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5. Preventative Measures (Not Taken)
“One last reminder to get your flu shots! We don’t want a repeat of last year,” Peter said, addressing the conference room full of agents. “That’s all for today. Have a nice weekend, everyone!”
Neal stayed in his swivel chair while the conference room cleared out, taking advantage of the swiveling capabilities of the chair now that there was no one to kick next to him. “Have you gotten your shot yet?” Neal asked.
“Of course I have. That last bout of the flu I had last year was plenty for me, I don’t need it again this year.” Peter turned and walked into his office, looking over his shoulder to see if Neal was following him. “Have you?”
“Not yet,” Neal said as he sat in the chair across from Peter’s desk. “I meant to do it today but we had to stay late for a meeting so the doctor’s office is closed.” Neal held out his hands and shrugged.
“But you’re going to get it, right?” Peter asked with a stern look.
“Yes, Peter, I’ll get the shot.” Neal shuddered.
“What was that?” Peter zeroed in on the brief flash of discomfort that Neal exhibited.
“What was what?” Neal feigned innocence.
“You shuddered. Do you not like needles?” Peter sat at his desk and crossed his legs, trying to read Neal’s face.
Neal shuddered again thinking about when he’d gone undercover with Peter and had been drugged in the psychiatrist’s office. “Not since that one undercover stint.” Remembering what it had been like made sweat break out on Neal’s forehead and drip down his back.
Peter held his hands up in surrender. “Woah, okay calm down. You just went as pale as a ghost.” He furrowed his brow in concern. “You don’t have to get your vaccine if it bothers you that much.” Peter frowned. He was actually concerned that Neal might pass out, he had gotten so pale at the thought of a vaccine.
Neal shook his head, centering himself, and smiled weakly at Peter. “I’m fine.”
Peter wasn’t convinced, but started talking about their last case to distract Neal. It seemed to have worked, because within five minutes Neal’s color was back to normal and he seemed much more himself.
Weeks later, Peter was reading the paper and drinking his coffee when his cell phone rang. He answered it without reading the caller ID. “This is Peter Burke.”
“Remember when you told me I didn’t have to get my flu shot?” a raspy voice asked.
Peter put the paper down and looked over at Elizabeth with a frown. “Neal? Is that you?”
“Yeah. I’m calling out-” Neal was interrupted by a wet, painful sounding cough.
“Jeez kid, you sound terrible. Stay home until you’re feeling better.” Peter jumped when he got swatted in the arm by El. “What?” He covered the microphone on his cell.
“Ask him if he needs anything!” El exclaimed.
“Do you need anything? I can swing by before work,” Peter said, raising his eyebrows at his wife to see how he did.
El nodded and went back into the kitchen.
“No, I’m okay. I’ll have Moz drop some supplies off outside my door.” Neal coughed again, causing Peter to pull the phone away from his ear. “Sorry,” Neal apologized.
“Okay, well let me know if you need anything. If I don’t hear from you by the end of the day I’m coming over to check in on you, alright?” Peter looked over at El, glad to see she was giving him an approving nod.
“Sounds good. Bye, Peter.”
“Bye, Neal.” Peter hung up and sighed. El walked over to the table with her coffee and sat across from him. “Neal sounds awful. I hope he’s not too sick. If it’s anything like the flu I had last year, he’ll need more than just Mozzie dropping supplies off.”
“He could come stay here,” El suggested. “I can work from home for a few days, Yvonne can handle the in-office stuff.”
Peter mulled the idea over. “That’s not a bad idea. I’d feel better if he wasn’t alone.” Peter pulled his phone out and texted Neal, in case he’d fallen back asleep.
El can work from home for a few days. I think you should come stay over here until you’re back on your feet. I’ll pick you up after work.
“I’ll let you know what he says, and if he agrees I’ll drive him over.” Peter stood and, after folding the paper, brought his coffee cup to the sink. “I love you hon, have a good day.”
“I love you too,” El said, kissing Peter as he bent over so she didn’t have to stand from the table. “Keep me in the loop!”
“I will,” Peter called over his shoulder as he walked out the door.
Neal didn’t remember the last time he’d been so sick. It had been all he could do to call Peter and take the day off, he couldn’t imagine getting out of bed and walking over to the door, let alone the bathroom. He coughed, curling in on himself as he did so, and pulled the blankets tighter around him. He was sure he was running a fever and all his joints ached. His chest was burning, his throat was sore, and his nose was dripping continuously.
Calling Mozzie was the next thing Neal needed to do, but he was just so tired. After he rested his eyes for a minute he would call his friend. Just a minute.
Many, many minutes later, Neal woke up in a fit of coughing that seemed to pull all the air from his body. Gasping, he pushed himself up to a sitting position and leaned back on his headboard. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this sick. He desperately wanted Peter or El there to take care of him, so much so that the thought of them brought tears to his eyes—though that might have been the coughing.
