Fic: The Gift of Fever (PG13) OT3
Title: The Gift of Fever
Author: turtlebaby_02
Characters (Pairings): OT3 (Peter/Elizabeth/Neal)
Rating: PG13 (language, mostly.)
Word Count: 8100
Warnings:Spoilers None.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. I'm just playing.
Summary: A story of Neal's three visitors. One to remind him, one to show him, and one to warn him. From pooh_collector's prompt for the whitecollarhc 2013 advent. "Has anybody ever done A Christmas Carol, WC edition? This haven't been going well for Neal. It was a crappy year with his deadbeat dad, Peter's imprisonment, et al. Then on Christmas Eve he comes down with a terrible cold complete with fever and is visited by those three ghostly figures who show him how his life has been important to those that love him."
Authors Notes: I got a little off script from the prompt, sort of. Because that's what I do and the muse was being especially fickle with this one. I hope I at least sort of do it justice. ;)
Neal hummed as he woke, his head tucked into the crook of his lovers arm, Peter's fingers were tugging gently at the tangles in his hair as he carded them through.
"Hey. I didn't mean to wake you." Peter's voice rumbled sleepily. "Alarm hasn't gone off yet."
Neal hummed again and snuggled his face closer to Peter's chest. "You need a shower." He lifted his head out of Peter's armpit and grinned.
"You like it." Peter used his hold on his hair to tip his head back just a little.
Neal shrugged. "I do." Peter kissed the smile off his face and Neal dropped his head back, planting kisses against the bare skin there.
Peter laughed low and it vibrated against Neal's lips. "Nice plan, sweetcheeks, but we don't have time for that."
"It's going to be mortifying the first time you call me that in public." Neal wasn't really complaining. The nickname had started as a joke, now there was a warm feeling that came with it.
Peter laughed again and brought his arm down, pulling Neal closer and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. Neal closed his eyes relaxed into him, easily slipping back into sleep.
Until the alarm. A song much to jolly for this time of the morning came blaring from the radio beside the bed and Neal groaned. "I cannot wait for this season to be over. I'm so sick of Christmas music." He rolled over and slapped the alarm before sitting up and putting his feet on the floor.
"A few more days and we'll issue a cease and desist. Well, at least the cease part." Peter sat up as well on the other side of the bed.
"Yeah, until next year." Neal could hear the cranky in his voice but didn't care. There was just something so... annoying about its cheerfulness.
"Neal? Are you seriously telling me that you don't like Christmas?"
"Bah humbug." Neal stood and stretched. He couldn't see it but he knew Peter was frowning. He rolled his eyes and plastered on a smile before he turned around. Peter was already staring, frown in place, when he did. "I'm kidding, Peter. What kind of man would hate Christmas?"
Peter's frown softened and the corner of his lip turned up in a disbelieving smile. He shook his head. "Ok, Scrooge. Whatever you say."
Honestly, Neal didn't hate Christmas. It had just been a long time since he gave it much thought. A life always on the run didn't leave time for roasting turkeys or baking pies. He'd had a couple, with Kate that were ok, but the big family thing (and all the things that made the day important to most people) wasn't something he had to look forward to. His dad had loved Christmas but those memories were hazy and painful and he wasn’t really sure if they were real or just the echoes of stories told to him by Ellen. And after... his mom did her best but she never really found that spirit. Eventually as he'd gotten older, she'd stopped trying; he stopped asking her to.
No, he didn't hate Christmas. He hated what he didn't have. And as if to point it out Peter spoke again. "So... do you have any plans for Christmas?"
"Of course." Three bottles of wine and Chinese takeout. "Moz”
Who will be on a beach somewhere drinking his own holiday sorrows away with an umbrella in his cup.
“and I have a couple traditions. Drinks and stuff." Not technically a lie. Peter didn't know they'd be drinking on opposite sides of the country. "You?"
