WC Fic: Illustrations (part 2 of 8)
*************************************************
Title: Illustrations (part 2 of 8)
Author: Ivorysilk
Rating: R
Summary: In short, Neal is hurt and Peter suffers, while Elizabeth picks up the pieces. Please see part one for notes and disclaimers.
Part one
*************************************************
*************************************************
He woke to the sound of beeping and the smell of antiseptic. He would have panicked, but everything felt soft and far away.
Someone was holding his hand.
Peter.
Peter, his head on the blanket beside Neal’s hip, just near his hand … he moved his hand, just to the left, touched the soft brown hair; but he had no strength, and his hand fell to one side.
It was enough. Peter’s head lifted, and he blinked at Neal, sitting back and running a hand through his hair before becoming aware that Neal was awake. His craggy face melted into a sleepy smile. “Hey, Neal, how are you doing?”
Neal wanted to say something. He wanted to say a lot of things. Nothing was working, and his throat was too dry for intelligible words. It was frustrating.
Peter was cupping the side of his face in one large hand, and Neal leaned into it. “It’s ok, kid, everything’s fine. You’re gonna be fine.” Peter gave him some ice chips, spooning them into his mouth and pressing the call button at the same time. Neal let the ice melt in his mouth, and drip down his throat. It was bliss.
He needed more. “Water …”
“Not yet, Neal. Sorry. I know you’re thirsty.” Peter didn’t sound all that sorry.
Neal blinked awake. He was in a hospital, or a clinic, but he was pretty sure Peter was going to help him leave. He needed to make sure. “Wanna go home. Let’s go, Peter.”
“Not yet, Neal. Not yet.” What? That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Wasn’t Peter waiting to take him home?
“Please, Peter!” Neal was suddenly close to tears, trying to force his stupid, ridiculous body to just move. He was pretty sure he was in a hospital, and he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t.
“Shhhh, I want you to calm down right now, all right? Just calm right down.” Peter was suddenly beside him, hands on his shoulders, and there was a nurse and an orderly in the room too.
“No … no … “ Neal babbled, knowing the nurse was holding a hypodermic; it’s what they did before, he didn’t want ... He forced his body to move, ignoring the wailing alarms and the pull of the IV.
“Neal!” roared Peter, and there was fear and worry in his eyes, which brought Neal up short. “You need to listen to me, ok?”
Neal stopped struggling abruptly, which made him sag in Peter’s hold. He felt Peter’s arms tighten around him for a moment before Peter gently lowered him back down to the bed, because the burst of energy he’d had was gone and he realized everything hurt. A lot.
The nurse came up alongside them, but spoke to Peter as if he wasn’t there. “I’m afraid that the concussion may be confusing him, but it’s best not to give him too much right now even though he must be in pain. Just stay with him, try to keep him calm and quiet, that’ll be the best thing for him.”
Peter gave an odd chuckle. “Yeah, well …”
“No, you’re doing great,” smiled the nurse. “Everything looks good. I’ll just change this - just saline-and check his temperature and pressure and be on my way.”
The small nurse was quick and efficient, noting that Neal was running a slight fever, but assuring Peter it was nothing to get alarmed about yet. Neal wanted to scream he was still there, but all he could do was lie there gasping and watching them move around him like a beached fish.
The yet was bothering Peter, Neal could tell. Didn’t matter. Neal knew he was getting out of here as soon as he could, and once out, he’d bounce right back. He’d always done it before. He wanted to tell Peter everything would be fine by morning, but he was so tired.
Peter cleared his throat. “El said she’d be here soon, bring something to eat. You’re not allowed anything yet, but it’ll give you something to look forward to.”
Neal just blinked at him. He desperately wanted to say something, to thank him, beg him to stay, make a flippant remark, discuss how maybe he could have a couple of days before he went back to work, anything, but he fell asleep before he could even think anything more.
*********************************
He woke again to beeping, antiseptic, an itchy-pinching in his arm, hushed voices and pain.
“He’s sort of woken a couple of times, but he doesn’t manage it for long, and I’m not sure how aware he is. They’re still monitoring him for the concussion.” Peter, his muzzy brain identified.
Safety. Honesty. Trust. Danger.
“But he’ll be ok?” Elizabeth, he was pretty sure. Sweet and fun and didn’t trust him, but liked him. She shouldn’t be here. Here was not safe. Why would Peter let her be somewhere unsafe? He didn’t understand.
