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One week. All Peter was after was one week. Not even a full week at that! A work week, five days. They flew into El’s parents house on Sunday and they were due to fly back Saturday so Peter would have time to catch up on work. It was just a few days where Peter was supposed to be allowed to not think about cases, not think about crooks, and not think about one specific conman in particular.
He should’ve known better than to expect that.
It was 11 a.m. in Illinois, which meant it was noon in New York, when his phone pinged a text from Diana. Caffrey’s sick, sent him home.
And if that didn’t immediately send off the sirens in his head. Less than 24 hours after Peter’s left and Neal’s already trying to pull something? He really thought he was that smart that Peter wouldn’t have gotten instantly suspicious? Or maybe he’d just been counting on Diana not saying anything to him to try and preserve his vacation.
Him, Elizabeth, and her mom Tina had been sitting in the living room chatting when he got this text. “I, sorry, will you excuse me for five minutes?”
El shoots him a look that’s somehow both annoyed and concerned, telling her mom, “Apparently the whole place just falls apart without him,” as Peter quietly excused himself to the front porch.
As soon as he was outside, he calls Neal. He answers on the second ring, Peter interrupting any greeting with a stern, “Whatever you’re up to, stop it.”
Neal sighs, sounding tired, but Peter knew better, knew that Neal could act with the best Broadway performers Elizabeth took him to see. “Peter, I’m not up to anything.” A shuffling sound, then a long pause, where Peter assumed the microphone got covered up. Before he could raise an objection, Neal’s voice returns. “Do you really think Diana would let me go if she was even a little suspicious?”
“Diana is brilliant, but I’m fluent in Caffrey bullshit and something about this doesn’t feel right, and my gut always figures out what you’re up to.”
“Fine, well. Both your gut and mine will just have to be upset until you get back. Call Diana if you really don’t trust me.”
Neal hangs up without further word.
Peter calls Diana.
“What did he do? How could he convince you that he was sick enough to go home?”
Diana lets out a little chuckle at Peter’s disbelief. “He threw up into the wastebasket at his desk Peter. I don’t think even Neal would stoop that low to pull some kind of con. ”
Peter winces, now feeling guilty for having doubted her decision, and for having doubted Neal’s actions. “No, no…you’re right.”
“He was pretty damn pitiful all morning too. I thought he was just moping because you were gone and he’s been relegated to the sidelines, like some kind of puppy when it’s raining. You should call him, you probably could hear it in his voice.”
Now Peter felt extra bad. “I already called him. I thought he was just trying to sound pitiful, not…Damn it.”
“Neal knows who he is Peter, don’t worry. I’ve got his tracking data pulled up, the cabs just about reached June’s. If he leaves to go anywhere, I’ll know about it. Just go back to enjoying your time with Elizabeth’s family, and if we’re lucky we’ll both get to enjoy some Caffrey free time.”
Diana was right, and Peter knew if he hid any longer Elizabeth was going to be upset. He quickly says his goodbyes with her, then he turns his phone off before putting it in his pocket.
He had no reason to worry. As awful as it sounded, Neal being sick was probably better for Peter, because then he wouldn’t have to worry about him causing any trouble. Neal was technically Diana’s problem for the week, and if he needed anything there was June, and Mozzie could make anything Neal needed appear.
He walks back into the house, giving a sheepish smile. “So sorry about that.” He sits down on the couch to expectant looks from Elizabeth and Tina, and a shameful blush starts to form in the base of his neck. This whole vacation was off to a bad start. “My, uh, my consultant, Neal? I’ve talked about him before. He apparently got sick at work and I, well I just wanted to check in with him before he got home.”
Not a total lie.
Tina seems to understand, and the annoyance from Elizabeth’s eyes dies out. “Oh, poor Neal. Remind me later to get my grandmother’s cookbook out and send him a photo of her split pea soup.” She rolls her eyes when Peter makes a face. “He’s got better taste than you hon, I bet he’d enjoy something a little different than chicken noodle.”
Tina laughs a little, meeting Peter’s gauze when he looks up. “Elizabeth must be pretty fond of that boy of yours if she’s willing to share family recipes.”
“He’s… sweet Mom. Does a lot to help Peter. Besides, none of us even really like split pea that much, so there’s no harm in sharing it with him.”
“Just another thing for him to steal.” Peter tries to joke. The joke falls flat though, only earning weird looks from the two women. “Let’s, uh, let’s not talk about Caffrey any more though. We’re here to get away from work, already turned my phone off and everything.”
Peter tells himself that he’s going to keep his phone off for the rest of the trip. Anyone that’s truly important has Elizabeth’s number if they really needed to get into contact with him.
He makes it through most of the day, even the awkward dinner with Elizabeth’s father giving him way too much attention that Peter could not shake. He excuses himself to an early bed at nine, claiming that it was just him being used to a rigid sleep schedule for work. Elizabeth shoots him a knowing look but doesn't call him out on the lie.
