get too numb.”
“Why?”
“I get that way because...” Neal took a deep breath, biting back a hiss as Peter began applying the ointment. “I’ve never had a good one. Most people just forget it. So I just start thinking that there’s something wrong with me if people do that.”
“You must have had a good birthday as a child.”
“No. I got reminded by my drunken father that he never wanted my mother to have me. I was an accident, an inconvenient fucking accident and my mother died at my birth because of me. He’d beat me, one for every year of my miserable existence as he defined it. It got to be that I hated it when it would come around and would try to make him forget it. He forgot everything else in my life but not that.” Neal sniffed. “Damn allergies. June put in some new floors. They make my nose run and my eyes water.”
“Yeah, allergies are funny that way.” Peter tussled Neal’s hair. “I guess we’ll just have to create a new tradition. Let’s go out, I’ll even go to any movie of your choice. Wipe that look off your face. I’m married and no, that doesn’t extend to XXX.”
“I wouldn’t have even dreamed of suggesting that.”
“Right. Now, what kind of cake do you like?”
“What?”
“Sherlock, unplug your ears. What kind of cake do you like? El will love making you a birthday cake, even if it’s a little late.”
“Peter? Could I make a new birthday?”
“Officially? No, your birthday is set in stone. BUT, unofficially, yeah, we can pick a new day that we celebrate your birthday on. You have any ideas? I would vote against Valentine’s Day, or the other holidays.”
“No. I…I wanted to pick a different one. I…I want to celebrate it on the day you took me out of prison to work with you. It would be celebrating the day I got a new life so it kind of fits.”
Peter turned away for a second and got a huge grin. It spoke volumes to Peter, without being a mushy scene. It also reassured Peter that Neal had no plans of going anywhere. “Ok. We can work with that. The offer for supper and a movie is still on.”
“I know, but well… why don’t we just stay in and order a pizza. We can watch boxing. I just want something quiet. I guess I’m not up to a lot of hubbub tonight. Rather just have a quiet night with family.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll pay though. You still got any beer in the fridge?”
“Yeah. Peter, should we go back to your place?”
“Why?” Peter was opening the fridge, still disappointed that it was emptier then it should have been.
“Satchmo! I really don’t want to be alone tonight and Satch isn’t good about holding it until morning. I guess too, he’s family and I just want a quiet night with family.”
“Yeah, and I think you want to raid my fridge. OK. El’s got a bunch of new stuff for you in the guest bedroom. Now, get your stuff together. Let’s get out of here and get home.”