“Yeah, he’s tough, but he’s never pulling anything like this again. If I have to personally cuff him to a chair, he’s not. This has taken ten years off my life.” Peter sounded tired, but not worried. He should be worried. Elizabeth shouldn’t be …
“You ok with bringing him home?” Elizabeth’s voice was matter of fact, but the words didn’t make any sense at all.
“Thanks, El. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.” Peter sounded relieved, and grateful, and loving.
“Peter, it’s Neal. As long as he’s ok with it-and I don’t really think he has much of a choice, he’s going to need a lot of help--of course he’s coming home with us.” She paused. “How soon, do you think?”
“They think he’ll be here at least a week, and then they’ll … Neal?” Strong fingers pulled his hand away from where they were inching towards the irritation in his arm. Neal tugged, with what strength he had, until Peter wrenched his hand to the bed, pinning it there and snapping, “Leave it.” He said it like he’d say it to Satchmo.
Neal well knew that tone, and he well knew his place in the Burke hierarchy--but still, he couldn’t help himself. Moz always accused him of--“Peter?” he tried, forcing his voice to work. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, bringing memories he didn’t want.
He couldn’t stay here a week. He couldn’t. And Elizabeth shouldn’t be here at all.
“How are you feeling? A little better, I hope. They’ve increased the pain meds a bit.” Peter sounded like he was deeply annoyed and trying not to show it.
Neal didn’t know why Peter was upset, but he tried desperately to focus. First things first. “Peter … take Elizabeth home. It’s not safe here. Please.” As much as Neal wanted to leave, he hated the thought of Elizabeth being here more. Right now, Elizabeth’s safety was most important.
“Neal, this is a hospital. Short of prison, it’s one of the most secure places there is. It’s totally safe. Your tracking anklet’s even gone, see?” Peter didn't understand, and Neal didn't know how to explain it to him, didn't know how to make Peter believe him. Peter's world was sometimes so different than Neal's that it was difficult to even find a reference point. Worse, Peter sounded totally exasperated with Neal, and an exasperated Peter was not, as Neal well knew, a Peter that was open to explanations of foreign concepts from his erstwhile C.I. Neal tried frantically to remember what he’d done to irritate Peter, because whatever it was, he could fix it, he had to, he had to at least try, but he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember, and it was so difficult to concentrate on anything, his head was pounding and he was struggling to hold a thought for longer than a few seconds. But Peter had to know that--
“No … you … Peter, please. I did what I was supposed to, I tried, I--” He was guessing now, because he didn’t remember much--but he remembered trying to do what they wanted, he knew he would have at least tried. He needed to convince Peter that--
“I know, Neal,” said Peter, interrupting Neal’s whirling thoughts, “you did great. I already told you. Except for the part where you--”
“I'm sorry,” said Neal, not bothering to hear what Peter believed he’d messed up. “I'm so sorry, but please, Peter, I promise I'll--” Neal tried not to sound like he was begging. A good con artist never begged, and in a few weeks, that’s all he’d be again--only this time, he’d be one without Kate.
“Sweetie,” Elizabeth cut in, “you haven't done anything wrong. Peter,” she said, her tone becoming more commanding, “tell him.”
“Aside from giving me a few more grey hairs, no, Neal, you've done great,” repeated Peter obediently. “It's Kaito whose head I want to see roll. He had no business--”
“Peter,” said Elizabeth warningly, “Neal has been through a lot, and he needs to stay calm.”
“Right. Well, Caffrey, you've managed to do such a good job, even Hughes is singing your praises right now. And he's told me specifically that I can have some time off while you stay here--”
Bingo. Neal felt a rush of relief. He still couldn't remember much, but Peter didn't know that, and wasn't that what a good con was all about? Peter had just given him the leverage he needed. “So the FBI owes me one?”
Peter snorted. “I wouldn't exactly say that, Caffrey, but yeah, you did good. Now, all you have to do is--”
“Then, Peter,” Neal interrupted, because that was typical Peter. He always wanted one more thing from him. “Then I think they owe me at least a cab ride home.” Neal didn't think he could face the subway, not right now. He felt like he could barely stay awake.
“You can't go home alone right now, Neal,” Elizabeth cut in again. “Peter and I are hoping you'll come to our place when they release you.”
