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Peter had been working for a while, enjoying the warmth in his muscles and the rhythm of the shovel moving against ice and snow, when he paused to take in the sight of the house in front of him. Having so much sidewalk to shovel was one of the prices they paid for moving to a house so much further out than their old townhouse, but part of the upside was being able to have more space to themselves. If Peter stood in the right spot on the sidewalk, the neighboring houses were outside of his field of vision, and all he could see was their house, their porch, their windows with electric candles glowing warmly.
With a contented sigh, Peter went back to work. Though he wouldn't have minded having Neal help him, it was pleasant to be working alone without any of the neighbors around. The snow had still been falling when they went to sleep, and Peter imagined that most of their neighbors were still in bed, just as Neal and El were. Peter had woken up early, and when he saw that the sky was clear he decided to get dressed and head out to shovel in the quiet of the early morning. By the time he finished, he thought that El and Neal would be awake, and if he was lucky there would be coffee and breakfast ready and waiting.
Peter came across a solid chunk of icy snow, and when it wouldn't yield to sideways chops from the shovel he planted the bottom edge of the shovel into the mound and stomped on it with his boot-covered foot. That only managed to make a small dent in the ice so Peter put one foot on the shovel then hopped up with his other foot to put his full weight behind the tip of the shovel. He felt the ice beginning to give way then suddenly the shovel moved enough to throw off his center of balance.
He tried to hang on, but there was no time, his left boot slipped off the top of the shovel, and he heard a crack that resonated in the empty yard as he fell to the ground. Peter lay on the snow just trying to catch his breath and feeling grateful that he'd managed to fall onto the snow-covered grass rather than the mostly scraped sidewalk. He could have broken his arm or cracked his head on the concrete, but as he sat up and brushed the snow off of his jacket he thought that all he'd injured was his pride. In any case, he'd done enough for now.
Peter had just started to get his feet under him when pain flashed through his leg and he sprawled flat on the snow again, winded. An experimental shift of his right leg went fine, but when he tried to move his left leg pain overwhelmed him again. "Damn it," Peter muttered to himself. He pushed himself up to sit again and looked around, but he was still alone. He looked at the front door, thinking that this would be an excellent time for one of his spouses to come call him in for breakfast. He imagined Neal, with a coat pulled on over his pajamas and slippers, a big mug of coffee in his hands, but Neal failed to appear.
A quick check of his pockets confirmed that Peter had left his phone inside, and he thought about shouting for help, but he wasn't willing to be quite that much of a pathetic public spectacle. The shovel was within reach, so Peter pulled it close then bit down on his lip as he got his right foot planted solidly under him then levered himself to stand using the shovel as a crutch. With each step he could feel the broken bones in his ankle shifting against each other, and when he got to the few steps leading up to the front porch he barely controlled his fall as he swayed down to sit on the wood he'd cleared of snow earlier that morning.
The snowy landscape had taken up a gentle spin around Peter, and he was afraid he'd fall over if he tried to stand again so he used his right leg to push himself backward up the two remaining stairs and then slowly scooted across the porch on his ass. His left boot caught on each of the slightly uneven wooden planks that made up the floor, and his jaw ached from clenching against the pain in his ankle. Peter leaned back against the wall next to the door for a minute, catching his breath, but he knew he couldn't rest for long. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and see every puff of breath in front of him, and he was afraid of passing out before he got inside. Peter reached up and maneuvered the storm door open then pulled himself up the few inches to lean against the solid wood of the front door just as it opened up behind him.
The world shifted around Peter as he fell backward, and he found himself on his back in the foyer staring up at Neal's startled face. Peter was trying to make his brain and his mouth work to explain the problem when Neal loomed closer and wrapped his hands around Peter's upper arms. Peter felt himself start to slide across the polished wood floor but then his left boot caught on the threshold and he couldn't hold back the scream as everything went black.
~~~
Neal rolled over and opened his eyes enough to see the snow-bright morning sunlight filtering in through the curtains. There was too much room in the bed, telling him that Peter must have risen early, but he nestled his head against El's shoulder as he resisted the fact of being awake. The covers that had been so pleasantly warm at bedtime were stifling, and as he shifted to swing his legs out into the cooler air of the bedroom El made a small, sleepy sound.
Neal moved up far enough to press a kiss to her cheek. "Morning."
