Chapter Text
Neal shielded his eyes as soon as his gaze fell upon the unmoving body, stomach souring at the sight. His reflex to turn away had been quick, but not quick enough to escape the image of death seared into his mind.
Even though the fatal wound was little more than a pucker mark on the motionless man’s forehead, blood was seeping thick onto the pavement. Blond hair, now stained a sickly crimson, had matted where the liquid began to coagulate. But as both Neal and the corpse knew, the attempt at clotting was useless against a skull blown open. Life itself spilled out onto the asphalt and glistened like oil beneath the streetlights.
“Guess we aren’t going to get anything useful out of him,” Neal said before finally turning his back on the body. They had known of the man’s unfortunate fate before they’d been able to set a foot outside of the van, a shot ringing out through their earpieces. Peter had gone chasing after the assailant for more than a block, but the killer had become nothing more than another shadow in the night. Now that Peter had returned from his sprint and his gun was holstered once more, Neal expected the agent to let out his trademark sigh of discontent.
But much to Neal’s surprise, when he lifted his eyes to look at Peter the agent had paled considerably. Usually stoic and indifferent, even in the face of death, there was something in Peter’s eyes that looked like pain. A pain that ran deeper than the sweat of exertion pooling on his brow, deeper than the way his chest heaved from exhaustion. Neal’s eyebrows knitted together with confusion.
“You alright?” Those two words were a rare verbal expression of his concern. But even as that slight vulnerability hit the cold February air, Peter did little more than shake his head.
“Just not feeling well, that’s all. Jones should be here with backup any minute now, then I’ll head home. Not sure I should have gone running after him.” There was a grim chuckle with the final statement, one tainted with disappointment in his own performance.
“Hey, you’ll get ‘em next time. There wouldn’t be too many parties interested in putting this guy down, so it should be easy enough to track them down.” It was Neal’s weak attempt at comforting the agent. Their best lead on the case had become little more than a pile of still-cooling flesh, and there was now a new killer on the loose. A straightforward case now infinitely complicated by the taint of death.
Peter gave a rasping exhalation before nodding.
“You’re right. Might pull in someone from organized crime to- to work up an organization chart. Help us figure out where the- the information came from.”
Peter’s stutters, however slight, had Neal on high alert. As each second passed he became more intently convinced that something was wrong with the agent.
“When are Jones and the crew going to get here? Do you want me to call Elizabeth?” Neal queried this as he watched Peter’s hand snake up to his chest, rubbing it a few times while his breathing began to settle.
The older man seemed to sense Neal’s eyes on him, and did nothing but shake his head again.
“I’m not having a heart attack, Neal. It’s probably just dinner catching up with me, maybe a bit of heartburn. I’m fine.”
It was obvious that neither man believed those words, although it was more than plausible that the greasy containers of takeout in the van were to blame. Sure, Peter may have been a touch more silent than usual during surveillance, but it had been a long day for both of them. Earlier moods could be easily explained away, but the severity of Peter’s current expression could not.
Before Neal could come up with a clever retort or fish out his phone to call Elizabeth himself, the sound of sirens came winding through the tall buildings surrounding them. Now it was Neal’s turn to let out a sigh of relief, knowing that the cavalry was coming to relieve them for the night.
As soon as Jones arrived on the scene he gave Neal a knowing look. This was all the confirmation the con man needed to know that his present assessment of Peter wasn’t just in his head. And much to his relief Jones also waved them away within mere minutes, reassuring them both that he would keep an eye on forensics and file the necessary paperwork. Peter wordlessly turned over the surveillance van keys to a rookie agent before turning away from the scene.
“You want me to drive you back home?” Neal asked in yet another gesture of concern. Given the way Peter’s hands were shaking, the concern came more from a place of safety than mere comfort. Peter gave a stiff shake of his head.
“You’re not driving my car.”
“I really don’t think you’re in any condition to drive,” Neal pushed. He wasn’t afraid to challenge the man now that they were out of earshot of the other agents. The sweat on Peter’s brow had only continued to gather despite the chill of the night, as though he were struck by fever. This apparent heat was a contrast against the paleness of his skin, which had taken on a sickly pallor. All of these were unusual signs for a man who hadn’t taken a sick day in years.
“I just need some water. I have some back in the car,” Peter grumbled, each word rolling like soft thunder beneath his breath. It was, at best, terribly unconvincing.
When they arrived at Peter’s car the symptoms continued to mount. Peter’s grasp on the door handle was white-knuckled and sweat from his palms slicked against the paint. Worry churned in Neal’s gut with renewed intensity, especially as Peter barely hauled the door open. Given that he was never the sort to say silent, Neal spoke up again before Peter threw himself into the driver’s seat.
“Just back to my place. Let me drive us back to June’s, and then you can drive back to your place. Better yet, let’s just call a cab and you can get the car when you’re feeling better.” He tried to swallow down any sense of pleading that might have been imbued in those words, but the crisp silence of the night allowed his worry to bleed through.
