"Neal. Don't look so glum."

"I don't look glum."

"Come on, Neal. Don't make me laugh. You look glum."

"Peter. I don't look glum. I look pained. That's how I look when I am tormented."

"Yeah, Whatever, pal. Just stop picking your nose. It looks very immature. Even for you."

"It itches, Peter…" Neal wailed in an unlike-Neal way. And after that little conversation they both went quiet.

Peter stared at the former conman who sat slouchy beside him on the plastic hospital bench with a tampon pushed in his nose. His expensive-looking light gray suit was ruined and his new white shirt was stained with little red dots from his own blood. On his lap lay his hat. Also ruined. Just like that ego of his, at the moment. Peter could see that miles away. And even if it was kinda sad for his partner Peter found himself grinning at the whole thing.

"Well, Neal. I warned you, kid. And it looks like you always have to learn it the hard way." Peter grinned at Neal's pissed off expression and shrugged. "Be glad I was on time to interfere that embarrassment before you had gotten yourself really hurt."

"Oh, shut your mouth, Peter. I'm not in the mood for you silly remarks." The younger man avoided his gaze with Peter, as much as he could. Instead he kept his glum gaze on the people that passed by through the crowded corridors of the hospitals hallway. It was always hectic in the hospital. That was what Neal hated the most about it. And it didn't really matter when you came walking in the hospital. There was just always hectic and haste. The noise of sick people coughing, noisy visitors, chatting nurses, doctors and hospital aides running around with squeaky food carts. They were all hard to miss.

It didn't matter how glum and tormented you were. There was always the constant murmur and don't talk about the sterile smells! That was even worse.

With a hand Neal rubbed absently on his sore right elbow. While he sighed deeply his gaze fell on his squashed hat.

"What a waste. A damn waste," he muttered, shaking his head. And Neal's gaze was getting even glummer and glummer.

It was hard not to laugh.

This was Neal's own fault. And he knew it. There was nothing that Neal could pin the blame on, this time. Everyone on the team had seen him fail. He had been too arrogant on the case. And he had pay the price.

And there they were. Peter, patient as ever, and Neal little less patiently, waiting for the doctor's assistant to call his name.

And when that finally happened Peter shot up from his chair to help his limping and slightly swaying partner inside.

There was an uncomfortable hopscotch. There was a shaky unstableness in the younger man's upper body and with every step Peter heard Neal wince a little.

"Ow Cowboy up, Caffrey. It's not really that bad."

And that gave Neal an icy look on his battered face. They were both greeted at the door with a quick formal handshake from the doctor, a gray old man with bright green eyes and a strangely shaped mustache.

"Good day, gentlemen. I'm Dr. George Gilbert. And I assume this young fellow must be Mr. Caffrey." His piercing green eyes gazed towards the battered former conman and that made Neal feel really uncomfortable. He pulled away from Peter's grip and sat down on the examination table where the assistant just had clicked a light bulb on it and kindly indicated him to take his place. It was probably the fact that the assistant was beautiful, but Neal suddenly showed his bestseller smile despite his swollen lip and other inconveniences. And he still pooled it off to let that lady blush a bit.

"Good evening, Doctor Gilbert. Thanks again for letting us in despite the late hour. But still, I am glad for making an appointment instead of driving to the emergency department for this."

The doctor nodded.

"Yes, you told me on the phone that your friend had gotten himself in to a bar-fight, got hit and fainted on the stairs at home. Then fell back down. Am I right, or did I left something out?" That made Neal wince in embarrassment causing both men chuckle a bit. "Yeah. He was lucky I was there to catch him in time. But he hurt his ankle during the fall."

"Was he drunk?" the doctor asked. Peter said yes, at the same time Neal almost yelled No way instead. And then the pretty assistant gave a small chuckle. Neal's hazy eyes blinked up at her and gave in.

"Okay, maybe I was just a little," Neal admitted glumly. He couldn't lie about this. Not with this monster headache.

The doctor cleared his throat, as a sign to move on with it. Peter jumped in immediately.

"Ah yes, well. You are familiar with the formality of these circumstances?" The doctor looked at Peter with a sidelong glance and smiled kindly.

"If that meant: If I know who I'm dealing with and must give a special rapport on the guy's health, yes. I am familiar with this kind of business. Like he is the only dump agent I had treated for a little booboo during a job. Come on, agent Burke."

The doctor seemed a bit annoyed, but nevertheless he continued to look at Peter as friendly as he could. Knowing he shouldn't piss off an agent, for his own sake. Peter just smiled back, understanding his frustration and went on.

