Summary: A quiet Neal is a sick Neal. Peter has visited Neal in prison when he was sick, but he's never had to actually take care of him. Now with El away on a business trip and Mozzie MIA, Peter is forced to care for Neal. NO SLASH.
"Neal! Focus!" Peter snapped. Neal had been uncharacteristically quiet and unfocused that morning.
"Sorry Peter" Neal mumbled and tiredly returned to the case he and Peter were trying to solve.
"Boss, I'm going home for the day and Diana's leaving as well. Apparently there's a storm coming" Jones said as he stuck his head around the office door. Both Neal and Peter looked up and Peter didn't miss the slightly hopeful expression on Neal's face.
"Neal, you wanna leave too?" he commented. Neal dutifully shook his head as Jones raised his eyebrows at Peter.
"You ok?" he asked.
"'m fine" Neal responded, sounding slightly irritated. Jones' question prompted Peter into checking Neal's forehead for a fever. Neal shrugged away, glaring at Peter.
"Really?! Was that necessary?! I'm fine, just tired" Neal snapped.
Jones simply sighed at this exchange and left the office.
"Neal, I'm leaving now. El's away, so you wanna stay over tonight? It's probably easier than going to June's."
"Yes, dad" Neal responded sarcastically, even though Peter could tell he was relieved that he wouldn't be alone.
"Let's go."
"Anything else I can get you?" Peter hovered like a mother hen.
"NO" snapped Neal. He was covered by two blankets, had a glass of water and a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup on the table. Even Satchmo looked irritated by Peter's hovering. Peter raised his hands in defeat and sat at the kitchen table, idly flipping through paperwork and periodically glancing over at Neal stretched out on the couch.
"Will you stop?!" Neal finally exploded, "I'm going upstairs to sleep." He stormed away, leaving Peter sitting at the table.
"Neal…" Peter followed him up the stairs with Satchmo trailing behind him.
"Peter, go away!" Neal curled on his side, away from Peter. Satchmo jumped up on the bed and snuggled against Neal's back. He gave Peter a look that clearly said if Peter tried to hurt Neal, then Satchmo would not be a happy dog. Neal muffled a cough and buried his head under the covers.
"I'm getting you cough syrup."
"Peter it was a cough. Not a—" Neal was interrupted by a spasm of coughing. Peter gave him a withering glare and left the bedroom.
While Peter rummaged through the cabinet where El kept all of the OTC medicine, he remembered another time when Neal was sick. Except that time Neal had been somewhere far less comfortable.
"Neal? You feeling okay?" Peter asked, having difficulty masking the concern in his face. He watched as Neal sluggishly nodded, and buried his head in his arms. He lifted his head and gave Peter a look and then dropped his head again.
Peter beckoned the guard over.
"Take this man to the infirmary and get him checked out."
"Peter, I'm fine" Neal sighed. He shakily stood up and Peter moved to support him as he stumbled.
"Yeah…you're fine…"
Peter smirked as he remembered that; Neal always denied when he was sick.
"P'ter?" Peter turned and saw a shaky, sweaty Neal leaning against the doorframe clutching a blanket.
"Neal, why are you out of bed?" Peter's words came out harsher than he expected. Neal cringed and looked down at his feet.
"Let's get you back to bed." Neal followed willingly and for a minute Peter was reminded of a sick puppy.
"Here" Peter said as he carefully poured out a dose of cough medicine.
"This always makes me feel drugged" Neal looked with distaste at the bottle.
"It's supposed to" Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Neal tried handing the dose back to Peter, who promptly handed it back to Neal.
"But I don't like feeling drugged" Neal protested. Peter glared at him and Neal dutifully swallowed the medicine, wrinkling his nose at the taste.
"Now just…be quiet and get some sleep."
Neal curled up on the bed, pulling the covers over his nose.
Peter went upstairs to check on Neal, careful not to make the stairs creak. By the time he reached Neal's room, he could hear little snuffling sounds coming from under the covers.
"Neal? Neal? Neal!" Peter pushed the covers back from Neal's face. And instantly felt bad for leaving Neal alone. His CI's blue eyes were red from crying and he was tucked in a little ball.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Peter asked, trying for a comforting tone. Neal just shook his head, his dark brown hair stuck up in different directions.
"P'ter…I—I—don't like being sick" he mumbled. Peter just rubbed Neal's back, feeling the way his muscles tensed with each sob. Peter gently pressed is hand to Neal's forehead, checking for a fever. He managed to coax Neal to accept a thermometer. Neal made a face, but was too sick to really protest. Peter pulled out the thermometer and held back a groan. The digital numbers read 102.3.
~TBC