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8. Aches and pains
Neal Caffrey wasn’t one to take over the counter medication, or any medication at all, really, so Peter took notice when his CI started taking ibuprofen every six hours on the dot one day.
“You okay?” Peter asked after Neal had swallowed down the pills. Another red flag was the fact that Neal was taking the medication in front of anyone—he struck Peter as a ‘hunker down and stay hidden while sick’ type of person.
Neal flashed him a smile. “Yeah, just a little achy.”
“Achy?” Peter’s brow furrowed as he looked the younger man up and down for any signs of injury. “Did something happen?”
“No, no. Just woke up a bit stiff, and now everything hurts,” Neal admitted.
“Maybe you’re getting sick?” Peter frowned. He wasn’t sure how to handle a sick Neal.
“Maybe.” Neal had the sinking feeling that Peter was correct; the body aches were just the tip of the iceberg. If Neal was being completely honest with himself, which he wasn’t, usually, he felt very rundown—like he didn’t sleep well last night, but he knew that he’d gotten a little over ten hours of shut eye. That fact alone didn’t bode well for him. Neal was very good at running on very little sleep. It was never a good sign when he slept for more than eight hours in one night.
The next day, Neal woke with the same body aches and a newly acquired sore throat. Peter had been right, it seemed. He went about his morning routine, switching his usual coffee for some tea, and was walking out of June’s front doors as Peter pulled up to the sidewalk.
“Morning, Neal,” Peter said as the CI climbed into the front seat.
“Morning,” Neal said roughly. The tea was helping his throat, but only marginally. It was the kind of sore throat that came from nasal drainage—tea was only a temporary fix. He had a pocket full of cough drops, but thought that pulling one of those out in front of Peter was a good way to get benched, or even sent home for the day, so he would have to wait to pop one in his mouth.
“Feeling okay?” Peter asked. He could hear the hoarseness of Neal’s voice and had a sneaking suspicion that the younger man would be sicker than a dog by the end of the day.
“Mmhmm,” Neal replied. He needed to save his voice if he was going to stay at the office all day.
Peter left it at that, unsure how to proceed in this uncharted territory between them. Neal was an adult; he could take care of himself.
“Neal can’t take care of himself,” Peter told Elizabeth the next night at dinner. Neal had suffered through two whole days, never saying a word about the cold he was nursing, and he was looking rough. Peter was worried about him.
“Have you asked him how he’s doing?” El asked, picking up her wine glass.
“Yeah, he says he’s fine. I don’t want to overstep, but the poor kid is working himself into the ground.” Peter sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Does he know that he gets sick days?”
Peter paused at that. “It was all listed in his contract.”
“Peter.”
Peter sighed and waved a hand at his wife. “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow.”
Neal sat up and was flooded with dizziness at the change of altitude; his nose was so stuffy that he could barely breathe, and his body aches hadn’t gotten any better. He’d been fighting off this cold for three days now, and his body was screaming at him to stay in bed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to stay home, he just wasn’t sure if he could. Even if Peter let him take a day off, Neal didn’t think Peter would believe him about simply being sick—everything was a scheme to Peter.
Neal didn’t have long to try and decide what he was going to do about going to work, because a moment later, Peter was knocking at his door. Neal froze. He didn’t have time to take any DayQuil, or shower, or cover up how sick he felt. Peter would know as soon as he looked at him.
“Neal, I know you’re in there. Open up,” Peter called from outside the door.
Neal stood, blinking away more dizziness, and shuffled to the door, pulling on a dressing robe as he went. He cleared his throat gently and pulled open the door. “Morning, Peter.” His voice was barely a croak.
“Jeez, you look terrible.” Peter walked in past Neal and watched his CI as he shut the door and shuffled over to the kitchen table.
“Thanks,” Neal said, sitting heavily. His vision was swimming, and his head felt full of cotton. Goosebumps were breaking out all over his body now that he was out of his warm bed.
