Fic: A Case at the Zoo, Part Two
Sep. 4th, 2012 06:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
angelita26 posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
whitecollarhcTitle: A Case at the Zoo
Chapter: Two
Author: angelita26
Rating: PG
Characters and/or Pairing: Gen - Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie, Satchmo
Spoilers: Slight for the Season 3 episode Taking Account
Warnings: As usual, betaed by my anal personality - all mistakes are mine.
Word Count: ~2,000
Summary: A case at the zoo is not as fun as Neal hoped it would be.
Note: By request, I've extended this story to a second chapter. I'm still not crazy about the title though.
Continuation of Part One
The nurses were very sad to see Neal discharged from the hospital. It happened nine days after the bite, which was six days longer than Neal had wanted it to be there and only three days after serum sickness had reared its itchy, feverish head. The doctors had wanted to keep him longer to make sure that the antihistamines were working, but Neal had done his thing, talking them into submission with carefully chosen words and smiles in all the right places.
Since he needed supervision, and Peter wasn't quite ready to let him out of his sight, the Burkes moved him into the guest room. Neal had balked, but they'd promised that it was just for a few days, until they were sure the dangers inherent in the venom and his reaction to the anti-venom had passed.
The last several days had mostly consisted of cursing clothing designers, who made it nearly impossible to zip a fly with the left hand, and running up his dry cleaning bill from all the food he kept dropping on himself. For his entire adult life, Neal had relied on his body to keep up with his mind, to keep him out of certain kinds of trouble. He wasn't handling the physical or emotional awkwardness well.
Physical therapy had started once the majority of the swelling had gone down, but so far amounted to not much more than weakly squeezing a stress ball and stretching his fingers to keep the ligaments, tendons and muscles limber. He wanted to do more, wanted to be better right now, but he'd been warned about pushing himself too hard too fast.
An odd knocking at the Burke's front door came on his second Tuesday out of the hospital. Neal answered with a sigh and a glare; he should have expected this since he had both his follow-up and physical therapy appointments today. “Mozzie, I don't need a chaperone. I'm completely capable of hailing a cab and seeing the doctor all by myself.”
“I know,” Mozzie replied, stepping inside when Neal walked back into the house. He couldn't help but notice the ties strewn across the floor and that his friend wasn't wearing one. “I have an... appointment too.”
Neal eyed him warily. “What kind of appointment?”
“I'd rather not say.” He smoothed the front of his shirt nervously and pointed to the door. “Let's go. Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.” Shakespeare was an oldie but a goodie.
“We're going to a doctor's office. You should switch that around.”
Mozzie nodded in agreement but ushered Neal outside anyway.
“I'm getting that cab,” Neal scoffed as soon as he saw the vintage red Volkswagen Beetle parked at the curb.
“Abe,” Mozzie patted the car, “and I will pretend you didn't just insult him.”
“That thing is claustrophobic, and it smells like tuna and exhaust fumes.”
“Not true. I got an air freshener. Forest Pine.” Mozzie had anticipated this argument, but he didn't have any other vehicles in running order right now. He got into the car without another word.
“Fine, whatever.” Neal relented with a grimace as he climbed into the passenger side and adjusted the seat as far back as it would go, which still made him feel like his knees were hitting his nipples.
His doctor's appointment went as well as could be expected. They'd had to make a couple of incisions in his hand when he'd been admitted to allow for the swelling, and the sutures were removed by a pretty Physician's Assistant who chewed wintergreen gum while she assured him that his healing was right on track. His hand was still discolored though, and she was gentle as she applied steri-strips and bandaged him up again.
After bidding adieu to the PA, he got a note that cleared him for desk duty at the office and instructions to return if any of a list of symptoms appeared. By then, he was almost twenty minutes overdue for his physical therapy appointment on the other side of medical center, which the therapist from the fifth circle of hell wasn't going to let him forget.
By the time Mozzie dropped him back at the Burke's, he was drained, and his hand ached. No one was home yet – Peter was working at the office and Elizabeth had a client meeting in Midtown – so he headed out to the back patio, pausing only long enough to grab a sketchbook and pencil from the dining table.
A while later, Elizabeth poked her head out the back door, smiling when she saw Neal sketching with his left hand while working the stress ball with his right. “Any requests for dinner tonight?”
He shook his head, but didn't look up. “Whatever you're planning is fine.”
“I'm not planning anything,” she replied. “That's why I asked. We could have lasagna. Or Chicken a la King?”
Satchmo wiggled through her legs and the cracked door to join Neal outside. After nudging his nose against Neal's hip and getting no response, he loped off in search of a tennis ball for his favorite game - fetch.
“Not hungry,” he responded to Elizabeth in a discouraged tone that made her frown. He picked up his sketchpad, turning it right, left and upside before balling up the paper and throwing it to the side.
