Confused on a Higher Level, part two.
Continued from part one.
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A clatter woke Peter with a start, nearly causing him to slide from his chair. Neal had shifted onto his side, looking down at the - thankfully clean and vomit-free - plastic basin that had fallen to the floor. His half-shut eyes and the hand hanging listlessly over the side of the bed seemed to indicate a distinct lack of motivation. Peter bent to retrieve it for him, placing it back on the bed. Neal curled an arm around it, tucking it closer to his side, but more in the manner of a security blanket than with any sense of urgency.
“Thanks,” he croaked, offering Peter a halfhearted smile.
“No problem.”
Peter scrubbed a hand across his face, before letting it drop to rest on the railing at the side of the bed. A quick glance at the clock told him he’d been asleep for barely an hour. Caffrey really seemed to have a thing against letting him get any sleep tonight, he thought with a weary lack of bitterness. Or this morning, he supposed. It was almost a decent hour now. If he’d been at home, he’d probably have been turning over in bed, just starting to think about getting up to get an early start on a Saturday of household chores. He’d been meaning to get to that one corner of the basement for a while now….
“What happened?”
The question pulled him from his abstracted musings. He looked back, half expecting to need to recap the previous night’s events. The doctors had confirmed what he’d thought earlier, telling him that Neal might not remember much of what happened.
Instead, he found Neal’s puzzled gaze fixed on Peter’s hand, resting on the bedrail. Or, more specifically, his wrist, with the rather unusual finger-shaped bruises on it. He studied it briefly himself in mild interest before shrugging and dropping the hand to rest on his knee instead, out of Neal’s sight line.
Unfortunately, once Neal Caffrey had latched on to something, out of sight was not out of mind.
“Peter?”
His voice might still be slurring ever so slightly, but Neal’s eyes were narrowed in the most focused look that Peter had seen from him since he’d found him last night. He was looking more alert by the second. Peter would have been encouraged by the progress, if he hadn’t been so busy rolling his eyes and wishing the man would just pick something else to be interested in right now.
“Don’t worry about it, Neal.”
Which, in retrospect, was exactly the wrong thing to say. Neal wasn’t all that great at following orders to just leave things alone. But hey, his sleep-deprived brain didn’t seem up to spitting out a suitable explanation or distraction at the moment. So sue him.
“Did I do that?” Neal’s eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, as he struggled to remember.
Peter shrugged again, trying for offhand. “You were pretty out of it for most of the night, and things were kind of chaotic. I don’t really - ”
“So it was me.”
“Yeah,” Peter conceded. “It was.”
“Sorry.” With a slight hunch of his shoulders, Neal’s posture managed to shift from listless apathy to vaguely guilty misery.
“Not your fault.”
And really, it hadn’t been. Though he never would’ve expected Neal of all people to come that close to breaking his wrist. At the time he’d been too preoccupied to bother about it too much, but the still-lingering ache was making him wish now that he’d extracted himself from Neal’s grasp a little sooner. The man had quite the grip.
“I wasn’t… you know…” Neal hesitated, his expression reflecting growing apprehension.
“Violent? No.”
Rather the opposite, in fact. It might’ve been the pain that made Neal’s grip tighten so hard, but the only reason he had latched on to Peter in the first place was to plead with him not to leave him there. Peter hadn’t been sure whether Neal had any idea where he actually was, no matter how many times he was told, but whatever scenarios his drug-fogged brain was coming up with they seemed to be terrifying him. Judging by some of the snatches of half-mumbled phrases he’d caught, Peter thought Neal might have been convinced he was still back in the alley. Or, at one point at least, in prison.
“You didn’t hurt anyone,” he assured Neal again, seeing the uncertainty still lingering in his eyes.
“Except you,” Neal pointed out.
“Like I said, not your fault. It’s just a couple of bruises, no big deal.”
“Yeah, well. I’m sorry. For that, and… y’know, all this. Thanks for sticking around. I’ll make it up to you.”
“No need. You were trying to do the right thing. You’re not responsible for the way it turned out.”
“Still. I kinda stole your night anyway. Might as well apologize while you’re busy feeling sorry for me.”
That drew a startled laugh from Peter. “I guess you’re feeling better.”
“Not so sick, anyway.” Neal gave a ginger, one-shouldered shrug. “When can I get outta here?”
Peter chuckled. “I wondered when you’d start pushing for that.”
Neal lifted his head off the pillow slightly, fixing Peter with an imploring look. “Please don’t tell me they want to keep me another day for observation or something.”
“Actually, last I heard they thought you could get out sometime this morning. You’ll have to wait for the doctor to come by and check you over again first, though.”
Appeased, Neal grunted, letting his head fall back to the pillow. “Any idea when that’ll be?”
“Impatient much? Seriously, just relax and rest up a little. You’ll get out of here soon enough. Those drugs can have nasty side-effects, especially when you mix them with alcohol.”
“Tell me about it,” Neal grumbled.
“Yeah, what you went through was bad enough, but I’m not talking about that. You do realize you could’ve died last night.”
“No.” Neal sounded a bit more subdued. “I hadn’t thought…”
“Yeah, well, maybe you should try it a little more often.”
“Hey, what happened to this not being my fault? I didn’t take that stuff on purpose, you know.” Neal stilled, stiffening slightly, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him before. Annoyance disappeared in favor of alarm. “I really didn’t, Peter. You know me, you know I wouldn’t.”
“I know. I know you didn’t. Wouldn’t.” He released a long breath, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I’m just tired, that’s all. But yeah, as far as I know you’re not to blame for any of last night. Except maybe being a little too chivalrous for your own good. But I can’t say I’d have done much different in your place.”
“So… you do know what happened, then? All of it?”
“You don’t?” Peter frowned. “I thought that you…”
“Pretty clear on earlier in the night. Not so much after I left the bar. I wasn’t sure how much I’d told you.”
“Enough to get a general picture and start looking into it.”
“You’re investigating this?” Neal actually seemed startled.
“What, you didn’t think I was going to just let someone beat you up and drug you and then walk off scot free, did you? NYPD’s doing the actual investigating for the time being, but I’m keeping tabs on things.”
“You think it was intentional, then?”
“Drugging you, specifically? No. It looks like the girlfriend was the target, and you just got in the way.”
“Is she okay? I don’t think she could’ve had more than a sip of the drink, but… he didn’t go after her, did he?”
“No, he didn’t. NYPD figured out who she was and stopped by to check on her. She was fine, just a little upset, and definitely surprised to see them. Didn’t seem to have thought that she might’ve been in any further danger.”
Neal’s eyebrows rose slightly. “She didn’t call anyone after that?”
“Oh, she called a friend to vent. Never even occurred to her it might be a good idea to call the police, for her own sake or yours,” Peter commented with mild sarcasm, before softening. “I shouldn’t be too hard on her, I guess, considering she’s a victim too, and could’ve been a lot worse off than she is. But she might’ve shown a little more concern for you after you helped her like that. She didn’t know her boyfriend was trying to drug her, but she knew he had a temper, and she saw him going after you.”
Neal shrugged slightly. “She was probably shaken up, not really thinking straight.”
“Maybe so. Still.” Peter shook his head. Then, trying for a lighter tone, he leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “You know the nicest people. Considering all the trouble they tend to cause, I think I’m going to have to start running checks on all your friends before I let them anywhere near you.”
Neal gave him a look that was probably intended to be wounded, but wound up closer to mildly sulky.
