Work Text:
Peter was in the middle of interviewing a witness when his phone rang. The interview wasn't going much of anywhere, so he checked to see who was calling. Neal--Neal never called him while he was at work. They both texted occasionally through the day, but taking phone calls was often difficult and Neal understood that. "Sorry, hold on," he said to the witness and hurried out into the hallway as he accepted the call. "Neal?"
"This is Sara, actually. From Ellen's Place?"
"What the--what's going on?" Peter had briefly met Sara, one of Neal's fellow teachers at the children's art center, but hearing her voice calling from Neal's phone had all kinds of alarms going off in Peter's head.
"It's not an emergency or anything, not really, but Neal has a really bad headache. He gets them every now and then, you know? Since he was in the hospital. He took something, but he's holed up in his office with the lights off and he wouldn't talk to me. I think he could use a ride home, to be honest."
"Are you sure he doesn't need an ambulance?" It was hard to shake the memory of what had happened the second time Peter met Neal, when he'd complained of a headache and then collapsed from a bleed in his brain in the same interview room Peter had just left.
"Pretty sure. He's miserable but I think that a dark room and an ice pack would help more than an ER right now. He'll probably be okay in his office until he's well enough to get into a cab but--"
"No, I'll come get him. I'll be on my way in a few minutes."
"Great, thank you."
"Thanks for calling me." Peter hung up and went to find Diana so that she could take over in the interview room.
Out in the parking garage, he locked his badge and gun in the safe in his trunk, then took off his shoulder holster and left it in the trunk, too. While he drove to Ellen's place, Peter took off his jacket and tie then unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. The comfort was good, and the last thing Neal needed when he wasn't feeling well was to have Detective Burke in his face. Peter had gotten used to the sharper dichotomy in his life, and he liked it. Leaving his work identity behind at work, or locked in his trunk, wasn't a burden; it was a welcome reminder that he was many things and a detective with the NYPD was only one of those things.
Peter pulled into a no-parking spot right by the back door of the Ellen's Place building, put his police placard in the window, then jogged around to the main entrance and inside. He spotted Sara, but she was busy dealing with a parent so he just waved and she answered with a nod and a small smile. Neal's office door was closed, which was a rarity except for the times Neal would allow one of the teenagers to take refuge inside, and no light shone out from under the door.
Peter flattened his palm on the door and thought about knocking but decided the noise might be too much. He turned the doorknob slowly and pulled the door open smoothly, as if he were trying to catch a suspect by surprise. "Neal?" He kept his voice low and soft, and he slipped inside the room, leaving the door open just far enough to cast some light into the room. His chest ached at the sight of Neal, curled into a ball on the small sofa he kept for the exhausted teens who came his way all too often. He had one arm flung over his eyes, the other arm around his stomach, and when Peter said his name again Neal's only response was to curl even more tightly in on himself.
Peter knelt down on the hard floor and put his hand on Neal's back, the lightest touch he could manage. "Sweetheart," he murmured, "I want to take you home. You have stronger drugs there, right?"
"Yeah," Neal said slowly. "D'wannamove."
"I know. My car is right out back. I'll guide you. All you have to do is stand up."
Neal let out a breathy sigh that sounded like a sob but he began to uncurl from his ball. After an eternity of aching slow, panting movement, Neal was sitting on the sofa with his feet on the floor, bent in half with his head almost on his knees.
"You gonna be sick?"
"Uh-uh." Neal didn't sound too certain but Peter had to take his answer for what it was.
"Okay. I'm going to help you stand up. Just keep your eyes closed." Peter didn't wait for a response. He crouched next to Neal, wrapped an arm around his back, and stood up slowly, not stopping when Neal breathed in a shuddery gasp. When Neal was standing up mostly straight, Peter started to walk him forward, toward the door to the hallway. Neal winced when they moved from shadows into the light, but there wasn't anything Peter could do until they reached the car.
Neal bent his head down, hunched his shoulders up, and Peter felt his own stomach churn at not being able to take away Neal's pain. Thankfully, the walk was short and the back entrance to the building was out of the more direct sunshine. Peter gently directed Neal into the backseat then grabbed his jacket from the front passenger seat and draped it over Neal's head. Neal's sigh sounded like a tiny bit of relief, and Peter patted his leg before closing the door as quietly as possible.