Stifling a sigh, Peter brought a head to his temple. He had yet to look Neal in the eyes since they came across the body.
“Fine.” Peter tossed the keys up over the roof of the car as the word escaped his lips, sharp and commanding. “You drive. Just to June’s.”
Neal barely managed to catch the silver flash of keys in the dark, but they landed firmly in his waiting palm. Given that Peter had actually relented to his requests to drive, Neal knew that the man must truly be feeling unwell. He had half a mind to drive Peter straight home and find another way home himself - or, knowing Elizabeth, crash on their couch - but June’s was much closer to their current location.
He slid into the driver’s seat with an abundance of caution, more than aware that Peter was likely watching his every move. Even flicking the keys to start the ignition was done with much more reserve than his usual flair for the dramatic.
Wordlessly Peter collapsed into the passenger’s seat as he let out yet another rasping breath. His breathing hadn’t calmed since the conclusion of the chase, a fact that he had clearly tried to hide from the other agents on the scene. It may have gone unnoticed by others, but Neal’s observational skills had kept him attuned to his handler’s labored breaths. Now that they were alone in the confines of the car, without the sounds of the city filling the air like white noise, it was all the more concerning.
Rather than push the issue further, or attempt to demand Peter be seen by a medical professional, Neal eased the car out onto the street. He kept glancing over at Peter from the corner of his eye while wisdom kept his mouth shut. The con man chewed on the inside of his cheek instead, worrying away at the flesh while Peter continued to rasp through gritted teeth.
By the time they made it to June’s, Neal could taste blood welling up the inside of his cheek. The tang of copper had kept him focused on the road as he obeyed every traffic signal with military precision. For once Neal had played by the rules, down to the letter, to spare Peter from making a comment. And so they had arrived safely - as safe as they could be with Peter folded in on himself, on the verge of groaning.
In fact, Peter hadn’t even seemed to notice the car was stopped at its destination.
Neal pulled his phone from his pocket, punching Elizabeth’s contact and bringing it up to his ear. He knew that she kept the ringer on when Peter was out on overnight surveillance, just in case the worst should happen. It was that thought left lingering when he cut her off the second she picked up.
“Hey Elizabeth, don’t worry, Peter’s fine. Well, he’s not entirely fine. But he’s here with me. Things are alright. Mostly.”
“Not entirely fine?” Her voice came through at a high pitch, tainted with worry. “What does that mean?” By now Peter was roused enough to shoot daggers at Neal with his eyes, but he made no attempt to pull the phone away or interject. Lines of pain etched across his forehead, which drove Neal to give Elizabeth the truth.
“He got really sick while working tonight and I don’t know why. He says it’s probably just dinner bothering him, but I’m not buying it. He looks really bad. I drove us back to June’s and I can take him back to your place if you want. I’m just not sure he’s fit to drive.” To this Elizabeth gave a troubled hum, and then sighed. When she spoke her voice sounded concerned, but not as worried as Neal had expected her to be.
“Can you tell him I don’t have any of the usual stuff for when he gets this sick? I know it’s not what he wants to hear, but he should know. I’ll come and get him, don’t worry about driving all this way.”
“But it’s the middle of the night. Are you sure? I’m still in the car, and it’s running. You’re close enough, it would be no trouble.” Her strange request and apparent urgency knocked Neal out of his mental rhythm. He had been fully expecting to pull away from the mansion in the next few seconds and make his way back over to the Burke’s house. He had planned to deposit an ailing Agent Burke into his Elizabeth’s worried arms, leaving them to take care of his health how they best saw fit: instead, he was treated to more of her firm insistence.
“Just let him know I’m on my way, and keep him comfortable if you can. He gets like this sometimes if his dinner doesn’t agree with him. I’ll also call out for him, so don’t worry about letting the team know.” Her words were almost sterile, matter-of-fact in their delivery. He could already hear her rustling through clothes as she prepared to leave.
“But-” He found himself cut off before he could issue a response, Elizabeth’s voice much sharper than usual. Commanding, even.
“Just tell him what I said, alright? I’ll see you soon Neal.”
At that she hung up.
Neal looked over at his passenger and sighed, ignoring just how stern the pained scowl was.
“Elizabeth is coming to get you. She told me to tell you that she doesn’t have what she usually does when you get sick, but she’s on her way.” The words felt somewhat flat in his mouth, but they evoked a response in Peter nonetheless.
“Fine.” The agent’s voice had leveled somewhat, the first sign of recovery from his episode. But in the darkness of the street he couldn’t quite tell if there were still wrinkles of pain in the other man’s face. Neal remained somewhat wary as he turned off the car with a flick of his wrist and held the keys out to Peter.
“Come on, let’s get you up to my loft until she gets here.” For once it was Neal’s turn to make a demand, however gentle it may have been. Much to his relief Peter once again relented and took the keys into his palm wordlessly.
