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whitecollarhcTitle: There's Always Tomorrow
Chapter: Wednesday Afternoon
Rating: PG for some minor swearing and angst.
Characters: Peter, Elizabeth, Neal
Pairings: Established P/E/N
Genre: Romance, Angst, Schmoop, sick!fic
Spoilers: Up through the end of Season Three
Summary: It's just a cold. And then it isn't. Wanton sick!Peter fic, with lots of hurt and lots of comfort, with a heavy dose of schmoop.
Notes: Written for![[info]](../../img/userinfo.gif?v=87.3)
rabidchild67, started almost a year ago. I had...issues. So anyway, this is the first part of her long over-due fic about a feverish Peter.
Thanks toelrhiarhodan , ericadawn16, kinky_sprite and others who helped me look this part over. Big thanks to sonia6349 for medical knowledge. I'm sure I still got everything wrong, but I appreciated all your help!
Chapter One Two
----------
Neal kept a close eye on Peter on the ride back to Brooklyn. Peter was pale, but a flush was rising on his cheeks, and the hand Neal was holding was warmer than it should have been. The first five minutes, Peter seemed to be resting easily, but soon he was shifting in his seat as if he were uncomfortable. The first coughing fit hit soon after. Neal listened with growing concern as the cough quickly went from a few dry hacks to deeper, more painful sounding gasps for air. They had reached Brooklyn by then, but Neal still decided to pull over. He knew instinctively that if he didn’t call for reinforcements now, Peter would be stubborn and difficult to get back out of the house. Since he didn’t know the number for Peter’s doctor, he called Elizabeth with the SYNC as he pulled into a parking lot.
Beside him, Peter stirred sluggishly and sat up a little straighter. He blinked, and turned to Neal with a confused expression. “Are we home?” he asked with a sniffle. He fished around in the glove compartment for a slightly crumpled but clean napkin to wipe his nose. His voice was worse than before, thick with congestion and pain.
“No, not yet,” Neal replied, certain now that he was doing the right thing. Elizabeth would be able to convince Peter to go to the doctors. If Peter hadn’t been getting worse so rapidly, Neal might not have pushed the issue, but Peter was barely able to keep his eyes open against the light. It was best to just get some help. There was no answer at El’s office, so Neal plugged in her cell number next.
“Wait, are you calling El? No, don’t...” Peter protested. There was a click as Elizabeth picked up the phone. Peter sighed and leaned his head against the window.
“Hey, hon,” Elizabeth happily greeted. “Are you having a good day?”
Peter lifted his head a little and shot Neal a dirty look, which Neal ignored as he spoke up. “Hey El, it’s Neal.”
“Oh, hey,” some of the cheeriness dropped from Elizabeth’s voice, and was replaced with a concerned edge. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” Peter said, but his voice broke off into a painful silence.
“Peter is sick,” Neal said quickly, over Peter’s faint protest to the contrary. He loved Peter, but the man could be a stubborn ass at times. For a man filled with so much commonsense, he could be appalling dim-witted in certain areas. “I think he should go to the doctor.”
“Oh no!” El clucked over the phone. “Peter, honey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Not much,” Peter amended when Neal rolled his eyes. “Just a sore throat, headache. I think it’s the flu.” He had tried to make his voice sound stronger for Elizabeth, but based on the silence from the other line, Neal had a feeling she wasn’t fooled. Peter had drawn the same conclusion, and sent Neal another dirty look. Neal just grinned back at him, unashamed of tattling on Peter.
“Let me call the doctor,” Elizabeth said after a moment. “I’ll call you back with the appointment time.” She disconnected with them before either man could speak. Peter sighed again, but it sounded more weary than exasperated to Neal’s ears, and when he looked over at him, it confirmed his suspicions. Peter looked miserable, his eyes dull with pain and fever. When Neal reached over to feel his forehead, Peter leaned into his touch and closed his eyes.
“I just want to go to bed,” Peter murmured. “I don’t think I have the energy for the doctor.”
“All the more reason for you to go,” Neal replied with gentle concern. “Let us take care of you.”
Peter was silent for a few seconds, a scowl on his face. Just when Neal thought that he was going to have to argue with his stubborn partner, Peter blew out a gust of air and looked at Neal with pursed lips. “You do not get to fluff my pillows,” he warned. It was as good as a concession as Neal was going to get.