He looked blearily at the clock once his body remembered how to breathe and saw that it had been four hours since he had called Peter. He still needed to call Moz—he had nothing to help him feel better in his apartment. He was sick so seldomly that there wasn’t a point in keeping medicine around because it always expired before he could use it all. Clearing his throat softly, so he didn’t cough again, Neal picked up his phone and called Mozzie.
It went straight to voicemail.
“Moz, please call me back. I’m sick and need some supplies. You don’t have to come in, I know how you feel about germs. Call me back. Please.” Neal hung up and set his phone on the nightstand. As much as he was dreading a trip out of bed, his bladder was forcing him to get up. He took a steadying breath and flopped the covers off his body. He was immediately covered in goosebumps and shivering, but he pushed himself so that his legs were hanging over the side of the bed.
“Sooner I get up the sooner I can get back in bed,” he muttered to himself. It was a long walk to the bathroom, but Neal made it eventually. Lots of breaks were needed, and he considered crawling at one point, but he figured that once he got onto the floor he would never get up again.
After he used the toilet, he dug through his medicine cabinet and found an expired bottle of ibuprofen. It was better than nothing, so Neal dosed himself and slowly made his way back to bed. On his way past the fridge he grabbed a bottle of water and was proud of himself for thinking of it. His brain was barely functioning, so he took his good idea as a win and collapsed back into bed.
He was shivering so fiercely that he couldn’t open the water bottle. Tears sprung up in his eyes as he tried and failed to twist the cap off. He gave up after a minute, too cold to keep trying. He needed help, he realized. He let himself warm up a bit, his body heat heating the bubble he had under the covers, before reaching out of his cocoon and grabbing his phone from the nightstand.
The phone was ringing before he knew who he was calling.
“Neal? You okay?” Peter asked, picking up on the third ring.
“Peter,” Neal started. The tears were back again, falling freely once he heard Peter’s voice. He hated having a fever—it made him too emotional.
“Hang on Neal, I’m on my way. Don’t hang up.”
Neal could hear Peter close his office door and the jumbled sound of the bullpen. He heard the ding of the elevator, and then Peter was speaking again.
“Alright, I’m on my way. How are you doing?”
Hearing the concern in Peter’s voice, Neal forced himself to get a grip before Peter called an ambulance for him. “Not great,” he said through the tears. He cleared his throat which made him cough. His throat was on fire by the time the fit was over. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Peter asked. Neal figured he was in his car now because there was no background noise except for the occasional blinker.
“Can’t open my water,” Neal whispered.
“Well, I’ll fix that when I get there. What else?”
“Don’t feel good.”
“Yeah, Neal, I gathered that much on my own. List your symptoms for me so I know whether I should be calling 911 or not.”
“Probably have a fever, sore throat, cough. Don’t need 911.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Peter was quiet for a minute. “Did Mozzie show up?”
Neal shook his head, not remembering that Peter couldn’t see him.
“Neal? You still with me?”
“Sorry, forgot you couldn’t see me.” Neal rolled onto his side and pulled the blankets closer around himself. “No, I couldn’t get ahold of him.”
“Have you taken any medicine?” Peter willed the lights to turn green so he could just get to Neal and see him with his own eyes. He’d never heard the kid sound so sick.
“Yeah, I took some ibuprofen right before I called you,” Neal replied. He could feel his mind slipping into sleep. “‘M tired, Peter.”
“I know you are, kiddo. I’ll be there in 10 minutes, can you stay awake that long?”
“I’ll try.” Neal shivered and pulled the blankets over his head so they were covering every inch of his body. He listened in a half-doze state as Peter rambled about his morning in the office to fill the silence and keep Neal awake.
“Neal, you have to open the door for me,” Peter said. He was standing outside Neal’s apartment but the door was locked. “Neal!”
Neal grunted. “Caffrey! Open the damn door!” Peter yelled.
Neal jumped, confused about hearing Peter on the phone and also in the hallway. He crawled out of bed and shuffled over to the door, pulling it open with much difficulty. Leaning heavily on the door frame, Neal smiled when he saw Peter, glad that someone was there to help him. “Peter,” Neal whispered. He felt his eyes watering.
Peter pulled Neal into a hug and gently ushered him over to his bed. “Jeez, Neal, you’re on fire. Do you have a thermometer?” Peter palmed Neal’s forehead and frowned deeply.
Neal shook his head. “Feels nice,” he said. Peter’s hand was nice and cold against his burning skin.
“Come on, get into bed. I’ll be right back.” Peter picked Neal’s legs up onto the bed and pulled the blankets over the younger man. As fast as he could, he went into Neal’s bathroom and searched it for a thermometer. Neal was right, there wasn’t one in his apartment. Peter did find a wash cloth, so he grabbed it and went back to the kitchen to get a bowl filled with cool water. He dipped the cloth in the water, wrung it out, and draped it over Neal’s forehead.
