"Two," he echoes, considering a minute. "I could still go in if I hurried" He doesn't entirely sound like he wants to go but when he's home, he tries to keep up work the best he can, that way the pressure isn't left on Elizabeth.
Neal would agree but the candle is his way back as much as it's his way there. He has a great appreciation for it and what it can do.
"Food," he says almost immediately. "I need to get something to eat." He's started losing weight since he started going back and forth from Faerie. He tries to eat as little as he an while he's there which tends to leave him a little on the starved side by the time e gets home. It's not an entirely healthy choice but the alternative is accepting food from the fae which is not really a good life choice.
He pulls himself to his feet, finally letting go of the candle and setting it on the counter. He goes to the sink and starts washing his hand, then pulling down the bandages to bind it. His hands are both scarred from the traveling, though his right hand isn't as bad as his left.
"How're you doing," he ask, as he works,not turning his back to look at him. he doesn't mean it as an offense though, just habit.
"No," Peter answers firmly, shaking his head. "Not right after." Even if Neal didn't seem like he needed to rest, he'd probably try to talk him out of it. He prefers to have him nearby for the first few hours afterward, to make sure there doesn't seem to be anything missing.
He goes to the fridge while Neal fixes his hand up, pulling out cartons of Chinese takeout, leftovers from the night before, and fixing up a plate. He keeps an eye on Neal while he does it, ready to step in if he needs helps, but that's habit and guilt more than thinking he'll need it.
"Okay," he answers, and then considers. He can't put his finger on anything that's come back this time, but that's not unusual; they're not always obvious, and sometimes it takes a day or two to figure it out. "Sleeping through the night, now," he adds, when he remembers they didn't discover it until after Neal left, though he doesn't know if it's because of what Neal's doing or if it's because of how long he's been back. "How are you? Do you need anything else?"
"I should go," he counters but there isn't much argument in his tone. He doesn't want to go, he's tired and in pain and just wants to be home for a while. The bureau will be there tomorrow and he can try and fall back into his normal life then.
Just knowing that there's food, real food that he can actually eat, makes his stomach growl. Oh god, it's going to be nice to be able to just sit at the table and eat something
He listens, taking in Peter's tone when he speaks. He smiles when he hears that he's sleeping through the night. "That's great," he replies, his voice relieved. Knowing that it's getting better, knowing that all of this is worth it, makes going back easier when the time comes. It reminds him why he's doing this.
Laughing, he reaches up and pulls down a bottle of Aspirin. "This is the only thing I need," he informs.popping off the top and taking out three pills. He takes them dry before taking in a deep breath and slowly turning around. "How's El? Is she doing okay?"
He doesn't bother fighting Neal on it, not now; he can always talk him out of it if he tries to leave later. Helping him start to recover is more important.
"She's fine," he answers, popping the plate in the microwave and starting to clean up, glancing back over his shoulder. "Worried. She'll be glad to hear you're back. I should give her a call," he adds as he realizes it (instant communication throws him off; he can work the phone fine, but he forgets it's an option). "Let her know you're here. Unless you want to -- I think she'd be glad to hear it from you."
And he would welcome the attempts to talk him out of it. He appreciates Peter Peter fighting back more than he probably should.
"I'll call her, just in a few minutes." He'll probably do it after food. His mind is kind of one track right now.
Walking over to the table, he pulls out a chair and sits gingerly. He winces though, and his hand goes to brush against his stomach. There's a long gash hidden under his shirt but he tried to take care of it the best he could before he left. He should probably change the bandages but he doesn't want to do it while Pete is around.
He notices the wincing, but he doesn't comment on it; if there's anything he can do, he can find out later. Right now, he's focusing on getting Neal fed and preferably lying down afterward. Everything else can wait.
He brings the plate over to the table when it's heated, resting his hand on the back of Neal's neck for a few seconds before he walks away.
He comes back a couple of minutes later, phone in hand, setting it on the table and taking the seat next to Neal.
Neal isn't really going to fight him on that. Right now all he wants is food and a bed and considering the food part is on it's way, he's halfway to being the happiest person on Earth.
