Chapter 3 - Water
I really don't understand why Neal is such a baby. You would think four years in prison would harden a guy, but no, he's the biggest whiner I've ever met. He doesn't like this and he doesn't like that. He committed tons of crimes, but he gets this hurt look on his face every time I'm the slightest bit stern with him. From the look he gave me when getting the shot – you would have thought I was cutting his arm off.
I've never seen a guy look so pitiful and anguished while at the doctor's. I had to bite my tongue to keep from berating him about his paranoia. But that's Neal for you – sensitive, vulnerable, delicate, touchy – give me a break.
I managed to get him in the car and inside my house, but of course, he had to kick up a fuss once we were inside. He moaned about wanting to go home. I would have been happy to drop him off, but El had this thing about leaving people when they were sick. I once had a poker buddy leave in the middle of a game because he was coughing and sniffing. I offered to drive him home, but he said he'd be fine on the bus. Two days later when I heard he was in the hospital with pneumonia, El lit into me and then made me go buy a gift and show up at the hospital to apologize.
I love El to death, but even I don't cross her on some things. She made me promise as she drove me back from the hospital that I would never, ever abandon a sick friend again. I felt like I had left a dying comrade on the battlefield. After that, I took particular care to call friends when they got sick.
As for Neal, I had no doubt in my mind what would happen to me if she found out I left him alone after the doctor's. El hadn't really liked the poker buddy that much and she had developed this sisterly affection for Neal that got on my nerves. She was always asking about him as we got ready for bed at night, wanting to know if he was helping at work, but I flatly refused to talk about him anywhere near sex, before, during, or after. Neal annoyed me all day at work – I should have a few minutes of peace without him when I was with my wife.
I didn't tell any of this to Neal, hoping he would just go along with my orders, but he protested at going up for a nap, even though he looked exhausted. When he swore at me, I grabbed him, turned him around, and started swatting.
Rather than take it like a man, he started crying right away and begging me to stop. I got slightly freaked out when he went upstairs, changed, and got into bed and kept crying.
I can't stand it when women cry, but I accept that women have to cry because they're women. They have to put up with the bone-headed things we guys do, and I don't blame them for getting upset now and then. I've always thought that El was nothing less than a saint to put up with my work schedule and the way I get when I'm closing in on a suspect.
But a guy crying – that's a whole nother world of awkward. I felt torn between telling Neal to man up or I would give him something to cry about and wanting to put my arm around him and tell him to calm down. I've seen Neal cry before. He got all weepy when Kate left him that bottle and he bawled like a baby a week ago when I paddled him. His eyes get all red, and his mouth does this sad little thing, and every instinct inside me that doesn't tell me to shoot him tells me to help him feel better.
He was still crying when he got into bed, and I had the crazy impulse to go sit beside him and put my hand on his shoulder until he got himself under control. That's the weird thing about Neal – he responds really well to any kind of physical reaction. I can rein him in by grabbing his arm and pulling him back. I can get him to shut up by snapping my fingers, or pointing to the door, or even with a simple shake of my head.
But here I didn't know what to do (I wished El was there to give me a clue), so I just went around the room closing up the blinds. As an afterthought, I grabbed a quilt from the closet and put it over him, hoping his teeth would stop chattering. He sniffed, but his eyes were drifting shut as I went out the door. I left the door a few inches open, just so I could hear in case he attempted to bolt.
Satchmo followed me downstairs and stood around while I called work and asked them to messenger over some papers from my office. I explained that Neal had come down sick and I was going to bounce some ideas off him later. I had no argument from them, and I made myself some coffee while I waited for the messenger. Once the kid arrived on his bike and gave me a stack of documents, I tiptoed back upstairs to peek in the guest room.
If Neal were still awake, I was going to get him to prop himself up in bed and discuss the case with me.
From the dim light inside the room, I saw that he was fast asleep in bed. He slept on his back, his face turned to one side. He had kicked off the quilt at sometime, and I crept into the room and pulled it back up over him.
He opened his eyes, and I saw the light blue flicker up to me, but he was too drowsy to wake up fully. He mumbled something incoherent and turned onto his side, snuggling deep into the bed.
"Get some more sleep," I said softly.
He did not move; his dark wavy hair looked almost black against the pillows, and he looked so young with his face relaxed in sleep. Despite his age, he seemed barely more than a kid, lost in the queen-sized bed.
I tugged the quilt up to his chin, hoping he wouldn't kick it off again. He needed to stay warm to recover quicker.
I went back out into the hallway where Satchmo watched me anxiously. "Come on, downstairs," I told the dog.
I parked myself on the sofa, turned on CNN, and started going over the paperwork. I kept the TV turned low enough that I could barely hear it, and I got Satchmo to lie down underneath my legs on the coffee table.
Two hours passed peacefully, and then I heard the floorboards creak upstairs. I got up, went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, and trotted upstairs.
Neal was in the bathroom, but when he came out, he looked a little better, not quite so pale.
"Here," I handed him the bottle. "Drink all that. I'm going to make us some lunch. Why don't you take a bath," I nodded back to the bathroom, "while I fix it?"
"Too cold," Neal wrapped his arms around his torso, clutching the water bottle with one hand. He sounded less stopped up and congested.
"There's a heater in the bathroom," I went and flipped the switch underneath the light switch. The tub was tricky to manage so I put the stopper in and turned the water on. I waited until steam started billowing out, and I told him, "Don't get it too hot. Turn it to the right to get it colder. And don't stay in too long. There's towels in the small closet, and you can put your pajamas back on after you're finished."