“It’ll be worse than that. I’m going to fluff your pillows and I’m going to make you drink tea,” Neal threatened as he poked at the GPS on the dashboard. “What’s the name of your doctor?”
“What are you doing?” Peter demanded. “Stop fooling around with that!”
“I’m not fooling around,” Neal replied defensively. “I’m looking up where your doctor is so I can drive us there.”
“I don’t have an appointment yet, and hey, I’m sitting right here. I can give you directions,” Peter pointed out. Neal made a sound that was suspiciously close to a scoff, and proceeded to ignore him as he poked a few more things on the screen, just to see what would happen.
“I’m driving, therefore I get to play with the buttons,” was Neal’s gleeful response as he set the radio onto music from the forties. Peter groaned and leaned his head back.
“Neal!”
---
True to her word, Elizabeth called back a few minutes later. Since the doctor had no open appointments, they decided that Peter should go to the urgent care clinic instead. Peter was quiet on the way to the office, though he didn’t fall asleep. They walked in together, with Peter pressing up against him as if he were cold.
At the front desk, Peter spoke with the receptionist, who was brisk but sympathetic with him as she took his name and his complaints. She handed him a clipboard with a sheaf of papers and instructed him on how to fill the papers out, and to get his license and insurance card ready for her to use. Peter nodded, but looked as if most of what she had said went over his head. Neal guided him to the seating area and tried to take the clipboard from him, but Peter stubbornly refused to give it up. He squinted down at the pages, and rubbed his hand against his temple. After watching Peter suffer just by writing his name down, Neal took the clipboard from Peter and started to fill in the information for him.
“Wait, you know my social security number and my health insurance card ID number?” Peter demanded. Neal ignored him and filled in the rest of the information, complete with Peter’s signature at the bottom of the page.
“Did you just forge my signature? I thought we had that discussion already,” Peter grumbled as Neal got up to return the papers to the woman at the front desk.
“Did you really want to look at that paper again?” Neal asked dryly. Peter shook his head and reached in his pocket for his wallet. He frowned, went to look in the other pocket, and realized that Neal already had it in his hand. Peter just heaved a long-suffering sigh and waved him off. With the process of getting Peter in to see the actual doctor started, the two men sat in silence.
Neal thumbed through an old Home and Gardens magazine, while Peter leaned against him and seemed to doze. There were three people in front of them, so the wait was fairly long -- long enough for Neal to learn how to reorganize the mudroom to not only be functional but also beautiful. He was halfway through an article on how to create a whimsical garland (perfect for mantles or doorways), when Peter’s name was finally called.
Peter moved slowly, as if his whole body ached, and when he finally stood, he swayed on his feet. “Are you all right?” Neal asked, slightly alarmed at how white Peter’s face was. Peter reached out for him, and Neal helped steady him before he rose to his feet as well.
“I’ve got you,” Neal said. Peter sniffled, then swallowed with great difficulty. Just watching him made Neal wince with sympathy.
“Thanks,” Peter murmured. “Could you...”
“Of course,” Neal slipped an arm around Peter’s shoulders and let Peter lean against him. The nurse took one look at Peter and didn’t bother to protest when Neal started to walk back with them.
---
Once the doctor came in the room, it didn’t take long for him to make a diagnosis. “Swollen lymph nodes...fever of 101.9...” He took one peek into Peter’s throat and nodded. “Lesions on back of throat. Looks like strep.” He did a throat swab just to be certain, much to Peter’s dismay. When that indignity was over, the doctor jotted a few notes down and looked up.
“When the lab results come in, I’ll call in a prescription for him. For now, alternate between ibuprofen and tylenol to help with the pain. No hot liquids -- room temperature or something cool will be best. And just let him rest. That will be the best thing for him. If he isn’t feeling better in a few days, give us a call,” the doctor explained to Neal. Peter was listening but Neal wasn’t sure if Peter was really paying any attention.
“Thanks,” Neal said. Once the doctor was gone, Neal gently urged Peter back to his feet. “Come on, babe, let’s get you home.”
---
Neal plopped the bag from the pharmacy on the kitchen counter, and went to get a mug to make Peter some tea. The lab results had come in forty minutes ago: it was definitely strep. Neal had made sure Peter was still resting comfortably before he ran out to pick up his medication, and pick up a few other supplies as well. Neal had everything he could think of; cough medicine, throat lozenges, several types of tea, an assortment of soups, and Peter’s favorite ice cream.