Closing his eyes, he smiles for a moment before opening them again and looking down at the foo. If he was the kind of man who believed in such things, he would be thanking God, in the mean time, he's going to thank Peter instead. "You are wonderful," he says before starting to eat, not really caring that the food is jut a little too hot to be comfortable.
He barely notices that the phone, not really looking up until he's finished three quarters of the plate. Neal apparently abandoned chewing his food when he started going to Faerie. He doesn't really care.
"Thank you,{" he says after another gulp, picking up the phone and looking at it. He's going to call her in a second, he's just waiting for the food to finish going down his throat.
Peter's silent until Neal looks up, watching for signs of pain, looking at him as if he wishes he could read what they made him do by watching.
"You could finish eating first," he says, when Neal picks up the phone. "I don't think a few more minutes will make a difference." Especially as 'a few' is probably overestimating.
And he is infinitely grateful that Peter does not have that ability. He doesn't like talking about the tasks they make him do, in part because he doesn't particularly like thing about it and in pat because he doesn't like to see their reactions. They don't need to know, it's just that simple.
he grins a little. "I know," he replies with a shrug. "But I want to let her know." After the first time he left, he made a promise to her, that he would tell her when he left and when he got back. he has yet to break that promise or even stretch it a little and he's not about to start now.
He phones her, getting her voicemail and leaving a message. It just says that he'll be there when she gets back and that she doesn't need to rush home. He knows that, as soon as she checks her voicemail, she probably will, or at the very least come home early, but he can't bring himself to mind too much.
Putting the phone down, he finishes off what's left in the plate and gets to his feet, walking over to the sink and dropping the plate off. He wants more but he knows that he's likely to make himself if he keeps eating.
"Do we need to do anything," he asks, stretching and looking at Peter. he knows that once he lays down, he's probably not getting up for a while, even if he doesn't sleep immediately. Getting off his feet and taking a break to simply exist for a while is kind of what he needs.
Peter's instinct is to stand up and follow him, just in case anything's needed, but he settles for staying at the table and watching Neal as he moves about.
"No. Everything's taken care of." He's been able to keep up with the house, at least -- it's damn near spotless, and anything that could need fixing is taken care of. It's the only thing he can do to earn his keep, at the moment, and he does it to the best of his ability. Besides, having something to do is better than sitting around worrying, when Neal's gone. "You should get some rest," he adds, getting to his feet. "Unless you need anything else first."
"I need to do something first," he replies, grabbing the bandages again and moving towards the bathroom.
The problem with that is that he needs to go up the stairs. He didn't entirely consider that before getting up. If he had, he probably would not have bothered and just went to lay down on the couch, and planning to take care of that later.
As it stands, he starts climbing, sicking in a sharp breath as he does so and tries not to look like he's not actually in that much pain. This was a stupid idea, he thinks to himself. A very stupid idea.
He does make it up the stairs though, and goes to the bathroom, taking off his shirt and looking down at the crude bandages. He had used torn cloth to cover the wound and now, when he has to pull it off, he sort of wishes he hadn't bothered.
He cleans the wound, being gentle with it. He should probably get stitches but he's not really in the mood to go to the hospital right now. He would much rather just go la down in bed.
Peter follows him up the stairs, frowning, but he doesn't comment, not immediately.
He's waiting in the bedroom when Neal's done, paging through one of the thick books full of laws he's been trying to reacquaint himself with, but it's mostly to do something with his hands; he isn't paying much attention, and his eyes are on Neal as soon as he walks in.
"It's not too bad." That's the answer he always gives, whether it's true or not. He'll say it when he should go to the hospital and when it's a nick on his arm. It's just easier that way.
Kicking off his shoes he dots on the bed before lowering himself gently. Oh, the bed was wonderful, absolutely, positively wonderful. He wants not never move again
Then he remembers, his candle is still on the counter. He considers getting up to get it but lets his eyes call closed instead. Maybe he can forget that it's not close by.
He reaches out, grabbing Peter and tugging at him lightly. He's not going to push too hard but if he happened to have someone with him, he wasn't going to complain.
He'll ask to see it later, insist on taking a look and taking Neal to the hospital if it's too bad -- he almost insists on it now, but he watches Neal settle onto the bed and he doesn't want to make him move again. Instead Peter settles on the bed next to him, sitting up, leaning back against the headboard.
