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17. Alt. 1. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” (Loves being doted on)
Neal Caffrey prided himself on his flawless, independent exterior. He liked the fact that he was a self made man, that he didn’t need anyone to count on.
That’s why, when he met Peter and Elizabeth Burke, he was thrown for such a loop. For the first time he could remember, he had parental figures that cared about him. That wanted him in their lives. That loved him.
Neal wasn’t sure what to do with that.
Shortly after Neal got out of prison, he woke up with a nasty cold. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t work through, but he felt miserable. He hid his symptoms as best as he could, dosing himself to the gills with Sudafed and DayQuil. It was going well until all of a sudden, one day, it wasn’t.
Neal was sitting at the conference table, listening to Peter yammer on about a new security system hitting the market, when all of a sudden, he couldn’t hear Peter over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. Blinking a few times, like that might help, Neal was starting to get worried. Why were his ears doing that?
Before he had a chance to react, they went back to normal. He frowned a bit. Huh. Weird.
Throughout the rest of the meeting, Neal was ready for his ears to go wonky again, but they never did.
“Caffrey, wait for me in my office,” Peter called over the din of everyone leaving the room.
Neal stood, prepared for the onslaught of dizziness that was coming for him, and hurried into Peter’s office before he made a fool of himself.
He plopped down in the chair opposite Peter’s just as his hearing fuzzed out with the pounding of his heart. Black spots encroached on his vision and Neal leaned forward with his elbows braced on his knees to ride it out.
“Did you notice how I added the—Neal? You okay?” Peter paused in his doorway, not sure what was going on.
Neal nodded, closing his eyes. “Dizzy,” he replied for lack of a better term. ‘On the verge of passing out’ was probably closer to the truth, but that was too many words to say.
Peter was at his side in an instant, one hand on Neal’s shoulder, the other holding his waste basket. He set the basket between Neal’s feet. “Just in case,” he explained, though he didn’t think Neal was paying too much attention to him. “Maybe put your head between your knees? You’re really pale, kid.”
Neal let Peter push his head down until his chest was flat against his thighs. He had to admit, being folded over felt better than sitting up straight had.
“That any better?” Peter asked, leaving a hand on Neal’s back.
Neal nodded again, eyes still closed. He sat up slowly when the buzzing in his ears faded. “Sorry,” Neal apologized, glad that his vision had cleared when he opened his eyes again.
“Don’t apologize,” Peter said softly as he moved to sit on the edge of his desk, directly in front of Neal. “What’s going on?”
Neal glanced up at Peter sheepishly. “I’ve been, uh, working through a cold. Guess it caught up to me.” He felt a blush creep up his neck at the admittance.
Frowning, Peter moved to palm Neal’s forehead.
Neal dodged out of the way.
“Neal, sit still, damnit.” Peter reached out again and made contact this time. “You’re not feverish.”
“It’s just a cold, Peter.”
“Yeah, well, colds don’t usually make people pass out.” He looked at his watch and then back to Neal. “You should head home and get some rest. You look terrible.”
“Gee, thanks,” Neal replied, voice thick with sarcasm.
“I’m serious. Why didn’t you just tell me you were sick?” Peter asked. He was surprised at just how young Neal looked when he wasn’t feeling his best.
Neal shrugged. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve always done it alone before.”
Peter’s heart clenched at that. “That isn’t what I asked.”
Neal glanced up at his handler, shifting under his uncomfortable scrutiny. “It’s really not a big deal, Peter.”
Sighing, Peter felt Neal’s forehead again. “Do you have a stocked medicine cabinet at home?” He knew the answer before Neal even shook his head. “What about food in your fridge?”
Neal opened his mouth to reply but Peter cut him off.
“And no, leftover Chinese food and wine doesn’t count.”
Neal snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, gaze falling to his shoes. “Alright then. I’m making the executive decision to take you to my place tonight.” Peter stood and walked around his desk, pulling his cell phone out as he went.
“But, Peter, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Neal argued.
“Did you or did you not almost just pass out on my office floor while admitting you’ve been neglecting your health?” Peter stared him down, knowing he’d won that argument.
Neal huffed out a sigh and slid down in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
Peter dialed El’s number and watched his CI as it rang. “Hi, hon. No, everything is fine for the most part. I’ve got a sick Neal here and he’s proven to me that he can’t take care of himself so he’s going to bunk with us until he’s better.” He paused, listening to El’s side of the conversation. “Symptoms? I’d say headache, congestion, fever, when he’s not drugged to the gills.”