“Hey.” Elizabeth stepped outside to get to the paper before Satchmo could. “I don't think anyone wants to take a trip to the v-e-t today.” The heavy sketch paper would certainly wreak havoc with the lab's system.
“Sorry.” Neal's reaction was automatic, a response to her tone than her actual words.
She sat down in the chair next to his and laid her hand on his forearm. “Are you okay?”
He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to look at her. Lying to Elizabeth didn't sit right with him, so he decided to be honest. “It's not coming out the way I see it in my head. That's never happened before.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Have you tried painting?”
He had actually. Mozzie had taken him back to his apartment the day before, but the results had been... Neal preferred not to think about it, but that did remind him that he owed June for the necessary cleaning bill.
“I can't hold the brush right.” To demonstrate, he placed the pencil in his right hand and held it up for her to see. It shook too much to use for anything more than guesstimating the Richter scale magnitude of his own muscles. “I could probably do a Pollock, but that's not my kind of thing.”
She looked toward the house and thought for a second. If his artistic talents were frustrating him this badly, maybe it was time to switch to something else. “You like music, right?”
Neal hesitated but eventually nodded.
Elizabeth smiled and hopped up. “Wait here,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared inside.
His curiosity got the better of him quickly enough to follow her as she headed down into what must be the basement. He'd never been in there before, so, naturally, he was right on her heels.
“Thought I told you to wait upstairs.” Elizabeth's reproachful look did nothing to deter him.
He shrugged as he took in the chaos and debris of the last eight or nine years. Aside from the organized laundry area in the corner, the rest of the basement looked like a holiday gift stockpile gone awry. There were hideous sweaters, random kitchen appliances, what looked like a small family of garden gnomes, some unidentifiable tools, and a dusty keyboard that was bigger than the last sports car he'd allegedly boosted. “Wow.”
“Yeah. I've always meant to clean this place out, but we just keep tossing more crap in here.” Elizabeth dug around near the keyboard and finally pulled out an acoustic guitar. A small avalanche of Christmas ornaments fell on her in the process, but she brushed them away.
“Is that a photo album? Because I would love to see some pictures of Peter when he was a kid.” Neal reached for the leather-bound book, but she smacked his hand away.
“I'd rather not have to explain that to my husband.” She turned him with one hand on his shoulder and gave him a little push back toward the stairs. “Move along. Nothing else to see here.”
“Oh, come on. Please, El,” Neal pleaded.
“Nope. Back up the stairs.” She stifled her laughter behind his back as they both made their way back to the first floor. “Take a seat on the couch.”
Neal complied and watched as she strummed the strings, adjusting them to get the guitar in tune.
“Have you played before?” she asked as she worked. “It's been a couple of years for me, but it's probably like riding a bike. I hope, anyway.”
“I've played, but it's been a long time.” Aside from the gold-plated Les Paul he'd bought during his and Sara's multi-million dollar shopping spree, he really couldn't remember the last time he'd held a guitar. In the early years, Kate had loved to hear him play, and he'd always loved to make her happy.
Elizabeth nodded and handed over the guitar once she was sure it was as good as it was going to get. “Give it a go.”
He accepted the instrument but took longer than necessary to settle it on his thigh. Elizabeth was being patient though, so he finally got his fingers into position and strummed out a chord. It sounded pretty good, so he adjusted his left hand and played a different one.
She leaned back against the couch and watched him grin as he worked his way through some notes and chords. They eventually turned into a tune, slow but steady. She didn't recognize it, but he clearly did and couldn't stop smiling.
“Better?” she asked when he stopped and looked over at her, his baby blues holding more merriment than she'd seen in a while.
“Much. Thank you.”
She leaned forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I've missed that grin. You play. I'm going to get started on dinner.”
That was how Peter found them an hour later. Neal's song was more upbeat as his muscle memory came back, and his fingers moved faster on the strings. Every now and then, he missed a note or his right hand spasmed, but he wasn't ready to quit.
“Hey, hon,” Peter greeted his wife and gave her a kiss. “He's smiling.”
“Yes, he is. I pulled that old guitar out of the basement, and he hasn't stopped since. Did you know he could play?”
“There were reports that he'd joined a band in London for a while, but I always thought they were just to throw us off the trail.”
She harrumphed. “Clearly, that intel was good. Now, help me set the table.”
Peter nodded, taking the stack of plates and silverware from her while he listened to Neal switch to playing something with a moderate tempo. The name of the song was on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn't about to ask what it was and interrupt Neal's first moments of peace since this whole accidental nightmare began.
When Elizabeth joined him and placed the lasagna on the table, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “You did good, hon.”
“Yeah.” She smiled up at him. “He's going to be okay.”
~Finis
Thanks for reading!
