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“Pizza for lunch?” Peter asked, shrugging into his suit jacket as he approached Neal’s desk.
Neal looked up from the paperwork in front of him and shrugged one shoulder. “Sure.” He was feeling kind of funny; run down and sort of shaky. Mostly he was just grouchy, though, and he knew that Peter didn’t like dealing with a grouchy Neal so he took a deep breath and tried not to snap at Peter with any sarcastic comments.
They were quiet until they were in the car heading towards Peter’s favorite pizza place. “You’re awfully quiet today. Everything alright?” Peter asked, glancing over at his CI. Neal was pale and he had dark smudges under his eyes.
Neal cleared his throat, taking a second to decide what he wanted to say to Peter. “Yeah, I’m just kind of tired.”
“We can stop for coffee on the way back to the office if you’d like. I know you can’t sand the stuff in the break room.” Peter held the pizzeria door open for Neal and followed him to a booth in the back corner.
“Thanks, Peter.” Neal sat down and took a slow breath in. Being in the pizzeria with all the pizza smells and the sticky tables wasn’t making him feel any better. In fact, it was making him feel substantially worse, terribly nauseated. He rubbed at his temples to try and make the nauseating feeling go away but it wasn’t working. Mozzie had shown him a neat pressure point trick on his wrist that was usually fool proof, so Neal switched from rubbing his head to pressing on the inside of his wrist.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, taking note of how antsy Neal seemed. He also noticed the way Neal was slowly growing green at the gills and glanced around to find the bathroom. Thankfully there was one in the corner, pretty close to where they’d sat down.
“I, uh, I don’t feel so great all of a sudden,” Neal said quietly. He bit the inside of his cheek as he felt a cold sweat break out all over his body. Why wasn’t the damn pressure point working? And why did he feel so sick so suddenly?
“Here,” Peter said, and reached across the table to push on Neal’s wrists. He had gotten to know the pressure point trick very well when he and Elizabeth went on a cruise one year. “You’re looking pretty green. We can leave, if that would be better for you.”
Neal sighed a shaky breath. “Being in the car is not a good idea.” He closed his eyes and let his mind focus on Peter’s touch, willing his stomach to settle. It felt like hours had passed, but after some deep breathing he thought maybe he’d had it conquered, so he opened his eyes and cleared his throat again.
“Better?” Peter asked, not letting up on the pressure he was putting on Neal’s wrists even though his fingers were cramping.
“A little,” Neal answered. “Don’t stop, though. Please,” Neal added meekly.
Peter was surprised that Neal wasn’t fighting with him about how sick he felt. The fact that Neal hadn’t even tried to con Peter into believing he was in perfect health was a huge red flag, and Peter wondered if he shouldn’t take charge of the situation and just bring Neal home for the day. “Why don’t we get out of here. I can bring you home.”
Neal shook his head slightly. “ I cannot get into a car right now,” he said, his eyes full of desperation.
“Okay, okay. We can do whatever you need to.” Peter kept ahold of Neal’s wrists and shook his head when a waitress approached the table. She gave him an odd look, but left menus and walked away.
Neal felt sweat trickle down between his shoulder blades and he bit back a groan. The pressure point trick had worked for a little while, but it wasn’t working anymore and Neal needed to be someplace much more private. He pulled his arms out of Peter’s grasp and stood up, saliva filling his mouth. He couldn’t hold back his groan when a tray of pizza walked by, the smell confirming what his body wanted to do: he was going to throw up.
Peter pointed towards the bathroom in the back and felt sorry for his CI. It wasn’t often that Neal got sick, and the conman could usually fake his way though the day until he was able to hide away by himself and recuperate. Today was not one of those days, apparently.
Neal followed Peter’s pointing finger to the back corner of the restaurant and prayed the bathroom was empty. He pushed the door open and barely had time to lock it behind him before he was hovering over the toilet, spitting his mouthful of saliva out. As much as it pained him to admit it, he threw up almost immediately—which was probably a good thing. The sooner he stopped hurling the sooner he could leave the pizza smell and curl up in a bed somewhere. Hell, he’d even take the couch in the office if it meant he could be horizontal for a little while.
Peter looked up when Neal walked towards the table. The younger man was visibly shaking and concerningly pale.
“I need to not be here anymore,” Neal said as he walked towards the table.
Pulling out his phone, Peter followed him out onto the street. Neal leaned on the car while he waited for Peter to unlock the doors before practically collapsing in the front seat. Peter dialed Diana’s number and got into the drivers seat, pinching the phone between his head and his shoulder as he started the car and turned the cool air on, aiming the vents at Neal.
“Hey Diana, I need to take Neal home. He’s pretty sick all of a sudden. I’ll be back a little late, so you’re in charge until then.” Peter looked over at Neal and wished he had a bottle of water in the car.
“Okay boss, whatever you need. Tell Neal I hope he feels better.”
“I will, thanks Di.” Peter hung up and turned his attention to Neal. “Diana says she hopes you feel better soon.”
Neal just groaned, his head thunking against the window.
“Can I start driving?” Peter asked. Neal was still an unnatural shade of green and Peter assumed being in a moving vehicle wouldn’t help much.
“Please just shoot me,” Neal whimpered.
“I’m not going to do that. But, I will get you home so you can go to bed, how does that sound?” Peter put the car in gear and pulled out into traffic. “We’re already halfway to June’s so it won’t be too long.”
Neal didn’t say anything, just curled an arm around his stomach and kept his eyes shut. Before he was unbearably miserable, Peter slowed to a stop and shut the car off.
“Okay, let’s get you inside.” Peter got out of the car and opened Neal’s door for him. Neal climbed shakily to his feet and led the way into June’s mansion. He was dreading going up all those stairs, but when he paused at the bottom of them, Peter slipped his arm around Neal and helped him get up to his apartment.
Once Neal was sitting on his bed, he pulled his tie off and kicked off his shoes. “Thanks, Peter.”
“Don’t worry about it. Now, here’s a glass of water,” Peter said, handing Neal a glass. “Drink that and I’ll get you a bucket.”
Peter went into the kitchen and dug around until he found a large mixing bowl and a roll of paper towels. When he returned to Neal’s bedside, Neal had pulled his dress shirt off and was shimmying out of his slacks. “Here’s a bowl. You want your pajamas?”
“Too much work,” Neal said, collapsing against the pillows once his pants were in a puddle on the floor. He curled up in the fetal position and let a whine escape the back of his throat.
Peter pulled the blankets up over Neal’s body and gently felt his forehead with the back of his hand. “You don’t have a fever, that’s good. Looks like this is just a stomach bug.”
“Perfect,” Neal huffed.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just trying to help.” Peter set the mixing bowl on Neal’s side table and moved his cellphone within reach. “You need anything else from me?”
“No. I’ll be okay. Just going to sleep it off.” Neal cracked his eyes open and looked at his handler. “Thanks for bringing me home. Sorry I’m cranky.”
Peter held up his hands, palms out. “No need to apologize, I understand.” He patted Neal on the shoulder. “Call me if you need me, okay? Doesn’t matter what you need or what time of night, you call me.”
“I will,” Neal said, his eyes slipping closed again.
Peter rubbed Neal’s shoulder again, looking down fondly at his CI before going back to work.