September

Peter opened his eyes. Elizabeth was sitting next to him on the bed, shaking him.

"Hmm?" He asked, jet lagged and needing several more hours of sleep before he would even begin to feel human.

"I'm sorry, but Neal needs you."

Peter was on his feet, rubbing his face, stumbling to the door, in an instant, "where?"

"Outside."

Elizabeth took his arm and towed him down the stairs as he yawned, and tried to wake up. The front door was open. It wasn't uncommon for Neal to be struggling with the stairs these days, but the urgency in Elizabeth's voice told him this wasn't just about a hand up some steps.

Neal was in the back of Elizabeth's car, another hint that things weren't normal.

They reached the vehicle, and Peter bent down to see inside clearly. Neal was lying on the back seat, on his side. Elizabeth's jacket was bunched under his head, his knees were drawn up and jammed against the back of the driver's seat. He had his hands tucked into his armpits, his arms crossed over his chest.

He was paper pale, eyes closed tight.

Peter gently put his hand on Neal's cheek, feeling how hot he was, "hey, Neal."

Neal opened his eyes, squinting up at Peter through obvious pain, and rasped, "hey."

Peter looked at Elizabeth, "what happened?"

"Diana called me and said he needed to come home, so I picked him up, but…he started coughing as soon as we got outside, he wouldn't let me take him to the hospital..."

"Nothing happened," whispered Neal, "just not feeling so hot."

Peter slid his arm under Neal, and helped him sit up. Neal was a furnace, his breathing labored. His head came to rest against Peter's shoulder, his eyes did not want to stay open.

Peter put his other hand under Neal's knees, and managed to pull him out of the car, and stand. Elizabeth held the front door open while Peter struggled up the steps, Neal in his arms.

He made it to the now permanent living room mattress, and carefully got down to his knees, placing Neal on the bed. Neal curled up, whimpering softly and shivering.

Peter covered him in a blanket and stroked his hair. Neal pushed a smile onto his face, but it didn't last. He coughed, and pain replaced the smile.

Peter sat on the mattress beside Neal, gathering Neal's upper body in his arms. Neal shivered against him, wheezing slightly. He barely seemed able to move, struggling to pull his legs into a better position.

"Why wouldn't you go to the hospital?"

"Didn't want to," he said. "Hate it."

"Right, but is this particularly enjoyable?"

"Called the doctor yesterday," Neal rasped, "already know…"

He trailed off, seeming to need to catch his breath. Peter adjusted his hold on the younger man, so that his chest was less compressed and his airway more open. His head lolled against Peter, as he took in a bigger gulp of air.

Elizabeth brought a cup of water, picked up Neal's hand, and gently pressed the two together. Neal's fingers slowly curled around it, and he pulled it towards himself, but Elizabeth had to keep supporting it, as he sipped.

He let go after finishing a third of it, his dusky lips damp, a tiny dribble escaping onto his chin. He coughed again, and then harder.

"El, can you call 911?" Asked Peter, making up his mind.

"No," protested Neal, managing to lift his head a little, "don't need to go to the…" he coughed, and then struggled to catch up on air.

"Don't need to go to the hospital." He finally managed, "just the cold. Already gave me new meds. Under control. Just need to sleep."

"Neal, your lips are blue," said Elizabeth, "I'm sorry, but I'm with Peter. I'm going to call."

She dialed, and walked a couple feet away to talk to the dispatcher.

With a big effort, Neal lifted his hand, and put it on Peter's wrist, where Peter's arm held him around the shoulders. His finger joints were swollen, and it seemed to hurt him to even change their positions.

Peter stroked his hand, and then his face, hair, chest.

"They're on their way," said Elizabeth, sitting down beside Neal and Peter. She put both hands on Neal's face, and kissed his forehead.

"Oh honey, you're burning up."

Neal didn't answer. He seemed resigned to his fate of going to the hospital. He also seemed to be using every bit of energy and air he had to stay awake.


