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“El, you home?”
“Peter? Why are you home so ear—oh, hey Neal.”
“Hi, ‘Liz’beth…”
“Are you all right, sweetie? You don’t look so good.”
“Umm…my head hurts…”
“He got run down by our suspects when they tried to escape during the take-down.”
“Oh no. Come on, let’s get you settled down on the couch.”
“Woah, easy, buddy. I got you.”
“Ugggh…next time before you arrest half a dozen of beefy, crooked criminals, remind me to get out of your way.”
“I will, believe me, I will.”
“Peter, is he gonna be okay? He looks a little pale.”
“He’ll be. The doctor said it’s a mild concussion. He might experience some headache and nausea. Just need to take it easy for a couple of days.”
“I can work from home tomorrow. That way I can look after him when you go to work.”
“That’d be great, Hon.”
“Guys, I’m still here…”
“We know. Sit still or you’ll make your headache worse.”
“Yes…Dad…”
“Let me go upstairs and grab some pillows for him to lie on.”
“Thanks, El. Neal, no, don’t close your eyes.”
“Why? I’m really tired…”
“Because then you’ll fall asleep. The doctor said you have to stay awake for a few more hours just to be safe.”
“Nah, won’t fall asleep…watch me…”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Just five minutes…”
“Uh-uh, Caffrey. Open your eyes now.”
“Fine. You have no compassion.”
“Peter, what did you do to Neal?”
“Nothing. Just trying to keep him from suffering brain damage or slipping into a coma—”
“Peter Burke!”
“…That’s not funny, Peter.”
“Sorry, bad joke.”
“Here, sweetie. Lie down on this pillow. You’ll be more comfortable. Good?”
“Yeah…it’s perfect, Elizabeth. Thank you.”
“Aw, you’re welcome. I’m gonna make some ginger tea for you, all right?”
“Hmm…you’re the best.”
“Hey, stop charming my wife. I know you’re not that out of it.”
“……”
“Neal.”
“Still awake.”
“Good.”
“Gosh…my head’s killing me.”
“Sorry, buddy, can’t let you take any pain medicine. You know they don’t mix well with concussions.”
“Right…can you pass me those pen and paper on the table?”
“Sure, here. What do you need them for?”
“Gotta find something to do to remain conscious.”
“You wanna sketch the suspect we lost? That’s a good idea.”
“My ideas are always good, Peter.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
---2 minutes later---
“Neal…”
“……”
“Neal.”
“…………”
“Caffrey, wake up!”
“Wha—I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I was just…resting my eyes.”
“You started snoring.”
“Whatever. Finished the drawing.”
“Let’s see…Neal, what’s this?”
“For the last time, Peter, you can’t just ask me to give you the answer. You have to guess it yourself.”
“I know how to play the drawing and guessing game. The point is we’re not playing it.”
“Huh…? We’re not?”
“You were supposed to sketch that guy who got away…oh no, don’t give me that look.”
“What look?”
“That ‘I’m sick and miserable’ look you use every time you try to milk someone for something.”
“Not everything I do is a con. And I am really sick and miserable.”
“…All right, fine. I’ll play the game, as long as you don’t doze off.”
“I won’t, promise.”
“Let’s see what you have then……hmmm…
“…What’s that 'hmmm' supposed to mean?”
“Nothing…just…this isn’t what I expected from Neal Caffrey, the world-renowned art forger.”
“Says someone whose drawing skill is worse than a fifth-grader.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who prides himself on his masterful painting techniques.”
“Way to comfort a patient, Peter. Why don’t you try getting hit in the head and then draw me a straight line.”
“…Fair enough.”
“Ginger tea is ready, guys.”
“Elizabeth, your husband has terrible bedside manner.”
“Be nice, Peter. Neal’s not feeling well.”
“Well, I’m just saying his sketch is very…primal…and different from the usual Caffrey style.”
“Let me see it…aww, is this Satchmo? I think it’s adorable.”
“Yes, and thank you, Elizabeth. I’ve always said you have excellent taste in art.”
“El, you wouldn’t have said it was cute if I was the one who drew this.”
“Oh but Hon, this couldn’t possibly be done by you. I think it’s pretty obvious even with a concussion, Neal still draws better than you normally do.”
“…Caffrey, are you snickering at me?”
“Hmm? Oh I wouldn’t dare. Just sipping my tea.”