Crossposted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
whitecollarhc, my journal, and AO3
Chapter: Two
Author: angelita26
Rating: PG
Characters and/or Pairing: Gen - Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie, Satchmo
Spoilers: Slight for the Season 3 episode Taking Account
Warnings: As usual, betaed by my anal personality - all mistakes are mine.
Word Count: ~2,000
Summary: A case at the zoo is not as fun as Neal hoped it would be.
Note: By request, I've extended this story to a second chapter. I'm still not crazy about the title though.
Continuation of Part One
The nurses were very sad to see Neal discharged from the hospital. It happened nine days after the bite, which was six days longer than Neal had wanted it to be there and only three days after serum sickness had reared its itchy, feverish head. The doctors had wanted to keep him longer to make sure that the antihistamines were working, but Neal had done his thing, talking them into submission with carefully chosen words and smiles in all the right places.
Since he needed supervision, and Peter wasn't quite ready to let him out of his sight, the Burkes moved him into the guest room. Neal had balked, but they'd promised that it was just for a few days, until they were sure the dangers inherent in the venom and his reaction to the anti-venom had passed.
The last several days had mostly consisted of cursing clothing designers, who made it nearly impossible to zip a fly with the left hand, and running up his dry cleaning bill from all the food he kept dropping on himself. For his entire adult life, Neal had relied on his body to keep up with his mind, to keep him out of certain kinds of trouble. He wasn't handling the physical or emotional awkwardness well.
Physical therapy had started once the majority of the swelling had gone down, but so far amounted to not much more than weakly squeezing a stress ball and stretching his fingers to keep the ligaments, tendons and muscles limber. He wanted to do more, wanted to be better right now, but he'd been warned about pushing himself too hard too fast.
An odd knocking at the Burke's front door came on his second Tuesday out of the hospital. Neal answered with a sigh and a glare; he should have expected this since he had both his follow-up and physical therapy appointments today. “Mozzie, I don't need a chaperone. I'm completely capable of hailing a cab and seeing the doctor all by myself.”
“I know,” Mozzie replied, stepping inside when Neal walked back into the house. He couldn't help but notice the ties strewn across the floor and that his friend wasn't wearing one. “I have an... appointment too.”
Neal eyed him warily. “What kind of appointment?”
“I'd rather not say.” He smoothed the front of his shirt nervously and pointed to the door. “Let's go. Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.” Shakespeare was an oldie but a goodie.
“We're going to a doctor's office. You should switch that around.”
Mozzie nodded in agreement but ushered Neal outside anyway.
“I'm getting that cab,” Neal scoffed as soon as he saw the vintage red Volkswagen Beetle parked at the curb.
“Abe,” Mozzie patted the car, “and I will pretend you didn't just insult him.”
“That thing is claustrophobic, and it smells like tuna and exhaust fumes.”
“Not true. I got an air freshener. Forest Pine.” Mozzie had anticipated this argument, but he didn't have any other vehicles in running order right now. He got into the car without another word.
“Fine, whatever.” Neal relented with a grimace as he climbed into the passenger side and adjusted the seat as far back as it would go, which still made him feel like his knees were hitting his nipples.
His doctor's appointment went as well as could be expected. They'd had to make a couple of incisions in his hand when he'd been admitted to allow for the swelling, and the sutures were removed by a pretty Physician's Assistant who chewed wintergreen gum while she assured him that his healing was right on track. His hand was still discolored though, and she was gentle as she applied steri-strips and bandaged him up again.
After bidding adieu to the PA, he got a note that cleared him for desk duty at the office and instructions to return if any of a list of symptoms appeared. By then, he was almost twenty minutes overdue for his physical therapy appointment on the other side of medical center, which the therapist from the fifth circle of hell wasn't going to let him forget.
By the time Mozzie dropped him back at the Burke's, he was drained, and his hand ached. No one was home yet – Peter was working at the office and Elizabeth had a client meeting in Midtown – so he headed out to the back patio, pausing only long enough to grab a sketchbook and pencil from the dining table.
A while later, Elizabeth poked her head out the back door, smiling when she saw Neal sketching with his left hand while working the stress ball with his right. “Any requests for dinner tonight?”
He shook his head, but didn't look up. “Whatever you're planning is fine.”
“I'm not planning anything,” she replied. “That's why I asked. We could have lasagna. Or Chicken a la King?”
Satchmo wiggled through her legs and the cracked door to join Neal outside. After nudging his nose against Neal's hip and getting no response, he loped off in search of a tennis ball for his favorite game - fetch.
“Not hungry,” he responded to Elizabeth in a discouraged tone that made her frown. He picked up his sketchpad, turning it right, left and upside before balling up the paper and throwing it to the side.