An hour later, they were at the emergency department, Neal propped up by a hospital bed and pillows. They had given him an oxygen cannula, which had helped him enough his lips had turned back to pink.

Peter and Elizabeth stood beside the bed, one on either side of it. Peter leaned on the bed rail with one hand, gently carding his fingers through Neal's hair with the other. Elizabeth held Neal's hand with both of hers, telling him about her day to keep his mind off the situation and his discomfort. Eyes half open, Neal listened to her, chuckling slightly when appropriate. But his body was tense with pain, he struggled to breathe evenly.

The curtain drew back, and a doctor came in. He looked at the monitor, wrote down the numbers, and turned to face them, putting his pen back in his coat pocket.

"Hi, I'm Dr. An. So this started yesterday, is that correct?"

Neal nodded slightly, "started feeling winded. More sore."

Dr. An nodded, "we're going to run some tests to make sure you're not fighting an infection, and if that all comes back clear, hit this with a high dose steroid. Sound like a plan?"

Neal nodded, a tiny bit.

"In the meantime we can make you more comfortable. I'm going to order some painkillers."

"Sounds good," whispered Neal.

Peter was not happy with how weak Neal's voice was. The doctor also seemed concerned, looking at the monitor again. He checked Neal's fingernails, and shook his head a little. He pulled a plastic package out of a cupboard, and opened it, then switched out the nasal canula for a mask, and turned the knob on the flow. He put the mask over Neal's nose and mouth.

Neal coughed slightly, but did seem to breathe easier after that. The doctor ordered blood tests, a chest x-ray, and painkillers. A nurse came in and took blood, and held out a cup with pills and a cup with water.

Neal lifted his hand to take the first cup, struggling to close his hand around it. Peter's gut twisted watching the hands that could make the most brilliant art and forgeries barely manage a cup. Neal took the pills, then drank the water after.

"Someone will come take you to x-ray in a bit."

Neal nodded, a tiny bit. The nurse left. Peter leaned down, kissing Neal on the forehead. Neal managed a tiny smile under the oxygen mask, but it didn't stick around.

Elizabeth patted Neal's arm, and then kissed his hand. Neal turned his head to look at her, eyes lidded.

"Can you keep talking?" Neal asked, voice soft, muffled by the mask.

"Of course," said Elizabeth. She started her story about her event clients again.

Neal listened, though it was clear sleep would soon take him. His body was exhausted by the fight for air, by the fever burning inside him, by the pain seeped into his muscles and joints.

Peter stroked his forehead, over and over, as his eyes closed.

An orderly came to take him for x-rays, waking him again, "here, change into this," said the man, putting a gown on the bed and then walking back out.

Peter undid Neal's shirt buttons, while El did his cuffs. Neal tried to sit up, but he needed Peter's help. As Peter lifted Neal's upper body, he felt exactly how tense the younger man was. His back muscles were like boards on either side of his spine and he was using his side and stomach muscles to help push air in and out of his lungs.

They got his shirt and undershirt off, and he shivered violently with his sweaty skin bare, as Elizabeth unfolded the gown. Peter wrapped his arms around Neal, holding him up, comforting him, trying to help him feel warm.

Neal's head right next to Peter's, it was unmistakable when a slight sob escaped him. Tears started to slide down his cheeks as Elizabeth helped him get into the gown.

"I'm so sorry, Neal," said Peter, quietly.

Elizabeth hugged Neal as well. She helped get his pants off, Peter lifting him under his armpits so she could slide them out from under him, and then went to tell the orderly he was ready.

Peter watched the man unhook the oxygen tank from the wall and hang it in the bed. Peter and Elizabeth followed the man and Neal into the hall, and into an elevator.

Neal had to sit up for one of the x-rays, and they had to give him a bolster to lean on, he couldn't do it for long enough without leaning to the side to brace himself with his arm. Peter and Elizabeth stood back behind a divider, and then were immediately back by his side once the x-rays were taken.

Neal was just being laid back down by the nurse, Peter could see that he was trembling, face fully wet from tears. His body was limp, his breathing more shallow, as his muscles started to give out.