“How’s that?” Peter asked as he cracked open the water bottle on Neal’s nightstand.
“Nice.” Neal pushed the cloth away from his eyes and took the water from Peter, sipping on it and trying not to cough. It felt good on his throat and he hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.
“Sit tight. I’m going to call El and have her bring over some medicine.” Peter stood from where he had been sitting on the side of Neal’s bed and went into the kitchen.
El answered on the first ring. “How’s our boy?”
“He’s really sick, El. He called me about 20 minutes ago and I left the office as soon as I heard his voice.”
“Oh, no. What do you need?”
Peter smiled a little. El knew him so well. “Neal has nothing here that a normal person keeps around in case they get sick. He’ll need a thermometer, some tea, Tylenol, cold and flu medicine.” Peter paused and looked over at Neal, whose eyes were closed. “I’ve never seen him like this, hon. It’s scary.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, hon. I love you.”
“I love you too. See you soon.” Peter hung up and went back to Neal’s bedside. “El is on her way with some stuff that’ll make you feel better.”
Neal hummed which sent him into a coughing fit.
Peter hauled him upright and pounded on his back to loosen up some of the gunk in his lungs. “Easy, easy. Try to breathe.” He rubbed Neal’s back once the coughing fit ended. Neal sank into Peter’s chest, his head resting on Peter’s shoulder.
“Haven’t been this sick in a long time. Maybe ever,” Neal said after a few minutes of silence.
“You look terrible,” Peter responded. He wrapped his arms around Neal and held him tight. “I’m sorry that you’re so sick.”
“’S not your fault. Should’ve gotten my flu shot like everyone else.” Neal pulled away from Peter and settled himself back on his pillows. He was shivering again, so Peter tucked him in and gently ran his hand over Neal’s hair.
“Get some rest, I’ll wake you up when El gets here.”
When Neal woke up for the third time that day he felt a little more like himself. Apparently expired ibuprofen worked well enough to bring his fever down some. He could hear Peter and El talking in hushed tones in the kitchen and felt completely safe and content in his warm bed.
“Hey, look who’s awake!” Peter said, walking over to the bed. “El made some soup for you. You need to eat some so that you can take more medicine.” Peter set a steaming bowl on the nightstand and pulled Neal up to lean against the headboard. He handed Neal the bowl and took the opportunity to palm Neal’s forehead again. “You don’t feel as hot as you did earlier. That’s a good thing.”
Neal nodded and slurped up some soup. It was delicious, like everything that El cooked. It soothed his throat on the way down and the steam helped clear some of the congestion blocking up his head. Before he knew it, the whole bowl was gone.
“Here, now you can take these,” Peter said as he handed Neal a dose of Tylenol. He took the empty bowl back into the kitchen, surprised that Neal had eaten it all so quickly.
El took the empty bowl and filled it again, this time bringing it over to Neal herself. She was concerned when she got Peter’s call and then just as worried as Peter when she saw how awful Neal looked. She wanted to pick him up and rock him back and forth until he was feeling better.
“Here, sweetie, there’s plenty more if you’re still hungry.” El set the bowl in Neal’s lap and sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
Neal shrugged. “I’ve been better.”
Laughing a little, El reached out and felt Neal’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. “Still too warm,” she said. She pulled the bag of goodies she’d bought at the pharmacy on the way over up and set it next to her. After digging around for a second she pulled out a thermometer and handed it over to the younger man. “Show me the numbers so I know you’re not bluffing,” she said.
Neal huffed like he was offended, but it made him cough so hard he was afraid he might throw up. Once the fit was over he smiled sheepishly at El and stuck the thermometer in his mouth, knowing there was no way to sugar-coat how he was feeling. Peter and El could read him like an open book and for once he was glad about it. He was so used to putting on a happy facade that it was a relief to just be himself in front of the two people who cared about him most in the world.
“101.7,” El announced. She frowned. “I wish I knew what it had been before you took that ibuprofen. Must have been pretty high.”
“Must have been. I cried because I couldn’t open my water,” Neal said, expecting El to laugh. She just frowned harder and reached out to hold his hand.
“You should’ve called me, sweetie. I’m glad you called Peter when you did, but you should have told him how bad you were feeling this morning.” El bit her tongue—she didn’t mean to turn this moment into a lecture about self-preservation. “I’m glad you’re feeling a little better.”
Neal nodded and looked down at his soup. “I didn’t realize it was so bad, at first.” He ate one last spoonful of soup before setting the half eaten bowl on the nightstand. “I would’ve been okay if Moz had answered.”
El shook her head. “I’m just glad that there’s someone here to help you now. Are you done eating?”
Neal nodded and let himself sink down under his blankets. “Thank you for the soup. It was delicious.”
El smiled at him and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Get some rest.”
Neal closed his eyes and snuggled into his pillow; he hated that he was sick but oh so happy that Peter and El were there to take care of him.