Sorry, there will be four chapters. I miscalculated. Remember, I am a hurt comfort fan; my Neal is more open and my Peter a little more expressive. If you don't like that kind of stuff, don't read this. :)

Chapter Three

With a fever as high as she believed Neal was running, Elizabeth was sure a dose of Tylenol was not going to do the job on its own. It was possible to use both Tylenol and Ibuprofen at four-hour intervals to control fever, so she sent Peter downstairs to see if June had that particular pain reliever on hand. She also requested a thermometer to monitor Neal's condition. If the medication didn't get the fever under control, she informed Peter, a trip to the hospital emergency room might become necessary. Children could handle high fevers; adults could not.

Peter had been met by Janet as he reached the first floor.

"Mr. Burke," she said, "I was concerned. You said that you and the Mrs. were only stopping by, but you've been there quite awhile. Is Mr. Caffrey alright?"

"He's really sick," Peter admitted, "and he's running a high fever. My wife sent me to see if June has a thermometer and Ibuprofen."

She immediately started towards the back of the house with Peter close behind her. In the pantry off the kitchen, she produced a thermometer and the requested medication. She handed them over but didn't stop there.

"If he's running a fever, he needs to stay hydrated." She handed him a bottle of ginger ale, then a couple cans as well. "Chicken broth is good, too," She informed.

"Thank you," Peter said, positioning the items in his grasp.

"If there is anything else he needs," she said, pursing her lips firmly, "Just let me know. We are all very fond of Mr. Caffrey, you know."

"I appreciate that," Peter said. "I am rather fond of him myself."

His comment had come out without a second thought; Neal's honesty must have been contagious. He hoped whatever else he had wasn't.

She smiled at his response. "He's easy to like," she informed, "He always has a smile and a nice word for everyone, even when you know he has problems of his own."

"Problems of his own?" Peter was sure Neal Caffrey had more problems of his own than he wanted to imagine, but still, he was curious.

"We all know his situation, Mr. Burke," She looked appropriately uncomfortable at his inquiry. "Even though he says he's happy to be here, it's still a prison of sorts, isn't it?" she shrugged. "It makes for a very lonely life."

Peter didn't respond to her comment, but instead simply thanked her for her help. A lonely life? Peter felt that for the most part, Neal had always had a lonely life. That was the life of a con man.

"I ordered pizza," he said as he began his trek back up the staircase. "Can you just send them up to Neal's apartment when they get here?"

"I take it you and Mrs. Burke will be spending the evening here?"

"At least until Neal's fever comes down," Peter replied, "El says if it doesn't we might need to take him in tonight to be checked out."

"I think I will give Mrs. Ellington a call," Peter could tell that Janet was both pleased and relieved. "She will rest better tonight knowing that you are here. We both will."

Peter returned to Neal's apartment with his acquisitions in hand. He found Elizabeth had vacated her place beside Neal and was in the kitchen digging through his refrigerator. She looked up as Peter entered.

"Apparently Neal only drinks wine and water."

Peter stepped to the table to unload his haul, handing her the ginger ale Janet had provided. "Ginger ale, thermometer, ibuprofen, and chicken broth," He added. He glanced towards the other room. "How's the patient?"

"Still coughing but the sponging seemed to relieve his discomfort some," she responded, "It'll take at least forty-five minutes for the Tylenol to have any effect on his fever. Take his temperature and I'll fix him a glass of ginger ale. He's probably dehydrated."

"No way," Peter said firmly, handing her the thermometer. "Not me. I'll fix ginger ale. You take his temperature."

"Why?" she teased, handing Peter the ginger ale. "Afraid he'll say something sweet to you again?"

"Maybe," At Peter's tone, her expression changed from teasing to questioning. "It just doesn't feel right," He confided. Neal wasn't only off his game; he was defenseless and vulnerable. It reminded him of the time he had been dosed at the Howser Clinic. That time, he had told Peter he was the only person in his life he trusted. It was a confession that had changed Peter's perception of his CI, but he never mentioned the exchange. He was sure Neal didn't remember it. "He wouldn't want me to see him like this."

"Only because he'd be afraid you'd think less of him," she said gently, squeezing his arm. "What you think of him matters, Peter, it always has; even from the beginning. You know that." She left him to return to Neal, and he went to the cabinet to retrieve a glass.

Peter did know. He had known it since he was chasing the elusive Neal Caffrey, and his prey went to great lengths not only to impress him with his antics but to forge some kind of personal relationship with him. Postcards, pizza deliveries and holiday phone calls had all been part of Neal's strange behavior. Peter hadn't understood it then but had come to realize that he was correct; Neal's life was lonely and for some reason, he had felt the need to connect with his pursuer. It had worked, too. There had been a connection; Neal was smart, and Peter liked smart, but more than that, there was something about the young man that made Peter like him in spite of his criminal activities. It was for those reasons he had accepted Neal's crazy offer to a work release with the FBI.