“In my defense, I only met the girl last night, and she has absolutely no connections with my past, alleged or otherwise. And I don’t even remember what the guy looked like.” His tone shifted, growing more serious. “Speaking of which - I’m not sure I’ll be able to give you anything you can use, as far as identifying him or anything. I can try, but…” he shrugged apologetically.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll probably get - ”
The room’s door opened, and Peter broke off, glancing up as the doctor came in, stopping on the way to pull Neal’s chart from the rack on the wall. The young man returned Peter’s nod of greeting before turning to Neal, who had slowly rolled onto his back to see who had come in.
“Mr. Caffrey, I’m Dr. Jeffries,” he said, with a cheerfulness that, under the circumstances, managed to land just on the briskly professional, as opposed to obnoxious, side. “Looks like you’re doing better this morning.”
“Much,” Neal confirmed, with noticeably greater enthusiasm than he’d shown Peter earlier.
“Good to hear.” He flipped through the chart, stopping to check the notes on several of the pages. “Vital signs were looking good at the last check…. Nausea’s not so bad now…” he looked up at Neal, a raised eyebrow turning it into a question.
“Yeah, a lot better.” Seeing Peter frown and shift, prepared to say something - he hadn’t failed to catch the way Neal had paled and tugged the basin closer to his side as he’d turned over a moment ago - Neal added defensively for his benefit, “Last night might be a bit of a blur, but believe me, I remember enough to know this qualifies as ‘a lot better.’”
Peter tilted his head, conceding the point. “It has been a while since he last threw up, so yeah, does seem to be a definite improvement, at least.”
After another glance at the chart, the doctor asked Neal, “It says here you had a bit of ginger ale a little over an hour ago. That stayed down okay?”
“So far, so good.” Neal’s smile was more wry than upbeat.
“That’s certainly a good sign.” Jeffries returned a slight smile before moving along. “Dizziness, headache…?”
Neal hesitated fractionally, making the mistake of glancing away from the doctor briefly. Peter caught his eye, giving him a hard look.
“Um. Not too bad?” Neal hazarded.
Jeffries nodded. “It’s pretty much to be expected for a while yet. What about visual disturbances?”
“Disturbances?” Neal frowned.
“Trouble seeing, blurriness, hallucinations,” the doctor elaborated. “They’re pretty common effects of the GHB.”
“No, nothing like that. Not that I can remember.”
Neal looked briefly as if he regretted adding that last, but the doctor just nodded again, clicking open his pen to make a brief note in the chart.
“Some amount of confusion, or short-term amnesia regarding the events immediately surrounding the incident is also very common. It can be disconcerting, I know, but medically speaking it’s not something to be especially concerned about. You’re not having any trouble with events prior to last night, are you?”
“Not… that I know of?” Neal tilted his head slightly. “How exactly would one know if one can’t remember something happening?”
Jeffries chuckled. “Well, if you can remember, say, what you were doing last week, and don’t notice any obvious gaps of things that should be there - name, birthday, important childhood events, first date, that sort of thing - you’re probably good. I wouldn’t really expect it here anyway, but since you did take a couple of hits to the head, even if there aren’t obvious signs of a concussion, I didn’t want to dismiss the possibility of long-term memory complications.”
Peter actually saw the idea as it struck Neal - the way one corner of his mouth turned up just slightly, and that particular glint that came into his eyes. He hastened to step in before it developed into a headache he did not want to deal with.
“No, Neal.”
“What?” Neal turned to him, eyes wide with innocence that was anything but guileless.
“No, faking memory loss would not get you out of the consequences for alleged past misdeeds. Trust me, it’s not that convenient.”
“Can’t blame me for trying.” Neal shrugged, then turned back to the doctor, who had been observing with some interest, and said as matter-of-factly as if there had been no interruption. “No, nothing missing as far as I can tell.”
“Right,” Jeffries said, bemused. “Well then, let’s see how things look, and we can decide whether you’re ready to be discharged this morning.”
Peter stood, taking a couple steps back to make sure he wouldn’t be in the way of anything the doctor needed to do. Jeffries set the file on the bedside table, then paused, turning back to Peter. Knowing he was probably going to be asked to step out, Peter was torn. He’d been debating whether it’d be better to insist on sticking around for the exam to make sure Neal didn’t try to pull anything to get himself released prematurely, or to just make a graceful exit. (Given Neal’s parole arrangements, there were some gray areas between patient privacy and the access Peter could insist on, as his handler. But he was confident he could work it out so he could stay if necessary.) Discretion urged him toward leaving, but a nagging sense of duty - not to mention healthy suspicion - made him hesitate.
In the end, the decision was made for him. His cell phone rang, Jeffries gave him a pointed look, and he grimaced apologetically.
“I’ll just… take this outside,” he said, turning to head for the door.
The call didn’t take long - NYPD just wanted to let him know that their search of the guy’s house had revealed the materials required for making GHB, so he’d apparently cooked it up himself rather than buying. Peter took his time about returning to the room once he’d finished. Once he judged sufficient time had passed, he knocked on the door, waiting for acknowledgement from inside before entering.
Peter immediately noted that the doctor had disconnected the line for the IV - they’d been pumping fluids into Neal all night, in an attempt to keep him from becoming too dehydrated, and the current bag was nearly empty. The port hadn’t been removed from the back of his hand yet, but Peter took this as a positive development.
“Everything looking okay?” he asked the doctor.
“Looking good,” Jeffries confirmed.
“So - I can get out now?” Neal asked, almost concealing his eagerness behind the casual question.
“From what you’ve said, I gather that you live alone, Mr. Caffrey?”
“More or less… I rent a loft, so my landlady and some staff are generally somewhere in the house.” Neal turned wary at the doctor’s hesitation. “Why?”
Jeffries frowned thoughtfully. “You’re still having some coordination issues. There’s also the nausea, which can often stick around for several days - you may have some more bad episodes before it really gets better. The dizzy spells can last even longer than that, as much as two weeks in some cases. I don’t like letting you go just yet if there’s not going to be someone there to begin with, to help you if you’re having trouble and keep an eye out for any issues that might develop.”
“I’ll be fine, really,” Neal insisted. “I’m not going to be running around or anything, I’ll take things easy. I just want some peace and quiet. No offence, but hospitals really aren’t great for that.”
“Believe me, I’m aware of that. But what they are pretty good for is making sure you don’t break a limb because someone wasn’t there to help you to the bathroom when your balance was off.” Apparently seeing Neal was thoroughly unconvinced by the argument, he changed tacks. “How about this. Show me that you can walk over to the bathroom unaided and get dressed, and I’ll agree you’re okay to go home with just the occasional check-in from a friend. Your clothes are in the closet there.” He nodded to the small space built into the wall, just across from the bathroom door.
Peter was startled by the concession. Then Jeffries met his eyes, and he relaxed, realizing this had nothing to do with proving anything to them, and everything to do with making an unarguable point to Neal. Both of them subtly shifted closer, not quite hovering, but near enough to make a move if necessary.
It was obvious enough that Neal wasn’t going to manage it. It only became more so as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, wavering slightly and grabbing hold of the bed’s railing. As Peter saw him shut his eyes momentarily to combat the dizziness caused by the simple shift in position, he contemplated stepping in then and there. But an instant later it might have never happened - Neal’s untroubled mask was firmly back in place, his expression confident as he pushed himself to a standing position.
For the first three steps, Neal truly did look his usual capable, independent self - back straight, head high, steps firm, if lacking their usual spring. Peter found himself once again both marveling at and bemoaning the man’s stubborn tenacity. In the past he’d always been highly skeptical of rumors that Neal had been seen at this party or that, charming the socks (or, y’know, wallets, jewelry, priceless works of art…) off the rich and gullible, shortly after some escapade where he was known to have been injured. Obviously, he’d reasoned, either the injuries weren’t what they’d thought, or the rumors must be wrong. Now… he had to wonder.