Peter stumbled out of the car with less grace than usual. He lost his footing at the curb, enough to make Neal reflexively reach out and steady him by the arm.
“Easy, easy,” Neal soothed. This comforting gesture came after he heard the throaty growl at the back of Peter’s throat, a sound that was more animal than human. Now that he had a firm grip on Peter’s elbow, Neal felt a touch more confident guiding him into the warmth of June’s apartment without incident. As long as they could make it up to the loft without Peter falling, they would be alright.
The stairs proved to be as much of a challenge as the curb, each new step all but taking Peter to his knees. There was a point the agent slumped up against the wall, little more than lifeless, his hands clammy in Neal’s own. Neal could feel how the body next to him trembled, continuous shivers that wracked the agent’s form.
As soon as he deposited Peter onto the couch Neal knew it was time to put his foot down. Peter hadn’t looked him in the eye since they entered the mansion and was pressing the palm of his hand against his chest. Neal had seen Peter go through hell and back, but never before had the agent seemed so terribly unwell. The younger man reached for his phone as he spoke to Peter.
“I’m not waiting for Elizabeth. I’m going to call for an ambulance right now if you can’t tell me what’s wrong and why I shouldn’t be more worried about you.”
Like a flash of lightning Peter’s hand shot away from his chest and wrapped around Neal’s wrist. Though it was still streaked with cold sweat the grip was inhuman, stronger than anything Neal had ever felt before. Its suddenness caused Neal to gasp at the unexpected pain and his knees grew weak as he swore Peter would crush his bones.
“Peter, let go,” he pleaded. His breath hitched in his throat as Peter looked up at him for the first time since earlier that evening.
Peter’s eyes still sparkled with the unmistakable sheen of pain, but his pupils were far too dilated and the usually black depths were colored with a subtle hue of crimson. A chill ran up Neal’s spine as he tried to pull his hand back, only for Peter’s vice-like grip to tighten further.
“Don’t call anyone. Wait for Elizabeth.”
The gravelly command made Neal shiver, an unexpected wave of cold washing over him. He tried to search for something that told him Peter was still the man in front of him, but found nothing in the stony visage. A stranger had him hostage, a complete stranger.
“Let go, please. You're hurting me,” Neal asked again. This time his words were soft in an attempt to hide his pain, stay strong in the face of this unexpected struggle. He swore that if the grip continued for even a moment longer the fragile bones in his arm would shatter.
Peter blinked, and in an instant he became himself again. That same moment he let go of Neal’s wrist, and the agent snatched his hand back to his chest as though he had been burned.
“I’m sorry,” Peter rasped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“What the hell was that,” Neal asked as he took a step back, cradling his bruised wrist. For the first time since he had known Peter he felt unsafe. Even when Peter was chasing after him as though his life depended on it, even when other agents had guns pointed at him, Neal had never felt as though Peter were a threat. Something had changed tonight, something in the depths of the unexplained sickness.
“It’s nothing.”
“To hell with nothing! What is going on?”
“Not anything you have to worry about,” Peter said. His eyes were cast down at the floor again, though Neal suspected he would still see crimson in their depths if they were to meet each other’s gaze.
“You had to pull out of the case early tonight. You couldn’t walk or talk. Now you nearly break my hand. I thought we were friends, I thought you were better than this.” With the pain still radiating up his forearm, Neal couldn’t help but be somewhat accusatory. The confusion and pain of betrayal were creeping up on him in full force, compounded by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was supposed to be the secret keeper, not Peter. Never Peter.
“Neal, please. Just trust me. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“Trust you? Why don’t you trust me for once,” Neal retorted. “I always put my trust in you. Always. And now you’re going to treat me like this?You’re all I have here, and you can’t tell me what has turned you into a stranger?”
“That isn’t fair,” Peter whispered.
“Life isn’t fair. How am I supposed to trust you if I know this can happen?”
Silence spanned between them, equal parts fear and accusation. Neal knew his own fear hung in the air, but he felt similar tension radiating from Peter. Finally, after agonizing moments, Peter raised his eyes to meet Neal’s own. Just as Neal suspected, they were still touched with deep red.
“Do you really want to know the truth?”
“Always,” Neal answered. “Always.”
“And you want the truth from me when I won’t always get the truth from you?”
The guilt hit at Neal’s very soul, but he nodded. It was a sincere gesture, one from his heart. He knew the stakes in front of him well.
“I’ve never lied to you, Peter. I never will.”
The agent gave a deep sigh, seemingly resolute.
“Then I ask you to believe in me one more time. No matter what I say, no matter how crazy it’s going to sound, I just need you to believe me.”
Before Neal could confirm that he was going to attend the situation with the utmost gravity, Peter opened his mouth ever so slightly.
In the low light of the loft two fangs glinted a brilliant white. Their curvature glistened with saliva, and their points seemed as sharp as the edge of a knife. They were nestled just behind Peter’s natural canines, but the authenticity of the enamel was unmistakable: this was no mere illusion.
“Neal, I’m a vampire.”