FIC: Wonder Why We Ever Go Home
Title: Wonder Why We Ever Go Home
Author: calis_1st
Rating: G
Characters: Neal, June, a little bit of Peter
Spoilers: None
Word count: ~ 1100
Disclaimer: Characters are all from the brilliant mind of Jeff Eastin. Thanks!
Summary: June has a rough night; Neal is by her side.
Note: This is for the taking care of somebody square on my H/C bingo card
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Peter and Elizabeth had just ordered dessert when he received a text message from Neal. Please set radius to include Mt. Sinai Med Ctr. For June. Will call you later. Peter tried to call back but his call went straight to voicemail; he returned a text - Mt. Sinai cleared. Call me asap as soon as he'd gotten off the phone with the Marshals' office.
Two hours later, just as Peter was about to get back into his car after bringing Elizabeth home, he received another text. I know you want to but please do not come here tonight. Tx.
Why not? Peter responded.
She won't even let me tell her children she's ill. Please, just wait. I promise to stay here.
Are you okay?
No. Worried.
We'll talk tomorrow, Peter finally texted back.
***
They made a mismatched pair, but around here family came in so many shapes and forms that once June said Neal should be involved in any medical discussions and decisions, they barely received a passing glance by the medical staff. Techs drew many tubes of blood and hooked her up to various monitors and bags of fluids. Doctors and nurses asked the same questions over and over again, and checked her heartrate, breathing, blood pressure, temperature, and pupils. Finally they told her they were waiting for a bed to become available in the cardiac care unit, since one of her heart indicators showed that maybe - maybe - she had had a mild heart attack a few days earlier. It probably wouldn't be until morning, they said, so if her friend wanted to leave and she wanted to sleep, that would be alright. Neal just shook his head.
"There's no place I want to be more than here," he said to the nurse, but he was looking at June.
He never left her bedside in the tiny emergency room cubicle, sitting in the very uncomfortable molded plastic chair. He never let go of her hand through the bed's railing, even though she was asleep and he was nearly there. Sometime after midnight a tech brought in a portable x-ray machine and made him leave. He used that time to call Peter.
“Am I okay to be here? Did the Marshals give you a hard time?”
“Well, let’s just say the idea of you staying at the hospital bedside of a wealthy, elderly widow didn’t thrill them, but I convinced them that if June wants you in her home, they really can’t criticize you being with her now.”
Neal pressed his lips together in a thin line.
“And it concerns me that her children might agree with the Marshals.”
***
The automatic inflating of the blood pressure cuff roused her from a light sleep. She looked at the tousled curls covering the top of Neal's bent head and rubbed her thumb over his knuckle. He turned his face toward hers unhurriedly.
"What can I do for you, June?" he asked.
"Nothing, dear boy. You should go home."
In the dim light coming over the top of the curtains her eyes looked a little brighter than they did earlier, and her voice sounded stronger. "There are a lot of things I should do," he said, with a smile in his voice. "But, June, have you met me? Besides, I can't imagine what Mozzie might do to me if he found out I left you here alone."
She chuckled.
He asked, more seriously, "How are you feeling?"
"Pretty well, actually. A little nervous. Maybe a little afraid. More than a little selfish for wanting you to stay here."
He squeezed her hand with both of his. He wouldn't give her platitudes about the future that they both knew might only be lies, but he could give her his time, and maybe a little distraction.
“Have you ever been to the Czech Republic?"
She shook her head.
"About seven years ago, no, maybe eight. I might have been in Prague. There was rumor of a painting that allegedly may have been forged by an Englishman who...”
They were both laughing a couple hours later when a doctor they hadn't yet seen came in and asked, for the fourth time, what brought her here, and for the fourth time, June repeated that she had been unusually tired for the last couple of days and was breathless on the stairs, and yes, she was not a young woman but this came on suddenly; that she had a few bouts of lightheadedness, and that she fainted earlier in the evening. This doctor was a cardiologist, who had all of June's test results at her fingertips, and had taken the time to review them thoroughly. She determined that June was suffering from a viral infection, and that the preliminary diagnosis of a myocardial infarction, although quite reasonable, was incorrect. She signed June's release papers that included a couple of prescriptions, instructions to rest for a few days, and her office phone number for a follow-up visit later in the week. Neal called for a car service rather than a cab while an aide assisted June in changing out of her hospital gown and back into her own clothes.
The sun was just rising over the city's skyline as Neal helped her from the hospital-mandated wheelchair to the car. In the wheelchair, without makeup and her usual hair styling she looked older, smaller, somehow, and frail. But when she stood up and smiled at the sky and then at him, she was, once again, the June he met at a thrift store all those years ago.
"June," he asked, once they settled into the car, "why didn't you want your family with you last night instead of me ?"
She sighed.
“Those are two completely separate and unrelated questions. When Byron first got sick, before we knew what was wrong, I told them their father was ill. He didn’t want me to, but I did because I thought it was more important that we not keep that from them. They treated him like an invalid from the start, even though they didn’t mean to, and it just drove Byron crazy. It wasn’t that he couldn’t accept their help, it was just that he really didn’t need it at that time. And he wanted to protect them from it as much as he could, especially since we didn’t even have a diagnosis. That's why I didn't want to tell them. But, as I learned back then, it’s hard to navigate through this alone, and there is no one I trust more than you to be by my side.”
He squeezed her hand.
“Thank you, June,” he whispered. His voice was rough from more than just the all-nighter he'd had.
"No, thank you, Neal."
Title from the Jimmy Buffett song.
Thanks for reading. Comments are more than welcome.