Fic: Will the Circle be Unbroken?
Title: Will the Circle be Unbroken?
Rating:PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Peter/El established relationship
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Triggers/Enticements: Shameless angst and melodrama. I should be imprisoned for this one.
Word Count: ~2000
Summary: Peter has a high fever and hallucinates that Neal has died.
A/N: Filling my own prompt over at ariadnes_string ’s Running Hot fever fic meme, but since it fills my HC Bingo Card's hallucinations box, it’s a win-win.
Title is the name of a traditional American folk song, and has been covered by everyone from Johnny Cash to Jeff Buckley. Don't even read the lyrics - they will make you bawl your eyes out.
----
Elizabeth waited for her husband to open the door and allowed herself to be ushered into her home, Peter’s hand at her elbow. He liked to be chivalrous, and she liked to let him. She dropped her purse on the hall table and shrugged out of her coat; Peter caught it and hung it on the coat stand, then removed his own. Peter leaned over and patted Satchmo on the head lightly; even the dog seemed to be picking up on their somber mood.
Today had been the funeral service for Jack Hurst, an FBI agent and former protégé of Peter’s who had been killed in the line of duty. El had been to her fair share of these over the years - and they were never easy - but this one hit closer to home than usual. Peter and El had been to Jack’s wedding only the year before, and he and his wife were expecting a child in a few months.
Peter straightened up and looked at her, a weary expression on his face. She immediately went to him and snaked her arms around his waist, holding him close, trying not to think the thoughts that were in her mind (thankgoditwasntPeter - omygod, ohmygod, ohmygod). He buried his face in her hair and sighed heavily, then began to cough lightly. The cough soon became more severe and he stepped away from her as he tried to bring it under control. El made sympathetic noises and went to the kitchen for a glass of water.
She felt his forehead as he drank it down, and frowned. “I think that cold of yours is turning into something else, hon.”
“Me too,” he groaned, “but I can’t afford any time off. We’ve got Neal going undercover on that insider trading thing we’re helping the SEC with tonight.” He started coughing again, and it so winded him he had to take a seat on the couch.
Elizabeth gave him the look - the one that brooked no argument - and shook her head. “Didn’t you say this was just the first meeting? Diana and Clinton can handle your end. You need to get to bed, I think, before you make yourself sicker.”
Peter tried to give her his best glower, but his next coughing fit reduced its effectiveness. He reluctantly agreed that he ought to stay home and pulled out his cell phone to make a few calls to the team, then headed upstairs to change while she made them a light lunch.
----
Peter sat listlessly at the table, picking at the grilled cheese sandwich El placed in front of him, fading fast. El sent him up to bed while she cleaned up, and found him lying on top of the covers, apparently lacking the energy to even crawl beneath them. She helped him out, and then went to retrieve a thermometer and some over the counter cold pills from the bathroom.
“Hmmm, 102, not good,” she pronounced after the thermometer had beeped at her. She slipped him some Tylenol and sat next to him on the bed. She placed a cool hand on his forehead and made tsking sounds. “Not good at all. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks.”
“OK. Can you try to get some sleep?”
He nodded and dutifully closed his eyes. She went downstairs to make them both some tea.
----
Peter showed no improvement over the course of the afternoon, in fact he seemed worse when El brought him some toast at dinnertime; his eyes seemed to have sunken into his head, and it seemed like she couldn’t pile enough blankets on top of him to keep him warm.
Neal called to check on them both at around 8:00. “How’s the patient?”
“A little worse, I think,” she said plainly.
“It’s still not too late for me to come over,” he pointed out. “We can probably reschedule this.”
“Oh no, sweetie, I’ve got it handled. He’s pretty easy to take care of when he’s sick. We’ll be fine.”
“Doesn’t make me want to be there any less,” he grumbled.
“Aw,” she purred, “you’re so sweet. Have we ever told you how lucky we are to have you in our lives?”
“You may have mentioned it. Gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you more.” She hung up the phone and set about cleaning up the small mess she made cooking her own dinner.
Later, she fell asleep in the big easy chair in her bedroom, reading a book while watching over Peter.
----
She was awakened by a THUMP as a pair of men’s shoes hit the carpeted floor of her bedroom closet.
“Honey?” she said, momentarily confused. She glanced at the clock - just after midnight. Peter stood in front of the closet, one of his suits slung over his arm and a pair of shoes in his hand. “What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for the tie Neal gave me. The burgundy one. Have you seen it?” he said. She noticed he was swaying slightly on his feet.
“What do you need it for?” she asked, rising.
“I, uh…” he blinked and then his face crumpled up as a sob escaped his lips. He dropped the suit and shoes and his arms hung uselessly at his sides. He spoke in a whisper, his words barely intelligible. “I wanted to wear it to today. Neal got me that tie for Christmas and I want to wear it to his funeral.”
Elizabeth rushed over to Peter and felt his face and forehead, confirming her suspicion that he was, in fact, burning up with fever. “No, Peter, you’re confused. Jack’s funeral was yesterday,” she said soothingly. “Come on back to bed.”
“Not Jack’s funeral. Neal’s. I, I n-need to wear Neal’s tie to his...” Peter’s voice broke before he could complete the sentence.