He takes a second shower for the day for something to do, brushes his teeth, and then goes to sit in the guest bed. He tosses and turns for fifteen minutes, but the gnawing feeling that had appeared ever since Diana’s text kept him awake.
He feels like a kid again when he gets up and tiptoes across the floor, avoiding the spots that he knew creaked, and gently cracks open the bedroom door. He can hear Elizabeth and her mom still talking emphatically, meaning that they probably weren’t close to wrapping up too soon. He tiptoes back across the room and grabs his laptop from its place amongst the suitcases in the closet, then carries it over to the bed.
He tells himself he’s just checking Neal’s location, confirming that he’s still at home, and that will be enough to let him relax. He quickly connects to the Wi-Fi and pulls up the tracking website. He doesn’t know why, but his heart starts racing in his chest as the website loads slowly, and for a split second he fears he’s going to see “No Data Found.” After too long though, the green dot appears, and Peter lets out a long sigh.
With the accuracy of Neal’s tracker, Peter can tell that he’s in bed. Neal was normally a night owl, but it made sense for him to be in bed if he didn’t feel well. He grabs the slider for the day and pulls it to the earlier hours, but the dot doesn’t move for hours, up until the journey of Neal heading home from work.
Another wave of guilt rushes through Peter, making his own stomach wobble slightly. The whole day when he imagined what Neal would be getting up to, he figured it would be like another day off for him, more or less. He imagined Neal reading outside, or painting in his kitchen, something, but it truly seemed like the kid just went home and fell over.
Or, Neal had actually managed to figure out a way to hack his anklet. Maybe he just left it on the bed, figuring that would be the best place to not raise any suspicions. Maybe he’d been long gone for hours, or maybe he only needed to be gone for a few. Break into the MET, or maybe hitch a train down to the Smithsonian and back. Those images in Peter’s mind felt more likely than Neal Caffrey just laying in bed all day.
Playing the loop of hours over a few times, the bad feeling in Peter’s gut builds. He could choose to trust Neal being sick, again, chose to believe all the evidence in front of him that Neal was just at home, in bed, feeling miserable. Trust what Diana, his own probie, saw and her judgment.
Or, he could call Neal.
He tiptoes across the room again, finding his phone in his discarded pants pockets. He turns it on as he goes back to his own bed, hitting speed dial six as he goes.
Ring…ring…ring…ring…. voicemail.
The visions of Neal in a plane or in a black catsuit breaking into some vault grow stronger in Peter’s mind. He hits the speed dial again.
Ring…ring…ring…ring… voicemail.
Peter tries one final time before he’d allow himself to call Diana and tell her to go over and check on him.
Ring…ring…ring…
Finally, there’s a click, and a long silence. Peter strains to hear anything for a few seconds, before the sound of coughing comes over the mic. “'Lo?”
Peter’s first instinct is to feel bad, because Neal truly does sound bad.
His second instinct is to never trust what Neal Caffrey can make him feel.
Still, he speaks softly. “Hey, I was just calling before I went to bed, see how you were feeling.”
“Tired, uh,” Neal coughs a few more times. “Not great. Worse than this morning. Think it’s the flu. ”
“Right, right.” Peter still can’t fully get himself to believe it. Anyone could fake sounding like they just woke up and cough a few times on the phone. “Mozzie bring you anything? Been hanging around, keeping you company?”
“Germaphobe. Won’t see him for weeks. ”
“Oh, right. Well, June at least checking in?”
“Outta town for the week.” More coughing followed by Neal making some kind of choked, broken sound. “Uh, Peter, I should go. Stomach’s upset again. ”
He hangs up before Peter can respond, and Peter holds his breath as he waits to see the little tracking dot move. It takes a couple minutes for the Wi-Fi to load enough, but finally he can see the little dot move across the apartment.
Peter lets out a little sigh, then shuts his laptop. All the evidence was pointing to Neal genuinely being sick, so he needed to stop doubting him so much.
If Neal was being truthful though, it didn’t explain why Peter’s gut felt so off.
He finds little moments over the next few days to check Neal’s tracker. Bed, bathroom, kitchen, bed, kitchen, bed, bathroom, bed. The periods of time Neal spent in bed kept extending too. Something about the whole thing just made Peter uneasy.
It was Friday morning that Peter’s gut feeling finally felt vindicated. He woke up early, before Elizabeth, to grab his computer and take it to the small chair in the corner of the room, wanting to check the data before going to start the rest of his day. The green dot loads in, and Neal’s supposedly still in his bed, which wasn’t a surprise. Peter starts to scrub through the time, then stops. He scrubs forward, and then back, then forward.
Neal’s tracker hadn’t moved in over 18 hours.
Something was definitely wrong.