Neal shrank down further in his chair, hating that he was so easy to read.
“That sound about right, Neal?” Peter waited for the head nod before continuing. “I’m sure he’d love some of your pastina, yeah. That always gets me feeling better.” Peter paused again. “Okay, sounds good, hon. See you soon.” He hung up and put his phone back in his pocket. “Oh, cheer up, cowboy. There are wore things in life than getting taken care of.”
Neal wasn’t so sure.
Since it was almost time to head home anyway, Peter made Neal stay in his office while he tied up a few loose ends. “Drink this and don’t move. Got it?” He handed Neal a bottle of water and nodded in approval when Neal took a sip. “Good.”
While Peter was gone, Neal kept at the water, knowing he was probably massively dehydrated, and mulled over the situation he’d landed in. On one hand, Neal was upset that Peter didn’t think he could take care of himself. He’d survived 27 years just fine on his own, thank you very much. But on the other hand…It had felt pretty nice when El took care of him that one time after he’d been drugged; refreshing his ice pack and tucking him in on their couch. It had awoken a part of him that had long been lying dormant—his need for a mother. Before he could let himself fall too deeply down that rabbit hole, Neal cleared his throat and loosened his tie. The last thing he needed was to be having a pity party for himself in front of Peter.
He’d just finished off his water when Peter came back into his office.
“Okie doke, let’s hit the road. You need anything from your apartment? I have pajamas you can borrow.” Neal pushed himself up and ignored the way Peter was ready to catch him if he swooned. “Would you mind stopping by my place so I can pack a bag?”
“Not at all.” Neal followed Peter across the bullpen to the elevators, taking a deep breath as he walked into one. It wasn’t that he felt nauseated, but the sensation of moving while he couldn’t see any movement around him messed with his body. His stomach flip-flopped and he closed his eyes against the feeling.
“Are you gonna hurl? If you’re gonna hurl I need to get you a bag for the ride,” Peter said, wishing he’d thought that through before he’d left his office.
Neal held up one finger, not daring to open his mouth until they’d stopped moving. Once he had his feet firmly on the ground of the parking garage he felt better. “It was just the elevator. I’m okay.”
Peter looked dubiously over his CI. “You’d better not puke in my car. Got that?”
Neal held up three fingers. “Scouts honor.”
“I didn’t know you were a scout,” Peter said as they got into the Taurus.
“I wasn’t,” Neal replied, smirking at the look Peter gave him. “You’d need a present parent for that. I didn’t have one of those.” Neal wasn’t sure why he’d said that—it was true, but it went against everything he believed—and he felt a little guilty when he saw the look of hurt cross Peter’s face.
“Neal,” Peter started.
“Sorry. Don’t know why I said that.” Neal looked out his window and tried to let the seat absorb him so that he disappeared entirely.
The two men were quiet while Peter drove the rest of the way to June’s mansion.
“I’ll wait right here. If you’re not back in 15 minutes I’m calling 911,” Peter said as he pushed the car into park.
“Got it,” Neal answered, checking his watch. He didn’t want to find out how serious Peter was. The four flights of stairs almost killed Neal, as much as he hated to admit it, and he had to spend five of his 15 minutes folded in half at his kitchen table so he didn’t pass out.
Once his head felt attached to his body again, Neal went into his dressing room and changed into khakis and a sweater before packing everything he thought he might need in a duffle bag. Just as he slipped on a pair of loafers, his phone rang.
“I still have three minutes,” Neal said in place of ‘hello’.
“Just checking. Think you need a puke bucket for the ride?” Peter asked.
Neal rolled his eyes. “No.” He paused, knowing what came next. “Want me to bring a trash bag anyway?”
“Yes, please. I’ll give you an extra minute.”
Neal rolled his eyes again and snapped his phone shut, effectively hanging up on his handler. Trash bag in one hand, duffle bag in the other, Neal made the trek back down the stairs and out to Peter’s car.
“Hey, you’re right on time,” Peter said, showing Neal the countdown he had going on his phone. It was just about to hit zero.
Neal nodded, buckling and situating his bag by his feet. He rested his head back and took some deep breaths to make the grey spots clear out of his eyes.
Peter looked worriedly at his CI. “Geez, this cold’s really kicking your ass, huh?” He pulled out into traffic. “Let me know if I need to pull over.”
