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16. Toxin/Poison
“I’m not going to lie, Peter, I’m glad that case is over,” Clinton said as he sat down next to Peter at the bar.
“No kidding,” Neal replied, sitting on Peter’s other side.
“Yeah, same here.” Peter raised a finger at the bartender and ordered a round of beers. “Where’s Diana?”
Neal looked over his shoulder and smiled when he saw Diana batting her eyelashes at a woman sitting down the bar from them. “She looks occupied to me,” Neal said, pointing in her direction.
Clinton laughed and took a sip of his beer. It wasn’t often that the team got together after work—most of them preferred to simply go home after a long day—but this case had been brutal. They all needed to decompress together before they went their separate ways, to prove to themselves that there was still good in the world.
Neal sipped his own beer and looked around the bar. It was a sports bar, naturally, since Peter had picked the spot, and Neal enjoyed people watching while everyone was focused on the big tv screens hanging on every available inch of wall space.
As the evening wore on, Neal finished one beer and then another, ready to call it a night and head home. He stood from his barstool and nearly face planted on the sticky floor. Something wasn’t right. Grasping the edge of the bar tightly, Neal brought his free hand up and rubbed at his eyes, trying to make the world stop spinning. His limbs felt like lead and he was sure that if he tried to speak his words would slur despite only having two beers.
“Neal?” Peter furrowed his brow at Neal’s reaction.
“P’ter,” Neal mumbled. “Think I got d-drugged.”
Peter jumped up and grabbed a hold of Neal’s arm so that he wouldn’t fall over—he was swaying dangerously on his feet—and looked wildly around the bar for anyone who might have had the motivation to drug Neal.
“Call 911,” Peter instructed Clinton. He helped Neal over to an empty booth and pushed and nudged at him until Neal was lying down. “Hold on, Neal. Help is coming.”
Neal closed his eyes to block out the spinning of the ceiling, but all that did was make the darkness behind his eyelids spin. His stomach rolled unpleasantly and he had the vague memory of throwing up off the side of the booth seat as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Wincing, Neal peeled his eyes open. One look around told him that he was in the hospital. There was an IV stuck into the back of his hand and an assortment of wires stuck to him, and he could hear the steady beeping of a heart monitor nearby. His head was pounding and his memory was fuzzy. What had happened?
“Hey, partner. Glad to see you’re awake.”
Neal looked to his right and saw Peter sitting in the chair in his curtained off cubical. “P’ter?”
“Yeah, it’s me, kid. You got drugged at the bar. Roofied. You’ll be okay once that IV finishes.” Peter nodded to the bag hanging on the pole next to Neal’s bed.
“Why?” Neal brought his hand up and rubbed at his head.
“We still haven’t figured that out, but Jones and Diana are on it.” Peter scooted his chair closer so that he could fluff Neal’s pillows and make him a little more comfortable. “The doctor said it’s a good thing you threw most of it up before you passed out; otherwise you’d still be unconscious.”
Neal grimaced. So that was the horrible taste in his mouth. “When can I go home?”
“I think as soon as they check on you again after that bag of fluids.” Peter ran a hand up and down Neal’s arm. “Doing okay?”
“Feels like I was drugged,” Neal said with half a smirk.
Peter rolled his eyes. “Great, you’re just fine.” He smiled at Neal and ruffled his hair. “Just fine.”