Oh. Well, maybe that would be all right, but--”Will it take long? I would hate to hold you guys up when --”
“It won't be today, Neal,” said Peter gently. “But probably no more than a few more days, no more than a week, don`t-”
No, no nonono … There was a roaring in his ears and he couldn't form the words he needed to--
“Neal, calm down!” Peter sounded alarmed.
Neal didn't care anymore. “I … I can’t stay. I … please, please get me out of here. You don’t need to take me to your place, just take me to June’s, or-let me go there myself, please, I`ll take a cab, I was just kidding about Hughes. Please. Just not here.” His voice was a whisper; he couldn’t make it louder.
“Neal, be reasonable. You are in really bad shape right now.” Elizabeth’s voice was gentle.
“Neal, don’t be stupid.” Peter’s voice was not.
Neal thought desperately. He needed to convince Peter, he needed to, but it was so difficult to think, and to make everything worse, despite the frequent blinking, he was fading. This was the longest he’d stayed awake since he’d been brought in. “Peter … you told me you had a rule. Remember?”
“I’ve got a lot of rules, Neal. Including one that says you should stop talking and sleep right now.” Peter’s voice had taken on that stern edge.
“Peter … Peter, listen.” It was getting progressively harder to stay awake.
“Yeah, Neal. I’m right here.” And Peter was, so close Neal could feel him, could smell him, could feel his breath fanning his cheek. Peter kept repeating the words, and his voice sounded monotonous, as if he’d been repeating the same thing over and over--but the important thing was that Peter stayed close. Which was good. Even whispering, it was hard to get the words out.
“You said … if I could stand and walk … then I didn’t … need a hospital. Remember?” It had been over two years ago, and Neal had fallen off something, he couldn’t remember-he’d had bruises, he was sore, but he had been more or less fine. But Neal had demanded medical attention as a stalling point; Peter had refused to fall for it.
“That wasn’t a rule, Neal! I was making a point!” Peter exploded. That situation was nothing like this one, Neal knew. And their relationship was nothing like it was now. Still.
“You said so. You promised.” Neal’s voice was thin and panicked.
Peter wouldn’t put it past Neal to con him, and Neal knew it, but this was a flimsy argument at best; then again, Neal was in a hospital, in pain and on drugs, and he simply couldn’t think to come up with something better. Couldn’t smile and wink and tease. And to make it worse, the damned heart monitor had sped up again, betraying his anxiety despite anything he could have thought of to say.
Peter was talking to him, and Neal tried to focus on his voice, tried to make himself pay attention to the words. “Neal, listen to me. We’ll figure it out tomorrow. And -“ Elizabeth whispered something in Peter’s ear, and Peter paused. “Yeah, ok, you’re right, it’d be just like him,” and then Peter’s voice went back to that commanding tone. “And Neal, no getting up to prove anything, you got it? I don’t want you to get out of this bed. I don’t even want you to try. If you try, I’ll be really angry, and I won’t help you. Do you understand?” Peter kept his voice soft and slow but serious, and Neal sighed. How could he prove it if Peter wouldn’t even let him try?
A thought occurred: if he just walked out of here, without the tracking anklet, how would Peter even know?
He must have said it aloud, because Peter leaned down at that, and said, “I’ll know, idiot, because I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere tonight, Caffrey.”
And with that, Neal relaxed, even if he knew, rationally, that he should argue. Convince Peter to go home: promise Peter he wouldn’t run, he could trust him, hadn’t he proven that? Tell Peter what he already knew: he didn’t have to worry, not any more. Where would he even go now? But he was so tired, and as long as Peter was here, he knew he was safe; he could rest. Even here.
His eyes kept slipping shut despite his volition; he simply no longer had the strength to keep them open. But his grip on Peter’s hand didn’t let up, as he held on to the thought like a lifeline. Tomorrow. He could bide his time, just until tomorrow, if Peter stayed.
“Ok, buddy,” said Peter quietly, soothingly, “I want you to sleep for a bit. Just rest. I’m right here.” Peter brushed his thumb over the knuckles of Neal’s hand before trying to tuck it back in under the covers, but Neal wouldn’t let go.
“You’re going to stay?” Before he could let go, he needed to make sure, he had to make sure ...
“I’ve got nowhere else I want to be.” And even as the heart monitor showed his heart rate slowing as Neal succumbed to sleep, his right hand still clung to Peter’s.
