WC Fic: True Faith
Title: True Faith
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter
Spoilers: None
Content Notice: None
Word Count: 600
Summary: Peter comforts Neal. Neal tries to be comforted.
A/N: For pooh_collector’s prompt on Comfest 2013 now going on over at whitecollarhc.
And sorry, bad title is bad.
----
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Peter’s voice is a rumble, deep in his chest; Neal can feel it through the back of his sweat-soaked shirt.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Peter speaks in a sing-song - soothing, like a lullaby.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Neal closes his eyes and wills the words to wash over him, to help him forget the pain.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
It is becoming increasingly difficult.
Peter’s right arm is slung along his side, pressing his balled-up jacket against Neal's belly to stop the bleeding, and Neal's lost the strength to hold on to it anymore.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Neal’s mind keeps trying to find the moment that it all went south, but all he can manage, all he can think about, is the sensation of Garcia’s blade slicing into his belly like a hot knife through butter. The shock of it, the violence; the man had not stopped smiling pleasantly at him.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Garcia wasn’t smiling now - Peter’s bullet through his brain had put a stop to that. But the damage was done as far as Neal was concerned, who lay there staring at Garcia for a few seconds after he fell, their gazes unwittingly lined-up.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Peter was with him seconds later, had pulled Neal into his lap, off the cold floor. The shock, at first, had masked the pain, but it’s become an almost living thing in his gut: bright, hot, and growing.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Neal is beginning to not believe him. It has been more than an hour since the ambulance was called, by his reckoning. He thinks they will never come. He thinks Peter is lying to him.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Something happens, some weird misfiring of nerve endings or whatever, and Neal's abdominal muscles clench and spasm. The scream that is wrenched from his throat does nothing to alleviate it. Peter clutches him closer, left arm across Neal's collarbone; his mouth is against his ear.
“It’s OK. You’re OK. It’s OK. You’re OK. It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Peter is chanting it now, and Neal wonders who he’s talking to. The spasm-or-whatever has left him dizzy and weakened, and he can’t really feel his feet anymore.
“It’s OK.”
He thinks Peter should know he’s wrong, but he can’t bring himself to say it aloud.
“You’re OK.”
Peter pauses in his litany, and Neal can just make out the distant sound of a siren.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Soon the flashing lights of the ambulance are visible and the EMTs are there. Peter reluctantly sets Neal down as they evaluate and treat his injuries and run an IV. He’s lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled away towards the ambulance, Peter following close behind.
There is a pause in the action as the EMTs open up the ambulance, and Neal glances over at Peter, who’s covered in blood that it takes Neal a second to realize is his. For a moment, Neal sees the fear on his partner’s face, the anxiety and dread - he is white with it, his lips a thin line. As Neal's about to be hoisted inside, he reaches a trembling hand to Peter, who steps closer and leans over him.
“It’s OK. I’m OK,” Neal tells Peter, and they both realize they believe it this time.
----
Thank you for your time.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter
Spoilers: None
Content Notice: None
Word Count: 600
Summary: Peter comforts Neal. Neal tries to be comforted.
A/N: For pooh_collector’s prompt on Comfest 2013 now going on over at whitecollarhc.
And sorry, bad title is bad.
----
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Peter’s voice is a rumble, deep in his chest; Neal can feel it through the back of his sweat-soaked shirt.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Peter speaks in a sing-song - soothing, like a lullaby.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Neal closes his eyes and wills the words to wash over him, to help him forget the pain.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
It is becoming increasingly difficult.
Peter’s right arm is slung along his side, pressing his balled-up jacket against Neal's belly to stop the bleeding, and Neal's lost the strength to hold on to it anymore.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Neal’s mind keeps trying to find the moment that it all went south, but all he can manage, all he can think about, is the sensation of Garcia’s blade slicing into his belly like a hot knife through butter. The shock of it, the violence; the man had not stopped smiling pleasantly at him.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Garcia wasn’t smiling now - Peter’s bullet through his brain had put a stop to that. But the damage was done as far as Neal was concerned, who lay there staring at Garcia for a few seconds after he fell, their gazes unwittingly lined-up.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Peter was with him seconds later, had pulled Neal into his lap, off the cold floor. The shock, at first, had masked the pain, but it’s become an almost living thing in his gut: bright, hot, and growing.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Neal is beginning to not believe him. It has been more than an hour since the ambulance was called, by his reckoning. He thinks they will never come. He thinks Peter is lying to him.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Something happens, some weird misfiring of nerve endings or whatever, and Neal's abdominal muscles clench and spasm. The scream that is wrenched from his throat does nothing to alleviate it. Peter clutches him closer, left arm across Neal's collarbone; his mouth is against his ear.
“It’s OK. You’re OK. It’s OK. You’re OK. It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Peter is chanting it now, and Neal wonders who he’s talking to. The spasm-or-whatever has left him dizzy and weakened, and he can’t really feel his feet anymore.
“It’s OK.”
He thinks Peter should know he’s wrong, but he can’t bring himself to say it aloud.
“You’re OK.”
Peter pauses in his litany, and Neal can just make out the distant sound of a siren.
“It’s OK. You’re OK.”
Soon the flashing lights of the ambulance are visible and the EMTs are there. Peter reluctantly sets Neal down as they evaluate and treat his injuries and run an IV. He’s lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled away towards the ambulance, Peter following close behind.
There is a pause in the action as the EMTs open up the ambulance, and Neal glances over at Peter, who’s covered in blood that it takes Neal a second to realize is his. For a moment, Neal sees the fear on his partner’s face, the anxiety and dread - he is white with it, his lips a thin line. As Neal's about to be hoisted inside, he reaches a trembling hand to Peter, who steps closer and leans over him.
“It’s OK. I’m OK,” Neal tells Peter, and they both realize they believe it this time.
----
Thank you for your time.