Then Neal wobbled slightly, and on the next step his knees gave out. Peter was there to grab him before he could actually fall, Jeffries an instant behind. The two of them helped him back to sit on the edge of the bed. Peter could feel fine tremors running through Neal at the effort expended in trying to be just fine. By the time he was sitting again Neal’s breaths were coming quick and shallow, and his head was hanging forward.
But as soon as they backed off a bit Neal started to pull himself together again, making an effort to straighten. Peter kept one steadying hand on his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t going to fall over.
“You alright?” the doctor asked, not a hint of censure in his tone.
Neal nodded. “I’m fine, really.” He shot Peter a quick look.
Peter sighed inwardly, already knowing he wasn’t going to resist the silent plea. His better judgment might nag at him all it liked, but the hint of desperation he’d caught in that one brief look gave a more compelling argument.
“There’s no reason he still needs to be under medical supervision, is there?” he asked. “It’s just that he needs someone to make sure he doesn’t fall over or pass out or something?”
The doctor inclined his head. “Pretty much. It’s unlikely any serious complications will develop at this point, and there’s not much more to be done but wait out the rest of the effects. We do generally like to let patients go home as soon as we can when it’s just a matter of regaining strength. That environment tends to be more conducive to rest, and it can shorten the recovery time. But in this kind of situation, without someone there…”
“Then I’ll stay with him for a couple of days, until he’s back on his feet.”
Okay, so last time he’d tried staying with Neal a couple of days it hadn’t gone so well. Fine. Didn’t mean this was going to be some kind of disaster. He could do the whole kind and caring thing, and they could both put up with each other for a couple of days, and Neal would so owe him for this later. Or… not. Because whatever this partnership, friendship, might be based in on any given day, it wasn’t really about some kind of careful balancing of accounts and favors owed.
The utter relief that lit up Neal’s eyes at the offer was enough to decisively silence the part of Peter’s brain that kept trying to insist this was a bad idea.
“Okay.” Jeffries nodded. “If you’re alright with that Mr. Caffrey - ”
“Yes. Definitely,” Neal put in.
“ - then I’ll start getting together the papers for your discharge,” he concluded.
As soon as the doctor left the room, Neal released a breath of relief, his shoulders finally relaxing.
“Thanks,” he said, giving Peter a tired look that conveyed more gratitude than the word itself.
“Hey, I’m a man of my word.” Peter gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before releasing his hold.
“Your word?” Neal frowned, puzzled.
“Well if I’d know you’d forgotten, I’d have thought twice about reminding you,” Peter gave him a mischievous grin.
“Peter…”
Neal’s pout clearly said, you wouldn’t pick on the poor, sick amnesiac, would you? Peter relented, far more quickly than he would have if Neal hadn’t actually been - well, a poor, sick amnesiac.
“You weren’t real excited about coming to the hospital last night. I told you I’d take you to wherever you’d be comfortable recovering - within reason - as soon as the doctors said you weren’t in any danger.” He shrugged. “If you want to go home, then I’ll stick around so you can.”
Neal hesitated before replying carefully, “I realize that I wasn’t exactly being… rational, last night. You know you don’t have to feel bound by anything that you promised just to get me to co-operate for my own good. If you’d rather not stay… I can call Moz and talk him into coming over to my place for a while, or something.”
Peter noted that he didn’t mention June as a possibility for the role. Probably afraid that would be pushing her already generous hospitality much too far. And he might be right, though Peter had an idea that she’d be more willing and able than Neal suspected. Some days Peter thought the woman might adopt him, if she could. Still - he could see why Neal wouldn’t want to ask it of her. Mozzie would seem the most rational alternative, except -
“Yeah, I’d like to see him try hauling your butt around when you threaten to do a face plant.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Neal muttered.
“What?” Peter asked, intrigued. “When did that happen?”
Neal blinked at him innocently, straightening a bit. “A while ago. Not important. He’d probably come, though, if he’s in town.”
“You’re that tired of my company already, huh?”
“No - that is, I just…” Neal shrugged. “You’ve definitely gone above and beyond the call of duty as it is. All I’m saying is, I can manage, if you’d rather go home and get some rest, salvage what’s left of the weekend.”
“Neal.” Peter waited until he met his eyes. “It’s okay, really. I don’t mind.”
Neal considered him thoughtfully for a moment. “And since you’re such a man of your word, you wouldn’t even consider lying about something like this, of course.” His dry tone was not quite sarcastic.
“Not for a moment,” Peter gravely assured him.
Neal smiled - slow and genuine with amusement, not the quick, sparkling flash Peter saw more often, when he was trying to charm his way into, or out of, something.
“Alright then. In that case… Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” Peter returned the smile. “If that’s settled - you want some help getting ready to go?”
Neal’s eyes darted toward the closet, all the way on the other side of the room. Peter raised an eyebrow.
“Caffrey, as long as you’ve got me here to be your personal gofer, you might as well accept help gracefully.”
Neal looked at him, expression utterly innocent. “Now that I think of it, help sounds like a very good idea. Please.”
“Wise choice.” Peter chuckled, turning to gather Neal’s things.
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Peter’s original plans met with a slight hitch when El called, worried that he hadn’t come back. Summarizing the situation didn’t take long. Reassuring her that, yes, Neal really would be okay was slightly more difficult, though it was helped along by the fact that he was in the process of being discharged. After all, if the doctors said he was okay….
The real speed bump came when he told her his plans - namely, to swing by home briefly to pick up a few things before heading over to Neal’s place. Oh, she hadn’t been opposed to the idea of his sticking around to keep an eye on Neal. (Rather the opposite. “Well of course we can’t leave him there alone!” had been the general sentiment.) What she had objected to was the idea of his driving in his current sleep-deprived state. He’d tried to tell her that he’d had enough of the potent hospital coffee to keep him awake for quite some time (“Jittery is not the same as awake, Peter.”), that he’d driven in the past after going much longer without sleep (“And that’s supposed to reassure me?!”), that there was really no need for her to come all that way (“Peter, I’m coming. And you’d better not leave before I get there. I can hear how tired you are. Neal’s just getting out of the hospital - I really don’t need both of you to turn around and land right back in the emergency room.” - which, come to think of it, was actually a pretty good argument).
So he and Neal were waiting just inside the entryway, watching for El to arrive.
Fortunately, Neal had the good sense not to protest the hospital policy requiring all newly-discharged patients to ride in a wheelchair down to whatever vehicle would be taking them home. Peter figured he was probably just wary of giving them any reasons to second-guess letting him go, now that he was this close to being free of the place.
El actually did a double-take when she got her first good look at Neal, as Peter helped him shift from the wheelchair to the back seat of the car.
“Neal, honey, are you okay?”
“No permanent damage,” Neal told her with a wan smile. “I’ll be fine.
Peter had had plenty of time over the last hours to get used to Neal’s new battered look. But on considering him again through El’s fresh perspective - bruises on his jaw and cheek, small cuts and scrapes from when he’d fallen to the ground, pale, dark circles under his eyes, small tears and spots of dried blood on his clothes…. Yeah, he had to admit, it was a pretty sad picture. And one Neal was currently working for all it was worth, favoring El with an expression that managed to convey both his great suffering and stoic endurance thereof.
Peter bent over and, under the pretext of handing Neal the seatbelt’s buckle so he wouldn’t have to twist to reach it, murmured next to his ear, “Try too hard for pity from my wife and it just might backfire on you.”