********************************
Part 3
Title: Illustrations (part 2 of 8)
Author: Ivorysilk
Rating: R
Summary: In short, Neal is hurt and Peter suffers, while Elizabeth picks up the pieces. Please see part one for notes and disclaimers.
Part one
*************************************************
*************************************************
He woke to the sound of beeping and the smell of antiseptic. He would have panicked, but everything felt soft and far away.
Someone was holding his hand.
Peter.
Peter, his head on the blanket beside Neal’s hip, just near his hand … he moved his hand, just to the left, touched the soft brown hair; but he had no strength, and his hand fell to one side.
It was enough. Peter’s head lifted, and he blinked at Neal, sitting back and running a hand through his hair before becoming aware that Neal was awake. His craggy face melted into a sleepy smile. “Hey, Neal, how are you doing?”
Neal wanted to say something. He wanted to say a lot of things. Nothing was working, and his throat was too dry for intelligible words. It was frustrating.
Peter was cupping the side of his face in one large hand, and Neal leaned into it. “It’s ok, kid, everything’s fine. You’re gonna be fine.” Peter gave him some ice chips, spooning them into his mouth and pressing the call button at the same time. Neal let the ice melt in his mouth, and drip down his throat. It was bliss.
He needed more. “Water …”
“Not yet, Neal. Sorry. I know you’re thirsty.” Peter didn’t sound all that sorry.
Neal blinked awake. He was in a hospital, or a clinic, but he was pretty sure Peter was going to help him leave. He needed to make sure. “Wanna go home. Let’s go, Peter.”
“Not yet, Neal. Not yet.” What? That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Wasn’t Peter waiting to take him home?
“Please, Peter!” Neal was suddenly close to tears, trying to force his stupid, ridiculous body to just move. He was pretty sure he was in a hospital, and he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t.
“Shhhh, I want you to calm down right now, all right? Just calm right down.” Peter was suddenly beside him, hands on his shoulders, and there was a nurse and an orderly in the room too.
“No … no … “ Neal babbled, knowing the nurse was holding a hypodermic; it’s what they did before, he didn’t want ... He forced his body to move, ignoring the wailing alarms and the pull of the IV.
“Neal!” roared Peter, and there was fear and worry in his eyes, which brought Neal up short. “You need to listen to me, ok?”
Neal stopped struggling abruptly, which made him sag in Peter’s hold. He felt Peter’s arms tighten around him for a moment before Peter gently lowered him back down to the bed, because the burst of energy he’d had was gone and he realized everything hurt. A lot.
The nurse came up alongside them, but spoke to Peter as if he wasn’t there. “I’m afraid that the concussion may be confusing him, but it’s best not to give him too much right now even though he must be in pain. Just stay with him, try to keep him calm and quiet, that’ll be the best thing for him.”
Peter gave an odd chuckle. “Yeah, well …”
“No, you’re doing great,” smiled the nurse. “Everything looks good. I’ll just change this - just saline-and check his temperature and pressure and be on my way.”
The small nurse was quick and efficient, noting that Neal was running a slight fever, but assuring Peter it was nothing to get alarmed about yet. Neal wanted to scream he was still there, but all he could do was lie there gasping and watching them move around him like a beached fish.
The yet was bothering Peter, Neal could tell. Didn’t matter. Neal knew he was getting out of here as soon as he could, and once out, he’d bounce right back. He’d always done it before. He wanted to tell Peter everything would be fine by morning, but he was so tired.
Peter cleared his throat. “El said she’d be here soon, bring something to eat. You’re not allowed anything yet, but it’ll give you something to look forward to.”
Neal just blinked at him. He desperately wanted to say something, to thank him, beg him to stay, make a flippant remark, discuss how maybe he could have a couple of days before he went back to work, anything, but he fell asleep before he could even think anything more.
*********************************
He woke again to beeping, antiseptic, an itchy-pinching in his arm, hushed voices and pain.
“He’s sort of woken a couple of times, but he doesn’t manage it for long, and I’m not sure how aware he is. They’re still monitoring him for the concussion.” Peter, his muzzy brain identified.
Safety. Honesty. Trust. Danger.
“But he’ll be ok?” Elizabeth, he was pretty sure. Sweet and fun and didn’t trust him, but liked him. She shouldn’t be here. Here was not safe. Why would Peter let her be somewhere unsafe? He didn’t understand.