He put the ice cream away, and then read the instructions for the antibiotic while he waited for the water to heat. The medication needed to be taken with food, so Neal decided to make some soup for Peter. It could cool quickly, and would be gentle on his throat.
When the food was ready, Neal arranged it all on a tray, and carried it upstairs. Peter was buried under a pile of blankets, so deeply asleep that he didn’t hear Neal set the tray on the dresser. Neal sat on the bed beside Peter and brushed back a few strands of Peter’s hair. Peter was sweating, his skin hot to the touch, and he leaned into Neal’s hand as if it felt good against his burning flesh. Neal hated to wake Peter but it was important to get him to take the antibiotics, and to get some fluids so he could rehydrate.
“Hey, babe,” Neal said as he continued to caress Peter’s forehead. Peter let out a muffled groan as he started to wake up. He wiped a hand across his face and peered up at Neal with bleary eyes. The combination of rumpled hair and the sleepy expression on his partner’s face tugged at Neal’s heart. If Peter hadn’t been so sick, Neal would have found it irresstibly adorable.
“I brought you your medicine, and some food. Do you think you can eat?” Neal asked.
“Eh,” was the unenthusiastic reply. Peter sat up with effort, and didn’t argue when Neal helped him sit up. He even allowed Neal to fluff his pillows to help prop him up. Neal settled the tray over Peter’s lap with a flourish. Peter smiled and obediently set to work on the soup, to please Neal.
“Your medication says you need to eat with it,” Neal said when Peter set the spoon down after only a few spoonfuls. Peter made a face but tried for a little more soup before he finally gave up, and decided to take his pill. He had a hard time swallowing it, even after drinking half a mug of tea, and when he finally manged to get the pill down, he’d lost all interest in eating. Peter pushed his spoon around for a few minutes, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to take even one more bite, so Neal cleared the tray away.
“Are you feeling any better?” Neal asked as he tucked the blankets back around Peter’s shoulders. Peter shook his head, his expression miserable. “Ok, go back to sleep. I’ll be nearby if you need anything, all right?”
Peter waved his hand a little to acknowledge Neal’s words before he snuggled back under the covers. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, fortunately, and once he was sure Peter was resting again, Neal gathered up the tray and quietly left the room.
~tbc
Chapter: Wednesday Afternoon
Rating: PG for some minor swearing and angst.
Characters: Peter, Elizabeth, Neal
Pairings: Established P/E/N
Genre: Romance, Angst, Schmoop, sick!fic
Spoilers: Up through the end of Season Three
Summary: It's just a cold. And then it isn't. Wanton sick!Peter fic, with lots of hurt and lots of comfort, with a heavy dose of schmoop.
Notes: Written for
rabidchild67, started almost a year ago. I had...issues. So anyway, this is the first part of her long over-due fic about a feverish Peter.Thanks to
elrhiarhodan , ericadawn16, kinky_sprite and others who helped me look this part over. Big thanks to sonia6349 for medical knowledge. I'm sure I still got everything wrong, but I appreciated all your help!Chapter One Two
----------
Neal kept a close eye on Peter on the ride back to Brooklyn. Peter was pale, but a flush was rising on his cheeks, and the hand Neal was holding was warmer than it should have been. The first five minutes, Peter seemed to be resting easily, but soon he was shifting in his seat as if he were uncomfortable. The first coughing fit hit soon after. Neal listened with growing concern as the cough quickly went from a few dry hacks to deeper, more painful sounding gasps for air. They had reached Brooklyn by then, but Neal still decided to pull over. He knew instinctively that if he didn’t call for reinforcements now, Peter would be stubborn and difficult to get back out of the house. Since he didn’t know the number for Peter’s doctor, he called Elizabeth with the SYNC as he pulled into a parking lot.
Beside him, Peter stirred sluggishly and sat up a little straighter. He blinked, and turned to Neal with a confused expression. “Are we home?” he asked with a sniffle. He fished around in the glove compartment for a slightly crumpled but clean napkin to wipe his nose. His voice was worse than before, thick with congestion and pain.
“No, not yet,” Neal replied, certain now that he was doing the right thing. Elizabeth would be able to convince Peter to go to the doctors. If Peter hadn’t been getting worse so rapidly, Neal might not have pushed the issue, but Peter was barely able to keep his eyes open against the light. It was best to just get some help. There was no answer at El’s office, so Neal plugged in her cell number next.
