On Waking After a Bedside Vigil
Title: On Waking After a Beside Vigil
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke
Word Count: 830
Summary: Neal wakes up in a hospital, but everything's all right.
On Waking After a Bedside Vigil
Neal woke slowly, to the low beeping of a heart rate monitor and the back-and-forth hum of a ventilator. It sounded - wrong. Something was not right.
The sound was the first thing he noticed, and then the smell: cleanliness and sterility and a tiny little bit of head-and-shoulders.
The last thing Neal noticed before he fully woke up was the soft brush of a well-calloused thumb rubbing softly across his the back of his right hand.
He couldn’t open his eyes for another minute or to; things looked bleary when he finally did, and bright, and he had to blink several times to keep them from closing again.
“Hey,” said someone to his right, a low, soothing voice that Neal would have known anywhere. “Hey, Neal, you’re okay.”
Neal blinked again and tried to turn his head to look at Peter. He couldn’t move his head far, though; there was something stopping him - something in his mouth that - God, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t-
“Neal - Neal! It’s okay, it’s just a respirator.” Peter put one hand on Neal’s chest and the other over Neal’s hands to stop him from pulling at the respirator. “Calm down, or they’ll have to sedate you again. Just breathe with it, there you go.”
Neal stopped trying to grab the tube and relaxed even though all his instincts screamed against it. Just calm down, he told himself. You’re fine. No need to panic. Peter wouldn’t be this calm if there were.
“Attaboy, Neal,” Peter said. His grip on Neal’s hands and gown loosened, but didn’t let up altogether. “Attaboy, just ride it out.”
It took a minute for Neal’s heart rate to drop back down again. A nurse popped in and bustled around for a bit, checking Neal’s vitals and shooting Peter angry looks when she thought he wasn’t looking.
For his part, Peter picked up a folder that had fallen from his lap and settled back in his chair with it. He ran his hands through his shower-wet hair and managed not to snort when the nurse patted Neal’s cheek and told him they could probably take out the respirator in a few hours.
Peter waited until the nurse left to chuckle and toss the folder back to the floor. He hunched forward so Neal could see him and rested his hands on the bed rails.”
“I don’t think she’s too happy I borrowed the nurse’s showers earlier.” Peter’s eyes sparkled, but the dark circles under them told a different story. “But I really thought I should stay here in case you escaped in your sleep.”
Neal raised an eyebrow - or tried to. Just staying alert was draining his energy like water from a sieve. As Neal blinked again sluggishly, Peter’s expression turned serious.
“Doctor says you banged yourself up pretty well, but you should make a full recovery in a couple months. Maybe spring you out of here in a week; El’s already setting up the guest room.” Peter leaned forward and looked Neal in the eye. He seemed…nervous, almost. “Do you remember what happened?”
Neal hadn’t - not until Peter asked. But it was as if the question jarred loose the fragments of Neal’s memory, and he remembered: chasing the suspect to the edge of the roof; the gun pointed at Peter out of nowhere; that moment of realization where everything was black and white and crystal clear, and there was no choice, really, just I won’t let you, not my friend; grabbing the cheap cotton collar of the man’s shirt and the sweat-slick skin underneath even as something punched through his shoulder, burning hot, and punched the air out with it; falling, tumbling through the air, down two stories to the concrete beneath, and oh, God, he was going to let El and Peter down and-
Peter bit his lip and tapped his foot, anxiety evident in the creases on his forehead and the white knuckles on his fingers. There was something about the way he stared - something open and vulnerable and worried that spoke of sleepless nights and vigils traded off with El and Jones.
Neal moved his hand a bit, with effort, and tapped out two letters in Morse code on the bed sheet.
NO
The relief in Peter’s face was palpable.
“Right,” he said, letting go of the bed rails and leaning back in his chair again. “It’s normal; the doctors said there might be some minor memory loss.”
Neal let his eyes drift shut - just for a minute. When he opened them again, Peter was looking at him with what Neal could have sworn was an affectionate smile.
“You did good, Neal,” he said. “Now get some sleep.”
Neal shut his eyes and let himself relax.
“After all,” Peter finished. He picked up the folder and chuckled. “You’ll want to be all rested for your sponge bath today.”
Neal would have grinned if he could have.