He closes the computer and tucks it under his arm before grabbing his phone. He walks carefully down the stairs and across the house, heart thundering so hard in his chest he would’ve sworn it would be audible in the quiet home, until he’s able to step outside again.
He quickly dials Diana, who answers on the second ring. “What’s up Boss? Everything alright? ”
“I need you to go check on Neal. His tracker hasn’t moved in nearly a day and I’m, I’ve just been having a bad feeling about this all week.”
“Damnit, I knew I should’ve checked his data last night. Nothing’s been happening and so I thought— ”
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t, not really, and they both knew it already. When Peter got back to NYC, they would have a more serious conversation about. “Right now, you just need to get over there.”
Diana agrees and hangs up, and Peter sets the laptop on the railing of the porch. The little green dot blinks every few seconds, updating the live broadcast of its position. Five minutes pass, then ten, fifteen, twenty. After a grueling twenty-two minutes, the tracker finally starts moving. And rapidly.
Neal’s tracker had gone from his apartment to down the street in under a minute when Diana calls him back.
“How was he?” Peter says instead of any greeting.
“...not good. I had to call a damn ambulance for him Peter. I— damnit, I should’ve been checking on him. I just thought—”
Dread fills Peter’s system, but at the same time the tension in Peter’s gut eases up. Finally, the source of the problem. Too bad Peter had been looking the other way.
“You thought that because he was sick he couldn’t cause any trouble and you could relax?” He lets out a strained laugh. “Yeah, well. You know Caffrey, you always have to expect the unexpected from him. Spend enough time with him and you’ll start getting the gut feeling of something being wrong too.”
______________
Peter honestly does feel bad about booking an earlier flight back, especially one without Elizabeth when the next earliest flight only has one seat available, but she understands. He didn’t know how he was lucky enough to end up with someone so understanding. “Someone needs to be there to look out for him, and who better than you?”
Peter leaves Illinois at eight and arrives at eleven, and then takes a taxi straight to the hospital.
When he walks into Neal’s room, he’s awake, and that was about the only good thing Peter could see. His dark curls were dirty and sticking up in odd chunks clearly unshowered for multiple days. He had patchy stubble from just as many without shaving. There were dark circles under his eyes, giving the typical bright blue an extra layer of dullness. His lips were dry and cracked, and the skin across his face looked weirdly stretched with a sickly, greenish pallor. The bend of his elbow had three different cotton balls taped down to it, with an IV feeding into his hand instead.
Neal catches him scanning him over, and waves the arm slightly. “Apparently dehydration makes getting the IV to stick tricky.” He tries to joke. When Peter doesn’t respond, he adds, “Thought you weren’t flying home for a few more days?”
“Yeah, well.” Peter says, rolling his suitcase to the far side of the room before pulling a chair over to Neal’s bedside. “Had this…weird feeling all week, and I kept thinking ‘Neal Caffrey’s doing something.’ And stupidly, I thought you were up to something, so I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“Mm…well. Wasn’t really a shoe that dropped as much as…” Neal waves a hand, gesturing to all of him.
Peter nods. “Yeah, and I…" Peter meets Neal's eyes, trying to convey how seriously he was taking this. "Diana and I both, we need to take our responsibility in this Neal.”
Neal raises an eyebrow at him, and Peter really wishes he wouldn’t, because it’s vaguely creepy as sick as Neal looked. “Did you guys poison me or something? Some kind of dastardly plan to keep me from getting into trouble?”
“I wish, because then I would’ve seen this coming.” Peter shifts a bit, putting his elbows on the side of Neal’s bed. He doesn’t meet his eyes anymore, instead looking at the steady drops in the IV mechanism. “We…I, at least, was…giving you space to do something. To see if you’d…” Peter shakes his head. “I should’ve been checking in more. You’re in my custody and…damnit it Neal, you’re my friend. I shouldn’t have been expecting the worst from you. If I had called, I could’ve gotten you help sooner.”
Neal doesn’t say anything for a long time, forcing Peter to look up. And there, even as sickly and pitiful as Neal looked, was his stupid Caffrey smile. “I’m your friend, huh?”
Peter rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair again, but keeps one arm lying next to Neal’s body. “I’m trying to apologize here.”
Neal waves him off with his unpoked hand. “Peter, it’s okay. You guys couldn’t have known, no reason to blame yourselves.”
It’s generous of Neal to give him that kind of pass, but he’s wrong. For their own reasons they’d both neglected Neal, and that neglect had led directly to Neal being isolated during the one time he really needed someone looking out for him. Peter knew, however, that Neal currently wasn’t in a position to have that kind of conversation.
So, instead, he slides his chair closer to Neal and grabs the hospital TV remote. He knew he’d regret leaving Neal alone, of having chosen to be a bystander when he knew Neal was suffering, for a long while. The least he could do now was stay by Neal’s side.