Peter stood awkwardly near the door for a moment before springing into action. He channeled his inner El, and started by feeling Neal’s forehead. “You’ve got a fever.” He took in Neal’s glassy, red-rimmed eyes, his shivers, and the redness around his nose and made an executive decision. “You’re staying home today.” He expected to hear an argument about his choice, but none came. “What, no argument?”
Neal shook his head. “Going back to bed sounds pretty good.”
Peter knew he’d made the right call, then. “Do you need anything before I head to work?” He had the sense to look in Neal’s fridge, unsurprised to see that it was empty besides a half-drunk bottle of wine and a leftover low mein container. “Do you even own a thermometer?”
Neal shook his head. “Don’t usually get sick.” He cleared his throat gently, so that he didn’t start a coughing fit. “I’ll be fine, you can go.” Peter being there while he wasn’t his usual, put together self was making him uncomfortable.
Peter raised his eyebrows at that. “I can’t knowingly leave you here alone with no food, no thermometer, and probably no medicine. Am I wrong?”
Neal shook his head. All he had was ibuprofen, and he needed to eat something with that so he didn’t give himself a stomach ulcer.
“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” Peter started, pulling out his phone. “I’m going to call the office and tell them I’ll be a little late, and you’re going to get back into bed while I make a supply run. Sound good?”
Neal nodded, his cheeks growing red at the way Peter was bossing him around. It had been a long time since anyone cared about his wellbeing the way Peter did. He wasn’t used to anyone caring about him. It was an odd feeling.
“Come on. Back to bed.” Peter held out a hand and waited while Neal got to his feet.
“I’m gonna…” Neal gestured to the bathroom and turned to shuffle down the hallway. He wasn’t going to get any closer to the bathroom than he was at the kitchen table, so he used the opportunity to pee and brush his teeth. He didn’t dare look in the mirror—he didn’t want to know how badly he looked in front of Peter. By the time he shuffled back out into the kitchen, Peter had heated up some water and a mug of tea was waiting for Neal on his nightstand.
“Okay, are you all set for a little bit? I won’t be gone long.” Peter had also straightened the sheets and folded the blankets back so Neal could easily slip between them.
Neal nodded as he lowered himself onto the mattress. Every part of his body was screaming at him to stop moving, and his eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. He watched Peter leave his apartment and then let himself drift back to sleep.
“Open up, Neal,” Peter said softly. He’d run to the Duane Reade on the corner and picked up everything that he recognized from his own medicine cabinet. The thermometer was a cheap one, but at least he would know what he was dealing with.
Neal’s eyes cracked open and his glassy eyes took a second to focus on Peter. “P’ter?”
“Yeah, it’s me, kid. Open up so I can take your temperature.” Peter slid the thermometer under Neal’s tongue when he followed Peter’s instructions. He brushed Neal’s hair back from his face while he waited for the beep. It surprised him how young Neal looked when he wasn’t actively putting on his Neal Caffrey Act. “101.8,” Peter read once the thermometer beeped. “Time to take some medicine.”
Neal was more with it by then, and pushed himself up so that he was leaning against his headboard. He tried to track Peter’s movements around his apartment, but it was making him dizzy, so he settled for staring at the ceiling instead. “Sorry I’m making you late for work,” Neal said once Peter was back at his bedside.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Neal. Here, take these,” Peter said, handing him a few pills. I’ll text you when it’s time for you to take more of them, okay?” He watched as Neal took the pills with a sip of tea and settled back against his pillows.
“Got it.” Neal’s eyes were starting to slip closed.
“Call me if you need anything, alright? Neal?”
Neal’s eyes peeled open. “I will. Thanks, Peter.”
“Can I trust you not to boil that brain of yours?” Peter felt uneasy about leaving, but he had a meeting he couldn’t skip.
Neal waved a listless hand. “I’ve always taken care of my self before, there’s nothing different about this time.”
You have me this time, silly, Peter thought, but didn’t dare say aloud. “I’ll call you in a little bit, okay? Get some rest.” Before he knew what he was doing, Peter leaned down and kissed the crown of Neal’s head. It was too late to take it back, so he just played it off, not even sure if Neal knew what had happened.