"Oh, we're driving over to spend a few days at Elizabeth's sister’s place. It's the halfway point between El and her parents.." Peter winced. "Nothing like a long drive and a house full of in laws to remind you how good you have it." He scratched at his cheek. "But that's good. That you have plans. It's good."
"Yeah." Neal's smile felt weak. Bah humbug.
--
The day before Christmas eve was quiet in the white collar unit and Peter was fighting the crews boredom with El’s homemade cookies and tiny candycanes. Neal was perched on the edge of the desk, eyeing the skeleton crew that was holding down the fort. He had a blue and white candycane dangling from his fingertips, twirling it against his thumb. Everyone else had the same look of quiet desperation on their faces, boredom mixed with the desire to get out of there. Neal sighed and hopped off the desk, faltering a step as a wave of lightheadedness washed over him.
“You ok?” Peter was suddenly beside him.
“Fine.” He smiled and slid the candy cane between his lips, enjoying the way Peter’s pupils grew large. Truth, he didn’t feel fine. He felt like he was somewhere between lands, his head floating a good foot above his body. But he was damned if he was going to interrupt Peter and El’s Christmas with a silly bug. “Can we get out of here yet? I know you guys want to get on the road.”
Peter looked at his watch and shrugged. “Sure.” He turned back to the group of agents around them. “You’re free to go everyone.” A chorus of cheers. “Thank you for coming in today. And good things willing, I won’t see any of your faces until Monday.” Another chorus. “But keep your phones on!” Groans. “Merry Christmas!”
He turned his attentions back to Neal, who had closed his eyes and was leaning heavily against the desk. “You don’t look fine.” Peter stepped in and tried to put a hand to Neal’s forehead, but Neal felt him coming and jerked away.
“Nothing a nap won’t fix.” He stood up straight and grabbed his hat and jacket. “Come on, El will be happily surprised that you’re early.”
--
Peter called from the car to tell his wife they were leaving and El met them, bags in hand, at the door. She tiptoed up to kiss them one at a time as they walked in. Then she handed Peter the bags and shooed him back out. She missed her family and as much as she knew she'd be more than ready to leave when it was time, she was excited to see them. The long drive coupled with the forecast of snow looming over them had her eager to be on the way.
Neal was nearly shivering even as he felt clammy sweat between his shoulder blades. He shouldn't be glad that his lovers were leaving but he'd always preferred to be sick alone. But of course El noticed. "Sweetie, you're really pale. Are you feeling ok?" She managed to press the back of her hand to his cheek before he could stop her. "You're warm."
"I'm fine, Elizabeth. Just a little cold. Don't worry about me." He stepped back and slipped his con smile in place. "Is there anything else that needs to go out?"
"Just a few more things. And Satch. But we can get it as we leave. Neal, if you don't feel well we can-"
"No, El." He slipped Peter's nickname in, knowing she liked it when he used it. He reserved it for occasions such as this. "I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll feel better after some sleep." There was irritation itching through him even though his rational mind knew she meant well. Just go. He didn't need to be babied.
She reached a hand up and flipped a piece of hair off his forehead. "We'll call you. Check in." There was worry written across her face and he was slightly disgusted with it. "I wish..." Peter opened the door behind them and she jumped, thought interrupted.
"Ready?" He looked at El and then at Neal. "Come on, buddy. Let's take you home, you look like shit."
--
Neal was asleep by the time they reached June's and Peter shook his shoulder gently. "Caffrey."
"Hmm?" Neal opened his eyes and jerked awake. "I'm up."
"I see that." Peter shot a worried look at Elizabeth. "Maybe we should stay."
Neal groaned. His head was throbbing and he just wanted the quiet dark of his apartment. "We've had this discussion. You're going to go and I'm going to be fine."
Peter watched him thoughtfully. "And you've got plans with Mozzie." He turned to El. "He's right. This is ridiculous." Back to Neal. "It's ridiculous. You're a grown man. If you wanted us to stay, you'd ask. Right?"
