White Collar - "Desperate Deed" (5/6)
Title: Desperate Deed
Chapter: 5 of 6
Author: TeeJay
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Full header in chapter 1
Chapter 5
- Bring Me Home -
The next days were a blur. Peter was in and out of the hospital, seeing Neal slowly improve. When he wasn't visiting Neal, he was with Elizabeth at home, making her as comfortable as he could. He cooked (until Elizabeth got bored with pot roast and fried potatoes and took back control of the catering in the Burkes' home), he walked the dog, he did laundry, he cleaned the house. At one point, he even joked that it felt almost like back in his bachelor student days.
When Peter wasn't there, Elizabeth's sister Mary-Ann took over the Burkes' household, which Peter was very grateful for. He'd never gotten along all that well with Elizabeth's side of the family (who he thought resented him for making their Elizabeth marry a guy in law enforcement who put his life on the line every other day), but the more time he spent with Mary-Ann over coffee at their dining table while El was resting in bed or on the couch, the more he grew to respect her. Maybe this enforced family bonding wasn't such a bad thing after all.
It took over a week of pampering and clumsy attempts at nursing on Peter's part for Elizabeth to feel halfway normal again. After many reassurances that she would be fine on her own, Peter went back to work in the office. A day later, the bruises on her face having faded to the faintest of yellows, her stitches were removed and the doctor asserted that her injuries were healing nicely.
The Benson investigation had pretty much been wrapped up at that point. He would be standing trial for several charges brought against him, among them two counts of attempted murder, as soon as he was fit to do so. Elizabeth and Neal would be asked to testify at the trial.
Neal was slowly becoming a pain in the neck. When Peter wasn't annoyed about it (which was usually right when he was with Neal at the hospital), he was grateful because it meant he was doing better. They'd taken him off the morphine (which was making him drowsy), were weaning him off the antibiotics (which messed with his appetite), and gotten him off the IV (which meant he had to drink more)-and Neal was getting bored and cranky.
One day, Peter had come home and told Elizabeth, "Can you please go and visit him alone tomorrow? One more minute in a room with him, and I'm gonna throw inanimate objects."
She had just given him a wistful smile and said, yes, of course she was going to visit Neal tomorrow.
Thankfully, Mozzie was back in town as well, which was both a curse and a blessing. Although Peter would not have expected it (Mozzie was the biggest germaphobe he knew), Mozzie actually made it a point to visit Neal often. What didn't go so great was that he blamed Peter for a) not telling him right away about the whole incident (even though Peter protested that he'd tried) and b) getting Neal shot in the first place.
Two days later, Peter was back at Neal's bedside, and Neal was uncharacteristically quiet. No smug banter, no halfhearted complaints. Peter grew immediately worried. Neal looked a little flushed, and Peter's hand reached out to feel his forehead with the back of his hand.
Neal closed his eyes as he did so, and Peter's brow furrowed in concern. "Feels like you're running a fever."
"Apparently, I am," Neal mumbled meekly. "101.3, last time they checked."
"Should I be worried?"
"I don't know. The doctors don't think it's a big deal. Could be a minor infection, they said. Happens all the time."
"Let me go find someone," Peter said.
Neal's hand around his wrist stopped him. "No. It's fine. They upped the antibiotics. I'm fine."
"Like hell you are."
"Peter..." Neal pleaded, and Peter acceded.
It was a very subdued visit that day. Peter asked what he could do, and Neal just asked him to talk. So Peter talked-about his day at the office, his time at home with Elizabeth, his bonding opportunities with Mary-Ann. He talked until Neal dozed off into a light slumber, which Peter thought he could use for a bio break.
It was Neal's voice that stopped Peter before he had reached the door. "Are you leaving?"
"No. No, I just... need the restroom."
As Peter quietly closed the door behind him, he realized what Neal had really meant to say. Don't go. Peter wouldn't, not for a while.
He found one of the nurses and asked if he could do anything. She gave him a motherly smile and said short of putting a cool washcloth on Neal's forehead, they were already doing everything they could to get the fever down. She also reassured him that so far, there was no real reason for concern, as long as the fever didn't shoot up or persist.
