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Peter pounded down the hall of the hotel, Diana and Jones right behind him. Neal was silent, the tracker still. He could still hear the woman Neal had brought back to the hotel room talking on the phone, muffled in another room. Horrible scenarios were racing through Peter’s head.
Peter reached the room, unlocked it, burst inside, “FBI!”. The curator was in the living area of the suite, holding her cell phone, clearly very scared by Peter’s sudden appearance.
“Where is the man you were here with?”
She pointed towards the bedroom. Peter slowly made his way to the doorway, as Jones and Diana stayed with the curator. Neal was on the bed, not moving. He was, however, breathing. Peter went over to him, gently rubbed Neal’s chest. Neal moaned slightly, and turned his head away.
“Neal? Neal, can you hear me? It’s Peter.”
Neal groaned loosely, and turned his head towards Peter’s voice, “Pet’r?”
“I think somebody drugged my drink,” said the curator from the other room, “I didn’t like the cocktail I ordered, I thought it tasted weird. He was nice and swapped with me. He was sweet and hot so I took him home right after we finished them. He started acting weird on the way here, then he fell asleep. I was trying to ask my friend what to do.”
Peter sighed, and then directed, “Jones and Diana, take her outside, get an agent on obtaining confirmation from a camera or the bartender.”
They nodded, and escorted the woman out. Peter turned back to Neal. He sat beside the younger man on the bed, and gently shook him once more. Neal whined in the back of his throat, pitifully.
“Neal, did you swap drinks with someone tonight?”
Neal opened his blue eyes, which were nearly crossing as he tried to focus on Peter, “mmm-hmm. Pretty. Talkin'…she's'smart.”
Peter snorted. Though, he realized that in some ways it was probably a good thing that Neal had gotten drugged instead. Neal was a lot bigger than the curator, and he was solidly out of it. She might not have been okay, after receiving the same dose. Certainly not if whoever had targeted her got to her….
“We gotta go to the hospital, bud, okay? We gotta find out what was in that drink, and make sure you’re gonna be okay.”
Neal closed his eyes sleepily, “nuh-uh.”
“Yuh-huh,” said Peter, putting warmth and humor into his voice, as he scooped Neal up in his arms, "just stay with me, okay?"
"Not going anywhere 'cept you…you're takin' me somewhere…"
Peter carried Neal into the hall. Jones, Diana, and the curator were waiting there. Jones quickly came to help Peter carry Neal by making a seat between them with their arms, Neal's head resting against Peter's shoulder. Diana brought the curator out with them.
They carried him to Peter's car, put him in the back seat. Jones turned back to talk to Diana, who was just getting off the phone. Peter tried to pull away, but Neal grabbed his wrist, uncoordinated.
Neal looked up at him, eyes wide, struggling to focus, "don' leave me."
Peter's face softened, he gently brushed Neal's hair back from the young man's face, "I’ll never leave you, bud. I will, though, get in the driver’s seat and take you to the hospital.”
Peter was halfway to the hospital, Jones riding beside him, when a hand pawed clumsily at the center panel, and distressed grunting started behind them.
"Hey, Neal, take it easy, man," said Jones, looking back, "we'll get you out of there."
Peter pulled over, and turned to see what was going on. Neal was between the bench and the front seats, apparently having rolled off. He was stuck, and upset, and completely unable to help himself.
Peter got out of the car and opened the door into the back seat. He gripped Neal's arm, and pulled the younger man out, onto the sidewalk and his lap. Jones helped make sure Neal didn't get hurt, he was so floppy.
Neal grabbed hold of Peter's shirt front, and buried his face in Peter's chest. Peter wrapped his arms around Neal, concerned, "it's okay, bud."
"I couldn'…couldn't reach you," said Neal, tripping over consonants and slurring vowels.
Peter's heart squeezed, "I was just in the front seat, Neal."
Neal shook his head, clinging to Peter.
Jones clapped Neal on the shoulder, "how about I drive the rest of the way. Peter can stay in the backseat with you."
Neal looked up at Jones, his cheek still mushed against Peter's chest.
"Jones," he murmured, thickly, "y'r'so nice…n pretty…"
Jones chuckled, "hang in there, Neal."
Jones went to the driver's door and got in, adjusting the seat.
Neal sighed, turning his face so it was hidden, starting to calm down a little bit in Peter's arms.
Peter finally lifted Neal back into the car, and got in with him. Neal clung to him again. Peter held the young man, and rubbed his back.
"I'm right here," he said into Neal's hair, "I've got you, I'm right here."
T
Peter gently shook Neal, as they got to the hospital parking lot. With a lot of help and encouragement from Jones, Neal got on Peter's back to be carried piggyback into the hospital. Jones took the car back to the parking lot.
Neal sighed loosely into Peter's shoulder.
"What's wrong?" Asked Peter. It really wasn't that hard to carry Neal that way, so Peter just waited for Jones by the entrance.
"Pr'tty 'n smart 'n'nice…wh's'he have't' be stray–straight."
