Work Text:
Peter’s back started hurting on a Thursday.
He took some Tylenol that he borrowed from El’s side of the medicine cabinet, and then went on to work, ignoring the pain as much as possible.
By Saturday, it was a dull throbbing sensation that seemed to be persistant in making it difficult in sitting down. He paced his office a lot, trying to pretend that he was only worried about the cases and Neal (true, so far as it went), but in reality, he was avoiding the chair that was beckoning to him at his desk.
By Monday, he was in agony.
He called work and told them he was sick. Hughes sounded concerned over the phone, and he reassured his boss that it was just a small bit of the flu, and Hughes agreed to hold off work until the upcoming Thursday.
By Wednesday, he knew something was seriously wrong. He was laying on his belly, on the bed, and he felt like a hot thermas, steam pouring out of him in all directions. He was so out of it, he didn’t notice his team and Neal stopping in to see if he was okay.
El was in tears, because she didn’t know what was wrong. She already had a doctor come by once earlier in the week who had said simply that it was the flu, and left. She’d called the doctor several times, but he either never answered, or wasn’t there. El promised she was going to sue them.
By Friday, something started popping out of his back. It wasn’t until Neal squawked in surprise when sitting next to him, Peter was only aware of a ripping sensation-pain, lots of pain-and suddenly there was no pain. Peter blinked, and slowly sat up, looking around in bleary confusion. He’d not slept since Monday, what with his back and all, making him that much more tired.
“Peter,” Neal said, his voice full of wonder and confusion as he stared at his best friend. Peter stared at Neal wondering what had happened-and somewhat afraid to find out.
“Peter…you…” Neal seemed rather hesitant.
“Peter you’ve got wings,” Diana thankfully finished Neal’s sentence, before Peter could order them to tell him what was wrong. Diana was staring at her boss’s back with interest and surprise. Jones came in then.
“El’s coming back from the store, and-good god!” He said in surprise.
“I have wings?” Peter asked, and felt something behind him move. He flinched, in spite of himself.
“Back still sore?” Neal asked, softly, as he stepped forward-his own wings twitching lightly, and looking as though they wanted to reach out and touch Neal’s.
“Not sore…just…sensitive, I guess. Were your wings sensitive?” Peter asked, trying to twist around and see his wings.
“Here boss, there’s the long mirror,” Diana led him over to the mirror that El primarily used, and stood him in front of it.
What he saw made him stare.
His wings were enormous, and he could see why Jones was sticking to the doorway. There was hardly enough room to get around with him, his wings, Neal and his wings, and Diana all in the room. His wings were beautiful, but not a snowy white like Neal’s. His were actually a light brown, like that of a pine tree. The only kind of similarity that he seemed to share with Neal were that they were soft, like that of a snowy owls.
“Wow,” Peter murmured, and then panicked. “El.”
For the door had opened, and El was coming in-with Mozzie? Peter was surprised, but then he vaguely recalled Neal asking if it was okay if Mozzie came by to see him, and him giving the sleepy affirmative.
“Hon, I got you more of your favorite soup-honey!” El said, startled, as she realized what had happened.
Peter shrugged-winced-and said,
“Apparently, this is why my back has been sore the past week.” He said lightly, and then was surprised when El came quickly up to him and hugged him.
“Sweetie, are you okay?” El asked, her voice muffled against his chest. Peter blinked.
“I’m fine…my back is a bit sensitive, I think I’ll take a few more days off work just to let it settle down some, but…I’m fine,” Peter said, stroking her very soft and silky hair. He loved El’s hair, almost as much as he loved El.
“Suit,” Mozzie said, staring at him. “You went and got wings?” He turned to Neal. “I’m surprised you’re not jealous.”
“Why would Neal be jealous? He’s already got wings,” Peter pointed out, frowning.
“Because Neal’s favorite color is brown,” Mozzie explained, and Peter blinked-and laughed.
Neal scowled at Mozzie, and turned towards him, as Peter was still laughing. Of course. He now recalled having a discussion about favorite colors, and Peter telling Neal that his was white and Neal’s was brown-sometimes it was other colors, but overall brown-and this now made perfect sense.
“Hon, are you going to be able to go back to work? What will the FBI say?” El asked, hesitantly.
Peter considered.
“I don’t know.” He paused. “But seeing as I now have a pair of wings, how about you and I do that race you’ve always been talking about, and see just who would win?” Peter asked Neal with a wicked grin on his face.
Neal grinned back at him.
“You’re on,”