“Yeah, he’s tough, but he’s never pulling anything like this again. If I have to personally cuff him to a chair, he’s not. This has taken ten years off my life.” Peter sounded tired, but not worried. He should be worried. Elizabeth shouldn’t be …
“You ok with bringing him home?” Elizabeth’s voice was matter of fact, but the words didn’t make any sense at all.
“Thanks, El. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.” Peter sounded relieved, and grateful, and loving.
“Peter, it’s Neal. As long as he’s ok with it-and I don’t really think he has much of a choice, he’s going to need a lot of help--of course he’s coming home with us.” She paused. “How soon, do you think?”
“They think he’ll be here at least a week, and then they’ll … Neal?” Strong fingers pulled his hand away from where they were inching towards the irritation in his arm. Neal tugged, with what strength he had, until Peter wrenched his hand to the bed, pinning it there and snapping, “Leave it.” He said it like he’d say it to Satchmo.
Neal well knew that tone, and he well knew his place in the Burke hierarchy--but still, he couldn’t help himself. Moz always accused him of--“Peter?” he tried, forcing his voice to work. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, bringing memories he didn’t want.
He couldn’t stay here a week. He couldn’t. And Elizabeth shouldn’t be here at all.
“How are you feeling? A little better, I hope. They’ve increased the pain meds a bit.” Peter sounded like he was deeply annoyed and trying not to show it.
Neal didn’t know why Peter was upset, but he tried desperately to focus. First things first. “Peter … take Elizabeth home. It’s not safe here. Please.” As much as Neal wanted to leave, he hated the thought of Elizabeth being here more. Right now, Elizabeth’s safety was most important.
“Neal, this is a hospital. Short of prison, it’s one of the most secure places there is. It’s totally safe. Your tracking anklet’s even gone, see?” Peter didn't understand, and Neal didn't know how to explain it to him, didn't know how to make Peter believe him. Peter's world was sometimes so different than Neal's that it was difficult to even find a reference point. Worse, Peter sounded totally exasperated with Neal, and an exasperated Peter was not, as Neal well knew, a Peter that was open to explanations of foreign concepts from his erstwhile C.I. Neal tried frantically to remember what he’d done to irritate Peter, because whatever it was, he could fix it, he had to, he had to at least try, but he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember, and it was so difficult to concentrate on anything, his head was pounding and he was struggling to hold a thought for longer than a few seconds. But Peter had to know that--
“No … you … Peter, please. I did what I was supposed to, I tried, I--” He was guessing now, because he didn’t remember much--but he remembered trying to do what they wanted, he knew he would have at least tried. He needed to convince Peter that--
“I know, Neal,” said Peter, interrupting Neal’s whirling thoughts, “you did great. I already told you. Except for the part where you--”
“I'm sorry,” said Neal, not bothering to hear what Peter believed he’d messed up. “I'm so sorry, but please, Peter, I promise I'll--” Neal tried not to sound like he was begging. A good con artist never begged, and in a few weeks, that’s all he’d be again--only this time, he’d be one without Kate.
“Sweetie,” Elizabeth cut in, “you haven't done anything wrong. Peter,” she said, her tone becoming more commanding, “tell him.”
“Aside from giving me a few more grey hairs, no, Neal, you've done great,” repeated Peter obediently. “It's Kaito whose head I want to see roll. He had no business--”
“Peter,” said Elizabeth warningly, “Neal has been through a lot, and he needs to stay calm.”
“Right. Well, Caffrey, you've managed to do such a good job, even Hughes is singing your praises right now. And he's told me specifically that I can have some time off while you stay here--”
Bingo. Neal felt a rush of relief. He still couldn't remember much, but Peter didn't know that, and wasn't that what a good con was all about? Peter had just given him the leverage he needed. “So the FBI owes me one?”
Peter snorted. “I wouldn't exactly say that, Caffrey, but yeah, you did good. Now, all you have to do is--”
“Then, Peter,” Neal interrupted, because that was typical Peter. He always wanted one more thing from him. “Then I think they owe me at least a cab ride home.” Neal didn't think he could face the subway, not right now. He felt like he could barely stay awake.
“You can't go home alone right now, Neal,” Elizabeth cut in again. “Peter and I are hoping you'll come to our place when they release you.”
