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In hindsight, Peter should have seen this coming.
“Jones, cut him off!”
Peter rounded the corner, their suspect in sight. He had gotten a head start, leaping out of the window and down the fire escape as he did; but Peter was determined to not let him slip from their grasp.
He followed suit, dropping from the fire escape. He inexplicably drifted to one side and rammed into a dumpster, grabbing blindly at the metal edge and using it for support. The blood rushed to his head, and it took him longer than he would have liked to regain his equilibrium before he was chasing after his target.
He gained on him, the distance between them shortening gradually. Just as he was about to grab a hold of him, a sudden dizzy spell struck him. He stumbled over nothing, catching himself on the wall of a nearby building. Stunned, he shook his head and attempted to stand, only to sway violently; and he was forced to lean against the brick wall lest he fall over.
He watched with blurred vision as the suspect got away, leaving behind a very frustrated agent.
“Jones, I lost him,” Peter barked into his embedded transmitter. He had been so close, dammit!
“Copy that, Boss.”
“Peter, what happened?” Neal materialized from nowhere. He was slightly panting from his brisk chase of the escaped perpetrator.
“The hell do I know?” Peter grumbled. He closed his eyes as the onset of nausea made itself known to him.
“You don’t look so good.” Neal made to touch him and Peter shrugged him off.
“‘M fine. Just a little dizzy.” Intent on proving his point, he pushed off from the building and staggered forward.
Immediately, the world spun around him. The ground beneath him, though solid, seemed to be moving of its own volition, and Peter stuck out his arms to the side to balance himself. It was like standing on the bow of a ship, the waves bouncing the vessel up and down, and one was forced to steady oneself against the constant motion. Except, Peter wasn’t quite able to do that, and the dizziness only increased the longer he stood upright.
“Whoa, hey!” Neal took hold of his arm. “That's more than “just a little” dizzy—What’s up with your eyes?”
Peter squinted at Neal but try as he might, he couldn’t focus. The image in front of him wavered and blurred continuously.
“What about them?”
“They’re like…jumping around.” Neal leaned closer, scrutinizing. Peter squirmed under his intense gaze and tried to shove him off, unbalancing himself in the process.
“Peter, would you stop moving! You’re making it worse.” Neal held him steady, keeping him from face planting on the ground.
Peter just growled in frustration and obvious discomfort.
They were interrupted by Jones announcing the offender had been apprehended. So at least one thing was going right today.
“Copy that. Jones, can you finish up here? I’m gonna take Peter home.” Neal spoke before Peter could even open his mouth.
“Hey!” He tried to protest but Neal wasn’t having it.
“Peter, you’re in no condition to go back to work,” Neal insisted. “You should go home. Maybe this will all pass if you give your body some time to rest.”
“Rest?!” Peter laughed incredulously. “We’ve been on Evans’ tail for months! And now we’ve got him. I’m not gonna miss this opportunity to interrogate him.”
Neal scoffed. “Ok. Then walk in a straight line for me.”
Peter hesitated, a pale attempt at a confident smile crossing his face. “...Fine.”
He separated from Neal and that alone was enough to cause him to flounder, arms waving wildly in desperate need for stability. Neal held back the urge to help him and watched as his stubborn handler lurched ahead on unsteady feet. He kept pausing to correct himself, the intense feeling of wanting to topple over hindered his movements; and he most assuredly was not walking in a straight line. More of a zig zag pattern as he oscillated on still ground.
He made it to the end of the sidewalk and turned to face Neal. That sharp motion sent him spiraling, his head dipping in the way it wanted to go–that is face first into the cement. Neal rushed over just in time to prevent Peter from collapsing.
“ Now will you stop being a stubborn mule and let me take you to a clinic?”
Peter blinked, confused. “What’s this about a clinic ? You said we were going home.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure you shouldn’t be seen.” Neal frowned in thought. “This seems more serious than a simple case of dizziness.”
Peter harrumphed, crossing his arms. A beat later, the fight went out of him; and he relented. Maybe Neal had a point. Truthfully, he had been feeling dizzy for a while now, since last night to be specific. This morning when he had woken up, the lightheadedness had gotten worse; and throughout the morning, he had shaken his head in an attempt to clear his head with no avail. Once, he had bent down to pick up something off the floor, gravity pulling on him, and had to wait a bit before slowly standing up.
So, really, his disoriented condition wasn’t much of a surprise as it should have been. It had just culminated at the worst time.
“Alright.”
Neal perked up at that. “I’ll bring the car around.”
“Who said you could drive?”
Neal raised an eyebrow. “Peter? Driving? In your condition?”