The slight widening of Neal’s eyes assured him that the advice was received and would be heeded - for now, at any rate. Unfortunately, the dose of wisdom came a bit too late.
“Are you sure you should be going home already?” El asked, forehead furrowed with concern. “They only kept you, what, a few hours? Are they sure you’re alright?”
Neal straightened a bit, hastily concealing a wince as he adjusted the seatbelt’s chest strap.
“I’m okay, really,” he assured her earnestly. “The doctor even said I’d be better off at home.”
Which was somewhat overstating things, but Peter was willing to let it slide for a good cause. Elizabeth was still looking at Neal with such a dubious, worried expression that Peter suspected she’d be reaching over to feel his forehead for a temperature herself, if it weren’t too much of a stretch from the driver’s seat.
“He’ll be fine, El. He will,” Peter put in. “Might take him a few days to get back up to par, but at this point there’s really nothing to be done that can’t happen just as well at home.”
Neal nodded, making an enthusiastic there you go gesture. That won a smile from El, even if her worry hadn’t abated entirely.
“Well, who am I to argue with the experts? Are we ready to go, then?” she asked.
“Hang on a second,” Peter said, “I should get this wheelchair back inside.”
He stepped back, pushing Neal’s door shut on his way.
By the time Peter slid into the front passenger seat, Neal was leaned back, the side of his head resting against his window, eyes shut. Peter didn’t think he was quite asleep yet, but he was probably well on his way. Apparently the effort of proving to everyone that he was just fine, really had taken a little more out of him than he’d thought.
Except he wasn’t fine, not yet. Peter figured that once they were away from here Neal would actually take it easy and decide that it was alright to not be okay for a while. Though one would hope without the pity-soliciting theatrics. Neal had lived tactically for years - if something couldn’t be used to his advantage, then it was to be denied into nonexistence. That aura of invincibility, bouncing back with a smile whenever he was knocked down, might’ve been essential once, but there was no call for it now. And if Neal didn’t catch on fast enough… well, Peter would be there to knock some sense into him as required. That was kind of the point of this arrangement, after all.
Giving El a wry smile, he settled back in his seat.
He hadn’t intended to fall asleep himself - and he didn’t, quite - but almost against his will he was lulled into a sort of half-doze, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. Until the car ahead of them shifted lanes, pulling in front of them without warning. El was forced to break abruptly to avoid a collision, and the sudden jarring brought him instantly wide awake.
Apparently it did the same for Neal - Peter heard a groan from the back seat.
“Sorry!” Elizabeth spared a quick glance for the rearview mirror before she had to focus on the road in front of her again. “Peter, see if he’s okay.”
Turning in his seat to see what had her so concerned, Peter winced. Neal was hunched over, one hand guarding his injured side, face screwed up in pain. Either the seatbelt must’ve caught him in a particularly bad spot, or the sudden tensing brought on by being jolted awake had been enough to aggravate things. Or both.
“Neal?” he prompted. Then, when he didn’t immediately reply, “Neal, are you alright?”
Neal finally pulled in a shaky breath, holding it for a second before releasing it slowly.
“’M okay,” he rasped.
“You sure?”
Neal nodded. He was still pale, but he was breathing more evenly now as he gradually relaxed again. His gaze drifted to stare listlessly out the window. When his forehead furrowed again, it took Peter a moment to recognize the expression as confusion, rather than renewed pain.
“Where…” Neal said slowly, as if struggling to kick his brain into gear. “‘S not the way to June’s?”
“Just taking the scenic route. We need to stop by my place first to pick up a few things,” Peter explained. He’d told Neal as much before, when he’d informed him Elizabeth would be picking them up.
“Oh.” Neal certainly didn’t sound as if the information was ringing any bells. Neither did it sound like it particularly interested him one way or the other, though. Probably just tired.
“Shouldn’t take long,” Peter told him. “Might as well try getting some more sleep in the meantime.”
Neal made a noncommittal sound, leaning his head back against the seat. Considering the fact that his eyes drifted shut again almost immediately, Peter guessed he’d be doing just that, whether he intended to or not. As he turned back around, El gave him a questioning frown. He just nodded, offering her a reassuring smile.
A minute later, however, Neal spoke again.
“Peter… we almost there?”
He’d have been tempted to laugh at the stereotypically “whining child” question, if it weren’t for Neal’s strained tone. He turned to see Neal’s face looking tense and pinched, in an expression he was by now all too familiar with.
“Are you going to be sick?”
“I don’t… maybe.” Neal swallowed a couple of times, turning a shade paler.
He’d forgotten to give Neal the disposable plastic basin that the nurse had handed him earlier along with the papers with his discharge instructions. Peter bent hurriedly to retrieve it from the floor by his feet, passing it back to Neal. He hunched over it, but fortunately didn’t start throwing up immediately. Peter could only hope it’d stay that way.
“Should I stop?” Elizabeth asked, scanning the street ahead for a clear spot to pull over.
Neal didn’t voice an opinion himself, too busy trying to keep his breathing even and control the threatening nausea. The steady pattern kept hitching when the deep inhales pulled at his injured ribs too badly.
“We’re almost home,” Peter decided after a moment. “No sense stopping now. We can get things settled there.”
It wasn’t that warm, but Peter switched on the AC anyway, turning the vent to direct the cooler air toward Neal. Might not do much good, but it couldn’t hurt.
In the end, it did seem to help a bit. At any rate, Neal managed not to actually be sick. By the time El turned off the car in front of their house he was leaned up bonelessly against the door, the side of his face resting against the cool glass. His face was expressionless, as if he was too wrung out even to bother being properly miserable. He didn’t react to the fact that they’d come to a stop.
“Do you want some water or anything?” El asked.
Neal shook his head slightly. Peter grimaced as El turned back to him, her look full of helpless concern. He didn’t know how to fix this either. He really wasn’t great with the times that fell somewhere between “cowboy up” and “leave this to the professionals,” unless there was a visible, bleeding injury involved.
It was Neal who broke through the uncertainty.
“Peter?”
“Yeah?” He twisted again to look at Neal.
“Does your place count as ‘within reason’?”
He blinked, surprised. “Yeah. Sure. You want to stay?”
Neal started to answer, then stopped himself, his glance darting over to Elizabeth. Fortunately, Peter had married a perceptive woman. The uncertainty in Neal’s look hardly had time to register before she hastened to confirm the invitation.
“Of course you can, if you want to. You know you’re always welcome here, Neal.”
The light in Neal’s eyes as he looked back to Peter was amused - the affirmation was certainly more enthusiastic than anything he’d heard on the subject from Peter on past occasions. Peter’s knee-jerk reaction was to pull him back down to earth fast, before things got out of hand. On a normal day an argument could be made for the necessity, if he wanted life to remain anything like bearable. Obviously today wasn’t “normal.” He was… too tired to bother.
Peter shrugged. “What she said.”
He’d expected some kind of smart remark. And he’d probably get more than one, at some point. But for now… the look of startled pleasure on Neal’s face was surprisingly worthwhile.
The End
Whew. This thing wound up being a bizarre combination of total self-indulgence, and Strict Discipline in writing stuff I’d be inclined to skip out on. XD In case it's not obvious: I am not a medical professional, nor do I have any experience with this kind of situation. Google is my friend. Sometimes. Overlooking any errors in the name of fiction would be appreciated. *g*
And now, for the first time in months... I have no idea what I'm gonna write next. Well, technically I have ideas. Just not ones that want anything to do with pesky things like, oh, logic and reality. Phooey. I need to find something that doesn't require massive amounts of research.