Oh. Well, maybe that would be all right, but--”Will it take long? I would hate to hold you guys up when --”
“It won't be today, Neal,” said Peter gently. “But probably no more than a few more days, no more than a week, don`t-”
No, no nonono … There was a roaring in his ears and he couldn't form the words he needed to--
“Neal, calm down!” Peter sounded alarmed.
Neal didn't care anymore. “I … I can’t stay. I … please, please get me out of here. You don’t need to take me to your place, just take me to June’s, or-let me go there myself, please, I`ll take a cab, I was just kidding about Hughes. Please. Just not here.” His voice was a whisper; he couldn’t make it louder.
“Neal, be reasonable. You are in really bad shape right now.” Elizabeth’s voice was gentle.
“Neal, don’t be stupid.” Peter’s voice was not.
Neal thought desperately. He needed to convince Peter, he needed to, but it was so difficult to think, and to make everything worse, despite the frequent blinking, he was fading. This was the longest he’d stayed awake since he’d been brought in. “Peter … you told me you had a rule. Remember?”
“I’ve got a lot of rules, Neal. Including one that says you should stop talking and sleep right now.” Peter’s voice had taken on that stern edge.
“Peter … Peter, listen.” It was getting progressively harder to stay awake.
“Yeah, Neal. I’m right here.” And Peter was, so close Neal could feel him, could smell him, could feel his breath fanning his cheek. Peter kept repeating the words, and his voice sounded monotonous, as if he’d been repeating the same thing over and over--but the important thing was that Peter stayed close. Which was good. Even whispering, it was hard to get the words out.
“You said … if I could stand and walk … then I didn’t … need a hospital. Remember?” It had been over two years ago, and Neal had fallen off something, he couldn’t remember-he’d had bruises, he was sore, but he had been more or less fine. But Neal had demanded medical attention as a stalling point; Peter had refused to fall for it.
“That wasn’t a rule, Neal! I was making a point!” Peter exploded. That situation was nothing like this one, Neal knew. And their relationship was nothing like it was now. Still.
“You said so. You promised.” Neal’s voice was thin and panicked.
Peter wouldn’t put it past Neal to con him, and Neal knew it, but this was a flimsy argument at best; then again, Neal was in a hospital, in pain and on drugs, and he simply couldn’t think to come up with something better. Couldn’t smile and wink and tease. And to make it worse, the damned heart monitor had sped up again, betraying his anxiety despite anything he could have thought of to say.
Peter was talking to him, and Neal tried to focus on his voice, tried to make himself pay attention to the words. “Neal, listen to me. We’ll figure it out tomorrow. And -“ Elizabeth whispered something in Peter’s ear, and Peter paused. “Yeah, ok, you’re right, it’d be just like him,” and then Peter’s voice went back to that commanding tone. “And Neal, no getting up to prove anything, you got it? I don’t want you to get out of this bed. I don’t even want you to try. If you try, I’ll be really angry, and I won’t help you. Do you understand?” Peter kept his voice soft and slow but serious, and Neal sighed. How could he prove it if Peter wouldn’t even let him try?
A thought occurred: if he just walked out of here, without the tracking anklet, how would Peter even know?
He must have said it aloud, because Peter leaned down at that, and said, “I’ll know, idiot, because I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere tonight, Caffrey.”
And with that, Neal relaxed, even if he knew, rationally, that he should argue. Convince Peter to go home: promise Peter he wouldn’t run, he could trust him, hadn’t he proven that? Tell Peter what he already knew: he didn’t have to worry, not any more. Where would he even go now? But he was so tired, and as long as Peter was here, he knew he was safe; he could rest. Even here.
His eyes kept slipping shut despite his volition; he simply no longer had the strength to keep them open. But his grip on Peter’s hand didn’t let up, as he held on to the thought like a lifeline. Tomorrow. He could bide his time, just until tomorrow, if Peter stayed.
“Ok, buddy,” said Peter quietly, soothingly, “I want you to sleep for a bit. Just rest. I’m right here.” Peter brushed his thumb over the knuckles of Neal’s hand before trying to tuck it back in under the covers, but Neal wouldn’t let go.
“You’re going to stay?” Before he could let go, he needed to make sure, he had to make sure ...
“I’ve got nowhere else I want to be.” And even as the heart monitor showed his heart rate slowing as Neal succumbed to sleep, his right hand still clung to Peter’s.
********************************
Part 3