Work Text:
It probably shouldn’t have surprised Neal that the first thing he did after Peter got out of prison was collapse like a puppet with its strings cut.
Not literally and not immediately, thank God - that would’ve been humiliating. He lasted long enough to ride with Diana and Elizabeth out to the prison, to hug Peter and to laugh it off when Peter told him he looked like hell. He felt like he hadn’t slept or had a real meal in days, but none of that mattered. What mattered was that Peter was out and he was all right, he was safe, they were all safe. Peter was safe and El had forgiven him, and Neal was intensely grateful for both these things.
Neal’s sense of euphoria was short-lived. By the time they dropped Peter and El off in at the house, he could barely keep his eyes open. He fell asleep in the passenger seat on the ride back to Manhattan, and Diana had to wake him up when they reached June’s. She told him she didn’t want to see him in the office again until Monday, and Neal didn’t argue. Peter would be on leave for at least another week, and Neal knew enough to admit when he needed some downtime.
He dragged himself up the four interminable flights of stairs to his apartment, which was thankfully empty of all Mozzies. Once there, he toed off his shoes, tugged off his tie, and stripped efficiently out of his suit before collapsing face down across his bed and tumbling head-first into the sort of deep sleep he hadn’t managed since Peter had been taken away in handcuffs.
Neal woke feeling like total crap. His head hurt, his muscles ached, and judging by how shivery and just plain weird he felt, he thought he was probably running a fever. He rolled over with a groan to face his bedside clock. He’d slept for fourteen hours, but apparently that hadn’t been enough to prevent his immune system from caving.
He really wanted to just huddle into his blankets all day, but his bladder had other ideas. He shoved back the blankets and got up, shuffling into the bathroom. While there, he ran a washcloth under warm water and used it to wash his face. Still feeling chilled, he pressed it to the back of his neck and leaned against the sink with his eyes closed. A bath would’ve been nice, but he only had a shower. He was sure that June would let him use one of the larger bathrooms if he asked, but he didn’t feel like venturing out of his rooms.
He took the washcloth and the bottle of Tylenol from his medicine cabinet with him back to bed, along with a tall glass of water from the kitchen. He didn’t think he could possibly sleep anymore, but as soon as he was snuggled down under his comforter, the damp cloth draped across his forehead, he found himself growing drowsy. He’d thought he might read or watch a movie on his laptop, but within only a few minutes, he was asleep.
The next time he woke, only an hour or two later, it was to the ringing of his cell phone. Neal fumbled for it on his bedside table and had to disconnect it from its charger before he could answer it. It was Peter, Neal saw, to his surprise. Neal hadn’t expected to hear from Peter for a couple of days. He’d thought El would want him all to herself until at least Sunday or so. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Hey,” Peter said, sounding remarkably cheerful. “I was just calling to see what you were up to. Diana mentioned she’d given you the day off, and El and I were thinking about having a picnic in the park. Want to join us?”
Neal remembered well the urge to spend as much time as possible under the open sky, in wide, green places. He’d have loved to spend the afternoon with Peter and Elizabeth in the park, if only he’d felt less awful. “I would,” he said, voice rough and raspy, “except I’m kind of under the weather.”
“You didn’t mention you weren’t feeling well yesterday.” Neal could hear the frown in Peter’s voice.
“I was okay then, just tired. It came on overnight.” And even if he hadn’t been feeling well yesterday, Neal reflected, he would’ve never said anything. He wouldn’t have wanted to spoil Peter’s first few hours of freedom by being a wet blanket. “Anyway, it’s just a virus, but I’d better pass.”
Peter was quiet for a moment or two. “What if we came to you? That balcony of yours is a pretty nice place for a picnic. We’d bring the food, all you’d have to do is be there. How does that sound?”
Neal blinked, surprised. “That sounds great, Peter. If you don’t mind changing your plans.”
“Not at all,” Peter said. “It’ll probably take us a couple hours, we have to run to the store. Is there anything you need? Tylenol or orange juice or anything?”
“Orange juice would be great,” Neal said. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Peter said. “See you soon.”
They hung up. Neal lay back for a moment, already feeling a little better. He hadn’t minded the thought of being on his own today; he’d practically been living at the office, so having some time to himself was appealing, and he wasn’t so sick that he needed someone to look after him. But it meant a lot that Peter wanted to see him on his first day of freedom. And it meant even more that Elizabeth was willing to share that with Neal.
Neal didn’t have a lot of energy to do the tidying he normally would have. He put a bottle of white wine in the fridge to chill, spread the bed up, and swapped his pajamas for a pair of track pants and a soft, slightly too-large sweater that was almost as comfortable. Then he stretched out on the sofa under a throw.
He dozed lightly until El and Peter arrived a little after two, laden down with shopping bags. Elizabeth hugged Neal, while Peter started unpacking the bags at the table. “How are you feeling? Have you taken anything?” she asked, pressing her palm against Neal’s forehead.
“Some Tylenol,” Neal said, before realizing it was probably time for more. He took two with some of the orange juice Peter and El had brought him, and then let them install him in one of the chaise lounges on the balcony with the throw from the sofa draped over him. It was a beautiful early summer day, and it felt good to stretch out in the sun.
He hadn’t been out there for very long when Peter came out with a beer and a plate of snacks. “El’s heating you up some soup,” he said, as he seated himself in the chair next to Neal, “but would you like some of these in the meantime?”
Neal didn’t have much of an appetite, but he took a little puff pastry that looked like it might have cheese and spinach in it. “Thanks for doing this,” he said, nibbling at it. “I know it isn’t as nice as being in the park.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Peter said, turning his face up to the sun. “I think it’s pretty damn nice. And I wanted to see you,” he added, with the sort of frankness that always took Neal off-guard. “I couldn’t have done that in the park.” He was quiet for a moment, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “El told me how hard you worked to get me out. I wanted to -”
“Please don’t thank me,” Neal said, before Peter could finish. Peter looked at him, and Neal shook his head. “Please don’t thank me. Everyone worked really hard, and none of it would’ve been necessary at all if it weren’t for me. So please, don’t thank me.”
Peter was quiet for a moment. “All right,” he said quietly. “I won’t thank you - as long as you don’t feel guilty.”
Neal grimaced. “I can’t promise that.”
Peter gave him a shrug and wry smile. “Then try, all right? For me.”
Neal nodded. “I will.”
El came out then with a tray loaded with a bowl of soup for Neal, sandwiches for her and Peter, and an array of salads in bowls. Neal didn’t have the energy to do much more than eat his soup, but El and Peter, ensconced together in the other chaise lounge, were happy to carry the conversation while they ate their sandwiches and drank their beers.
It was the sort of moment that Neal might’ve taken for granted not that long ago, and the sort of moment that he would’ve thought terribly pedestrian in his old life. But at the moment, it seemed like the most precious thing in the world to him. He closed his eyes and basked in the warmth of the sun and of Peter and El’s friendship, and in the sense that for now, at least, everything was right in his world.
Fin.