Neal gave a half committed shrug. "Course." When did his throat get so scratchy? Hadn't he just been talking?
"Ok then." Peter almost sounded angry, but hell, Neal thought he probably deserved it. "If you don't want us here we'll leave you alone to wallow in your misery."
"I'm not... wallowing." That stung a little. "But I'm not worth ruining your Christmas over. Especially when I'll be better in the morning." God, he was just trying to make sure they enjoyed their holiday. No need for Peter to wear his pissy pants.
Christmas always brought out the worst in him. Call it seasonal depression or winter blues or a bad case of the crankies, but right now he just wanted to be left alone. He flung the car door open and got out too quickly for his head and nearly sat again as nausea rippled through his belly. He put a steadying hand on the roof of the car and dipped his head back in. "Merry Christmas." He slammed the door and turned away before either of them could respond.
He made it to the front door before Elizabeth caught up to him, a hand against his back. "Neal."
He turned to face her, rolling his eyes to hide the tears. He just felt so bad. And he was so tired and so close to the soft of his bed. They just needed to leave so he could be sick in peace. But then there was the fact that they were leaving and he didn't want that to bother him, but it did somehow and that irritated him even more. "What?" He snapped, the throb in his head felt like a sledgehammer.
She stepped back, a little startled at the bite in his voice. "Don't be mad, sweetie. It's Christmas."
"Not mad." He softened his tone. "Have a safe trip." He turned back to the door and finally got the key to work. He moved inside and looked back at her before he shut the door. "I'd kiss you goodbye but..." He gestured at his face. "...germs." Wouldn't want your Christmas to suck too.
He tried to shut the door but she put her hand against the wood. "Here." She thrust a small wrapped package through the crack in the door. "I know we were gonna wait until we got home- Merry Christmas, Neal." She turned away and was gone down the steps.
Neal sighed and slammed the door. "Bah humbug." He made his way upstairs and dropped his keys and the little gift on the table.
He kicked off his shoes and dropped his pants as he fumbled over the knot of his tie and the shirt buttons. He'd be disgusted with himself later for the state that he left his clothes (not to mention the state of his relationship.), but right then he didn't care as he crawled between the sheets and pulled them up to his chin. Right then the only thing that mattered was retaining warmth and not moving. He figured he had a good 5 or so hours before they reached their destination at El's sisters place and started calling him. Plenty of time for sleep and recovery. He realized belatedly that he hadn't taken anything for his head or his fever. But that too slid to the back burner as sleep overtook him.
--
“Neal?” The gentle knocking on his door set his teeth on edge but he pulled himself up and stumbled toward the door.
“June.” He pulled the door open and stared at her blearily. “Need something?”
“No.” She smiled. “Peter called. Asked me to check in on you before I left for the weekend.” She frowned at him. “Are you alright?”
Neal squinted. She seemed to be fuzzy around the edges and her voice was far away and slightly singsongy. “I’m ok, June. Thanks for looking in on me.” He was gripping the door frame so tight his knuckles were white. “Have a nice Christmas.”
June was frowning. “Are you sure, dear?”
“Just going to take something for my head and go back to sleep.” He forced a smile and tried not to shake his head to clear the fog.
“If you need anything-” She trailed off.
“Thank you.” Neal smiled until she turned away before shutting the door behind her. He leaned his forehead against the wood and cursed. Somewhere he had lost half a day. That was not good. He stumbled over to the sink and swallowed a pill with as much water as he stomach allowed. He grabbed his phone and would have smiled at the texts he found waiting, if he wasn't currently fighting the urge to vomit.
I hope you’re getting some rest.
I know you know this, but Peter drives like my grandmother.
Satch is wishing he would have stayed with you. Threw up in the backseat! El is not happy.
Just over halfway. El drives like a maniac. Wish you were here.
I miss you. I hope you’re feeling better.
I’m sorry, Neal. Text me?
Hey, we made it in one piece. Going to go sleep through Christmas.