She rolled onto her side to face Neal and opened her eyes. "Good morning. Is Peter downstairs getting us coffee?"
"I don't know. He was gone when I woke up."
"Hmmm, I wonder." El sat up and padded over to the window to look outside. "Our boy scout is out there shoveling."
Neal groaned. "I don't wanna."
"Just wait until the next snow, and I bet he'll have us all out there. First snow at the new house--this is the kind of thing that makes him happy."
"Well, good then. We can go down and get coffee and breakfast ready for when he's done." Neal rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. "I'll go get it started so you can take your time."
"Thanks, sweetie."
Neal pulled on a robe and quickly brushed his teeth then went downstairs. He paused at the front windows to see that Peter was still shoveling, apparently chopping at some ice, then went on the kitchen. He turned on some upbeat jazz and hummed to himself as he started the coffee. He cracked eggs into a bowl and added milk, vanilla and cinnamon then sliced some bread for french toast. When the coffee was done, he filled a mug for himself then decided it was time for Peter to take a break. He made Peter's cup of coffee and carried it to the front door to help lure his husband inside.
As he got close to the front door, Neal heard movement on the front porch and smiled at the serendipitous timing. He put the coffee mugs down on the hall table and started opening the door, only stumble back when the door pushed against his hand and Peter tumbled backward onto the floor. Neal blinked for a moment, startled, until he realized that Peter was covered in snow, his face pale and pinched, and cold air was gusting into the house through the open front door.
"Peter!" Peter looked up at him blankly, and Neal knew it wasn't the right time for questions. "I'm going to pull you the rest of the way in, okay?" Neal grabbed on to Peter's upper arms and tugged him across the hardwood floor, and just as he felt the resistance of Peter's boots catching on the door frame Peter gasped out a startling shriek and passed out.
Neal wanted to know what had happened, what was wrong, but first he needed to finish what he started. More carefully, he moved Peter another several inches across the floor then slammed the door shut and hurried back to Peter's side.
"Neal?" El's voice came from the top of the stairs. "What's going on?"
"I need your help! Bring blankets!" Neal unzipped Peter's snow-covered jacket and was relieved to find him breathing steadily. Peter was shivering, but Neal wasn't sure if that was a good sign that he wasn't too cold to shiver or a bad sign that he was in shock from whatever else was wrong with him. He wanted to get the snow-encrusted jeans off of Peter's legs, but he was afraid of hurting him further.
Footsteps came rushing down the stairs behind Neal, and El arrived with an armful of blankets. "Oh my god! What happened?"
"I don't know. He fell through the door like this, but there's something wrong with his leg I think."
El nodded and draped one of the blankets over Peter then knelt to cup his cheek. "Hon? Hon, wake up." She turned to look at Neal. "Will you take off his shoes? See if we can figure out what's wrong?"
Neal nodded and moved to Peter's feet. He pushed up the icy fabric of his jeans to get better access to the laces of his left boot, and the problem became immediately apparent. His ankle was swollen, tight inside the top of the boot. Neal loosened the laces as far as they would go then slowly removed the boot, but even the gentle movement was enough to jar Peter's injured ankle.
"Stop," he said, and when Neal looked up he saw Peter grimacing in pain, his eyes slightly open.
"Hon, what happened?"
Peter sat partway up then dropped back to the floor. "I think I broke my goddamn ankle."
"I think you're right." Neal peeled the wet sock from Peter's foot and cupped his hand lightly around the chilled yet swelling joint. "Do you think you can let us help you into some dry sweatpants and splint your ankle?"
El looked at Neal with worry and doubt clear on her face. "Maybe we should call an ambulance."
~~~
Peter groaned. As much as he disliked the idea of trying to put weight on his ankle again, the prospect of being carted out of there by EMTs was far worse. "The neighbors would be talking about it for months. No."
El and Neal shared a look, and as soon as he saw them both give in Peter closed his eyes and tried to focus on feeling the warmth of the room around him and the steadiness of the floor under him. He listened as Neal walked upstairs, and then startled when El pulled down the zipper on his jeans.
"Sorry, hon. I need to get these off of you."
Peter opened his eyes long enough to see her sweet, worried face then closed his eyes again and nodded. He lifted his hips to help her, but the denim was stiff and wet with snow and every tug at the fabric sent pain shooting through his leg straight up to his hip.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," El murmured, and Peter shook his head.