“....Fair enough…”
Neal pulled up in Peter’s car and got out to open the door for him. Peter glared at having to be manhandled in such a fashion, but allowed Neal to help him into the car, making sure he didn’t accidentally bang his head against the roof. He settled in; and off they went in search of the nearest walk-in clinic.
If walking had been a struggle, being in motion was even worse. The nausea that had afflicted him doubled in magnitude, the incessant rocking movement enhancing the upset in his intestines. Neal tried to make the car ride as smooth as possible, but it did little in abating his symptoms.
Peter began to breathe deeply through his nose, fighting back the urge to vomit. If Neal was talking to him, he didn’t notice, as his sole focus was on keeping his insides where they ought to be. The urge grew stronger with every bump and turn of the car, and it became clear he wouldn’t be able to hold it in much longer.
“...pull over…” Peter mumbled, face blanched.
“What?”
“I said ‘pull over!”
Driving in the congested streets of New York City during rush hour meant it wasn’t so simple to pull over at a moment's notice. Neal hastily yet expertly maneuvered his way through cars, until he found a spot in which to park the car mere seconds before disaster.
Peter shoved open the car door and upended his lunch he had eaten only thirty minutes prior. Deviled ham tasted better going down; not so much the opposite direction. He spat a few times and remained hunched over, weak and unable to rise from his position.
“Are you ok?” Neal hovered in the background, worried.
“...just peachy…”
Peter steeled himself and laboriously sat back, breathing heavily. Neal eyed him warily, turning the car on.
“The clinic’s just a few blocks down. Think you can hold on until then?”
Peter shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
Ten minutes later, they arrived at their destination. Neal carefully hauled Peter out of the car, gripping him by the elbow. Peter at this point had begun to lean heavily on him, doing away with any pretenses of autonomy, and walked with rubbery legs inside the clinic.
There were a fair amount of people there; and Neal filled out the paperwork as they waited to be seen. Peter, in the meantime, leaned forward, head between his legs, riding out the continual waves of nausea. He pressed his fingers into his eye sockets, trying to soothe the headache that had formed behind his eyes. Neal rubbed a hand down his back in the absence of anything else to do, concern written all over his features.
As Peter’s malady worsened, he found himself spacing out. For one moment he was sitting in the waiting room and the next, he was sitting in an examining room as a nurse looked him over with no recollection as to how he got there. And his return to Neal happened in much the same manner.
“You have vertigo?”
Peter nodded and instantly regretted it, pinching the bridge of his nose much like a Victorian woman about to faint. He waited until the wooziness passed before he continued the conversation.
“Something about an infection of the inner ear…swollen…something…” Peter huffed, annoyed.
His mind was having trouble tracking. The information the nurse had given him appeared to have not made it to long term memory. He could have sworn she had been speaking plain English, but to his very muddled brain, she might as well have been speaking in a foreign tongue.
“Here.” He thrust the paperwork for his prescription into Neal’s hands and sat in the chair next to him, head in his palms.
Neal looked it over. “They’re giving you antibiotics and something for motion sickness. Didn’t you say your ear has been bothering you?
Peter recalled that he might have mentioned such a thing, some minor pain with a feeling of fullness inside his inner ear, accompanied by some tinnitus.
“And you didn’t think to get that checked out?”
Peter threw up his hands, exasperated. “You sound just like El. Obviously , I’ve been swamped at work. Haven’t had the time.”
“Or you didn’t make the time,” Neal scolded.
“Hey, just because I’m a little incapacitated doesn't mean I can’t still whoop your butt!” His threat was watered down by another wave of nausea that weakened him.
“Come on. Let’s get this prescription filled and then go home.”
Neal lifted Peter up; and with arms linked, they left the clinic.
***
After a quick stop at the pharmacy, Neal pulled up in front of the Burkes’ house. By now, Peter was feeling even more rundown and faintish. Much to his dismay, he had thrown up again, this time into a disposable baggy the nurse had given him. The sooner he took his medication and passed out the better.
Satchmo greeted them at the door and Neal steered past him, depositing Peter on the couch.
“Take these. And I’ll walk Satchmo.” He handed Peter his prescriptions and a glass of water; and then hooked up the yellow lab to his leash.
Peter fiddled with the childproof lid for way longer than he should have and popped the correct dosage into his mouth, swallowing it with the water. He leaned back against the couch and waited until his symptoms lessened, wondering how long it would take to get over this.
Peter wouldn’t call himself a control freak. But he did appreciate a sense of order in his life. He liked everything in its proper place and for everything to go as planned–the checks and the balances, the cause and effect. And to experience the utter lack of control that his illness was inflicting on him caused him no small amount of irritability. His misery, fortunately for Neal, counteracted that somewhat. It took more energy to be grumpy than it did to simply accept his fate.
“Do you want to try eating something?”
Peter opened his eyes, his mind blanking. He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep.