As soon as they were back in the room, Peter got into the bed with Neal, holding him close. Neal wheezed against Peter's chest, eyes closed, but definitely not asleep. Elizabeth got tissues from the counter nearby, and continually dried his face, as tears spilled forth unchecked.

Peter found himself making soft "shh" noises, as Neal broke down in his arms.


An hour later the doctor returned. Peter, Neal, and Elizabeth were jammed together on the small bed, Neal between the other two. Elizabeth rubbed his chest, while Peter stroked his hair. Neal was out of it, pain and exhaustion reducing him to just laying there, using everything he had left to breathe.

"No sign of infection, so we're going to go ahead with the steroids."

Neal didn't seem to have heard, he didn't move or open his eyes.

"Mr. Caffrey?" Asked the doctor, concerned.

Neal stirred slightly, but still didn't open his eyes.

"Mr. Caffrey?" repeated the doctor.

"'s my grandpa here?" Asked Neal.

"No," said Peter, now hiding panic, "hon, can you look at me?"

Neal finally did open his eyes. He gazed up at Peter, and blinked tiredly. "Oh," he whispered, "right."

The doctor stepped in, Elizabeth got off the bed to let him get to Neal. He flashed a light in Neal's eyes, "can you tell me your name?"

Neal made a face and tried to turn away from the light, "Danny."

Peter looked at the doctor, "he goes under cover a lot."

Neal moaned, "was that the wrong one?"

"Yeah, but it's okay. Your real name."

"Mmm…" he said, "Neal."

"Okay," said the doctor, "we're going to get you feeling better soon."


Neal was in the hospital for two days. When he came home, his breathing had improved dramatically, his fever was gone, but he was still in a lot of pain.

He stayed home for a week, mostly in bed. El and Peter took as much time off as they could. Mozzie visited. Satchmo was very protective of Neal.

The first day he was supposed to go back, Peter made him breakfast. Neal sat on the sofa, dressed, having eaten, ready to go. Satchmo laid next to him on the couch. Peter got himself ready, and walked into the living room, "ready?"

Neal looked up at him, nodded, and slowly got to his feet, using a tan wood cane matched to his tie, and the end of the couch. He took a couple slow, halting steps towards the door, pain clear in every line of his body. Peter walked over to him, put his arms around the younger man. Neal leaned into him, burying his face in Peter's neck.

"So you want me to call Diana, tell her you're not up for it yet?"

"No," said Neal, voice muffled, "I'm going stir crazy."

Neal pulled away and looked Peter in the eye, "I think…I need to…I don't think I can…"

He faltered, looking at the clunky wheelchair the hospital had sent him home with, jammed into the corner by the door. Peter wordlessly got it, and offered Neal his arm. Neal sat down unsteadily, holding on to Peter.

Neal sat still for a moment, then stretched his hands and put them to the wheels. They had installed a lift out front, and Neal headed down to the street level without any assistance from Peter.


Near lunch time, Peter found Neal and Diana leaving the conference room. There was a pillow stuffed between Neal's side and the chair, cushioning his ribs as he leaned to the left, exhausted but stubborn. Diana was pushing him, he gripped a thermos with both hands. He had case files between his right leg and the chair. Diana had her blazer off, hanging from the handle of the wheelchair.

"Hi, Peter," said Diana.

"Hey," said Peter, "how goes the mortgage fraud?"

"Just put me back in prison," said Neal, laughing.

"We're closing in," said Diana.

Peter nodded and walked beside them. Neal shivered, and took one hand off the thermos to rub his leg. Diana pulled her blazer off the back of the chair, and held it in front of Neal, "hey can you carry this too."

Neal made a face, and gave a dramatic sigh, as he took it, "what am I, a coat rack?"

He put it across his thighs and knees, tucking it so it insulated stiff, sore muscles against the cold office air. Peter was touched by Diana casually taking care of Neal, even helping him save face while she did it.

They reached the coffee station, and Neal started filling the thermos. Diana jerked her head at Peter and they walked a few feet away.