Peter chuckled, "Neal, do you have a crush on Jones?"
"Dunno…d'sn't matt'r…"
Peter decided to wait until Neal was in a better state to let him know that Jones was as bisexual as they came, just quiet about it at work given his experiences in the military. Neal dating an FBI agent would be a good influence, and Jones had been venting about boring dates…
"He's'a good friee-e-e-end," Neal yawned into Peter's shoulder, as Jones rejoined them.
They went inside. Peter answered most of the questions, Jones wrote the answers down. Given he had been drugged with an unknown substance, Neal was taken back fairly quickly.
His blood was drawn before they had a bed, he sat in a wheelchair holding Peter's hand and staring at the nurse working on filling the vacuum tubes. He was getting very pale.
Jones crouched in front of Neal, put a hand on Neal's knee, "hey, Neal. Look at me, not at that."
Neal finally tore his eyes away from the blood draw and looked Jones in the face. Jones grinned, squeezing Neal's knee, "yeah, there we go."
Neal nodded, eyes fixed on Jones, and murmured, "thanks."
Peter squeezed Neal's hand, supportively.
Soon after that Neal got a bed in the emergency department. Neal was absolutely insistent on holding on to Peter. Peter and Jones squeezed in between the bed and the wall, while Neal was hooked up to an IV from the open side.
"This is a cocktail we give for date-rape cases. It's got some vitamins, and meds that will counteract any narcotics involved," said the nurse, "it will also just help your system flush things out."
Fairly soon after the IV started, Neal seemed to become more with it. He raised his head and looked around the curtained area, then sat up. He looked at Peter and Jones beside him, down at where he held Peter's hand.
He still seemed a little sedated and off, but he wasn't skirting unconsciousness.
"What happened?" he asked, "the last thing I remember…I was, um…we were going into somewhere…"
Neal shivered, and looked at the IV, as the cold liquid went into him.
Peter squeezed Neal's hand. Neal looked at Peter, still too out of it to hide the open need on his face. Peter got into the bed with him, and pulled Neal to lay against him. Neal pressed himself into Peter's chest.
Jones put his hand on Neal's back, "you went into a bar to talk to the curator. Someone drugged her drink. Apparently she didn't like how it tasted, probably because it was drugged. You were a gentleman and swapped with her. Diana was able to confirm that someone dropped something in the drink, she is finding out who that person is."
Neal nodded into Peter's chest, looking at Jones, "thank you. You're nice."
Jones chuckled, and rubbed Neal's back a bit, since Neal was so clearly needy for touch.
The nurse came back in, with another woman in a pair of scrubs with cartoon ducks printed all over.
"Hi," she said, "I was pulled off pediatrics to cover down here today, but I figure adults stuck in here can use the cheer anyway."
Jones snorted, Peter laughed. Neal just blinked at her tiredly.
She looked down at a piece of paper, "so it looks like you were in fact drugged with a combination of GHB and a few different opiates. The naloxone in that IV is taking care of the narcotics, and the GHB is low enough in your blood at this point it should clear in a few hours. We're gonna keep you under observation until you're feeling more normal."
Neal nodded, though he was seeming pretty spacey.
"Do you live with anyone, is there anybody who can keep an eye on you tonight?"
Peter met Jones's eyes and they nodded, "yeah, we can take care of him tonight."
Neal woke up. He was laying on Peter's couch, his upper body across someone's lap. There was the sound of snoring from across the room. No, from nearby…both. Two people were snoring.
He opened his eyes and raised his head. The lap was Peter's, Peter was soundly asleep, head back. He was the source of the close snores.
Across the room was the other culprit: Diana, sleeping in a big cushy recliner. Jones was also there on the other sofa, but he was sleeping quietly.
Footsteps moved in the kitchen. He tensed, and sat up, nervous and confused.
Elizabeth came into the living room. He relaxed, some.
"Oh, honey, you're awake."
Neal nodded, "what happened…How did I get here?"
"You were drugged at a bar working a case. Peter and Jones took you to the hospital. The doctor discharged you, but you were still pretty out of it, so they brought you here. Diana joined after she finished something with the case."
Neal looked around at the three agents, who had all apparently given up a comfortable night's sleep to make sure he was okay.
"I didn't do anything embarrassing, did I?" he asked, trying to sound funny through his anxiety.
Elizabeth shook her head, "you were mostly asleep, and all you wanted was to be close to people. You were given GHB, so a lot of that might have been the drugs."
"Right," he said, looking between Peter, and Jones, desperately wanting to be close to both of them for different reasons, "the drugs."
Elizabeth was not an idiot. She kissed the top of his head, "it's normal to want the people close to you to be…well, close to you."
Neal shrugged, "nobody close to me has been affectionate like that except girlfriends. I don't know what's normal."
He was still apparently a little free with his words right then.
Sadness filled her face, but she responded lightly and supportively, "well, then go off the other person's cues. But let people be close to you. Let yourself get close to them."