His desire to impress Peter hadn't abated even if the means he used to accomplish it had. He was brilliant both at digging through case files and finding leads others had missed and in the field as an undercover operative. Peter knew Neal wanted his approval, but he never called him one it. Partially because it would have been insulting and more importantly, a Neal seeking his approval was less likely to revert to his former ways.

Keeping Neal on the right side of the law was important for more than the obvious reason that he was Neal's handler; he also had come to think of him as a friend. A friend who needed guidance and a firm hand. The thing was he didn't usually admit that to himself much less to Neal. But it was as his friend, not his handler, that he was here now. Peter fixed the drink and joined Elizabeth.

"103.2," Elizabeth informed him as he approached the sofa. "That's really high, Peter." Her eyes were dark with worry.

"Let's give it it's forty-five minutes," Peter said, "if it doesn't come down we'll take him to the ER." Elizabeth nodded her agreement, and Peter moved closer to Neal. He had been rousted a bit from his stupor by Elizabeth's ministrations, and he saw Peter's approach.

"You're really here?" Neal's eyes went from Peter's face to Elizabeth's. "I thought I dreamed that."

"You didn't dream it," Peter said, leaning in and putting a hand behind Neal's back. "We're really here. Can you sit up?" The heat still radiated from Neal's body. 103.2 degrees was hot. "You need to drink a little if you can."

Neal complied with Peter's request and managed a couple of sips before turning his head away and coughing painfully; Peter held him steady until it passed, and eased him back onto the pillow. Again the eyes that met his were grateful. "Thanks, Peter," his eyes then found Elizabeth, "It's nice to have you both here like this."

Such openness was completely out of character for Neal, but his eyes were still bright and his voice edgy with fever; no wonder he didn't let anyone know when he was sick.

"You're welcome, Neal." Peter responded, "I'm just glad we're here to help."

His words were sincere; he was glad they were here. Neal probably wouldn't remember the details of the evening, but Peter hoped that somewhere in his fevered mind, he was registering the fact that Peter cared about him. Not just about him as his CI or an FBI asset, but as a person and as a friend.

"Me, too," Neal answered quietly, his eyes closing again. "I feel better with you here." Although the next words were mumbled, both Peter and Elizabeth heard them clearly. "I hate to be by myself."

For someone who prided himself on self-sufficiency, Neal's admission was telling. His words tugged at Peter's heart and, by Elizabeth's expression, had tugged at hers as well. What had she said? No one should have to be sick alone. Peter suspected that Neal had suffered alone a lot in his life.

"We're not going anywhere, Neal," Elizabeth dipped the cloth in the bowl, wrung it out and began wiping Neal's face and neck again. "Try to rest if you can." Her eyes met Peter's. "Forty minutes, Peter," she said quietly.

He took the seat across from Elizabeth as she continued to mop Neal's face with the cloth. He was glad that Elizabeth had insisted on their coming by tonight. He hadn't realized from his conversation with June how sick Neal actually was. But seeing him now, he didn't want to think of what shape he would have been in by morning. Thank goodness for Elizabeth's stubbornness.

"Thanks, El," he said after a short pause. "For making me check on him. You were right," he nodded at Neal's still form, "He couldn't have waited until tomorrow."

"I'm always right, Peter," she teased, "You could save us both a lot of troubles if you'd just accept the fact."

Forty minutes later Neal's temperature had dropped to 101.4. Still high, it was a definite move in the right direction. He had seemed to rest better, his restless movement having lessened even though he was occasionally awakened by his cough. Each time he opened his eyes, Peter raised him up, put the glass of ginger ale to his lips and urged him to drink. He had been compliant each time, and each time mumbled his thanks. At the reading on the digital thermometer, both Peter and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief.

The pizza had arrived a quarter of an hour earlier but with the prospect of a trip to the emergency room looming near, neither Peter nor Elizabeth had touched it. Having left the box unopened on the table, Peter and Elizabeth left their sleeping patient to grab a bite to eat. Elizabeth moved her jacket from the table, hanging it instead over the back of one of the chairs, and took a seat. Peter raided the wine rack, relieving Neal of a nice red.

"He won't mind," he said in response to Elizabeth's raised eyebrows. "He's being sweet, remember?" He uncorked the bottle, took glasses from the counter, and placed them on the table. He poured for them both, before corking the bottle and taking his seat across from Elizabeth. She opened the box and took out a piece of still warm pizza. Peter followed suit.

"Not exactly the venue I had planned," Peter admitted, holding his glass up, "But here's to spending a quiet evening with the lovely Mrs. Burke."

"Why thank you, Mr. Burke," Elizabeth replied, bringing her glass up to meet his. "There's no place I'd rather be."