“Wait, are you calling El? No, don’t...” Peter protested. There was a click as Elizabeth picked up the phone. Peter sighed and leaned his head against the window.
“Hey, hon,” Elizabeth happily greeted. “Are you having a good day?”
Peter lifted his head a little and shot Neal a dirty look, which Neal ignored as he spoke up. “Hey El, it’s Neal.”
“Oh, hey,” some of the cheeriness dropped from Elizabeth’s voice, and was replaced with a concerned edge. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” Peter said, but his voice broke off into a painful silence.
“Peter is sick,” Neal said quickly, over Peter’s faint protest to the contrary. He loved Peter, but the man could be a stubborn ass at times. For a man filled with so much commonsense, he could be appalling dim-witted in certain areas. “I think he should go to the doctor.”
“Oh no!” El clucked over the phone. “Peter, honey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Not much,” Peter amended when Neal rolled his eyes. “Just a sore throat, headache. I think it’s the flu.” He had tried to make his voice sound stronger for Elizabeth, but based on the silence from the other line, Neal had a feeling she wasn’t fooled. Peter had drawn the same conclusion, and sent Neal another dirty look. Neal just grinned back at him, unashamed of tattling on Peter.
“Let me call the doctor,” Elizabeth said after a moment. “I’ll call you back with the appointment time.” She disconnected with them before either man could speak. Peter sighed again, but it sounded more weary than exasperated to Neal’s ears, and when he looked over at him, it confirmed his suspicions. Peter looked miserable, his eyes dull with pain and fever. When Neal reached over to feel his forehead, Peter leaned into his touch and closed his eyes.
“I just want to go to bed,” Peter murmured. “I don’t think I have the energy for the doctor.”
“All the more reason for you to go,” Neal replied with gentle concern. “Let us take care of you.”
Peter was silent for a few seconds, a scowl on his face. Just when Neal thought that he was going to have to argue with his stubborn partner, Peter blew out a gust of air and looked at Neal with pursed lips. “You do not get to fluff my pillows,” he warned. It was as good as a concession as Neal was going to get.
“It’ll be worse than that. I’m going to fluff your pillows and I’m going to make you drink tea,” Neal threatened as he poked at the GPS on the dashboard. “What’s the name of your doctor?”
“What are you doing?” Peter demanded. “Stop fooling around with that!”
“I’m not fooling around,” Neal replied defensively. “I’m looking up where your doctor is so I can drive us there.”
“I don’t have an appointment yet, and hey, I’m sitting right here. I can give you directions,” Peter pointed out. Neal made a sound that was suspiciously close to a scoff, and proceeded to ignore him as he poked a few more things on the screen, just to see what would happen.
“I’m driving, therefore I get to play with the buttons,” was Neal’s gleeful response as he set the radio onto music from the forties. Peter groaned and leaned his head back.
“Neal!”
---
True to her word, Elizabeth called back a few minutes later. Since the doctor had no open appointments, they decided that Peter should go to the urgent care clinic instead. Peter was quiet on the way to the office, though he didn’t fall asleep. They walked in together, with Peter pressing up against him as if he were cold.
At the front desk, Peter spoke with the receptionist, who was brisk but sympathetic with him as she took his name and his complaints. She handed him a clipboard with a sheaf of papers and instructed him on how to fill the papers out, and to get his license and insurance card ready for her to use. Peter nodded, but looked as if most of what she had said went over his head. Neal guided him to the seating area and tried to take the clipboard from him, but Peter stubbornly refused to give it up. He squinted down at the pages, and rubbed his hand against his temple. After watching Peter suffer just by writing his name down, Neal took the clipboard from Peter and started to fill in the information for him.
“Wait, you know my social security number and my health insurance card ID number?” Peter demanded. Neal ignored him and filled in the rest of the information, complete with Peter’s signature at the bottom of the page.
“Did you just forge my signature? I thought we had that discussion already,” Peter grumbled as Neal got up to return the papers to the woman at the front desk.
“Did you really want to look at that paper again?” Neal asked dryly. Peter shook his head and reached in his pocket for his wallet. He frowned, went to look in the other pocket, and realized that Neal already had it in his hand. Peter just heaved a long-suffering sigh and waved him off. With the process of getting Peter in to see the actual doctor started, the two men sat in silence.