"Okay. My apologies. But just for the record. That man over there, flirting with your assistant, is not a real cop. He is my consultant investigator. Mister Caffrey is under my supervision. The Marshalls expect a full report on his health. Today, if that is possible. With all due respect, Doctor. But this man has a strict collaboration with the FBI. And given his actions today, not only he but also I need to explain myself." The doctor frowned at the agent a front of him and then gazed over the man's shoulder to watch his blushing assistant investigate Neal's still bleeding nose, after pooling the tampon out. Only to push a new one back in. Meanwhile, Neal charmed his way up to her, playing the poor injured guy. Then the doctor let out a tired sigh.

"Understood, Agent Burke. You can count on me. Then let's start right away with taking a short history of this mister Caffrey, shall we?" That scared Neal almost immediately and his smile just disappeared.

"Wow, wait. Is this really necessary?" Neal complained a little uneasy. "Just took a few pushes in my face, what's more to know? I mean… don't you think the Marshalls have a full rapport of my background, already? Come on… I-I don't like that…" His voice started to slur at the last words.

Now all eyes were focused on the beaten up man. Suddenly they all were very curious why Neal pretended he was hiding something about his medical history. But then again, Peter already knew Neal probably thought this was getting way too personal for the young conman likings.

"Mister Caffrey? Are you alright?" the assistant asked a little concerned. Neal started to sweat but he nodded reassuringly.

"Just go on with it, doc. I want to go home," he said in a childish tone. His eyes were starting to glaze over, when he thought about what happened at the bar today.

…

On a very peculiar way Neal had met some guy at the bar. Well, not exactly met his face, but he met his fist, alright. And Neal didn't like it, obviously.

But how the hell did he ended up on the sticky floor with two other guy's on top of him, punching the other ones face? Only after Neal had taken a few from him. He didn't do something bad. Or did he? They were just talking about something. But Neal guessed he was a little to annoying for the man's likings. Especially when that guy wasn't the guy he was waiting for. And when Neal finally realized his mistake, the wrong guy had just knocked him down.

Though, he was prepared for a tense conversation with one of the main suspects that was linked to a forgery of important case files, that day. Given that the man was hard to find in this kind of underground world, the former conman made Peter and the team believe this meeting has to be done in a café. Which was apparently one of the safest places, for this kind of unsavory business.

With the help of an anonymous source, Mozzie-of course, they finally found a way to contact with an almost untraceable man and Neal expected that this meeting would go smoothly because he and this guy were almost exactly-like. There was no way Neal would screw this meeting up, he promised. And everyone, even Reese, trusted him. Although. There was one little thing that couldn't be avoided. The downside was that nobody really knew how this man looked like. Neal hadn't got much to go on. So he had to be very careful.

In retrospect, it was logical that the man didn't show up. It was obviously a setup. Apparently the man didn't trust him. Smart guy.

And when a man finally walked by and asked if he wanted another drink, Neal approached him with a confident smile. He was sure this guy was the guy. So he started to ask some weird direct questions about forge a file, and that must have made Peter pretty mad. He yelled at him, from the ear chip, to 'stop being so cocky', and 'stop giving yourself away'.

Since Neal had waited for so long, and had the feeling that he was being watched, he'd taken his role as a normal citizen drinking in the bar, very seriously. After a few beers, and a cheap glass of red wine, Neal's mind began to waver. And before he knew it, he had worked himself into a bar fight. Peter was very angry at him. That much he knew. The rest was a blur.

But it didn't really matter. The man in question hasn't show himself, anyway. And he had made a mistake by believing that other guy might be him. It could happen to anyone. Although, Neal knew he was being a little sloppy this time. It would be for the best if he started thinking about how to weasel out of this without any suspicion. But his mind was to shaken up.

Then he heard his name calling.

"What now, Peter," Neal moaned, startled by his own weak and slurring voice.

…

"Neal? Are you still with us? You were totally zoned-out for a while." Neal blinked up at him, realizing he was now lying down on the examination table. When he wanted to come up, two hands pushed him back down.

"Easy there, mister Caffrey. Just lay still. Doc? His pupils are dilated," a soft voice came in next to his partner. Three blurry shadows where standing above him. That made him a little uneasy.

"Wow. What is this all about? D-did I faint? Again?" Neal asked with a puzzled look.

"No, you didn't faint, yet. But you might have, if we hadn't push you down," Peter said; finally sounding a little concerned.

Then there was a bright light shining in his eyes.

"Okay Mr. Caffrey. Be a good sport and follow this light for me." The doctor's voice was suddenly very close.

And just as everyone thought, including Neal himself, he was diagnosed with a concussion. Neal could not follow the light properly, and started to be confused when the doctor waved the light from the left through the right and changed the motion in to diagonally up and down. It even made the consultant a little dizzy and nauseas.

With the diagnosis established, along with a bruised elbow and slightly sprained ankle, from falling down the stairs, Neal was advised to take it easy for a couple of days. When his headache worsened he had to take some medicine.