*straps on plot bunny-hunting gear*
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
A clatter woke Peter with a start, nearly causing him to slide from his chair. Neal had shifted onto his side, looking down at the - thankfully clean and vomit-free - plastic basin that had fallen to the floor. His half-shut eyes and the hand hanging listlessly over the side of the bed seemed to indicate a distinct lack of motivation. Peter bent to retrieve it for him, placing it back on the bed. Neal curled an arm around it, tucking it closer to his side, but more in the manner of a security blanket than with any sense of urgency.
“Thanks,” he croaked, offering Peter a halfhearted smile.
“No problem.”
Peter scrubbed a hand across his face, before letting it drop to rest on the railing at the side of the bed. A quick glance at the clock told him he’d been asleep for barely an hour. Caffrey really seemed to have a thing against letting him get any sleep tonight, he thought with a weary lack of bitterness. Or this morning, he supposed. It was almost a decent hour now. If he’d been at home, he’d probably have been turning over in bed, just starting to think about getting up to get an early start on a Saturday of household chores. He’d been meaning to get to that one corner of the basement for a while now….
“What happened?”
The question pulled him from his abstracted musings. He looked back, half expecting to need to recap the previous night’s events. The doctors had confirmed what he’d thought earlier, telling him that Neal might not remember much of what happened.
Instead, he found Neal’s puzzled gaze fixed on Peter’s hand, resting on the bedrail. Or, more specifically, his wrist, with the rather unusual finger-shaped bruises on it. He studied it briefly himself in mild interest before shrugging and dropping the hand to rest on his knee instead, out of Neal’s sight line.
Unfortunately, once Neal Caffrey had latched on to something, out of sight was not out of mind.
“Peter?”
His voice might still be slurring ever so slightly, but Neal’s eyes were narrowed in the most focused look that Peter had seen from him since he’d found him last night. He was looking more alert by the second. Peter would have been encouraged by the progress, if he hadn’t been so busy rolling his eyes and wishing the man would just pick something else to be interested in right now.
“Don’t worry about it, Neal.”
Which, in retrospect, was exactly the wrong thing to say. Neal wasn’t all that great at following orders to just leave things alone. But hey, his sleep-deprived brain didn’t seem up to spitting out a suitable explanation or distraction at the moment. So sue him.
“Did I do that?” Neal’s eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, as he struggled to remember.
Peter shrugged again, trying for offhand. “You were pretty out of it for most of the night, and things were kind of chaotic. I don’t really - ”
“So it was me.”
“Yeah,” Peter conceded. “It was.”
“Sorry.” With a slight hunch of his shoulders, Neal’s posture managed to shift from listless apathy to vaguely guilty misery.
“Not your fault.”
And really, it hadn’t been. Though he never would’ve expected Neal of all people to come that close to breaking his wrist. At the time he’d been too preoccupied to bother about it too much, but the still-lingering ache was making him wish now that he’d extracted himself from Neal’s grasp a little sooner. The man had quite the grip.
“I wasn’t… you know…” Neal hesitated, his expression reflecting growing apprehension.
“Violent? No.”
Rather the opposite, in fact. It might’ve been the pain that made Neal’s grip tighten so hard, but the only reason he had latched on to Peter in the first place was to plead with him not to leave him there. Peter hadn’t been sure whether Neal had any idea where he actually was, no matter how many times he was told, but whatever scenarios his drug-fogged brain was coming up with they seemed to be terrifying him. Judging by some of the snatches of half-mumbled phrases he’d caught, Peter thought Neal might have been convinced he was still back in the alley. Or, at one point at least, in prison.
“You didn’t hurt anyone,” he assured Neal again, seeing the uncertainty still lingering in his eyes.
“Except you,” Neal pointed out.
“Like I said, not your fault. It’s just a couple of bruises, no big deal.”
“Yeah, well. I’m sorry. For that, and… y’know, all this. Thanks for sticking around. I’ll make it up to you.”
“No need. You were trying to do the right thing. You’re not responsible for the way it turned out.”
“Still. I kinda stole your night anyway. Might as well apologize while you’re busy feeling sorry for me.”
That drew a startled laugh from Peter. “I guess you’re feeling better.”
“Not so sick, anyway.” Neal gave a ginger, one-shouldered shrug. “When can I get outta here?”
Peter chuckled. “I wondered when you’d start pushing for that.”
Neal lifted his head off the pillow slightly, fixing Peter with an imploring look. “Please don’t tell me they want to keep me another day for observation or something.”
“Actually, last I heard they thought you could get out sometime this morning. You’ll have to wait for the doctor to come by and check you over again first, though.”
Appeased, Neal grunted, letting his head fall back to the pillow. “Any idea when that’ll be?”
“Impatient much? Seriously, just relax and rest up a little. You’ll get out of here soon enough. Those drugs can have nasty side-effects, especially when you mix them with alcohol.”
“Tell me about it,” Neal grumbled.
“Yeah, what you went through was bad enough, but I’m not talking about that. You do realize you could’ve died last night.”
“No.” Neal sounded a bit more subdued. “I hadn’t thought…”
“Yeah, well, maybe you should try it a little more often.”
“Hey, what happened to this not being my fault? I didn’t take that stuff on purpose, you know.” Neal stilled, stiffening slightly, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him before. Annoyance disappeared in favor of alarm. “I really didn’t, Peter. You know me, you know I wouldn’t.”
“I know. I know you didn’t. Wouldn’t.” He released a long breath, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I’m just tired, that’s all. But yeah, as far as I know you’re not to blame for any of last night. Except maybe being a little too chivalrous for your own good. But I can’t say I’d have done much different in your place.”
“So… you do know what happened, then? All of it?”
“You don’t?” Peter frowned. “I thought that you…”
“Pretty clear on earlier in the night. Not so much after I left the bar. I wasn’t sure how much I’d told you.”
“Enough to get a general picture and start looking into it.”
“You’re investigating this?” Neal actually seemed startled.
“What, you didn’t think I was going to just let someone beat you up and drug you and then walk off scot free, did you? NYPD’s doing the actual investigating for the time being, but I’m keeping tabs on things.”
“You think it was intentional, then?”
“Drugging you, specifically? No. It looks like the girlfriend was the target, and you just got in the way.”
“Is she okay? I don’t think she could’ve had more than a sip of the drink, but… he didn’t go after her, did he?”
“No, he didn’t. NYPD figured out who she was and stopped by to check on her. She was fine, just a little upset, and definitely surprised to see them. Didn’t seem to have thought that she might’ve been in any further danger.”
Neal’s eyebrows rose slightly. “She didn’t call anyone after that?”
“Oh, she called a friend to vent. Never even occurred to her it might be a good idea to call the police, for her own sake or yours,” Peter commented with mild sarcasm, before softening. “I shouldn’t be too hard on her, I guess, considering she’s a victim too, and could’ve been a lot worse off than she is. But she might’ve shown a little more concern for you after you helped her like that. She didn’t know her boyfriend was trying to drug her, but she knew he had a temper, and she saw him going after you.”
Neal shrugged slightly. “She was probably shaken up, not really thinking straight.”
“Maybe so. Still.” Peter shook his head. Then, trying for a lighter tone, he leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “You know the nicest people. Considering all the trouble they tend to cause, I think I’m going to have to start running checks on all your friends before I let them anywhere near you.”
Neal gave him a look that was probably intended to be wounded, but wound up closer to mildly sulky.