Tried to call, didn’t want to wake you. Call one of us?
Peter’s worried, sweetie. Just let us know you’re alright?
June’s coming to check on you. Put on pants!
He picked up the phone to dial Peter when another text came through.
June says you’re alive. Sleep well, sweetcheeks.
Neal could almost hear the words out of Peter’s mouth. He nodded to his phone and dropped it back to the counter. He wasn’t sure how he made it back to the warmth of his bed but he was relieved when there was`a pillow under his head.
--
It was dark the next time he opened his eyes. He was shaking and he was cold. Bitter all the way through to his bones cold. He pulled himself upright and realized that he was curled up on his bathroom rug with a hand towel over his shoulder and the taste of vomit in his mouth. He groaned as the blurry memories came back and his stomach clenched again. He got to his feet and shuffled his way back to his bed, using every piece of furniture along the way for support.
He somehow managed to get in the bed and under the blankets, his eyes already closed. Sleep was pulling, lulling. And then there was something, a noise. Like a scratching. He opened his eyes.
A clanging, maybe. A banging? His head hurt too much to care how to describe it. But it was getting closer. And therefore, louder. He buried his head under the blankets and hoped June wasn’t getting robbed.
“Neal.” His door creaked open and the dragging sound moved toward the bed. But the voice he recognized and pushed the blankets back from his eyes.
“Moz?” Maybe there was something wrong with his eyes. His friend appeared to be washed in a blue light. “What the hell?” The dragging sound came from the chains wrapped around Mozzie’s frame.
“Have no fear, mon frere!” Mozzie was waving his hands around dramatically. “It is I!”
Neal pushed himself up into a seated position and rubbed at his eyes. “I see that, Mozzie. I thought you’d be on a beach somewhere by now.”
Mozzie’s shoulders slumped and he crossed his arms, causing the chains around them to rattle. “Not even going to ask about the chains?” He looked put out.
Neal blinked at him. “I’m not sure I want to know.” He frowned as he failed to bring Mozzie fully into focus.
“Have you never read Dickens? Do you not get my subtle reference?” Now he was pacing slightly, rattling the chains against the floorboards. “I don’t know why I bother.”
“Wait, what?”
“Jacob Marley. Business partner?” Mozzie sighed heavily. “Am I really going to have to spell this out for you?”
“Are you drunk?” Neal was still frowning. He was pretty damn sure he could see his kitchen table through Mozzie’s chest. “Am I?”
“No.” He looked hurt. “Though I’m not above admitting to the hallucinogenic properties of the fever that’s got you looking so peaked.”
“So I’m hallucinating?” Neal raised an eyebrow. “Wait, would my hallucination really tell me I was seeing things?”
“Well, no. Probably not.” Mozzie waved his hands again. “Anyway, we’re getting off script.”
“There’s a script to my delusions?”
“You really don’t recognize Dicken’s in my work? Neal, I’m ashamed of you. Chains, haunting figure… come on.”
“Moz… are you dead?”
“Dead? Why would I be dead?”
“... Jacob Marley was Scrooge's dead business partner.”
“Oh, right. Well, no. I’m not dead. But I’m not here, either. Maybe you’re subconscious misses me.”
“You’ve only been gone a week.”
“Nine days!” Mozzie put his ghostly hands on his hips. “Script! We don’t have all night. Your first visitor will be here soon.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “Let me guess? The ghost of Christmas past? Seriously, Moz, what’s the point here?”
Mozzie visibly softened, literally. The light around him dimmed. “Oh friend. Sometimes you just don’t see.” The door to the balcony pushed open and an ice cold breeze blew through. “That’s my cue. Listen to the spirits, Neal. Let them show you. Maybe I was wrong, about happiness, I mean.” He looked sad. "You have a choice. Don't end up like me." With that he turned and disappeared through the door, chains clanking across the floor.
Part Two
~
Yikes, first ever entry that required three posts! So if my forward-back links don't work right, let me know!Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to add this journal if you want!