Back in Neal's room, even though he felt more than a little self-conscious, Peter took one of the kidney basins in the adjacent bathroom, filled it with cold water and took one of the towels to Neal's bedside. The noise got Neal's attention and he groggily asked, "What are you doing?"
"Just... lay back," Peter hushed him and wrung the towel out over the basin, placing it on Neal's forehead.
Neal's breathing evened out and he visibly relaxed. "Thank you," he said in a thready voice.
"Yeah," Peter just answered.
He got a text message out to Elizabeth, telling her what was happening and that he was going to be home late. Half an hour later, she entered the room, a half worried, half encouraging smile on her lips. Peter shushed her with his index finger to his lips, indicating that Neal had dozed off again.
The concerned frown on her forehead matched Peter's, and her big, blue eyes lingered on a Neal who looked paltry and fragile. "Are you sure it's nothing serious?" she asked.
He shrugged slightly. "That's what everyone keeps saying. It's just... I think he really doesn't wanna be alone right now."
She went to stand behind Peter in the chair, bending down to plant a kiss on his head. "Which is only understandable. He's sick and miserable and achy, in a place that's less than warm and welcoming. Would you want to be alone?"
Elizabeth pulled up the second chair and they kept watching Neal without talking. After a while Elizabeth said into the silence, "I really wish we could take him home, make him more comfortable."
"I think the hospital is the right place for him right now."
"Oh, I know that. Just... you know, once he gets released."
"Well, we could put him in the guest room. At least until he's back on his feet."
"You'd seriously consider that?" Elizabeth asked him, surprised.
He shrugged. "Wouldn't you?"
"I can see him in our house. I mean, it would only be temporary."
They were both startled when Neal's voice interrupted them. "Please tell me you're talking about your uncle Herbert and not me."
Peter and Elizabeth looked at each other, slightly amused. "We weren't talking about Uncle Herbert," Peter said.
"I'm flattered and all," Neal said, "But I don't really think that's necessary. I'll be fine at June's house. Her housekeeper can get me what I need, and I'm sure June wouldn't mind taking over some duties herself. And there's always Moz..."
Peter gave him a 'you're-not-serious' look. "Neal, really. We think it would be the best option."
Neal wrestled his body up a bit straighter, emitting a pained groan as he did so. "Yeah, maybe we should be crossing that bridge when we come to it. As much as I'd like to get out of this place, I can't see it happening all that soon."
It was then that a nurse came in, placing a thermometer in Neal's ear. "100.9. Looks like we're heading in the right direction, Mr. Caffrey."
"Wonderful," Neal said sarcastically.
The nurse looked at Peter and El. "It's getting late. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave soon."
Elizabeth nodded. "That's fine. We'll be going in a few minutes."
Neal looked stricken for a split second, and didn't manage to hide it quickly enough. El took his hand and squeezed it, planting a kiss on his forehead, her lips lingering for a long moment. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. I promise. And think about our offer."
Peter stood by his side and looked at Neal. "You know, I'd tell you to cowboy up, but..."
"Thanks, Peter," Neal said, the sarcasm back in his voice. "It's nice to see you being so empathetic."
Peter patted his thigh. "Just hang in there."
"Don't see that I have much of a choice," Neal muttered as Peter and El left the room.
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It took almost two more weeks for Neal to regain his strength enough to be discharged. Neal received a frequent stream of visitors: Peter, El, Mozzie and June of course (Alex too), and the occasional visit from colleagues (even Sara Ellis had dropped by once-which had made Neal feel very self-conscious about the fact that he was looking and feeling very unlike his usually impeccable self). But despite the company, Neal was starting to go stir-crazy.
His sketchbook would offer some distraction at times (but never enough) and after the first week in the general surgery ward, he thought he'd watched enough daytime television to last him a lifetime. He'd watched "The Sting" at least three times, which seemed to be on constant rerun on one or the other cable channel.
He'd read more books in the last three weeks than he'd read over the last six months. He'd even begged Peter to bring him a few files (even mortgage fraud), just so he had something to occupy his mind. (Peter had declined, insisting that Neal was on sick leave and shouldn't be working.) By the time he could crawl out of bed and creep along the hospital hallways at snail speed on shaky legs, he'd never been so impatiently edgy in his whole life.