“In my defense, I only met the girl last night, and she has absolutely no connections with my past, alleged or otherwise. And I don’t even remember what the guy looked like.” His tone shifted, growing more serious. “Speaking of which - I’m not sure I’ll be able to give you anything you can use, as far as identifying him or anything. I can try, but…” he shrugged apologetically.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll probably get - ”
The room’s door opened, and Peter broke off, glancing up as the doctor came in, stopping on the way to pull Neal’s chart from the rack on the wall. The young man returned Peter’s nod of greeting before turning to Neal, who had slowly rolled onto his back to see who had come in.
“Mr. Caffrey, I’m Dr. Jeffries,” he said, with a cheerfulness that, under the circumstances, managed to land just on the briskly professional, as opposed to obnoxious, side. “Looks like you’re doing better this morning.”
“Much,” Neal confirmed, with noticeably greater enthusiasm than he’d shown Peter earlier.
“Good to hear.” He flipped through the chart, stopping to check the notes on several of the pages. “Vital signs were looking good at the last check…. Nausea’s not so bad now…” he looked up at Neal, a raised eyebrow turning it into a question.
“Yeah, a lot better.” Seeing Peter frown and shift, prepared to say something - he hadn’t failed to catch the way Neal had paled and tugged the basin closer to his side as he’d turned over a moment ago - Neal added defensively for his benefit, “Last night might be a bit of a blur, but believe me, I remember enough to know this qualifies as ‘a lot better.’”
Peter tilted his head, conceding the point. “It has been a while since he last threw up, so yeah, does seem to be a definite improvement, at least.”
After another glance at the chart, the doctor asked Neal, “It says here you had a bit of ginger ale a little over an hour ago. That stayed down okay?”
“So far, so good.” Neal’s smile was more wry than upbeat.
“That’s certainly a good sign.” Jeffries returned a slight smile before moving along. “Dizziness, headache…?”
Neal hesitated fractionally, making the mistake of glancing away from the doctor briefly. Peter caught his eye, giving him a hard look.
“Um. Not too bad?” Neal hazarded.
Jeffries nodded. “It’s pretty much to be expected for a while yet. What about visual disturbances?”
“Disturbances?” Neal frowned.
“Trouble seeing, blurriness, hallucinations,” the doctor elaborated. “They’re pretty common effects of the GHB.”
“No, nothing like that. Not that I can remember.”
Neal looked briefly as if he regretted adding that last, but the doctor just nodded again, clicking open his pen to make a brief note in the chart.
“Some amount of confusion, or short-term amnesia regarding the events immediately surrounding the incident is also very common. It can be disconcerting, I know, but medically speaking it’s not something to be especially concerned about. You’re not having any trouble with events prior to last night, are you?”
“Not… that I know of?” Neal tilted his head slightly. “How exactly would one know if one can’t remember something happening?”
Jeffries chuckled. “Well, if you can remember, say, what you were doing last week, and don’t notice any obvious gaps of things that should be there - name, birthday, important childhood events, first date, that sort of thing - you’re probably good. I wouldn’t really expect it here anyway, but since you did take a couple of hits to the head, even if there aren’t obvious signs of a concussion, I didn’t want to dismiss the possibility of long-term memory complications.”
Peter actually saw the idea as it struck Neal - the way one corner of his mouth turned up just slightly, and that particular glint that came into his eyes. He hastened to step in before it developed into a headache he did not want to deal with.
“No, Neal.”
“What?” Neal turned to him, eyes wide with innocence that was anything but guileless.
“No, faking memory loss would not get you out of the consequences for alleged past misdeeds. Trust me, it’s not that convenient.”
“Can’t blame me for trying.” Neal shrugged, then turned back to the doctor, who had been observing with some interest, and said as matter-of-factly as if there had been no interruption. “No, nothing missing as far as I can tell.”
“Right,” Jeffries said, bemused. “Well then, let’s see how things look, and we can decide whether you’re ready to be discharged this morning.”
Peter stood, taking a couple steps back to make sure he wouldn’t be in the way of anything the doctor needed to do. Jeffries set the file on the bedside table, then paused, turning back to Peter. Knowing he was probably going to be asked to step out, Peter was torn. He’d been debating whether it’d be better to insist on sticking around for the exam to make sure Neal didn’t try to pull anything to get himself released prematurely, or to just make a graceful exit. (Given Neal’s parole arrangements, there were some gray areas between patient privacy and the access Peter could insist on, as his handler. But he was confident he could work it out so he could stay if necessary.) Discretion urged him toward leaving, but a nagging sense of duty - not to mention healthy suspicion - made him hesitate.
In the end, the decision was made for him. His cell phone rang, Jeffries gave him a pointed look, and he grimaced apologetically.
“I’ll just… take this outside,” he said, turning to head for the door.
The call didn’t take long - NYPD just wanted to let him know that their search of the guy’s house had revealed the materials required for making GHB, so he’d apparently cooked it up himself rather than buying. Peter took his time about returning to the room once he’d finished. Once he judged sufficient time had passed, he knocked on the door, waiting for acknowledgement from inside before entering.
Peter immediately noted that the doctor had disconnected the line for the IV - they’d been pumping fluids into Neal all night, in an attempt to keep him from becoming too dehydrated, and the current bag was nearly empty. The port hadn’t been removed from the back of his hand yet, but Peter took this as a positive development.
“Everything looking okay?” he asked the doctor.
“Looking good,” Jeffries confirmed.
“So - I can get out now?” Neal asked, almost concealing his eagerness behind the casual question.
“From what you’ve said, I gather that you live alone, Mr. Caffrey?”
“More or less… I rent a loft, so my landlady and some staff are generally somewhere in the house.” Neal turned wary at the doctor’s hesitation. “Why?”
Jeffries frowned thoughtfully. “You’re still having some coordination issues. There’s also the nausea, which can often stick around for several days - you may have some more bad episodes before it really gets better. The dizzy spells can last even longer than that, as much as two weeks in some cases. I don’t like letting you go just yet if there’s not going to be someone there to begin with, to help you if you’re having trouble and keep an eye out for any issues that might develop.”
“I’ll be fine, really,” Neal insisted. “I’m not going to be running around or anything, I’ll take things easy. I just want some peace and quiet. No offence, but hospitals really aren’t great for that.”
“Believe me, I’m aware of that. But what they are pretty good for is making sure you don’t break a limb because someone wasn’t there to help you to the bathroom when your balance was off.” Apparently seeing Neal was thoroughly unconvinced by the argument, he changed tacks. “How about this. Show me that you can walk over to the bathroom unaided and get dressed, and I’ll agree you’re okay to go home with just the occasional check-in from a friend. Your clothes are in the closet there.” He nodded to the small space built into the wall, just across from the bathroom door.
Peter was startled by the concession. Then Jeffries met his eyes, and he relaxed, realizing this had nothing to do with proving anything to them, and everything to do with making an unarguable point to Neal. Both of them subtly shifted closer, not quite hovering, but near enough to make a move if necessary.
It was obvious enough that Neal wasn’t going to manage it. It only became more so as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, wavering slightly and grabbing hold of the bed’s railing. As Peter saw him shut his eyes momentarily to combat the dizziness caused by the simple shift in position, he contemplated stepping in then and there. But an instant later it might have never happened - Neal’s untroubled mask was firmly back in place, his expression confident as he pushed himself to a standing position.
For the first three steps, Neal truly did look his usual capable, independent self - back straight, head high, steps firm, if lacking their usual spring. Peter found himself once again both marveling at and bemoaning the man’s stubborn tenacity. In the past he’d always been highly skeptical of rumors that Neal had been seen at this party or that, charming the socks (or, y’know, wallets, jewelry, priceless works of art…) off the rich and gullible, shortly after some escapade where he was known to have been injured. Obviously, he’d reasoned, either the injuries weren’t what they’d thought, or the rumors must be wrong. Now… he had to wonder.