“...what?”
“It’s just that you haven't eaten since lunchtime, which you then threw up. So maybe you should eat something.”
Peter grimaced. His stomach churned at the mention of food. “I don’t know…Do I have to?”
Neal chuckled. “I guess not. You can wait a bit.”
Relieved, Peter closed his eyes once more, dozing off. Neal let him be while he called Elizabeth and filled her in on the situation. She was understandably upset but couldn’t break away from work, as she was knee deep in last minute preparations for a wedding reception. Neal reassured her that he’d stay and look after Peter until she could make it home.
“Really, Elizabeth, it’s no trouble—” Neal cut off, watching in alarm as Peter drunkenly rose from the couch and headed in the direction of the stairs. “I got to go.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Neal planted himself in front of his handler, hands on hips.
“Going to the bathroom? Am I allowed to do that?” Peter snarked.
Neal eyed him for a full minute, before letting him pass. “Ok, but if you’re not back here in ten minutes, I’m coming up.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, Nurse Neal.”
“That’s Doctor to you.” Neal hovered by the foot of the stairs as Peter ascended.
“Hah! In your dreams.”
Peter completed his business with little hassle if at a slower pace and returned in one piece. He wobbled at the bottom of the stairs, clutching at the banister. Neal was already up and ready to catch him, but Peter course-corrected and plopped back down on the couch.
Just doing that much was enough to tire him out. This is absolutely ridiculous, he grumbled to himself. How was he expected to function like this, walking no better than a toddler or a newborn fawn?
Sensing his foul mood, Neal took pity on him and switched on the tv. He flipped through the channels until he settled on a random movie, hoping this would be a nice distraction from his malaise. He next grabbed a ginger ale and some crackers and left those on the coffee table just in case Peter felt like munching.
The medications finally kicked in and the queasiness had been quelled for the moment. Peter reached for a cracker, nibbling on it, and was pleased to see it sat well in his belly. He turned his attention to the movie, the plot about a sea-faring crew on a quest to rescue a damsel in distress while fighting off undead pirates.
Interest piqued, he watched avidly until it dawned on him that this probably wasn’t the best choice of entertainment, as the swaying of the boat on turbulent waters aggravated his motion sickness. He screwed up his face, the icky feeling returning, and closed his eyes against the fight scene happening on screen. Another headache plagued him, his eyes jumping around in his skull, making it impossible to focus on anything, even a film he so desperately wanted to watch to escape from his present condition.
“Headache?” Neal asked, spying the change in his demeanor.
“Yeah…” Peter ran a hand down his face and sighed, defeated. He was miserable and couldn't do anything about it, the worst kind of feeling.
Neal joined him on the couch. “Here, lie down.”
Peter regarded him with suspicion. “What are you going to do?”
“Will you just trust me?” Neal said, exasperated. Would it kill Peter to have another response besides his default distrust of him?
Well, it can’t get any worse than this…Peter supposed.
Peter obliged, lying down with his head in Neal’s lap. Neal began to massage his temples, the area around his brow bone, and down to the bridge of his nose. He lightly pushed at his cheekbones as well, a place Peter didn’t even know had been hurting until Neal worked his magic.
“Mmmm…feels good…” Peter murmured, finding some relief in Neal’s ministrations. He was putty in his hands.
“Sara used to get migraines all the time. She said it helped when I massaged her.” The trail of kisses he placed on every inch of her face and neck might have also contributed to an uplift in her mood, but Peter didn’t need to know that.
“....Mmmm…”
Peter was quiet after that and Neal suspected he had drifted off again. And that was how Elizabeth found them upon her arrival.
Neal had been absently playing with Peter’s hair while he viewed the latter half of the movie, but he shifted his focus when El walked in.
“How is he?” she whispered, not wanting to wake her husband.
“Better, I think,” Neal whispered back. “At least for now.”
El pursed her lips in obvious sympathy and bent down to place a gentle kiss to Peter’s forehead.
“I picked up the ingredients to make chicken soup with ginger root. Why don’t you stay for dinner?”
“Well, if you’re offering.” Neal wouldn’t say no to a free meal.
“It’s the least I could do for you taking care of Peter today. I could rest easy knowing he was in good hands.” She winked at him and Neal smiled in return.
“Let me help.” Neal delicately extricated himself out from underneath Peter and took hold of the grocery bags.
El shook her head, smiling. “Always the gentleman.”
“I try.” Neal flashed her a cheeky grin, eliciting a laugh.
Soon the house was filled with the familiar aroma of chicken bones boiling on the stove mixing with the sharpness of ginger. El chatted with Neal as they cut up the vegetables, catching each other up on the day’s events while Peter blissfully slept on, safe in the care of the two people he loved most in the world.