"You don't have to keep doing this," he says, quietly.
It's not the first time he's said it -- he wants to say it every time Neal leave and every time he comes back, but usually Peter keeps himself from mentioning anything. It's only the fourth time he's brought it up, and the last time was a few trips ago.
He's well aware of that but right now he can't bring himself to care. The simple fact that he's not being forced to move is enough to leave him content and apathetic to what the future may hold.
"I know," he starts rolling over to face Peter. "But I'm going to anyway." He yawns, closing his eyes. "I'd rather do it than not."
Which is true. He knows it's best for all of them if he keeps going and he's okay with that. He's not always okay with what he has to do or with how long he's gone but the reward is worth it.
The way Neal says it doesn't leave much room for argument. Peter can't help but try anyway.
"You've done enough. I can relearn everything else."
It's not entirely true, because there's still things missing, and plenty of them, but he has the general shape of most of his life. He could live with what he has now; it's enough for him, and with a little bit of help, he could probably fool most people he used to know if he had to deal with them. He could relearn how to do his job the hard way -- he's already trying. There's nothing, in his opinion, that's worth Neal putting himself into danger like this.
Of course, he's held that opinion since the beginning.
Neal would agree but the candle is his way back as much as it's his way there. He has a great appreciation for it and what it can do.
"Food," he says almost immediately. "I need to get something to eat." He's started losing weight since he started going back and forth from Faerie. He tries to eat as little as he an while he's there which tends to leave him a little on the starved side by the time e gets home. It's not an entirely healthy choice but the alternative is accepting food from the fae which is not really a good life choice.
He pulls himself to his feet, finally letting go of the candle and setting it on the counter. He goes to the sink and starts washing his hand, then pulling down the bandages to bind it. His hands are both scarred from the traveling, though his right hand isn't as bad as his left.
"How're you doing," he ask, as he works,not turning his back to look at him. he doesn't mean it as an offense though, just habit.
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He goes to the fridge while Neal fixes his hand up, pulling out cartons of Chinese takeout, leftovers from the night before, and fixing up a plate. He keeps an eye on Neal while he does it, ready to step in if he needs helps, but that's habit and guilt more than thinking he'll need it.
"Okay," he answers, and then considers. He can't put his finger on anything that's come back this time, but that's not unusual; they're not always obvious, and sometimes it takes a day or two to figure it out. "Sleeping through the night, now," he adds, when he remembers they didn't discover it until after Neal left, though he doesn't know if it's because of what Neal's doing or if it's because of how long he's been back. "How are you? Do you need anything else?"
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Just knowing that there's food, real food that he can actually eat, makes his stomach growl. Oh god, it's going to be nice to be able to just sit at the table and eat something
He listens, taking in Peter's tone when he speaks. He smiles when he hears that he's sleeping through the night. "That's great," he replies, his voice relieved. Knowing that it's getting better, knowing that all of this is worth it, makes going back easier when the time comes. It reminds him why he's doing this.
Laughing, he reaches up and pulls down a bottle of Aspirin. "This is the only thing I need," he informs.popping off the top and taking out three pills. He takes them dry before taking in a deep breath and slowly turning around. "How's El? Is she doing okay?"
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"She's fine," he answers, popping the plate in the microwave and starting to clean up, glancing back over his shoulder. "Worried. She'll be glad to hear you're back. I should give her a call," he adds as he realizes it (instant communication throws him off; he can work the phone fine, but he forgets it's an option). "Let her know you're here. Unless you want to -- I think she'd be glad to hear it from you."
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"I'll call her, just in a few minutes." He'll probably do it after food. His mind is kind of one track right now.
Walking over to the table, he pulls out a chair and sits gingerly. He winces though, and his hand goes to brush against his stomach. There's a long gash hidden under his shirt but he tried to take care of it the best he could before he left. He should probably change the bandages but he doesn't want to do it while Pete is around.
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He brings the plate over to the table when it's heated, resting his hand on the back of Neal's neck for a few seconds before he walks away.
He comes back a couple of minutes later, phone in hand, setting it on the table and taking the seat next to Neal.