Then Neal wobbled slightly, and on the next step his knees gave out. Peter was there to grab him before he could actually fall, Jeffries an instant behind. The two of them helped him back to sit on the edge of the bed. Peter could feel fine tremors running through Neal at the effort expended in trying to be just fine. By the time he was sitting again Neal’s breaths were coming quick and shallow, and his head was hanging forward.
But as soon as they backed off a bit Neal started to pull himself together again, making an effort to straighten. Peter kept one steadying hand on his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t going to fall over.
“You alright?” the doctor asked, not a hint of censure in his tone.
Neal nodded. “I’m fine, really.” He shot Peter a quick look.
Peter sighed inwardly, already knowing he wasn’t going to resist the silent plea. His better judgment might nag at him all it liked, but the hint of desperation he’d caught in that one brief look gave a more compelling argument.
“There’s no reason he still needs to be under medical supervision, is there?” he asked. “It’s just that he needs someone to make sure he doesn’t fall over or pass out or something?”
The doctor inclined his head. “Pretty much. It’s unlikely any serious complications will develop at this point, and there’s not much more to be done but wait out the rest of the effects. We do generally like to let patients go home as soon as we can when it’s just a matter of regaining strength. That environment tends to be more conducive to rest, and it can shorten the recovery time. But in this kind of situation, without someone there…”
“Then I’ll stay with him for a couple of days, until he’s back on his feet.”
Okay, so last time he’d tried staying with Neal a couple of days it hadn’t gone so well. Fine. Didn’t mean this was going to be some kind of disaster. He could do the whole kind and caring thing, and they could both put up with each other for a couple of days, and Neal would so owe him for this later. Or… not. Because whatever this partnership, friendship, might be based in on any given day, it wasn’t really about some kind of careful balancing of accounts and favors owed.
The utter relief that lit up Neal’s eyes at the offer was enough to decisively silence the part of Peter’s brain that kept trying to insist this was a bad idea.
“Okay.” Jeffries nodded. “If you’re alright with that Mr. Caffrey - ”
“Yes. Definitely,” Neal put in.
“ - then I’ll start getting together the papers for your discharge,” he concluded.
As soon as the doctor left the room, Neal released a breath of relief, his shoulders finally relaxing.
“Thanks,” he said, giving Peter a tired look that conveyed more gratitude than the word itself.
“Hey, I’m a man of my word.” Peter gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before releasing his hold.
“Your word?” Neal frowned, puzzled.
“Well if I’d know you’d forgotten, I’d have thought twice about reminding you,” Peter gave him a mischievous grin.
“Peter…”
Neal’s pout clearly said, you wouldn’t pick on the poor, sick amnesiac, would you? Peter relented, far more quickly than he would have if Neal hadn’t actually been - well, a poor, sick amnesiac.
“You weren’t real excited about coming to the hospital last night. I told you I’d take you to wherever you’d be comfortable recovering - within reason - as soon as the doctors said you weren’t in any danger.” He shrugged. “If you want to go home, then I’ll stick around so you can.”
Neal hesitated before replying carefully, “I realize that I wasn’t exactly being… rational, last night. You know you don’t have to feel bound by anything that you promised just to get me to co-operate for my own good. If you’d rather not stay… I can call Moz and talk him into coming over to my place for a while, or something.”
Peter noted that he didn’t mention June as a possibility for the role. Probably afraid that would be pushing her already generous hospitality much too far. And he might be right, though Peter had an idea that she’d be more willing and able than Neal suspected. Some days Peter thought the woman might adopt him, if she could. Still - he could see why Neal wouldn’t want to ask it of her. Mozzie would seem the most rational alternative, except -
“Yeah, I’d like to see him try hauling your butt around when you threaten to do a face plant.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Neal muttered.
“What?” Peter asked, intrigued. “When did that happen?”
Neal blinked at him innocently, straightening a bit. “A while ago. Not important. He’d probably come, though, if he’s in town.”
“You’re that tired of my company already, huh?”
“No - that is, I just…” Neal shrugged. “You’ve definitely gone above and beyond the call of duty as it is. All I’m saying is, I can manage, if you’d rather go home and get some rest, salvage what’s left of the weekend.”
“Neal.” Peter waited until he met his eyes. “It’s okay, really. I don’t mind.”
Neal considered him thoughtfully for a moment. “And since you’re such a man of your word, you wouldn’t even consider lying about something like this, of course.” His dry tone was not quite sarcastic.
“Not for a moment,” Peter gravely assured him.
Neal smiled - slow and genuine with amusement, not the quick, sparkling flash Peter saw more often, when he was trying to charm his way into, or out of, something.
“Alright then. In that case… Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” Peter returned the smile. “If that’s settled - you want some help getting ready to go?”
Neal’s eyes darted toward the closet, all the way on the other side of the room. Peter raised an eyebrow.
“Caffrey, as long as you’ve got me here to be your personal gofer, you might as well accept help gracefully.”
Neal looked at him, expression utterly innocent. “Now that I think of it, help sounds like a very good idea. Please.”
“Wise choice.” Peter chuckled, turning to gather Neal’s things.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Peter’s original plans met with a slight hitch when El called, worried that he hadn’t come back. Summarizing the situation didn’t take long. Reassuring her that, yes, Neal really would be okay was slightly more difficult, though it was helped along by the fact that he was in the process of being discharged. After all, if the doctors said he was okay….
The real speed bump came when he told her his plans - namely, to swing by home briefly to pick up a few things before heading over to Neal’s place. Oh, she hadn’t been opposed to the idea of his sticking around to keep an eye on Neal. (Rather the opposite. “Well of course we can’t leave him there alone!” had been the general sentiment.) What she had objected to was the idea of his driving in his current sleep-deprived state. He’d tried to tell her that he’d had enough of the potent hospital coffee to keep him awake for quite some time (“Jittery is not the same as awake, Peter.”), that he’d driven in the past after going much longer without sleep (“And that’s supposed to reassure me?!”), that there was really no need for her to come all that way (“Peter, I’m coming. And you’d better not leave before I get there. I can hear how tired you are. Neal’s just getting out of the hospital - I really don’t need both of you to turn around and land right back in the emergency room.” - which, come to think of it, was actually a pretty good argument).
So he and Neal were waiting just inside the entryway, watching for El to arrive.
Fortunately, Neal had the good sense not to protest the hospital policy requiring all newly-discharged patients to ride in a wheelchair down to whatever vehicle would be taking them home. Peter figured he was probably just wary of giving them any reasons to second-guess letting him go, now that he was this close to being free of the place.
El actually did a double-take when she got her first good look at Neal, as Peter helped him shift from the wheelchair to the back seat of the car.
“Neal, honey, are you okay?”
“No permanent damage,” Neal told her with a wan smile. “I’ll be fine.
Peter had had plenty of time over the last hours to get used to Neal’s new battered look. But on considering him again through El’s fresh perspective - bruises on his jaw and cheek, small cuts and scrapes from when he’d fallen to the ground, pale, dark circles under his eyes, small tears and spots of dried blood on his clothes…. Yeah, he had to admit, it was a pretty sad picture. And one Neal was currently working for all it was worth, favoring El with an expression that managed to convey both his great suffering and stoic endurance thereof.
Peter bent over and, under the pretext of handing Neal the seatbelt’s buckle so he wouldn’t have to twist to reach it, murmured next to his ear, “Try too hard for pity from my wife and it just might backfire on you.”
