Coming Up For Air
Disclaimer: If you recognize it then I don't own it.
A/N: For Whumptober 2022 #22 Pick your poison- allergic reaction
Neal laughed along with Elizabeth about something he had just told her about her husband at work that day. Sharing dinner with the Burkes was always a highlight of his week. Elizabeth liked getting his opinion on new dishes she was trying and Peter tried to act put out but Neal could tell he also enjoyed the meal with just the three of them. When he called the FBI agent out on like him there for dinner he just claimed he was only doing it to keep an eye on the ex-con and keep him out of trouble. It felt like how Neal pictured a family dinner would feel. He took another bite of the dinner she had prepared to avoid the FBI agent's stink eye at the embarrassing story. Peter jumped into the conversation to defend his honor to his wife and correct his friend's misleading telling of the tale. Neal chewed slowly, trying to work around his tongue which seemed a little too big for his mouth. He tried to swallow the food down, struggling to get it down his throat. He grabbed his glass to try and help it down with a gulp of wine. Subtly rubbing his tongue along his mouth trying to relieve the itchiness that the coating of food had left. The caterer and event planner usually had the men test higher standards of food than this. He hated to be honest, but he owed it to tell her that this dish was too dry and left an awful aftertaste. He took another sip of wine to try and clear his mouth so he could warn her. He opened his mouth, but his lips felt big and clumsy as they tried to form words.
His breath caught in his tightening throat. Something was wrong. He tried to slow his racing heart as he felt it pounding in his chest. It felt like his lungs were slowly being crushed in a vice. He couldn't get enough air. His head swam as the room spun around him. Two concerned faces zeroed in on his struggling form as he abruptly stood up from his seat. He knocked the chair to the floor in his haste, causing a loud clatter at the now-silent table. He fumbled, almost going down to the floor. His shaking hand shot out to save him. He gripped the edge of the table in a white knuckle grip trying to keep his weakening knees upright. His harsh struggle to breathe was growing louder, drowning out any other noise in his roaring ears.
"Peter," Neal wheezed out in a weak cry for help, his hand clawing at his throat as it closed off. He closed his panicked blue eyes trying to calm himself as he lost the ability to breathe enough air. He blinked them back open, surprised to find a concerned Peter at his elbow. When had he moved around the table? Peter held him up by his arm, keeping Neal's weak limbs from sending him unceremoniously to the floor in a heap. Gently the older man helped him back into a chair so that he could move and kneel in front of the distressed CI.
"Let me see," Peter pushed down his hands, revealing angry red scratches.
Neal was gasping, struggling to pull enough air in. His face was splotching up in painfully looking hives. His lips were twice the normal size along with his swollen tongue and lack of oxygen he found it impossible to speak. His words had always been his weapon. He used them his whole life in cons and relationships to lie, misdirect and protect himself. The more he talked the more he could make what he was saying believable to others and even himself. It was when he was quiet and lost in his own head that his doubts and demons raised their ugly head. He was defenseless and helpless.
"Neal," Peter reached a hand up to direct the younger man's wandering focus back to him, "I need you to take deep breaths."
"Can't," Neal squeaked out of his tight throat.
"Neal, I need you to stop talking and listen to me," Peter rubbed his back, "I know it's hard but I need you to try. Trust me."
Neal let his heavy head drop to his friend's suited shoulder. He followed Peter's deliberate rise and fall of breaths the best he could. He was so tired.
"That's good Neal, just keep going," Peter's hand had moved up to the back of his head, stroking the dark locks in rhythm with their breathing. Neal rubbed his itchy face against the other man's shoulder as he struggled for each inhale and exhale. His heart was still pounding loudly in his ears but over the sound of it and his own wheezing Peter's voice was a strong, steady constant. As was the hand carding through his hair in slow soothing motions. He still couldn't breathe but he was no longer panicking about it. He didn't know if he was too tired to care or if Peter's presence was too calming. He wasn't in the habit of surrendering himself to the care of others. Yet somehow it had always been easier to do with Peter Burke.
"El went to find my old Epi-pen," Peter murmured, his words helping to ground the struggling CI, "You're having an allergic reaction to something you ate. I used to get them sometimes, too. El almost killed me on one of our first dates. She'll be really broken up about this. Let her mother hen the hell out of you. Trust me it's easier just to take it. The sooner she feels like she can help the sooner she'll let you suffer in peace. You're gonna be just fine."
Neal let the wave of words wash over him like a soothing balm. Elizabeth rushed in next to them, panting slightly. Her hair was as wild as her worried eyes. She held up the spring-loaded needle like a prize and quickly administered it to her suffering friend. They knelt in front of him, side by side, each with hands of comfort laid upon Neal. Slowly the weight on his chest loosened as his throat opened up enough to allow more air into his struggling lungs. In an explosion of voices and hands, the two concerned Burkes lead him gently over to the couch to rest and recover. He watched them through hooded eyes as they scrambled around to help him. A weak faint smile ghosted across his swollen lips. These two people had become Neal's family. He would do anything for them, even let them both mother him until all three of them felt better. It had been so long since he felt such familial and complete care and concern from anyone. He felt like a drowning man that had been saved from the water. Like he could finally breathe again.