Yes, of course the four years in prison had been taxing in that regard too. But that had been different. He'd been himself then, or a rather reasonable facsimile of himself-as much as the orange jumpsuit and bad prison food allowed. Now, he was achy and weak and dependent. And he hated every aspect of it.
Peter and Elizabeth had been a blessing, even though Neal had a hard time admitting it. He'd long given up trying to keep up his guard in Elizabeth's presence, because she had seen him at his worst. It was different with Peter, there were so many underlying implications in the mix. Still, dignity was not one of the things Neal had to worry about anymore where Peter was concerned, because there was no such thing when someone saw you with a week's worth of stubble and greasy hair, or watched nurses getting the commode chair for you to meet your bodily needs.
In the end, it had been Elizabeth who had linked her arm with his and provided both moral and physical support when he made his first trip to the hospital's cafeteria. And, damn, proper coffee was so worth the gargantuan effort, even if it wasn't Italian roast.
And in all this time, they had never really talked about what had happened. Sure, Peter had made a few attempts, but Neal had always deflected, and Peter's guilty conscience had given in. El didn't seem intent on talking about it either, but Peter knew she was occasionally waking up from nightmares that he suspected had to do with the incident. And it wasn't like he was sleeping all too soundly either. The thought had occurred to him that maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to get some professional counseling.
Now Neal was sitting in the visitor's chair in his hospital room with a packed bag next to him when Peter came to pick him up in the late morning.
"Enjoying a new point of view?" Peter asked with an amused smile playing on his lips.
"I must admit that it's preferable to the one I've had for the past weeks."
"You ready to go?"
"Oh, you wouldn't believe how ready I am."
Just then a nurse came in with a wheelchair, shrugging apologetically. "Hospital policy," she said, pointing at the wheelchair.
Neal didn't even protest as he heaved himself into it rather awkwardly. Peter picked up the bag and they made their way to where he'd parked the Taurus.
Once Neal had wrestled himself into the passenger seat (Peter had to resist the urge to help, but a look that could kill from Neal had quelled the impulse), Peter told him, "Just so you know, I'm taking you to our house."
"Peter-"
"No discussion. El has set up the guest room and everything. There's proper food waiting for you. She also made sure to pick up a few things from June's house."
"That's really not necessary," Neal feebly protested.
"Neal..." Peter said in a threatening tone, and Neal lifted his hands in defeat.
"All right, all right."
In the Burkes' home, Peter parked Neal on the couch while he carried the bag upstairs. He considered checking it for dirty laundry but then thought better of it because it somehow seemed like an invasion of privacy.
Back downstairs in the kitchen, he called to Neal, "Okay, we have leftover lasagna from last night or pastrami and cheese sandwich."
"The lasagna sounds great," Neal called back. "Let me come help you."
Peter exited the kitchen to stand looking at Neal from the dining area. "You're doing no such thing. You are going to sit there and not move. Or, well, at the most make your way over to the table to sit there and not move."
Neal's easy affirmation of, "Fine," told Peter that he'd made the right decision, bringing Neal here instead of letting him fend for himself in his fourth story studio apartment.
Ten minutes later, he set the plate with the steaming pasta dish in front of a tired looking Neal at the dining table.
"Hey, uhm, listen. I need to go back to the Bureau for a while. El said she was going to come home after her client meeting. Will you be okay on your own for a little while?"
"Yeah, of course," Neal said through a mouthful of lasagna. "I'm not an invalid, you know?"
"Well, you know where things are, just help yourself. The guest room is set up, so if you wanna take a nap or something... And Neal? Don't be a hero. If there's anything, just call, all right?"
"Yes, Peter," he said in mock subservience.
"Neal, I'm serious. The last thing I wanna hear is that you tore your stitches when I come home."
"They removed those, remember? But I promise, Peter, I'll be a good boy."
Peter gave him one last look that said he wasn't so sure, but chose to take Neal at face value before he grabbed his suit jacket and left.
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continued in
Chapter 6
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