Peter cringed at the noise of opening and closing his own door and starting the engine, but there wasn't anything he could do to help that. Ellen's Place wasn't far from June's house, and Peter just hoped that traffic would be kind to them. There was nothing he could say or do to help Neal at this point other than getting him home safe, so Peter focused on his objective despite the unsteady breathing and occasional soft cries of the man in the back seat. He turned around to look at Neal when they were stopped at a light, and he was curled up as much as he could, one arm over his stomach again, and Peter really hoped he wouldn't be sick back there. That wouldn't help anything.
"We're almost there. Almost home," Peter said, as he pulled up in front of June's mansion and prepared to park. He slid into a spot as smoothly as possible, put his placard back in the window, and went around to help Neal out of the car. Neal sat up stiffly and bunched up Peter's jacket in his hand so he could hold it to his eyes as Peter levered him up and out of the car. Peter couldn't see Neal's face, but he thought Neal might have been crying behind the dark bundle of his jacket. "I'm sorry," he whispered uselessly as he guided Neal up the stairs to the front door.
Peter was getting ready to fish in Neal's pockets for his keys when the door opened to reveal June. "Oh dear," she said quietly as she stood back to let them in. "I saw you coming. Bring him back here where it's darker."
The foyer was already much dimmer than the street had been, and Peter thought Neal might relax a little bit but he wasn't expecting Neal's knees to fold, nearly pulling both of them to the floor. "Whoa, hey," he murmured. "It's not much further."
Neal whimpered, and Peter couldn't take it anymore, couldn't make him walk anymore. He already had one arm around Neal's back, his hand hooked under Neal's arm, and he bent to scoop his other arm under Neal's legs. Neal gasped and Peter suppressed a groan as he pulled Neal close to his chest and hurried forward. Neal was heavier than he looked, solid muscle and bone, but Peter wasn't about to let him down. June raised her eyebrows as she directed him into a small, dim bedroom, and Peter rolled Neal onto the bed as gently as he could.
"He needs--" Peter whispered to June, but she cut him off with a hand on his arm.
"A shot, I know. Be a dear and run upstairs. He keeps it in the bottom drawer of his bedside table."
"I'll be right back." Peter hated leaving Neal, but fetching his medicine was the best way he could help. Peter jogged up the three flights of stairs and let himself into Neal's apartment. He hesitated for a moment before opening the drawer June had indicated; it felt like a violation of privacy, but there was no better option. He saw the supplies immediately, a ziplock bag with packaged injector pens inside, and he ran back out of Neal's apartment and back down the stairs with it in hand.
When Peter got back down to the first floor bedroom Neal was halfway sitting up, leaning against June as he threw up into a bowl. "Shit," Peter said too loudly, and he cursed himself when Neal cringed at the sound. "Sorry," he murmured. "What should I do?"
June put the bowl aside and eased Neal back down to the bed. "Open one of the blue ones and hand it to me." Peter did as she asked, and he watched as she pulled Neal's shirt up then pushed down the back of his pants just far enough to allow her to press the injector into the top of the curve of his ass. She tugged his clothes back into place then rubbed her thumb over the spot as Neal visibly relaxed. "Why don't you help him get a bit more comfortable," June suggested quietly, "then meet me in the front parlor."
Peter just nodded, and when she'd shut the door behind her he looked back down at Neal. The room was lit only by the light that seeped in around the edges of the heavy curtains on the room's two large windows but it was enough to let Peter see that while the deep lines of pain in Neal's face had smoothed away he still looked drawn, haggard. He'd only seen Neal look this bad when he was still just the detective investigating the series of brutal muggings that had left Neal so dangerously injured. Neal had mentioned that he very rarely experienced headaches intense enough to require narcotics, but Peter had never seen anything close to it before.
Moving slowly, Peter took off Neal's shoes and his belt then got him under the covers and moved him so that he was resting more comfortably with his head on a pillow. Peter pushed Neal's bangs back out of his eyes and found his face covered in a clammy sweat, so he went into the small attached bathroom and wet a washcloth with cool water. Neal made a small sound as Peter gently washed his face but he still seemed asleep, passed out after however much time of pain and sickness he'd been through. Peter draped the folded washcloth over Neal's eyes and forehead then straightened up and watched him for a moment.
"I'll be close by," he whispered, just in case Neal was more aware than he seemed, then crept out into the hallway to look for June. He found her drinking tea in a formal sitting room, and with the curtains open it was almost shockingly bright compared to the dark bedroom. "He's asleep, I think," Peter said as he sat down across from June, perching uncertainly on the fancy chair.
"I imagine so. Would you like some tea?" She gestured to a tray on the table between them, and Peter fixed himself a cup of mint tea. He wasn't a big fan, but his throat was dry and he didn't mind having something to occupy his hands.