After a friendly goodby and another formal handshake, Peter helped Neal walk through the door. Neal was very quiet, now. And Peter was starting to think if this was a good thing or not.

They walked past a trashcan and Neal stopped his stride. Only to throw his squashed hat away. Than he gave a deep sigh.

"Man… I really loved that hat, Peter," he whimpered.

"Aw, you can buy a new hat from your paid vacation that you'll get. So, stop whining, Caffrey. You do realize that we wasted two days, for making contact with that man? Thanks to you we are now on a dead end. It will be difficult to re-connect with-," Peter stopped halfway through his sentence when Neal made an unsteady step to the right and leaned in to the wall for support. It took more than a few seconds for Neal to regain his balance back again. And when he had succeeded Peter saw his partner's strange cross eyed look. So Peter decided to stop bother his CI with this kind of problems and helped him with his, instead. He hooked his arm under Neal's armpit and escorted him back to the Taurus.

"I want to go home, Peter. Don't feel so good," wailed Neal after they had left the hospital building.

"I know, buddy," Peter replied softly. "Just be glad you didn't faint back there. Otherwise they might have let you stay over for the night. And I know how you feel about that." Peter watched his partner frown in vexation.

"I am glad on the inside…" Neal muttered soft as he got in to the car seat.

...

Once again at June's house, Peter brought his partner for the second time upstairs that day. And this time with a stabilizing hand on Neal's back. They finally made it up and the former conman shuffled himself through room, looking for his bed.

"You're going to tuck me in, Peter?" Neal asked who was sitting on his unfolded sheets, now. He looked beyond exhausted. Peter didn't know how to react. His partner looked so innocent. And he didn't know if this was an act or not. Either way, Neal was already trying to get himself under the blankets when Peter stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Neal blinked at him with a weird look on his face. "Wha's wrong?" Neal slurred.

"Nothing is wrong, Caffrey. It's just that… shouldn't you take your damn shoes of before you crawl under the covers?"

Neal's weird looking gaze fell on Peter's outstretched hand. Peter waited for some kind of response but when that didn't happen he decided to help him.

"You probably don't want to hear this right now. But you kinda remind me of a child. I think it's cute." Peter chuckled a bit when his shoes finally came off.

Then Neal finally responded, with retching sounds. "Wow wow wow, you are gonna puke?" Peter asked. But Neal couldn't talk.

Anxiously, Peter looked around, trying to find something where he could catch his vomit with, and grabbed the pewter champagne bucket from the kitchen sink. If he had been a second later he would have been too late. The greenish looking fellow grabbed the bucket that danced a front of his eyes, with both hands. And Neal started vomiting up his lunch.

When he was done the younger man placed his sore head on his folded knees and began to weep from exhaustion.

"Lost my hat. And now I lost my sandwich, too," he wailed hoarsely. At that, despite his worries, Peter laughed out loud.

"Oh, I am pretty sure you lost a little more than that, buddy." Like his dignity, for example.

A sleepy Neal was starting to falter backwards when Peter decided to help his partner settle down for the night. He took the bucket and washed it out in the bathroom. When he returned back in to the room he was carrying a glass of water and some pills the doctor had described it for the headache. He watched his partner drink it all after swallow one pill and fell back onto his pillow. Neal's big blue eyes were a little red from his weird breakdown. But he looked a lot more aware of his surroundings, now.

"Hah… Peter. I appreciate your concerns. But shouldn't you be with Elizabeth at home right now? It's after midnight." Peter started thinking about that.

"Yeah. I should. I would really like that." Peter smiled at him but saw the sudden change in his partner's eyes. "You okay?"

Neal confusingly stared up at the now two agent's a front of him. Blinking hard he realized he shouldn't be alone this night. He might fall unconscious and suffocate in his own puke.

He must've looked a little scared because Peter called his name twice.

"Yeah, uh. Do you mind staying here for a while? I kinda feel a little nausea. I might puke in my sleep." Peter frowned at him as he sat down on the foot of the bed.

"I figured that much. You were gazing at me quite strangely. How many of me do you see?"

"Only one and a half right now," he said honestly. He still sounded a little scared.

'Well, that's not good. Tell you what. Since June is out of town and you're basically all alone in this big house, I don't really have a choice, do I?" He smiled at him.

"I call Elizabeth, right away. She doesn't mind. I am pretty sure she would kill me otherwise, when I let you here all by yourself."

At that Neal closed his eyes in relieve. "Thank u, Peter. You can take the couch. Mozzie say's it's a great place to fall asleep on." His words started to falter when he snuggled deeper under his blanked. He was so damn tired. And now, when he was sure Peter would watch over him he felt safer as ever.

He trusted him.

…

End.

AN: I wrote this story in Dutch, first. But in English it sounded a lot better. I did my best with translating. I hope you can see through the gramatic mistakes. Let me know what you think.

X

Josie