FIC: Down By the River
Title: Down By The River
Author: calis_1st
Rating: PG
Characters: Neal, Peter, Jones
Spoilers: None
Word count: ~ 1700
Disclaimer: Characters are all from the brilliant mind of Jeff Eastin.
Summary: Everyone always says you can drown in just a few inches of water, but, really?
Note: Written for the "drowning" square on my h/c bingo.
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All Peter and Neal had to do that morning was hang out on the concrete pier over the East River, behave like tourists, and snap pictures of the park, the New York City skyline, and the passing ferry and tour boats. It was a nice summer day and far more pleasant than conducting surveillance from the van. At least, it was right up until a drunk driver careened onto the short pier, leaving Peter to run in one direction and forcing Neal to jump over the railing and into the river below. The heavy sedan hit the railing a few feet short of Neal's position, causing the railing to buckle upward and catch Neal's trailing foot as he jumped over the side. Watching his partner's ungraceful dive, Peter was terrified that Neal might have broken his neck on the landing, until he heard uncharacteristic cursing followed by painful sounding coughs coming from below. Peter leaned into the car that finally stopped a few yards past where Neal had been standing and turned off the motor. Ascertaining that the driver was drunk and not suffering from a medical condition, Peter angrily cuffed him to the steering wheel and then hurried over to the edge of the pier. A wet and very frazzled looking Neal was dragging himself to the river's edge, arms wrapped around his chest and coughing hard.
NYPD arrived to take custody of the driver and his car at about the same time that a probie driving a bureau pool car came to bring Neal home to change because, although Peter was okay with it, Neal was not willing to ruin the upholstery in the Taurus with the river water and mud that had soaked into his clothes. Neal made it clear that he just wanted a shower and a change of clothes before heading back to the office. Peter reluctantly agreed. He thought Neal should see a doctor, but recognized that Neal would be more amenable to it after he was dry and comfortable. And other than the cough, Neal seemed to be in relatively good shape.
That was mid-morning. Peter ended up in an intra-departmental/inter-agency debriefing that went on much longer than he thought necessary (because having your CI fall into a river after being nearly run over by a drunk driver during a routine surveillance job resulted in paperwork and questions by human resources, employee health and safety, and, of course, the NYPD, the Marshals, and Hughes). By the time Peter was set free it was well after one o'clock. He stepped into the bullpen as the elevator dinged. It wasn't Neal who exited but Jones, who had been testifying on a cybercrime case they'd wrapped up a few months back.
"How'd your recon go this morning?" Jones asked Peter. "Did you end up throwing Caffrey into the river?" he asked, noticing that neither Neal nor his hat were at his desk.
Peter looked at the clock, realizing just how long it had been since he'd last seen Neal.
"Actually, " he began, and then spotted the probationary agent who'd driven Neal home. "Carruthers," Peter said, walking toward the young agent's desk, "how was Caffrey? Didn't he come back with you?"
"He seemed okay, he told me not to wait for him, said that he thought he might crash for a bit after a shower. He didn't think his phone was working, either. Should I go back for him?"
Peter shook his head and quickly told Jones what had happened. Neal would never admit to a probie that he was tired. He pulled out his cell phone and hit #3 on his speed dial.
"No answer," Peter said.
"Do you know if he inhaled any water?" Jones asked.
"I don't know, maybe. He was coughing."
"Peter, he may have drowned."
"I don't think so, the water was shallow, he was up right away."
"No, he really might have drowned. I've seen this in the Navy - it's called secondary drowning. Just a couple of spoonfuls of water in the lungs can cover a lot of surface when a person lays down. Or, the water can irritate the lungs and make them fill up. We should get over there."
Peter nodded, and called June's number. There was no answer.
Jones insisted on driving, since he didn't care to be a passenger when Peter was distracted. "Damn it, Neal," Peter said as repeated calls to both Neal and June went unanswered. About halfway to June's Peter called for EMTs to meet them on Riverside Drive.