"I, uh, I'd never seen Neal have a headache like that before. Some small ones, I know he had some pills, but this was--" Peter shook his head. "Different. Awful."
"Indeed. I don't believe he's had one this bad in some time. They were more common when he first came home from the hospital, when he was living in my downstairs bedroom." June took a sip of her tea. "The stairs were a bit much then, you see?"
"That makes sense. How long does it take him to get over a headache like this?"
"Oh, he'll probably sleep for a few hours, and hopefully he'll feel better then but between the drugs and the headache he'll need a day or two to get back up to full speed."
Neal sighed. "I'd like to stay. I don't think I can go back to work or go home, worrying that he might wake up in pain again." Peter swallowed heavily at the thought. "I'd like to stay."
June looked at him consideringly for a moment before nodding. "There's a comfortable chair in the bedroom, and you'll find some books and a small reading light. It's best if you can be very quiet."
"I will. Thank you. I'm just going to go move my car and call my partner, and then I'll be right back."
"That's fine." June graced him with a small smile, and Peter drank down his tea before standing to leave.
He called Diana to let her know that he wouldn't be back and that he was turning off his phone, and once he got the car parked in a legal spot a couple of blocks away he grabbed the book he was currently working on and a bottle of water then walked back to the mansion. He wanted to hurry, but he forced himself to walk, to take deep breaths and calm himself because it wasn't an emergency. Neal was okay, and he would still be resting whether Peter took one minute or five minutes to get back inside.
June's maid let Peter back inside, and he awkwardly thanked her then slipped back into the bedroom as quietly as he could manage. Peter stood just inside the door until his eyes adjusted to the low light then pulled off his shoes and padded over to the bed. Neal looked the same as he had earlier, so Peter located the clip-on reading light June had mentioned and settled down in the armchair. He wanted to read a few chapters of his book, a thick non-fiction tome on homeless youth that he hoped would help him know more about what Neal was working toward with Ellen's Place, but for the moment he just sat with his feet on the ottoman and watched Neal sleep in well-deserved peace.
~~~
"Peter?"
Peter startled, nearly dropping his book, at the rough sound of Neal's voice when he woke up a few hours later. "I'm here," Peter said quietly, not sure how sensitive Neal's head would still be.
"You di--ugh, didn't have to stay." Neal's words were slow and slightly slurred but he nonetheless sounded better than he had earlier when he was in so much pain.
"I wanted to." Neal pushed himself up to sit up, and Peter hurried over. "Hey, relax. What do you need?"
"To go to the bathroom and brush my teeth." Neal slid down from the high mattress and stood unsteadily but he held up a hand to ward off Peter's assistance. "I'm okay. Just give me a minute."
Peter went to lean against the wall with his hands in his pockets to keep himself from hovering, and he was relieved when Neal left the bathroom and made his way back over to the bed and sat up with his back against the headboard. "How are you feeling?"
"Not great, but I've been worse. I'm sorry you had to see me like that."
"Are you serious? I'm sorry you had to feel like that."
Neal sighed quietly. "How did you know, anyway? I was planning to just ride it out in my office."
"Sara called. I guess she stole your phone."
"Oh. I, uh, I'm kind of glad she did."
"Me too." Peter walked over to lean against the side of the bed, and Neal gave him a small smile as he patted the empty area of mattress beside him. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I'm not up to anything, obviously, but I miss being with you. It's been a long week."
Peter climbed onto the bed and scooted over to sit next to Neal, who immediately tilted his head sideways to rest it on Peter's shoulder. "You've been busy. Is that what brought this on."
"Maybe. It's the financials for Ellen's Place; there's something wrong but I can't work it out."
"You want me to take a look?"
"Why?"
"I went to school for accounting before deciding that crunching numbers for a living was too boring. I don't use it for much more than my taxes but I think I still remember a few things."
"Oh, wow, okay. If you have time, that would be great. Thank you."
"Any time." Peter yawned before he could catch himself and stop it.
"You're tired?"
"It's sleepy work, reading in a dim room with somebody who's sleeping."
"Mmhmm. Want to take a nap with me? Afterward maybe we can make our way upstairs? Maybe have some soup?"
"Anything you want." Peter shifted to recline on his back, and Neal curled up with his head on Peter's chest. Almost immediately, Neal's breathing evened out into sleep, and Peter reached up to pet lightly over the soft hair near his temple. "Anything you want," he whispered under his breath, and he meant it. More than almost anything before in his life, he meant it.