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Closing his eyes, he smiles for a moment before opening them again and looking down at the foo. If he was the kind of man who believed in such things, he would be thanking God, in the mean time, he's going to thank Peter instead. "You are wonderful," he says before starting to eat, not really caring that the food is jut a little too hot to be comfortable.
He barely notices that the phone, not really looking up until he's finished three quarters of the plate. Neal apparently abandoned chewing his food when he started going to Faerie. He doesn't really care.
"Thank you,{" he says after another gulp, picking up the phone and looking at it. He's going to call her in a second, he's just waiting for the food to finish going down his throat.
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"You could finish eating first," he says, when Neal picks up the phone. "I don't think a few more minutes will make a difference." Especially as 'a few' is probably overestimating.
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he grins a little. "I know," he replies with a shrug. "But I want to let her know." After the first time he left, he made a promise to her, that he would tell her when he left and when he got back. he has yet to break that promise or even stretch it a little and he's not about to start now.
He phones her, getting her voicemail and leaving a message. It just says that he'll be there when she gets back and that she doesn't need to rush home. He knows that, as soon as she checks her voicemail, she probably will, or at the very least come home early, but he can't bring himself to mind too much.
Putting the phone down, he finishes off what's left in the plate and gets to his feet, walking over to the sink and dropping the plate off. He wants more but he knows that he's likely to make himself if he keeps eating.
"Do we need to do anything," he asks, stretching and looking at Peter. he knows that once he lays down, he's probably not getting up for a while, even if he doesn't sleep immediately. Getting off his feet and taking a break to simply exist for a while is kind of what he needs.
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"No. Everything's taken care of." He's been able to keep up with the house, at least -- it's damn near spotless, and anything that could need fixing is taken care of. It's the only thing he can do to earn his keep, at the moment, and he does it to the best of his ability. Besides, having something to do is better than sitting around worrying, when Neal's gone. "You should get some rest," he adds, getting to his feet. "Unless you need anything else first."
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The problem with that is that he needs to go up the stairs. He didn't entirely consider that before getting up. If he had, he probably would not have bothered and just went to lay down on the couch, and planning to take care of that later.
As it stands, he starts climbing, sicking in a sharp breath as he does so and tries not to look like he's not actually in that much pain. This was a stupid idea, he thinks to himself. A very stupid idea.
He does make it up the stairs though, and goes to the bathroom, taking off his shirt and looking down at the crude bandages. He had used torn cloth to cover the wound and now, when he has to pull it off, he sort of wishes he hadn't bothered.
He cleans the wound, being gentle with it. He should probably get stitches but he's not really in the mood to go to the hospital right now. He would much rather just go la down in bed.
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He's waiting in the bedroom when Neal's done, paging through one of the thick books full of laws he's been trying to reacquaint himself with, but it's mostly to do something with his hands; he isn't paying much attention, and his eyes are on Neal as soon as he walks in.
"How bad is it?" he asks.
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Kicking off his shoes he dots on the bed before lowering himself gently. Oh, the bed was wonderful, absolutely, positively wonderful. He wants not never move again
Then he remembers, his candle is still on the counter. He considers getting up to get it but lets his eyes call closed instead. Maybe he can forget that it's not close by.
He reaches out, grabbing Peter and tugging at him lightly. He's not going to push too hard but if he happened to have someone with him, he wasn't going to complain.
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"You don't have to keep doing this," he says, quietly.
It's not the first time he's said it -- he wants to say it every time Neal leave and every time he comes back, but usually Peter keeps himself from mentioning anything. It's only the fourth time he's brought it up, and the last time was a few trips ago.
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"I know," he starts rolling over to face Peter. "But I'm going to anyway." He yawns, closing his eyes. "I'd rather do it than not."
Which is true. He knows it's best for all of them if he keeps going and he's okay with that. He's not always okay with what he has to do or with how long he's gone but the reward is worth it.
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"You've done enough. I can relearn everything else."
It's not entirely true, because there's still things missing, and plenty of them, but he has the general shape of most of his life. He could live with what he has now; it's enough for him, and with a little bit of help, he could probably fool most people he used to know if he had to deal with them. He could relearn how to do his job the hard way -- he's already trying. There's nothing, in his opinion, that's worth Neal putting himself into danger like this.
Of course, he's held that opinion since the beginning.
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