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A seal couldn't have sounded more raucous and honestly, it stopped being ignorable long ago. The cough wasn't too bad Monday. Wednesday was much worse. And today? The looks of pity and avoidance toward a certain desk in the bullpen bordered on history reports of The Black Death. The tea Barrigan delivered this morning hadn't seemed to make any difference.
To make matters worse, Peter's not here, so Reese has to deal with this himself.
Peter had been wrapping up a smuggling case last Friday when Neal had arrived back from his three month, post-anklet sojourn in Europe. Their newly free Art and Security Consultant tagged along with Peter and Jones to the docks, tackling a suspect and taking a spill into the Hudson on his first, and unofficial, day back to work. Neal had gone home to change clothes, Peter following soon after with consultancy paperwork to ensure everything was legal. Then Peter left for Tucson for an old multi-state fraud case with a new lead, leaving Neal, at Reese's presently regretted request, to re-assimilate to the office without the man. Reese had hoped this would help Neal be seen as more than just Peter's pet. Now it just looks like Neal has an allergy to Peter's absence.
Reese had talked to Neal yesterday, asked him to go see a doctor, since neither Barrigan nor Jones could make any headway with him. Those coughs were wet and Hughes knew developing pneumonia when he heard it. It probably started with whatever fungus grows in the Hudson. The kid had refused the doctor idea, claiming he sounded much worse than he felt. But Reese knows it's not going to get any better without intervention.
The new girl, Emily, finally comes in with the file he'd requested earlier. He tries to be patient with these trainees but he can't wait for Don to get back from vacation. He rifles through the papers quickly, methodically, till he comes to the section he's looking for. There it is: a blank form. The kid did not sign up for health insurance. Unbelievable.
He stalks out to the balcony and throws out his infamous gesture, "Caffrey."
Neal looks up, startled, his arm dropping from where his head had been resting in his palm. He slowly makes his way toward the stairs; manages to inject his usual saunter into it, but the effect is hampered by a hacking fit halfway up the steps. He covers the protective hand against his chest by sending a grin Emily's way before stepping into the office - not flirtatious... perhaps big-brother?
"Sir?"
"Close the door and sit down before you collapse."
He follows those instructions well enough, but his eyes take on an even warier look when he sees the file on Hughes' desk.
"Why didn't you sign up for health insurance, Caffrey?"
"I must have missed that form, Sir."
In the four and a half years Reese has known Neal he's never seen him sick, and he probably made great efforts to keep healthy during his criminal career. The old mantra comes to mind: no hospitals.
"Neal, your information has been documented for years. DNA from your trial, records from prison, your four years here - it's all on paper."
"I'm glad you take such an interest, Sir."
"Cut the crap, Caffrey. Declining the insurance does not keep you out of the system."
Caffrey nods slowly, "I promise I'll sign up as soon as Don gets back."
"You can sign up now. Emily can do it." He reaches for his phone.
"No!" Well that's more life than he's seen in the kid for four days.
"What's the matter with you, Caffrey?"
"Sorry, I ... " He chuckles; it's weak, even Reese can tell it's fake. "Wouldn't want Don to think Emily's taking his job."
His voice is hoarse and his skin is shiny. Fever. Great.
Reese glances out into the bullpen. Emily looks away quickly.
"Here, scan over this paperwork. I'll be back."
Reese repeats the finger-point to Emily, precedes her into Peter's office. Her face is flushed. She knows something.
"Sir?"
"Emily, you've been doing a good job filling in for Don in HR while he's on vacation."
"Thank you, Sir."
"But I need you to tell me the truth. Why is Caffrey declining health insurance?"
"Declining? No, that's not what happened."
"What did happen?"
She sighs before she starts, steeling herself for whatever she's about to admit. She looks like she's fifteen but he's pretty sure she's in her last year of graduate school.
"It's my fault, Sir. Agent Caffrey- "
"Mister Caffrey."
"- Mr. Caffrey, did ask for the paperwork. But I couldn't find it and then when I did, I couldn't figure out how to enter the info into the new software. I was afraid I would get fired. I kept trying, but I think Ag- Mr. Caffrey could tell I was worried. He said he'd just wait until Don got back, that he wasn't really sick anyway, but practicing for an undercover op at The Mayo Clinic next week."
"Emily, does Mr. Caffrey look like he's faking to you?"
"I've heard he's a very good con artist."
"Do you think he'd need to practice being sick all week at the office, then?"
"I guess not, Sir."
"In the future, if you have questions about software or con artists, ask an agent for help."
"Yes, Sir."
"In the meantime, please send Agent Jones up."
"Yes, Sir."
He slips back into his own office. Neal's head is lying on the paperwork on Reese's desk, eyes closed. He has no business being anywhere but in a bed but Reese is annoyed that Neal's still doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. Reverting to the safety of the con.
"Caffrey!"
Neal jerks up and another coughing jag begins. Reese waits it out. He can be as patient as the next guy. That's when Jones walks in, pats Neal on the back a couple of times.
When Neal's done, and he can breathe, Reese sits behind his desk, pulls the papers to his side.
"The Mayo Clinic, Caffrey?"
"Non-profits are not above controversy, Sir."
Reese sighs, back-dates the forms and sets a pen in front of Caffrey. "Sign. Emily will get these entered today, with Agent Berrigan's help, and we can fine tune them when you get back." He glares at Neal. "Not everyone needs to be rescued, Caffrey."
Neal studies him; Reese assumes looking for lies. He must decide Emily's safe when he finally scrawls his signature.
"Jones, please take Caffrey to the hospital. Help him fill out whatever's needed, get whatever prescriptions they give him filled, get him some food and make sure he makes it up to his apartment."
"Yes, Sir."
Jones helps Caffrey to his feet, Neal offering up a "Thank you, Sir" between rasps.
Reese nods but as they're halfway out the door, he calls out, "And Caffrey."
Neal turns.
"Don't run cons on the interns."