***
Neal was sure he hadn't even inhaled a full breath's-worth of water before he pushed himself out of the East River. If his chest hurt after coughing all of it out, he figured it was his lungs' way of telling him not to do that again. He wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a change of clothes. The drop from the pier was only about ten feet. It was a distance that would normally not pose a problem, especially into water, except he must have miscalculated the height of the railing and unexpectedly fell sideways into the river. He was grateful that the only thing ruined was his clothing, and that they were dressed down for this job, but the bounce off the shallow river's bottom caused him to inhale a mouthful of water. He spat out and coughed up what he could, and briefly wondered if antibiotics might be in order. But then he saw a panic-stricken Peter looking over the mangled railing (and now his fall made sense), and he forgot about seeing a doctor. Besides, he just wanted to get clean and dry, and a side trip to a hospital would only delay that. Maybe later he'd see about a medical checkup.
The ride over the bridge and uptown was rough. His chest hurt and he couldn't take a deep breath. By the time the young agent - Carruthers, Neal thought - pulled up in front of June's Neal was just hopeful he'd get upstairs before he either threw up from the choking coughs or passed out from the exhaustion brought on by all that hacking. Carruthers looked sincere in his offer to help Neal to his apartment and bring him back to Federal Plaza, but Neal was able to get him to leave by telling him he needed to lay down for a while, and asked if he'd tell Peter he'd be back after lunch. He'd call himself but his phone had been immersed in the East River and wasn't working at the present time.
Neal stripped out of his wet clothes and threw them onto the balcony because the smell wasn't helping his nausea, which he was pretty sure was psychosomatic by now. He rinsed his mouth out heavily with mouthwash until he finally got rid of the taste, and then climbed into the shower and turned the hot water up as high as he could handle. He did cough up some water, increasing amounts of phlegm, and possibly a tiny piece of lung tissue (at least, it felt that way to him). When the hot water temperature was down to lukewarm and his hair finally felt clean he toweled off, slid into a pair of khakis, and gave in to the need to lay down for just a few minutes. He was having second thoughts on seeing a doctor; he'd call Peter from June's phone as soon as he got the energy to put on a shirt and head downstairs.
***
Peter was out of the car somewhere between the time Jones put it into park and turned off the engine. The EMTs hadn't yet arrived. Peter was prepared to feel foolish if it turned out that he'd jumped the gun in calling for them, but Jones's description had scared him. He thought that if Neal was alright he would have gotten to the office some time ago, or at least called from June's landline.
They found Neal lying on his stomach halfway across the threshold of his apartment. He was wheezing, his skin was pale and his lips had a slight bluish tinge. His eyes were partially open; he looked as if he was trying to pull himself forward.
"Neal!" said Peter, at the same time that Jones said, "we have to get him up." Between the two of them they quickly flipped Neal over and got him sitting upright.
"Wanted to call you," Neal whispered, just before he started coughing again. He groaned as he wrapped his arms around his chest and leaned his head back against the wall.
"I'll wait downstairs for the EMTs," Jones said.
Peter nodded his thanks, keeping one hand on Neal's arm to steady him. Looking at him, eyes tightly shut and obviously in pain, Peter thought of all the things he wanted to say to Neal, like, why didn't you go to the hospital right away, and, why didn't you let Carruthers stay with you?
"You're gonna be okay," he said instead.
***
He did ask those questions a couple of days later over coffee on Neal's balcony.
"I knew I was in trouble almost as soon as I laid down," he said. "The problem was, I couldn't get back up, June was out of town, and she gave most of her staff the day off. So, well, you know what happened afterward, I guess. I'm a little fuzzy on the details."
"Let's just say you owe Jones for this one. Speaking of Jones, he asked me to give you this." Peter pulled a small gift-wrapped box from his inside jacket pocket. Neal gave him an enquiring look.
"Nope, I have no idea," Peter said as he handed the box to Neal. Neal carefully removed the paper and took the lid off the box. He laughed so hard he started coughing again.
"You alright?" Peter sounded worried, until Neal handed him the box. Inside were a doll-sized styrofoam life ring and a tiny plastic phone. "For emergency use only" was carefully scribed, in Jones's excellent penmanship, on the inside of the box lid.
Note 2: Title shamelessly borrowed from an old Neil Young song.
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