“Oh my God, Peter. Peter!” she exclaimed as he fell suddenly to his knees and then sat heavily down on the floor, sobbing brokenly.
Elizabeth took him in her arms and rocked him. “Peter, stop it, Neal is fine,” she said, but he didn’t seem to hear her.
“Neal! Neal!” he moaned in her arms, and she could feel the tears and snot running down his face and into her hair, as he wept inconsolably. “Why? Why wasn’t I there? I could have saved him! Why?”
“Stop it, honey, please, you’re scaring me!” she said to him, tears rising in her own eyes, but he was almost incoherent now, sobbing so hard it kicked off a coughing fit. He soon began to choke and, lurching to his hands and knees, he began to vomit on the floor, heaving until his stomach was empty, and then dry heaving after that. It was all Elizabeth could do to hold on to him as he fell over onto his side, breathing raggedly, but finally still.
“Honey?” she said tentatively. Her hands fluttered over his face and neck, to be sure he was OK. He opened his eyes and looked up, and when he saw her, his face crumpled again and he began to cry. His sobs were less wracking now, but no less upsetting.
“Peter, please! Please stop this,” Elizabeth said, crying now herself, her hand to her mouth. “Neal is all right. He’s all right. You’re just confused because you’re sick and Jack Hurst’s funeral was today. Neal is OK, you have to believe me.”
“He is? Where…?”
“He’s undercover. Remember that SEC thing tonight?”
“No.”
“Well, there was a meeting, and Neal is there. You’d be there too, but you were sick. And now you’re just confused. Please will you come back to bed?”
He just shook his head and covered his face with his hands as he continued to cry. He clearly wasn’t convinced by her assurances.
El pushed herself to her feet and went back to the bed. She picked up her cell phone and hit a few buttons.
“Berrigan.”
“Diana! Please tell me you're all through with the case for the night,” she said desperately into the phone, trying to keep her voice calm. She sniffled.
“Elizabeth? Something’s wrong, what is it?”
El sighed with relief - leave it to Diana to get right to the crux of a problem. “It’s just - can I talk to Neal?”
“I’m not sure, not right now. He’s wrapping it up, though. Shouldn’t be more than half an hour.”
“That long?” El said, and she wished she could have kept the obvious quaver out of her voice, but she was close to panicking.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Elizabeth,” Diana said directly.
“It’s Peter. His fever has spiked and he’s hallucinating. I need some help over here.”
“OK, Hold on.” It was clear that Diana had muffled the phone speaker, but El could hear everything. “Hey Jones, pull Caffrey out of there now, OK?” Then: “Elizabeth? We’ll be there in less than twenty minutes. Do you think you can hang on that long?”
“I hope so.”
“Do you want me to call you an ambulance?”
“Just get here.”
----
Elizabeth heard the front door bang open and a rush of feet as Neal took the stairs two at a time.
“Jesus!” he breathed as he took in the sight of them - Peter sprawled on the floor in his underwear, his head in El’s lap as she administered cold compresses to his head, his throat, his wrists. He rushed across the room and knelt beside her. “What happened?”
“He, um…we had a bad night,” she said, on the verge of tears again.
“You don’t say. What can I do?”
“Can you help me get him back into bed?”
Neal nodded, and put a hand between Peter’s shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position. Neal noticed that the thin t-shirt Peter wore was soaked through with sweat as he settled against his chest. “Peter, come on,” he said, “let’s get you back to bed, OK?”
Peter’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of Neal’s voice. “Neal?” he whispered. “Is it really you?”
Neal removed the washcloth from Peter’s brow, pressed a kiss to his temple. “Of course it’s me. Who were you expecting?”
“You’re not dead?”
Neal glanced at Elizabeth, concern and understanding for what she’d gone through tonight beginning to dawn on him. “I’m right here with you, my love. Do you think you can make it to the bed now?”
Peter nodded, and Neal helped him to his feet and then across the room. When he’d been safely installed in the big bed and swathed once again in blankets, Neal took a trembling Elizabeth into his arms and held her close. “Tell me what happened.”
She hugged him back and sighed wearily. “He was hallucinating that you were dead. I think he got it all confused in his head, after Jack’s funeral yesterday.”
“I’m sorry,” Neal said, releasing her. He took off his jacket and loosened his tie. “Should we get him to a hospital?”
“I don’t think so - the fever seemed to break right after I called Diana. We should call the doctor in the morning, though, and keep an eye on him.
“You look exhausted. Why don’t I take the next shift and you get some sleep in the guest room?”
Normally, she would have made a fuss, but El was too tired to argue. She nodded, gave him a kiss and headed for the door.
Neal noticed the vomit on the floor and removed his cuff links, rolled up his sleeves. He was about to head for the bathroom and some cleaning supplies when he heard a stirring in the bed behind him.
“Neal?”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Yes, Peter?”
“You’re really here, right?”
Neal grabbed one of Peter’s hands and squeezed. “You feel that? I’m really here.”
Peter nodded, smiled. “Good. El was worried,” he said, and drifted off to sleep.
----
Thank you for your time.