Neal dozed for the drive into Brooklyn, and woke when he heard Peter’s door slam shut. Taking a deep breath, Neal unbuckled and hoisted himself out of the car, holding onto the roof of the car when his vision went black. It passed quickly, and he slung his bag over his shoulder.
Peter was standing very closely behind Neal and grunted when the bag hit him in the stomach.
“Ever heard of personal space?” Neal asked, the congestion he’d been masking returning now that it was time for more Sudafed.
“God forbid I don’t want you to crack your head open on the pavement. That would involve way too much paperwork.” Peter still hovered as Neal walked to the door, ready to catch him or steady him if he needed it.
El met them at the door, ushering them in off of the porch. “Here, sweetie, let me take your bag,” she said, grabbing Neal’s bag from him. “I’ve got the couch all made up for you, alright?”
Neal gave El a small smile. “Thanks.”
El handed Neal’s bag to Peter and immediately went into mother hen mode. “You look like you feel terrible.” She followed Neal to the couch and fussed with his blankets as soon as he was lying down.
“I’ve been better,” Neal replied. He leaned into her touch when she felt his forehead.
“No fever right now. When was the last time you took something and what was it?”
“Um, DayQuil at lunch time,” Neal responded. “Sudafed before I left home this morning.”
El nodded and sat on the edge of the couch by Neal’s knees. “Let me take your temperature,” she said softly. She pressed the thermometer into Neal’s ear and he shivered at the contact. “Alright, it’s been long enough that you can take this,” she handed him a capful of cold medicine. “And then if you’re still feeling rough in a few hours we’ll reconvene. Okay?”
Neal nodded and took the medicine, grimacing at the taste.
“Would you like some tea?” El took the cap from him and carded her fingers through his hair.
Neal nodded again, letting his eyes slip shut at the feeling of El’s fingers scratching his scalp. She kept scratching for a minute before getting up. “I’ll be right back.”
Neal shivered as she walked away, like her presence was keeping him warm. After a few minutes he heard Peter come down the stairs.
“Well,” he said, dropping down into his recliner. “Looks like El’s gotten you settled in.”
Neal sighed and opened his eyes, pushing himself up so that he could see Peter. His nose was running now, so he reached out and grabbed a tissue before blowing wetly. “Sorry I’m so gross.”
Peter waved a hand. “I knew you were sick when I brought you here, didn’t I? Besides, being sick isn’t gross. It’s normal.” He wondered if Neal had ever been told that. “What did your mom do when you were sick as a kid?” Peter pried, under the guise of keeping the same traditions alive.
Neal sniffled and shrugged. “She made sure there was always canned chicken noodle soup in the cupboard. Sometimes she was with it enough to call me out of school. Mostly she just did what she always did.”
Peter frowned. “Which was?”
“Lay in bed all day and try to forget she existed.” Neal hated painting his mom in that light, but that’s what had happened. After they went into WITSEC she got terribly depressed, and that’s how she dealt with it. Or, didn’t deal with it, depending on how you looked at it.
Peter’s heart clenched again, and he looked over to see that El had heard that whole conversation. She had a hand covering her mouth, and Peter could see the moment she steeled herself, pushing her emotions to the side to feel later.
“Here’s your tea, sweetie.” El carried a mug to the couch. “Why don’t you sit up so you can drink it.”
Neal pushed himself to a sitting position, surprised when El sat down next to him. He took the mug from her, clearly uncomfortable at her closeness, and sipped the tea.
“Want to watch something?” Peter asked, trying to dispel the tension in the room. “I think there’s probably an SVU marathon on. There usually is.”
Neal shrugged. “Sure.” He drank the rest of his tea as all three of them watched the cop show, Peter pointing out the inconsistencies and plot holes. Neal found himself sliding closer to El’s shoulder, finally resting his head there when she didn’t pull away. She even reached up and smoothed back his hair, kissing the crown of his head.
After a few episodes, Neal ended up lying on the couch with his head on a pillow in El’s lap. She was carding her fingers through his hair, her ring snagging occasionally. Neal had never felt quite like this before. He felt sick, obviously, but that part deep inside him could finally take a breath and relax. Someone else was in charge of his wellbeing for once. It felt scary, giving up that control, but Neal found that he was more than ready for someone else to take a turn being his parent. He was glad that it was Peter and El who’d chosen to take the turn.