He was fine. Peter was safe. All was as it should be.
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke
Word Count: 830
Summary: Neal wakes up in a hospital, but everything's all right.
On Waking After a Bedside Vigil
Neal woke slowly, to the low beeping of a heart rate monitor and the back-and-forth hum of a ventilator. It sounded - wrong. Something was not right.
The sound was the first thing he noticed, and then the smell: cleanliness and sterility and a tiny little bit of head-and-shoulders.
The last thing Neal noticed before he fully woke up was the soft brush of a well-calloused thumb rubbing softly across his the back of his right hand.
He couldn’t open his eyes for another minute or to; things looked bleary when he finally did, and bright, and he had to blink several times to keep them from closing again.
“Hey,” said someone to his right, a low, soothing voice that Neal would have known anywhere. “Hey, Neal, you’re okay.”
Neal blinked again and tried to turn his head to look at Peter. He couldn’t move his head far, though; there was something stopping him - something in his mouth that - God, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t-
“Neal - Neal! It’s okay, it’s just a respirator.” Peter put one hand on Neal’s chest and the other over Neal’s hands to stop him from pulling at the respirator. “Calm down, or they’ll have to sedate you again. Just breathe with it, there you go.”
Neal stopped trying to grab the tube and relaxed even though all his instincts screamed against it. Just calm down, he told himself. You’re fine. No need to panic. Peter wouldn’t be this calm if there were.
“Attaboy, Neal,” Peter said. His grip on Neal’s hands and gown loosened, but didn’t let up altogether. “Attaboy, just ride it out.”
It took a minute for Neal’s heart rate to drop back down again. A nurse popped in and bustled around for a bit, checking Neal’s vitals and shooting Peter angry looks when she thought he wasn’t looking.
For his part, Peter picked up a folder that had fallen from his lap and settled back in his chair with it. He ran his hands through his shower-wet hair and managed not to snort when the nurse patted Neal’s cheek and told him they could probably take out the respirator in a few hours.
Peter waited until the nurse left to chuckle and toss the folder back to the floor. He hunched forward so Neal could see him and rested his hands on the bed rails.”
“I don’t think she’s too happy I borrowed the nurse’s showers earlier.” Peter’s eyes sparkled, but the dark circles under them told a different story. “But I really thought I should stay here in case you escaped in your sleep.”
Neal raised an eyebrow - or tried to. Just staying alert was draining his energy like water from a sieve. As Neal blinked again sluggishly, Peter’s expression turned serious.
“Doctor says you banged yourself up pretty well, but you should make a full recovery in a couple months. Maybe spring you out of here in a week; El’s already setting up the guest room.” Peter leaned forward and looked Neal in the eye. He seemed…nervous, almost. “Do you remember what happened?”
Neal hadn’t - not until Peter asked. But it was as if the question jarred loose the fragments of Neal’s memory, and he remembered: chasing the suspect to the edge of the roof; the gun pointed at Peter out of nowhere; that moment of realization where everything was black and white and crystal clear, and there was no choice, really, just I won’t let you, not my friend; grabbing the cheap cotton collar of the man’s shirt and the sweat-slick skin underneath even as something punched through his shoulder, burning hot, and punched the air out with it; falling, tumbling through the air, down two stories to the concrete beneath, and oh, God, he was going to let El and Peter down and-
Peter bit his lip and tapped his foot, anxiety evident in the creases on his forehead and the white knuckles on his fingers. There was something about the way he stared - something open and vulnerable and worried that spoke of sleepless nights and vigils traded off with El and Jones.
Neal moved his hand a bit, with effort, and tapped out two letters in Morse code on the bed sheet.
NO
The relief in Peter’s face was palpable.
“Right,” he said, letting go of the bed rails and leaning back in his chair again. “It’s normal; the doctors said there might be some minor memory loss.”
Neal let his eyes drift shut - just for a minute. When he opened them again, Peter was looking at him with what Neal could have sworn was an affectionate smile.
“You did good, Neal,” he said. “Now get some sleep.”
Neal shut his eyes and let himself relax.
“After all,” Peter finished. He picked up the folder and chuckled. “You’ll want to be all rested for your sponge bath today.”
Neal would have grinned if he could have.
He was fine. Peter was safe. All was as it should be.