Jones and Neal slowly made their way out of the theater, as people shuffled ahead of and behind them. Neal looked up at Jones, "so, what do you think of Mr. Lanford Wilson's take on post Vietnam war disillusionment?"
Jones shrugged, "I don't think post war disillusionment is why you wanted to see this play about a queer disabled guy figuring out what he wants from his life."
Neal laughed, "no, no it's not. But that is what it's known for."
Jones put his hand on Neal's shoulder, "so…you going to start a rose garden on June's patio?"
Neal looked down, an odd look on his face. He pulled his sketchbook out from between his leg and the chair, and tucked the playbill into its pages, filled with mostly charcoal and graphite and a few colored pencil studies of the people and places in Neal's life.
The people in front of them started moving again, Neal undid the brakes, gave himself a big push to start moving up the ramp again, but the people stopped again and he sighed, as he stopped and put the brakes back on.
Jones stood directly behind him, his hip and thigh pressing against Neal's back, so Neal didn't have to keep putting the brakes on to avoid rolling backwards after every three feet of forward progress. Neal leaned his head back and smiled up at him, "thanks."
"Yeah," said Jones, absently, having barely thought about the action, his mind elsewhere, "when does the anklet come off? Next week?"
Neal nodded, "Tuesday."
The crowd moved forward, Jones stayed right behind Neal, hands on the back of the chair, giving him a little help on the incline,
"I bet you're looking forward to going wherever you want to without requiring an escort."
"Yeah, it's going to make things a lot less complicated."
Neal looked up at Jones as the crowd stopped, and Jones held his chair still, "I bet you're looking forward to not getting asked to escort me stroller shopping ever again."
"Okay, again, I only minded the stroller shopping because you took four hours and I was late for a date."
Neal laughed, "it wasn't my fault, I asked them to have the hill assist one in stock before we came. It wouldn't happen again even if the anklet were staying on."
Jones looked down at him, "Neal, I do want to say…this started because you needed an escort, but I enjoy doing things with you. The anklet coming off won't change that."
Neal beamed at him, "I like hanging out with you, too."
Jones was hungry but Neal wasn't so they stopped by a food truck parked by a marina. Neal sat on the hood of Jones's car with his sketchpad and a bag of pencils. When Jones came back with a gyro wrap and a coffee, he found Neal sitting on the hood, drawing, his bag of implements threatening to fall off the edge of the hood. Jones looked at what Neal was working on. It was a sketch of the food truck, and Jones ordering. Neal was working on the details and color.
Jones chuckled, impressed, "you really are something else.
Neal laughed, "oh, anyone can learn to do this much."
Jones shook his head, and put his index finger on the rusted out bumper of the food truck, slid it to the shining, sparkling water beyond the boats, "people can only draw what they see. What you see is interesting. It's unflinching but you still make it beautiful."
Neal practically glowed, "you see plenty yourself, it would seem."
Diana looked down at her phone. It was beeping with a perimeter alert for Neal. She frowned, and looked at his tracking data. He was outside his radius, heading further away on the road.
Diana called him, he picked up after a moment, "hey, Neal, you know you're outside your perimeter?"
"Yes!" Said Neal, completely breathless yet yelling.
Diana stared at her phone, "Neal? Are you okay?"
"Yes!" He said again, "sorry, we're on the way to the hospital, El's water broke!"
"Okay," said Diana, "is she okay?"
There was some rustling, and Elizabeth's voice came over, "Diana, everything is fine, it's just a bit exciting."
Neal came back on, "yeah, anyway, that's why I'm outside my range."
"I'll meet you there," said Diana, "where's Peter?"
"On a plane," said Neal, "hence my panic. We had a plan. This wasn't it."
"Babies don't follow plans, babe," said Elizabeth in the background.
Diana stifled a laugh, "I'll be there soon."
Diana grabbed her bag, and looked around for Jones. She saw him at the coffee area and hurried down the stairs, "hey, the Burkes' baby is coming."
Jones set down his coffee and hurried after her.
