Worth it (PG)kriadydragonAugust 13 2011, 21:02:55 UTC
It was a plane that exploded, and Neal having a semi-panic attack (if you could have a semi-panic attack) that saved them, because it was that kind of day. The private jet's engines had whined, a face had been peering out the window - not Kate's face, not even a woman, just the guy they were after, but Neal had froze.
Then he started backing up, and Peter wondered not for the first time how emotionally stable Neal really was when the plane burst into a fireball, shoving Peter down and Neal into the hangar wall.
There'd been burns, mild, easy to deal with, a broken arm for Peter, broken ribs and dislocated shoulder for Neal, and Neal having trouble breathing. Peter had thought it was a punctured lung, the doctors blast lung, except Neal wasn't coughing up any blood. He laid there on the hospital bed next to Peter, oxygen mask strapped to his face, breathing fine, then fast, then gasping, struggling as he clawed at his chest. It kept happening what felt like every three minutes, with no rhyme or reason to it that the doctors could find, and getting to the point that they were threatening a breathing tube.
Peter couldn't really blame them - not the tube threat, he could blame them for that - but for not being able to figure it out. He couldn't even figure it out, not right away, even though he'd been right there, knocked off his game by deja vu. Neal didn't gasp and claw when he was awake, only when he was asleep. Awake, he just looked confused and scared.
When it happened again, Peter was ready - as ready as he could be, having no real idea of what would help. He unclipped his IV, swung his legs around and stumbled to Neal. He fumbled mentally for a moment before sliding his good arm under Neal, lifting and adjusting as carefully as possible, making enough room to let him sit on the edge of the bed.
Peter held Neal, possibly the most uncomfortable thing he'd ever done. Neal was a heavy, shaking, gasping weight against him, their combined heat making Peter's side clammy, soaking through the scrub shirt.
Neal didn't say anything. He remembered how to breathe, then fell back to sleep. The doctors and nurses that had hurried in stood around as though they had entered the wrong room. Any attempt to get Peter back in his bed wasn't happening. Neither was it much of an effort. Instead, they helped make Peter more comfortable, while Peter made Neal more comfortable.
It was awkward and a little odd, and Peter hoped to hell El didn't walk in while he was asleep and capture the moment forever on camera phone, but Neal was breathing right, and no longer shivering. That made it worth it.
Then he started backing up, and Peter wondered not for the first time how emotionally stable Neal really was when the plane burst into a fireball, shoving Peter down and Neal into the hangar wall.
There'd been burns, mild, easy to deal with, a broken arm for Peter, broken ribs and dislocated shoulder for Neal, and Neal having trouble breathing. Peter had thought it was a punctured lung, the doctors blast lung, except Neal wasn't coughing up any blood. He laid there on the hospital bed next to Peter, oxygen mask strapped to his face, breathing fine, then fast, then gasping, struggling as he clawed at his chest. It kept happening what felt like every three minutes, with no rhyme or reason to it that the doctors could find, and getting to the point that they were threatening a breathing tube.
Peter couldn't really blame them - not the tube threat, he could blame them for that - but for not being able to figure it out. He couldn't even figure it out, not right away, even though he'd been right there, knocked off his game by deja vu. Neal didn't gasp and claw when he was awake, only when he was asleep. Awake, he just looked confused and scared.
When it happened again, Peter was ready - as ready as he could be, having no real idea of what would help. He unclipped his IV, swung his legs around and stumbled to Neal. He fumbled mentally for a moment before sliding his good arm under Neal, lifting and adjusting as carefully as possible, making enough room to let him sit on the edge of the bed.
Peter held Neal, possibly the most uncomfortable thing he'd ever done. Neal was a heavy, shaking, gasping weight against him, their combined heat making Peter's side clammy, soaking through the scrub shirt.
But Neal wasn't gasping so bad.
"Easy, buddy. Easy. I've got you. You're okay. I've got you."
Neal didn't say anything. He remembered how to breathe, then fell back to sleep. The doctors and nurses that had hurried in stood around as though they had entered the wrong room. Any attempt to get Peter back in his bed wasn't happening. Neither was it much of an effort. Instead, they helped make Peter more comfortable, while Peter made Neal more comfortable.
It was awkward and a little odd, and Peter hoped to hell El didn't walk in while he was asleep and capture the moment forever on camera phone, but Neal was breathing right, and no longer shivering. That made it worth it.
The End
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