The slight widening of Neal’s eyes assured him that the advice was received and would be heeded - for now, at any rate. Unfortunately, the dose of wisdom came a bit too late.
“Are you sure you should be going home already?” El asked, forehead furrowed with concern. “They only kept you, what, a few hours? Are they sure you’re alright?”
Neal straightened a bit, hastily concealing a wince as he adjusted the seatbelt’s chest strap.
“I’m okay, really,” he assured her earnestly. “The doctor even said I’d be better off at home.”
Which was somewhat overstating things, but Peter was willing to let it slide for a good cause. Elizabeth was still looking at Neal with such a dubious, worried expression that Peter suspected she’d be reaching over to feel his forehead for a temperature herself, if it weren’t too much of a stretch from the driver’s seat.
“He’ll be fine, El. He will,” Peter put in. “Might take him a few days to get back up to par, but at this point there’s really nothing to be done that can’t happen just as well at home.”
Neal nodded, making an enthusiastic there you go gesture. That won a smile from El, even if her worry hadn’t abated entirely.
“Well, who am I to argue with the experts? Are we ready to go, then?” she asked.
“Hang on a second,” Peter said, “I should get this wheelchair back inside.”
He stepped back, pushing Neal’s door shut on his way.
By the time Peter slid into the front passenger seat, Neal was leaned back, the side of his head resting against his window, eyes shut. Peter didn’t think he was quite asleep yet, but he was probably well on his way. Apparently the effort of proving to everyone that he was just fine, really had taken a little more out of him than he’d thought.
Except he wasn’t fine, not yet. Peter figured that once they were away from here Neal would actually take it easy and decide that it was alright to not be okay for a while. Though one would hope without the pity-soliciting theatrics. Neal had lived tactically for years - if something couldn’t be used to his advantage, then it was to be denied into nonexistence. That aura of invincibility, bouncing back with a smile whenever he was knocked down, might’ve been essential once, but there was no call for it now. And if Neal didn’t catch on fast enough… well, Peter would be there to knock some sense into him as required. That was kind of the point of this arrangement, after all.
Giving El a wry smile, he settled back in his seat.
He hadn’t intended to fall asleep himself - and he didn’t, quite - but almost against his will he was lulled into a sort of half-doze, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. Until the car ahead of them shifted lanes, pulling in front of them without warning. El was forced to break abruptly to avoid a collision, and the sudden jarring brought him instantly wide awake.
Apparently it did the same for Neal - Peter heard a groan from the back seat.
“Sorry!” Elizabeth spared a quick glance for the rearview mirror before she had to focus on the road in front of her again. “Peter, see if he’s okay.”
Turning in his seat to see what had her so concerned, Peter winced. Neal was hunched over, one hand guarding his injured side, face screwed up in pain. Either the seatbelt must’ve caught him in a particularly bad spot, or the sudden tensing brought on by being jolted awake had been enough to aggravate things. Or both.
“Neal?” he prompted. Then, when he didn’t immediately reply, “Neal, are you alright?”
Neal finally pulled in a shaky breath, holding it for a second before releasing it slowly.
“’M okay,” he rasped.
“You sure?”
Neal nodded. He was still pale, but he was breathing more evenly now as he gradually relaxed again. His gaze drifted to stare listlessly out the window. When his forehead furrowed again, it took Peter a moment to recognize the expression as confusion, rather than renewed pain.
“Where…” Neal said slowly, as if struggling to kick his brain into gear. “‘S not the way to June’s?”
“Just taking the scenic route. We need to stop by my place first to pick up a few things,” Peter explained. He’d told Neal as much before, when he’d informed him Elizabeth would be picking them up.
“Oh.” Neal certainly didn’t sound as if the information was ringing any bells. Neither did it sound like it particularly interested him one way or the other, though. Probably just tired.
“Shouldn’t take long,” Peter told him. “Might as well try getting some more sleep in the meantime.”
Neal made a noncommittal sound, leaning his head back against the seat. Considering the fact that his eyes drifted shut again almost immediately, Peter guessed he’d be doing just that, whether he intended to or not. As he turned back around, El gave him a questioning frown. He just nodded, offering her a reassuring smile.
A minute later, however, Neal spoke again.
“Peter… we almost there?”
He’d have been tempted to laugh at the stereotypically “whining child” question, if it weren’t for Neal’s strained tone. He turned to see Neal’s face looking tense and pinched, in an expression he was by now all too familiar with.
“Are you going to be sick?”
“I don’t… maybe.” Neal swallowed a couple of times, turning a shade paler.
He’d forgotten to give Neal the disposable plastic basin that the nurse had handed him earlier along with the papers with his discharge instructions. Peter bent hurriedly to retrieve it from the floor by his feet, passing it back to Neal. He hunched over it, but fortunately didn’t start throwing up immediately. Peter could only hope it’d stay that way.
“Should I stop?” Elizabeth asked, scanning the street ahead for a clear spot to pull over.
Neal didn’t voice an opinion himself, too busy trying to keep his breathing even and control the threatening nausea. The steady pattern kept hitching when the deep inhales pulled at his injured ribs too badly.
“We’re almost home,” Peter decided after a moment. “No sense stopping now. We can get things settled there.”
It wasn’t that warm, but Peter switched on the AC anyway, turning the vent to direct the cooler air toward Neal. Might not do much good, but it couldn’t hurt.
In the end, it did seem to help a bit. At any rate, Neal managed not to actually be sick. By the time El turned off the car in front of their house he was leaned up bonelessly against the door, the side of his face resting against the cool glass. His face was expressionless, as if he was too wrung out even to bother being properly miserable. He didn’t react to the fact that they’d come to a stop.
“Do you want some water or anything?” El asked.
Neal shook his head slightly. Peter grimaced as El turned back to him, her look full of helpless concern. He didn’t know how to fix this either. He really wasn’t great with the times that fell somewhere between “cowboy up” and “leave this to the professionals,” unless there was a visible, bleeding injury involved.
It was Neal who broke through the uncertainty.
“Peter?”
“Yeah?” He twisted again to look at Neal.
“Does your place count as ‘within reason’?”
He blinked, surprised. “Yeah. Sure. You want to stay?”
Neal started to answer, then stopped himself, his glance darting over to Elizabeth. Fortunately, Peter had married a perceptive woman. The uncertainty in Neal’s look hardly had time to register before she hastened to confirm the invitation.
“Of course you can, if you want to. You know you’re always welcome here, Neal.”
The light in Neal’s eyes as he looked back to Peter was amused - the affirmation was certainly more enthusiastic than anything he’d heard on the subject from Peter on past occasions. Peter’s knee-jerk reaction was to pull him back down to earth fast, before things got out of hand. On a normal day an argument could be made for the necessity, if he wanted life to remain anything like bearable. Obviously today wasn’t “normal.” He was… too tired to bother.
Peter shrugged. “What she said.”
He’d expected some kind of smart remark. And he’d probably get more than one, at some point. But for now… the look of startled pleasure on Neal’s face was surprisingly worthwhile.
The End
Whew. This thing wound up being a bizarre combination of total self-indulgence, and Strict Discipline in writing stuff I’d be inclined to skip out on. XD In case it's not obvious: I am not a medical professional, nor do I have any experience with this kind of situation. Google is my friend. Sometimes. Overlooking any errors in the name of fiction would be appreciated. *g*
And now, for the first time in months... I have no idea what I'm gonna write next. Well, technically I have ideas. Just not ones that want anything to do with pesky things like, oh, logic and reality. Phooey. I need to find something that doesn't require massive amounts of research.
*straps on plot bunny-hunting gear*