A/N: Thanks to all who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. I appreciate it, guys!
Neal had been sick all week.
At first, Peter pretended not to notice. It was only a slight cold, after all, and Peter knew Neal preferred not to be made a big deal of in that respect. Then the slight cold turned into a slight cough, and the cough worsened. Peter didn't know how well his consultant was sleeping, either, as he always seemed to be concealing tiredness. He did a good job of it, Peter observed, as no one else seemed to notice a difference in him.
Still, in spite of his concern, Peter didn't mention it to Neal, wanting to at least give the ex-con the freedom to choose how to take care of himself. Neal seemed to be at least okay.
Or so Peter thought, until he walked into the mens' room one morning to see Neal doubled over one of the toilets.
To heck with taking care of himself, Peter decided as he helped Neal clean up, ignoring the protests.
"I'm taking you to the clinic, Neal," Peter told him. The dismay on Neal's face was nearly comical. More protests came flooding out.
There was the classic, "It must've been something I ate," and the almost-laughable, "I'm not really that sick, Peter, honestly."
"First of all," Peter said, "Yeah, you are that sick. And second, have you even been eating? Or sleeping?"
"Uhm..." Neal just shifted slightly.
"That's what I thought," Peter said with a nod. Helping Neal to stand from where he'd been sitting against the wall, his hand accidentally brushed Neal's forehead and he jerked it back.
"How long have you been running a fever for?" Peter demanded. He took Neal's arm and started leading him toward the car.
"About a day," Neal said hesitantly, looking slightly dizzy as he stood. "But none of it's bad enough to keep me from working." Peter cursed whoever had taught Neal his work ethic. Sometimes a person needed to stop working and just rest.
"Yeah, it's a doctor for you. Cowboy up," he told Neal quietly as Neal continued to look unhappy. "It's a trip to the doctor, Caffrey, it won't kill you."
Twenty minutes and an endless stream of protests later, they were sitting in the waiting room of the doctors' office.
"Peter," Neal pleaded in a low voice, "I'll go home and rest, I'll drink gallons of orange juice. I don't need a doc-" his plea was cut short as he erupted into a coughing fit. The cough was deep and seemed to cause Neal pain. Peter winced every time Neal did, and he put a hand on Neal's back until the cough stopped.
"Sorry, Neal," Peter said quietly. "I'm insisting this time."
"Mr. Caffrey? Doctor Walle can see you now." A red-headed nurse held a clipboard and Neal shot Peter a panicked glance. Peter knew Neal's fear of doctors and hospitals didn't quite rival Haversham's, but it was present nonetheless. He made a quick decision.
"Nurse... King?" Peter asked with a nod. "I'm Agent Peter Burke, FBI. This is my consultant. I've got to be with him at all times, federal guidelines. I hope that won't cause too much trouble."
The nurse looked surprised. "Oh. No, that will be fine. Right this way, Agent Burke." Peter helped Neal stand up and met Neal's eyes. They were filled with mixed surprise, confusion, and gratitude. Peter knew that Neal knew that there really wasn't a guideline like that, as they were within Neal's two miles. But he could see the young man appreciated it still.
They followed the nurse into the back room and Peter caught side of a jar on the counter.
"If you're good, Neal, maybe they'll give you a lollipop," Peter said teasingly. Neal spared him a withering glare that was sort of ruined by the wince as he coughed again. It took about thirty minutes' worth of doctor time, but they discovered that Neal had pneumonia.
"I'm going to give you some antibiotics," the young male doctor said. "You seem to be in good health otherwise, so you should see marked improvement within about three days." He gave Peter a paper to pick up the prescription and nodded to Neal.
"Make sure he gets plenty of rest and fluids, and whatever food he can keep down," the doctor advised. "And he shouldn't go back to work for... a week, I'd say, and that is only if the symptoms are completely gone."
Neal looked slightly put out at this news, but remained silent as he had through most of the appointment.
"Thank you, Doctor," Peter said. "I'll make sure he's taken care of." On their way out of the office, the redheaded nurse handed Neal a lollipop with a teasing grin. He accepted it, rolling his eyes at Peter and thanking her.
"Okay, Neal," Peter said as they pulled up to June's house. "Do I need to come in and make sure you go rest, or can you do it yourself?" The consultant gave him a slightly sulky look.
"I can do it." He got out of the car and walked to the door, his pace a little shaky. Peter stuck his head out the car window.
"Behave yourself! I'll be checking in later!" He warned. Neal gave him a half-wave and stepped inside.
About two hours later, Peter returned to June's home with the antibiotics in one hand, and his wife's hand in the other.
"Hi, June," Elizabeth said warmly as they stepped inside. "Mind if we go up and see Neal?"
"Of course not," June said with a smile. "He should be awake, I was up there a few minutes ago."
"Thanks," Peter said. They walked up to Neal's loft and knocked.
"Come in," came a slightly muffled voice.
"Hey, Neal," Elizabeth said, setting down a container. "We brought you some chicken soup. How're you feeling?"
"Fine." Neal was sitting in bed wearing pajamas, holding a book in his lap.
"How are you feeling, Neal?" Elizabeth asked more sternly with a raised eyebrow. Neal sighed.
"Okay, I guess," he said. "Still tired, and my chest hurts, but the resting sort of helped."
Peter handed Neal the jar of pills. "You're supposed to take them with food twice a day," he said. "I'd suggest eating something small and taking your first two now."
"Okay," Neal surrendered, recognizing the order. "I ate a roll a little while ago, so I think I'm good." He swallowed two of the pills with some water and set the glass back down. Peter glanced next to it and gave Neal a look.
"Oh, Neal, you didn't eat your lollipop," he said with fake surprise.
Neal made a face. "It's cherry flavored. I hate fake cherry flavoring. It tastes like cough syrup."
"You are such a child, you know that?" Peter said, half-teasingly, half-exasperatedly.
Neal stuck out his tongue.
Peter rolled his eyes. "Case in point..."
Elizabeth put a hand on Peter's arm and gave him a look. "We'll just be going now, Neal. Stay warm," she said, glancing at the thicker quilts at the end of the bed.
"I will," Neal said. He looked back and forth between Peter and Elizabeth, his amused expression replaced by gratitude. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it," Peter said nonchalantly. Elizabeth smiled.
"Just feel better, Neal," she said. Neal nodded.
"I'll certainly try." They left the room and Elizabeth looked at Peter with mock-sternness.
"What?" He asked with an innocent expression. His wife raised one eyebrow.
"You know what." She put her hand back in his, smiling slightly, and they walked back to the car.