“Hey.” Elizabeth stepped outside to get to the paper before Satchmo could. “I don't think anyone wants to take a trip to the v-e-t today.” The heavy sketch paper would certainly wreak havoc with the lab's system.
“Sorry.” Neal's reaction was automatic, a response to her tone than her actual words.
She sat down in the chair next to his and laid her hand on his forearm. “Are you okay?”
He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to look at her. Lying to Elizabeth didn't sit right with him, so he decided to be honest. “It's not coming out the way I see it in my head. That's never happened before.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Have you tried painting?”
He had actually. Mozzie had taken him back to his apartment the day before, but the results had been... Neal preferred not to think about it, but that did remind him that he owed June for the necessary cleaning bill.
“I can't hold the brush right.” To demonstrate, he placed the pencil in his right hand and held it up for her to see. It shook too much to use for anything more than guesstimating the Richter scale magnitude of his own muscles. “I could probably do a Pollock, but that's not my kind of thing.”
She looked toward the house and thought for a second. If his artistic talents were frustrating him this badly, maybe it was time to switch to something else. “You like music, right?”
Neal hesitated but eventually nodded.
Elizabeth smiled and hopped up. “Wait here,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared inside.
His curiosity got the better of him quickly enough to follow her as she headed down into what must be the basement. He'd never been in there before, so, naturally, he was right on her heels.
“Thought I told you to wait upstairs.” Elizabeth's reproachful look did nothing to deter him.
He shrugged as he took in the chaos and debris of the last eight or nine years. Aside from the organized laundry area in the corner, the rest of the basement looked like a holiday gift stockpile gone awry. There were hideous sweaters, random kitchen appliances, what looked like a small family of garden gnomes, some unidentifiable tools, and a dusty keyboard that was bigger than the last sports car he'd allegedly boosted. “Wow.”
“Yeah. I've always meant to clean this place out, but we just keep tossing more crap in here.” Elizabeth dug around near the keyboard and finally pulled out an acoustic guitar. A small avalanche of Christmas ornaments fell on her in the process, but she brushed them away.
“Is that a photo album? Because I would love to see some pictures of Peter when he was a kid.” Neal reached for the leather-bound book, but she smacked his hand away.
“I'd rather not have to explain that to my husband.” She turned him with one hand on his shoulder and gave him a little push back toward the stairs. “Move along. Nothing else to see here.”
“Oh, come on. Please, El,” Neal pleaded.
“Nope. Back up the stairs.” She stifled her laughter behind his back as they both made their way back to the first floor. “Take a seat on the couch.”
Neal complied and watched as she strummed the strings, adjusting them to get the guitar in tune.
“Have you played before?” she asked as she worked. “It's been a couple of years for me, but it's probably like riding a bike. I hope, anyway.”
“I've played, but it's been a long time.” Aside from the gold-plated Les Paul he'd bought during his and Sara's multi-million dollar shopping spree, he really couldn't remember the last time he'd held a guitar. In the early years, Kate had loved to hear him play, and he'd always loved to make her happy.
Elizabeth nodded and handed over the guitar once she was sure it was as good as it was going to get. “Give it a go.”
He accepted the instrument but took longer than necessary to settle it on his thigh. Elizabeth was being patient though, so he finally got his fingers into position and strummed out a chord. It sounded pretty good, so he adjusted his left hand and played a different one.
She leaned back against the couch and watched him grin as he worked his way through some notes and chords. They eventually turned into a tune, slow but steady. She didn't recognize it, but he clearly did and couldn't stop smiling.
“Better?” she asked when he stopped and looked over at her, his baby blues holding more merriment than she'd seen in a while.
“Much. Thank you.”
She leaned forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I've missed that grin. You play. I'm going to get started on dinner.”
That was how Peter found them an hour later. Neal's song was more upbeat as his muscle memory came back, and his fingers moved faster on the strings. Every now and then, he missed a note or his right hand spasmed, but he wasn't ready to quit.
“Hey, hon,” Peter greeted his wife and gave her a kiss. “He's smiling.”
“Yes, he is. I pulled that old guitar out of the basement, and he hasn't stopped since. Did you know he could play?”
“There were reports that he'd joined a band in London for a while, but I always thought they were just to throw us off the trail.”
She harrumphed. “Clearly, that intel was good. Now, help me set the table.”
Peter nodded, taking the stack of plates and silverware from her while he listened to Neal switch to playing something with a moderate tempo. The name of the song was on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn't about to ask what it was and interrupt Neal's first moments of peace since this whole accidental nightmare began.
When Elizabeth joined him and placed the lasagna on the table, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “You did good, hon.”
“Yeah.” She smiled up at him. “He's going to be okay.”
~Finis
Thanks for reading!
Crossposted to
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Date: 2013-04-14 01:18 am (UTC)It was Season 3, Ep 7 - Taking Account. Non-spoilery picture below
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