Neal thumbed through an old Home and Gardens magazine, while Peter leaned against him and seemed to doze. There were three people in front of them, so the wait was fairly long -- long enough for Neal to learn how to reorganize the mudroom to not only be functional but also beautiful. He was halfway through an article on how to create a whimsical garland (perfect for mantles or doorways), when Peter’s name was finally called.
Peter moved slowly, as if his whole body ached, and when he finally stood, he swayed on his feet. “Are you all right?” Neal asked, slightly alarmed at how white Peter’s face was. Peter reached out for him, and Neal helped steady him before he rose to his feet as well.
“I’ve got you,” Neal said. Peter sniffled, then swallowed with great difficulty. Just watching him made Neal wince with sympathy.
“Thanks,” Peter murmured. “Could you...”
“Of course,” Neal slipped an arm around Peter’s shoulders and let Peter lean against him. The nurse took one look at Peter and didn’t bother to protest when Neal started to walk back with them.
---
Once the doctor came in the room, it didn’t take long for him to make a diagnosis. “Swollen lymph nodes...fever of 101.9...” He took one peek into Peter’s throat and nodded. “Lesions on back of throat. Looks like strep.” He did a throat swab just to be certain, much to Peter’s dismay. When that indignity was over, the doctor jotted a few notes down and looked up.
“When the lab results come in, I’ll call in a prescription for him. For now, alternate between ibuprofen and tylenol to help with the pain. No hot liquids -- room temperature or something cool will be best. And just let him rest. That will be the best thing for him. If he isn’t feeling better in a few days, give us a call,” the doctor explained to Neal. Peter was listening but Neal wasn’t sure if Peter was really paying any attention.
“Thanks,” Neal said. Once the doctor was gone, Neal gently urged Peter back to his feet. “Come on, babe, let’s get you home.”
---
Neal plopped the bag from the pharmacy on the kitchen counter, and went to get a mug to make Peter some tea. The lab results had come in forty minutes ago: it was definitely strep. Neal had made sure Peter was still resting comfortably before he ran out to pick up his medication, and pick up a few other supplies as well. Neal had everything he could think of; cough medicine, throat lozenges, several types of tea, an assortment of soups, and Peter’s favorite ice cream.
He put the ice cream away, and then read the instructions for the antibiotic while he waited for the water to heat. The medication needed to be taken with food, so Neal decided to make some soup for Peter. It could cool quickly, and would be gentle on his throat.
When the food was ready, Neal arranged it all on a tray, and carried it upstairs. Peter was buried under a pile of blankets, so deeply asleep that he didn’t hear Neal set the tray on the dresser. Neal sat on the bed beside Peter and brushed back a few strands of Peter’s hair. Peter was sweating, his skin hot to the touch, and he leaned into Neal’s hand as if it felt good against his burning flesh. Neal hated to wake Peter but it was important to get him to take the antibiotics, and to get some fluids so he could rehydrate.
“Hey, babe,” Neal said as he continued to caress Peter’s forehead. Peter let out a muffled groan as he started to wake up. He wiped a hand across his face and peered up at Neal with bleary eyes. The combination of rumpled hair and the sleepy expression on his partner’s face tugged at Neal’s heart. If Peter hadn’t been so sick, Neal would have found it irresstibly adorable.
“I brought you your medicine, and some food. Do you think you can eat?” Neal asked.
“Eh,” was the unenthusiastic reply. Peter sat up with effort, and didn’t argue when Neal helped him sit up. He even allowed Neal to fluff his pillows to help prop him up. Neal settled the tray over Peter’s lap with a flourish. Peter smiled and obediently set to work on the soup, to please Neal.
“Your medication says you need to eat with it,” Neal said when Peter set the spoon down after only a few spoonfuls. Peter made a face but tried for a little more soup before he finally gave up, and decided to take his pill. He had a hard time swallowing it, even after drinking half a mug of tea, and when he finally manged to get the pill down, he’d lost all interest in eating. Peter pushed his spoon around for a few minutes, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to take even one more bite, so Neal cleared the tray away.
“Are you feeling any better?” Neal asked as he tucked the blankets back around Peter’s shoulders. Peter shook his head, his expression miserable. “Ok, go back to sleep. I’ll be nearby if you need anything, all right?”
Peter waved his hand a little to acknowledge Neal’s words before he snuggled back under the covers. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, fortunately, and once he was sure Peter was resting again, Neal gathered up the tray and quietly left the room.
~tbc
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Date: 2011-12-02 07:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-30 10:25 am (UTC)