Work Text:
Neal's throat was raw. He didn't know if it was from the screaming, the smoke from the fire, or from the intubation for surgery.
He coughed a little, and his lungs and throat seared in pain. He winced.
Elizabeth had been asleep in the chair beside the bed, but a cough and a wince was apparently enough to wake her. She stood, and leaned over him, stroking his hair back from his face.
"Hey sweetie? Can I get you water, ice chips?"
He nodded, and croaked, “ice…”
She patted his hand, and went to get some. Neal watched her go, and looked around the hospital room. Peter had more or less moved in, but right now the agent was at work, since his laptop bag was gone. Elizabeth was probably here so Peter would actually do something besides sit beside the bed all day. Neal was in favor of this. Peter's life didn't have to pause just because Neal's had.
Elizabeth came back with the cup of ice chips. She sat on his right side. He slowly, carefully, scooted himself up on the bed a tiny bit. Pain burst in his back, and hip, and what little remained of his left leg.
Elizabeth quickly gripped his hand and squeezed, he squeezed tightly in return, trying to breathe evenly. Between surgery and burns that had necessitated it, there had been a constant fight to keep his pain under control.
He remembered them having to knock him out for a while. The last thing he saw before the sedation hit was the fear on Peter's face.
It was getting better now. Just slowly.
He finally was able to relax, as the pain gradually receded. Elizabeth gave him the cup of ice chips. He tipped a small amount into his mouth. He let the cold soothe the pain and inflammation.
Elizabeth kissed his forehead, "keep hanging in there, alright? You will survive this."
Six months later…
Neal lay on his sofa, holding the edge of the cushion. Tears pricked his eyes in pain and frustration. His lower back was so sore he could barely move. Stupid PT. Stupid John and his yoga ball and his stretchy bands and his stupid little weights that had to be enchanted because Neal could not have been brought to tears by two pounds. Stupid spines, needing everything even.
There was a knock on the door. He ignored it. He wasn't in any mood to talk to anyone. The lock clicked, and the door opened quietly.
He groaned, and said, muffled by the couch, "hi, June. Sorry, I am fine, I was just being antisocial."
"Well, the antisocial part I got," said Elizabeth's voice.
Neal craned his head, trying to look, but his back wouldn't put up with it. Elizabeth came around, where he could see her easily.
"If you ignore my calls long enough, I am gonna check on you. It's just a fact."
He chuckled a little, tiredly. He didn't really mind seeing her, he was just exhausted and not up to socializing.
She sat beside him on the edge of the sofa, and put her hand on his upper back in a friendly way. She frowned, rubbing his aching, burning muscles.
"You're so tense…"
"Just from PT," he said quickly.
Painfully, he turned over onto his side, so she couldn't access his back. He didn't want her noticing the muscles actively spasming at the base of his spine. He didn't want her knowing that it seemed like using the stupid prosthesis might just be too much for his body, after all of this work.
She looked frustrated, but she didn't push him.
"Well, anyway. I brought treats."
She opened a cooler bag, and started taking things out of it. Two individual bowls of gelato, just starting to melt. The makings of espresso martinis. A large tupperware of fresh pasta and basil and tomato salad. A container of apple brandy filled chocolates. A dvd of a documentary about Monet.
Neal stared at Elizabeth, in stunned gratitude. She kissed the top of his head, "it seemed like you were having a rough time. I thought, maybe we could just have a comfort night. Do you want me to go make a couple of the drinks?"
He nodded, and added quietly, "I really appreciate this."
She rubbed his upper arm briefly, and then put things away in the fridge and freezer and took the drink ingredients to the bar. Neal couldn't lay on his side anymore, it hurt too much. He turned back onto his stomach, silencing his whimper of pain at the maneuver in the cushions. He held his breath, as the cramps got even worse for a time.
"Neal, do you want whipped–" Elizabeth had turned around to find him clutching the frame of the couch with his left hand, his right hand on his lower back, his face pressed into the couch seat.
She rushed over to him. He braced himself for a bunch of worried questions like he would get from Peter. Instead, her hands just laid lightly beside his on his back, then lifted.
"Can I get you a heating pad?" She asked him, softly.
He turned his head to look at her. She was worried, but she wasn't freaking out.
He nodded. She left and went to his bed, then came back with the one he kept there. She laid it over his lower back and plugged it in. She knelt beside the sofa.
Neal looked up at her, infinitely grateful, as heat began to soak into the angry tissues, soothing overworked muscles and stretched tendons.
"I am gonna finish your drink. Do you want a back rub up here, after I get that for you?" She gestured to his mid back to his shoulders.
He nodded, "thank you, El. You are amazing."
She shrugged, and went back to making the drinks, “I’m just being a friend. People want to help you, you know? We’re worried about you.”
“I’m figuring it out.”
She turned the TV and dvd player on, and returned to kneel beside him, handing him the martini topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings, with a small straw so it was easy to drink lying down.
She started on his back. Her hands were soft, and gentle, and she knew what she was doing, as she began to battle the pain with care, “I know you are. That’s not the point, honey. This is.”
She worked on his back, as he listened to the documentary, and heat soaked into him, and sipped the delicious drink, and just overall suffered much less than he had been an hour earlier.
He had to admit, even if it meant people seeing him struggling…Elizabeth might be onto something.