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5. “Stop whining, you’re fine.” (They’re not fine.)
It was a hot day in mid July and Peter was scanning through a recent case file for his official report. He was minding his own business, relishing in the relative silence as he worked, only to be interrupted by a knock at his door. It only took one glance to know that his peace and quiet was over.
Neal stood in the doorway, a floppy grin on his face. “You busy?”
“Does it look like I’m busy?” Peter deadpanned.
“Not really,” Neal replied, entering Peter’s office without invitation.
“What do you want?” Peter asked his CI.
Sitting on the chair across from Peter, Neal sighed. “Do I have to go with you guys in the van later?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “How many times do I have to explain this to you? I know you don’t like the van, but—”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s part of my job. I know.” Neal hung his head like a kicked puppy.
“Be ready to leave in an hour.”
Neal nodded gloomily and left Peter’s office.
“I wonder what he’s up to,” Peter mumbled to himself as he shook his head and got back to his report.
Neal swallowed thickly as he climbed into the surveillance van. He’d been feeling nauseated all morning and Peter had nixed his attempt of getting out of the stakeout that was planned. Hopefully they got the evidence they needed quickly, because there were only so many tricks Neal had up his sleeve to keep himself from throwing up.
For the first hour, everything went smoothly. Neal kept a fresh piece of minty gum in his mouth and tried not to focus on the roiling feeling in his stomach.
Then Peter suggested eating lunch.
“Please don’t make us smell your deviled ham,” Neal begged, bile rising in the back of his throat at the thought.
“Oh, stop whining, you’ll be fine.” Peter pulled out his lunch bag that El had packed him that morning and waggled his fingers excitedly. “Have you ever even tried deviled ham?”
“No, and I never want to,” Neal said, pulling his jacket up over his nose. He felt suddenly panicky; there was no place for him to get away from the smell in the van. There wasn’t even a trash can for him to throw up into. “How about I go and get everyone coffee?” He tried to find a reason to leave the enclosed space.
“Cut it out, Neal. You’re staying. We need to nail this guy.” Peter opened his sandwich bag and began eating his lunch, Jones and Diana following suit.
“It does smell pretty bad,” Diana said, siding with Neal for once. One look at the kid had her wondering if Neal wasn’t just trying to get out of the van because of Peter’s sandwich. “Neal?”
Peter looked over to where his CI was sitting in the corner. His face had visibly paled and was slowly growing green. “You okay?”
Nodding, Neal closed his eyes and took a slow breath. He sat there for all of two seconds before jumping up and hurrying out of the van’s side door.
“Neal?” Peter set his sandwich down and followed his CI out onto the street, closing the door behind him and looking around to see if anyone had noticed where they’d emerged from.
Neal, too busy throwing up into the gutter, didn’t answer, just flashed Peter a sarcastic thumbs up.
“It’s okay, just get it all out.” Peter patted the younger man’s back and glanced around again. “Next time tell me you’re gonna hurl from my sandwich and I’ll put it away. You almost blew our cover.”
Spitting, Neal straightened up as much as he dared. “I tried telling you,” he ground out, his stomach constricting again.
“Saying ‘ew, that stinks’ doesn’t count.” Peter winced as Neal vomited again.
“No, this morning in your office,” Neal said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“That was your way of telling me that you don’t want to smell my lunch?” Peter was confused. How could someone with a mind as brilliant as Neal’s be so bad at communicating?
Sighing, Neal straighten up, determined not to puke anymore. “No, it was my way of telling you that I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t think getting into the van would be a good idea.”
Peter’s brow creased. “You’ve been feeling sick all day?” He reached a hand out and felt Neal’s forehead. “Why didn’t you just say that?” You could’ve gone home. Hell, if you’d called me this morning you wouldn’t have even had to come in today.”
Grimacing, Neal swallowed thickly. He really didn’t want to throw up again.
“Just let it out, stop fighting it,” Peter said with a sigh.
Neal immediately bent over and dry heaved onto the street. There was nothing left for him to bring up, since he hadn’t eaten since dinner last night. “I would’ve made it through the day if it weren’t for your sandwich,” Neal groaned. He felt marginally better now that his stomach was empty, but his body was beginning to shake.
“Alright, come on, cowboy.” Peter ushered Neal around to the back door of the van and sat him on the bumper.
“Just give me a minute and I can go back in,” Neal started. He gagged thinking about Peter’s sandwich.
“No. You’re going home.” Peter pulled out his cell phone and dialed up June.
Neal let his mind shut down while Peter was on the phone. Home sounded pretty nice.
“June sent her driver, he should be here in a few minutes to pick you up,” Peter said, pocketing his phone. Guilt sat heavily in his stomach. “Why didn’t you just tell me that you felt sick this morning?” Peter asked as he felt Neal’s cheek with the inside of his wrist. “You don’t have a fever.”
“I told you I could’ve made it through the—” he gagged again, bringing up a mouthful of sick. Neal spat on the pavement between his feet and sighed. “I guess calling out sick didn’t cross my mind. It’s never been an option for me before.” Neal flushed at the admittance.
“Surely your mom must’ve kept you home a few times?” Peter held onto Neal’s shoulder so that the kid wouldn’t fall over.
Neal shrugged. “If she did I don’t remember it. I always just powered through.” Neal continued when he saw the look of pity cross Peter’s face. “But it’s okay! How else would I be able to hide things from people so well?”
Peter sighed deeply, trying to figure out how to tell Neal that his mom’s neglect wasn’t a good thing, when June’s driver pulled up behind the van. “Go home, get some rest, and take care of yourself. And no more hiding things from me.”
Neal gave Peter a half-hearted salute and climbed into the backseat of the car.
Peter rubbed at his chin and shook his head as the car drove away. What on earth was he going to do with this kid? It seemed like every time Peter thought he had Neal figured out, another layer of the kid got exposed and it just made Peter feel more protective of him.
God help them both when he told El about Neal’s mother’s neglect. It was for the best, he supposed, that Neal’s mother wasn’t around anymore, because he didn’t want to know what El would do to the woman if she was able to be found.