"I'm glad he's back," admitted Diana quietly, "it was quiet without him."

Peter chuckled. He bit his lip, "hey, can you look into something? I don't have access to all his most recent files."


Maybe two hours later, Peter's desk phone rang. He answered, "Agent Burke."

"Peter, come to the conference room." It was Hughes, and his voice left no room for debate.

"Uh, yes, sir."

Hughes hung up. Peter did too, and hurried to the room. Hughes was standing by Neal at the table, his face even more serious than usual. Diana was nowhere to be seen, but her coffee mug and papers were still there.

"Peter," said Hughes, "you need to take Caffrey home."

Neal was leaning forward, bracing himself with his forearms on his knees. There were now two pillows stuffed between his side and the arms of the wheelchair, one on either side. Neal's face was dead white.

Peter went to him, putting his hands on Neal's shoulder and arm, "Neal?"

Neal looked up at him, giving a crooked smile despite his pallor, "hi."

Peter looked at Hughes. Hughes just shook his head, and addressed Neal, "you did good work today. But you're not fit to be at work. Go home and get some rest."

"I can stay," protested Neal, "there's only a couple hours left anyway."

Surprising Peter, Hughes reached down and put his hand on Neal's shoulder, "Caffrey. I appreciate that you're worried for our agents. But you can barely sit up and there's nothing you can do from here. Go home."

Neal sighed, defeated. Hughes lifted his hand and walked out. Peter took one of Neal's hands, too warm, stiff, "Neal, what happened?"

"The agent who was sitting on our suspect was beaten, and the suspect ran. I helped track down where he might have gone and Jones and Diana are going after him. But we don't know who beat up the agent so they can't know what they'll find..."

Peter sighed, "Jones and Diana know what they are doing. If they need backup they'll call for it."

Neal gripped a fold of Diana's jacket with the hand Peter didn't hold, still on his lap.

"I know. But I don't want to go home until I know how it goes down. What if I'm wrong and they're headed into a trap?"

Peter gave Neal's hand a gentle squeeze. He understood Neal's frustration and worry. He let go, and pushed Neal out of the conference room. Neal slumped back in the seat, held up almost entirely by the pillows tucked around him.


That evening, Diana texted Peter asking after her jacket. Peter let her know it was at the house, and she came by on her way home to get it. Neal was crashed out on the living room bed, his upper body in Elizabeth's lap, Satchmo cuddled up to his side. When the doorbell rang Peter got up to let her in.

Diana stepped into the living room, while Peter went to get her jacket from where it was hanging on a chair in the dining room.

When he came back, she was talking to Elizabeth, and watching Neal sleep. Peter handed her the jacket, "he'd probably like to say hi."

Diana chuckled, "okay"

She knelt, and gently shook Neal by the shoulder. He whined a protest, and turned his head away. She gave him a little bit of a harder shake. He opened his eyes, and looked around, momentarily disoriented. Then he saw her, "Diana. Hey. Did it go okay?"

"Yep. You were right, he was there, we took him in."

Neal smiled, relief open on his face. He struggled to sit up to face her, and then froze as pain shot through his back and leg muscles. Satchmo protested with a whine, putting his head on Neal's belly.

"It's okay, I just came for my jacket."

Neal reluctantly settled back.

"See you tomorrow."

Neal nodded. Diana got up and headed out. Peter followed her out the door.

"Hey, I'm glad things went well. Neal said there was some uncertainty."

Diana stood on the steps, looking up at Peter, "Hughes told me how worried he was. He's a pain in the ass, but he's alright."

Peter grinned, "yeah, he is."

Diana hesitated, then continued, "I looked into it. I can't find any record of him having an alias under the name Danny, either with us or since we started chasing him."

Peter sighed, "okay, thanks."


The next day Neal broke down and wore a low turtleneck sweater instead of a suit jacket. It still looked good on him.

He and Peter entered the office, Neal pulled Peter down by his tie for a quick kiss, before he headed to Diana's office and Peter headed to his own.