In the end, Mozzie picked Peter up at the airport and drove like hell, which got them there just in time to find out it seemed like this would be a long labor.
Hughes walked up to the door of the hospital room and knocked. An absolutely exhausted Peter Burke stuck his head out, "oh, hi."
Hughes held up the tray of lattes, "I asked Jones if he knew what was happening, and it seemed like maybe you could use some coffee."
Peter nodded, and said gratefully, "thank you."
He opened the door, and Hughes stepped inside. Elizabeth was asleep, lying on her side under a blanket.
Neal was sitting, if it could be called that, in his wheelchair, Jones behind him, hands on his shoulders, appearing to be physically keeping him stable. Hughes handed out the coffees.
If Peter looked tired, Neal looked about to keel over.
"Hey Neal, can I talk to you in the hall?" Asked Hughes.
Neal drew his gaze away from Elizabeth, to look up at him. Hughes wasn't entirely certain Neal could see straight, as it seemed to take him an inordinate amount of time to look at Hughes before Neal responded, "sure."
Jones let go, carefully, and Neal pushed himself with what seemed a monumental effort, into the hall.
Hughes turned to look at Neal, after he closed the door to the hospital room. He was just in time to catch the younger man as Neal tried to put the breaks on to sit and talk and ended up falling forward out of the chair. Hughes helped him sit on the floor against the wall, utterly spent, Hughes's arm around Neal's back.
Neal sighed, lifted his hand a little, patted Hughes's leg weakly, "thanks. Sorry.
Can you get Peter?"
His words were slurring from fatigue, and every movement sent pain across his face.
"In a minute," said Hughes, gently.
"'mkay," mumbled Neal, and closed his eyes. Moments later he passed out the rest of the way and Hughes tried to get him laying down as out of the way of the corridor as possible.
Neal whined in his sleep as Hughes moved him but did not wake.
After a few minutes Peter came out to see what had happened with them. He sighed, seeing Neal crashed out, pale, on the floor.
"Sorry," said Peter.
Hughes shrugged, "I had him."
Peter put his hand on Hughes's shoulder, warmly, "thanks for that."
Neal stirred, and a soft, "nghhh…" escaped him, before he opened his eyes, drawing himself in, and tried to sit up. He didn't manage to do anything but hurt himself, his face going even paler at the attempt.
"Oww," he gasped, shuddering.
Hughes held him by the shoulders, as he tried again, "hey, stop that. Just relax. You're not going to help Elizabeth if you're unconscious."
Neal stilled. He laid there, panting, his body limp and shaking, squeezing his eyes shut against intense discomfort. A bigger tremor of pain traveled through him and he made a sound, a sharp indrawn breath.
"Neal?" Asked Peter, worried.
"Not…feeling great…" mumbled Neal, by way of explanation.
"We gathered," said Hughes, dryly.
In the end they asked for a recliner, Neal laid in it, for round after round of contractions. Peter pushed it over to the side of the bed so Neal could hold Elizabeth's hands through them.
She smiled at him, tiredly, and he returned the exhausted gesture.
Eventually, a tiny human entered the world. Neal and Elizabeth cuddled together on the bed, Neal braiding Elizabeth's sweaty hair away from her face, as they looked down at a small, bawling raisin. Peter stood beside the bed, and kissed both of them, then his son's tiny forehead.
"What are you going to name him?" Asked Mozzie, leaning over the baby.
Elizabeth smiled at him, "William. After a dear, lost friend."
Hughes drove Neal into the office on April 21st, a month after his 33rd birthday. They went to Diana's office, but the light was off.
Neal looked at Hughes, "well I hope she didn't forget and go home already."
They headed back down the freight elevator. It opened. Diana, Jones, and quite a few other agents were there. One of the younger agents was holding a cake, Diana directed him to show it to Neal.
It had open cuffs drawn on it in frosting, relatively crudely.
Neal grinned, "thank you, all."
Diana undid the anklet, "congratulations, Neal. You're a free man. You earned it. Enjoy your time off with your family."
