Then – Elizabeth
The decision for Neal to go home with the Burkes after his discharge from the hospital was obvious. June had offered for Neal to return home under her care, but Neal was Peter's responsibility. Even more than that, El couldn't bear the thought of letting him out of her sight for a good long while.
"Home sweet home," El said as she unlocked the front door and held it open.
Peter ushered Neal through the door, one arm hovering inches away from the younger man's back, just in case.
Satchmo barked a greeting to his newly returned family, and Neal's hands went straight to his ears.
"Satchmo, no," Peter said as he closed the door. "Quiet."
The dog obeyed with a confused tip of the head.
"Sorry, sweetie," El said, putting a hand on Neal's arm, wishing she had thought to put Satchmo in the backyard for a few minutes.
Neal's sensitivity to sound wasn't quite as bad as his sensitivity to light, but it was still a problem. Ever so slowly, he removed his hands from his ears but left the sunglasses in place. "It's okay, Satch," Neal said with a forgiving pat to the dog's head.
"The guest room is all set up for you," Peter said. "Do you want to go get some rest?"
Neal nodded once and looked up the stairs. The problem was that the steps were narrow, which meant Neal would have to go up them on his own.
"Take your time," El said. "Be careful."
In his right hand, Neal gripped the banister so tightly his fingers went white. His left hand pressed flat against the brick wall. He managed to climb the first step, right foot then left. The second was a little slower, but he made it. By the time he hit the third step, he dropped to his knees, palms flat on the step in front of him. His sunglasses slipped off his face, and his eyes were squeezed tight.
"Neal, what's going on?" Peter asked. He sounded about three seconds away from carrying the man straight back to the hospital.
Neal spoke without moving an inch. "Did you ever see Harry Potter?"
"The movie?" El asked, confused.
"Yeah." He swallowed hard. "Remember the moving staircases?"
Then it made sense, and El winced in sympathy at what Neal must be seeing and feeling. "Just rest. Take as long as you need, okay?"
"Wish I had Potter's wand right about now," he muttered.
The human brain was tragically amazing. Neal could remember details from years ago, but couldn't remember a single thing about yesterday. He could remember a children's movie he'd probably seen once, but couldn't remember what happened to him even though he'd been told a hundred times.
Sometimes when she couldn't sleep, El's brain slipped to thoughts of the attack and she was grateful he couldn't remember that particular night.
Neal took a deep breath and opened his eyes, blinking a few times.
"Okay?" Peter asked.
In lieu of a response, Neal gripped the banister and pulled himself back to his feet. El grabbed the fallen sunglasses so he wouldn't trip or step on them.
"Peter?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't let me fall."
Peter put his hands on Neal's shoulders. "Feel that?"
"Yeah."
"I'm right behind you. I'm not going to let you fall."
That seemed to be the assurance Neal needed. He started climbing again, wavering a few times, but not quitting. When he made it to the top, he pitched forward onto his knees again, shaking slightly and clutching at the ground with his fingertips.
"Good job, Neal," Peter said. "Let me help you the rest of the way, okay?"
With strength and care, Peter knelt and slipped Neal's arm over his own shoulders, wrapping an arm around his CI's back and lifting him to his feet. Neal leaned heavily, his head coming to rest near Peter's neck.
Before the attack, Peter and Neal wanted to trust each other, and sometimes they did. Most of the time they did. But now Neal seemed to trust Peter implicitly. What other choice did he have?
El hurried into the guest bedroom ahead of them so she could pull back the covers. Peter set Neal on the bed, and he all but collapsed against the pillows.
"I'll go get his pain pills and some water," Peter said while El helped Neal get settled and tucked under the covers.
"Thanks, hon."
She sat on the edge of the bed and Neal rolled on his side toward her, like she was a magnet. She ran her fingers through his hair, careful to avoid the areas that were still bandaged. He studied her with pain-filled eyes and toyed absently with the fabric at the bottom of her shirt.
"What else can we get you?" she asked.
"Can you close the blinds? Please?"
El looked up. The blinds were closed, but afternoon sunlight poked through the slats. "They are closed. But we'll find something to cover them, and we'll order some blackout curtains, okay?"
Neal nodded and closed his eyes. "Thank you."
She patted his arm and stood to look in the closet for a blanket or another temporary window covering.
"El?"
It was the way he said that one syllable. Hesitant. Unsure. His memory was starting to slip. She sighed and headed back to the bed. The wrinkle in his forehead was the one from confusion, not pain. "Yeah, sweetie?"
"Why am I at your house?"
"You got hurt. A brain injury. Your memory isn't doing so great, but Peter and I are taking care of you."
"What did I forget?"
Yes, she could explain anterograde amnesia. The science. The details. But that always seemed to make him sad. It was a harsher reality than the one she wanted to give him. Instead, she asked, "What do you remember?"
"Remember?"
She smiled. "Yeah. Any memory. A good one."
He sighed and closed his eyes. "I remember the beach."
"Tell me about it."
"My dad had a surfboard." He smiled with his eyes still closed. "I fell off that thing a thousand times. Swallowed half the ocean. But when I managed to stay up, I felt like I was flying."
She watched as the wrinkle in his forehead disappeared. "Sounds nice. Tell me more."
"I begged to have ice cream for dinner. Said I would even have strawberry because it had fruit. My dad caved, and it gave me the worst stomachache, but I wouldn't admit it because no kid complains about ice cream for dinner."
"That sounds about right," she said with a laugh.
"I remember digging in the sand like I was digging to China. I…" The words were heavy as he started to lose the battle with sleep. "I remember the sound of the waves. I remember…"
His breathing deepened and evened out. El hoped those memories followed him into his dreams.
Peter returned, a pill bottle in one hand and a water bottle in the other. El held a finger up to her lips and nodded toward the hall. Her husband set the bottles on the nightstand and followed.
"He okay?" Peter asked once the door was open just enough that they could hear Neal if he needed them.
"Yeah. His memory was starting to slip, then he fell asleep."
She circled her arms around her husband's waist. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.
"He needs the rest."
She let her head fall against his chest. "What are we going to do?"
"What do you mean?"
"If he doesn't remember. If he doesn't get better. What are we going to do?"
Peter folded his hands against her back. "Let me check the CI chapter of my FBI manual. I'm sure there's protocol for this situation."
Despite herself, Elizabeth smiled. "Funny. But really. What are we going to do?"
He was quiet for a minute. "Neal has to take this one day at a time. Maybe that's how we should take it, too."
El nodded and tried to focus on today, on surfboards and strawberry ice cream, and not the vast unknown of tomorrow.
A/N: Thank you for reading! More soon.