"S'okay," he ground out as he heard Neal's footsteps descending the stairs.
"Hey, Peter?" Peter opened his eyes to see Neal crouched down by his feet. "I'm going to splint your ankle just to keep it stable until we can get to the ER. Tell me if anything I do hurts more than it should."
"Maybe I'll just kick you with my good leg."
"Sure you will." Neal cupped his palm around the shin of Peter's uninjured leg and squeezed gently before turning to the supplies at his side.
Peter let his eyes close again, and he clenched his jaw as Neal lifted his injured leg with an even support that hurt less than he'd been expecting. When Neal set his leg down, there was something soft under it, and then Peter felt that softness envelope his ankle. He heard the sound of ripping tape then felt the softness grow snugger around his ankle and lower leg.
Neal lightly squeezed Peter's toes. "Can you feel this?"
"Unfortunately." Peter opened his eyes and tilted his head up enough to see that there was a bed pillow secured around his ankle with silvery duct tape.
"Sorry." Neal put a plastic bag over the splint and taped it on as well then worked together with El to get the sweatpants up over Peter's legs and hips.
El squeezed Peter's hand and bent to kiss his cheek. "Will you be okay resting here for a few minutes while I go get dressed?"
"Yes, hon. It's just--just my ankle."
El squeezed his hand again then ran up the stairs, and when Peter looked at Neal he realized that at some point his husband had changed from a robe and slippers into jeans, a turtleneck and boots. Neal caught Peter's gaze and moved up to take his hand.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like an idiot." Peter sighed.
"You hurt yourself trying to make less work for me and El. That doesn't make you an idiot."
A few minutes later, El came jogging down the stairs in jeans and a sweater with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Okay, mister. Are you ready for us to get you to your feet?"
"As ready as I'm going to be." Peter sat up with Neal's arm guiding him from behind, and he bent his good leg so that his foot was flat on the floor. He braced himself for the pain as he pushed himself up from the floor with Neal and El's assistance, but he couldn't help letting out a low groan at the pull of gravity on his splinted ankle. "God damnit."
Neal squeezed the arm he was holding. "Do you want to rest here for a minute?"
"No. I want to get to the goddamn car." Peter heard the anger in his voice and winced. "Sorry."
"Don't worry about it. Okay, car keys?"
"I have them," El said. She opened the front door and held open the screen door as Peter took his first lurching step with his arm wrapped around Neal's shoulders. The pain of his ankle trying to take his weight was enough to make Peter's head spin, and he leaned more heavily against Neal.
"Woah, hey." Neal wedged his shoulder more snuggly under Peter's arm. Peter felt one of Neal's hands squeeze his wrist where it crossed over Neal's shoulders and then Neal's other hand got a grip on the waistband of his sweatpants. "Are you ready for another couple of steps?"
Peter nodded and focused on keeping himself upright as they moved. When he opened his eyes again they were standing on the porch, and El was locking up the door behind them. She pulled Peter's other arm around her shoulder, and between the three of them they made the endless, unsteady trip out to the car. Peter leaned against Neal's side as El opened the back door, and after some more painful acrobatics he was sitting sideways on the back seat with his injured leg stretched out diagonally. El draped a blanket over him while Neal got the car started.
Peter fazed out somewhere between the first stop sign and the hospital, and he was exhaustedly grateful to be able to transfer into a wheelchair for the trip into the emergency room. He didn't know if El or Neal had worked some magic with the staff or if he just looked that bad, but sooner than he had expected Peter found himself floating on a cloud of drugs, too high up for the pain to reach him, with a warm layer of blankets to keep out the chill.
Beautiful, beautiful drugs. Beautiful, beautiful blankets. Peter opened his eyes to see Neal and El standing on either side of his bed, both of them with dark rumpled hair and worry in their matching blue eyes. They each held one of his hands in theirs, and as the bright lights above shined through the traces of tears in his eyes Peter thought he could see the love connecting them all, bright threads braiding together.
"What are you smiling about?" Neal asked gently.
"Mmm, I'm thinking that I'm not going to have to shovel any more snow for the rest of the winter."
El laughed, and Neal rolled his eyes then lifted Peter's hand and kissed his fingers. "You're right about that."
Even through the haze of drugs Peter knew there was going to be a world of aches and pains and inconvenience in his near future, but for the moment he was warm and comfortable. He wasn't alone in the cold. Everything was perfect.