"Aw," Neal pouted, "don't make me go back to bed after lunch. I'm not that tired."
"You can sit on the sofa and help me with some paperwork," I told him. "But any nonsense and you're right back up here."
I didn't know what nonsense Neal could get into laying on our sofa, but I found that continually warning him to stay in line helped in the long run. He nodded, and I left the bathroom and headed downstairs again.
In the kitchen, I got some cans of soup and dumped them in a small pot. I rummaged through the refrigerator and found some noodles, green beans, and chicken breasts, all leftovers from other meals. I put them in the soup, added some water, and let it heat up while I put some toast in the toaster oven. I was getting out plates and bowls when I saw the soup boiling over.
I ran to turn it down, and I stirred it quickly before pouring the soup into two bowls. I smelled the burning bread a second before the fire alarm started blaring. Satchmo began to bark loudly, but I grabbed a chair, climbed on it, and yanked the alarm out of the ceiling. I pulled the battery out, and the shrieking alarm went silent.
The bread was black on one side so I grabbed a knife and started scrapping the burnt side. I barely had time to put the food on the table with glasses of water, when Neal came into the dining room.
His hair was all damp, toweled dry a little, and he was barefoot.
"Sit down and eat," I directed him to the seat opposite of El's.
"You cooked," Neal blinked. "I heard the fire alarm upstairs."
"Sit down," I told him, a bit sterner.
We sat and though Neal raised his eyebrows at the blackened toast, he didn't make a comment. He took a few bites of the soup, then frowned.
"My throat still hurts," he admitted. "I feel a lot better, but it still hurts."
"You can't heal in a couple of hours," I told him. "But you need to eat. You got to take another round of antibiotics in an hour, and you shouldn't take too many on an empty stomach."
He didn't protest, and to my relief, he finished the soup and most of the toast. I didn't want to yell at him while he was still sick.
When we were done, I stood up and said, "I'll clean up. You get on the sofa and get comfortable."
I piled the dishes in the sink and grabbed the medicine to keep handy before heading back to the living room. Neal had propped himself up in a corner of the sofa, but he shivered slightly. I grabbed a folded quilt (I had questioned El for buying so many quilts but she assured me they would come in handy, which they did). I unfolded it, and he pulled it over him gratefully.
"Thanks, Peter," he burrowed down into the sofa to get warm.
"Get Satchmo up there with you," I told him. "He'll warm you up. Maybe I should make some tea."
"No!" Neal objected. "You've damaged the kitch – I mean, you've done enough for me already. I'll be fine here with the dog."
"You need more fluids," I frowned as I sat down in a nearby chair. "That's what El's always saying."
Neal nodded in agreement, but then his attention wavered over to the TV. CNN was reporting on some murder, showing a body bag being carried out of a house.
Neal winced. "Can I change the channel?"
"Sure," I agreed. I had no idea that Neal was sensitive about people getting killed. I mean, I don't like it, but it happens, and changing the channel doesn't mean it stops happening. This vaguely reminded me of El. She hates violence, and she doesn't understand why I like to watch all the guy movies like Rambo and Die Hard. I have to change the channel every time Criminal Minds comes on because she gets scared and thinks my job will turn into hunting down serial killers.
Neal flipped around until he settled on AMC which was playing Casablanca. I rolled my eyes, but didn't comment. Trust Neal to like something like that.
I got busy with my work, and he kept the sound down low so I could ask him questions about a few cases. Every so often I urged him to drink more water, and he finally objected,
"If I drink anymore, I'm going to have to pee every five minutes."
"I don't care. Drink the water."
"If I say no, are you going to swat me again?" he snatched up the bottle.
"Probably."
"Jackass," he scowled. "I'm sick."
"You said you weren't sick."
"You like torturing me."
"A little."
He was silent for a second, and then he said, "I should report you."
I laughed and looked at him. He looked like a puppy-dog, sweetly-sad and needy. "You're not going to report me. I'm keeping you in line which you need. You don't do too well with too much freedom."
"That's a terrible argument," he said. He reached up to pet Satchmo's head. "And it's not even true."
"Oh, really?" I challenged. "Have you been tempted to steal as much after getting released into my custody? You stole that painting, but you confessed to me. Would you have done that if you were off on your own?"
Neal opened his mouth to make a brilliant retort, but then he frowned and complained, "It's not fair to question me while I'm sick. I can't think straight, and you're getting me all confused and saying things I don't mean."
"Even if you confess something I don't already know, I wouldn't use it against you," I assured him. "I'm not low enough to trick a confession out of you while you're sick."
"I wouldn't tell you anything, anyway."
I wanted to take him up on that challenge, just to prove that I was as smart and as capable as he was, if not more so, but I decided not to bully him.
"Time for more medicine," I reached for the pills.
"I don't want more," he objected. "I feel better, but that stuff makes me feel kind of jittery inside. I'm tired, but I feel all nervous."
"That's the steroid shot," I replied as I shook the pills out. "That's why I got you to sleep when you could. Those shots usually keep you awake after a few hours."
As I was talking, I put the pills in his hands and motioned for him to swallow them. He did, still listening as I went on,
"But the doctor usually recommends them because they help you heal faster. In a few days, we'll have you hopping around the office and bothering everyone all over again. Finish up the bottle and I'll take it into the kitchen."
He drank the last of the water from the bottle and handed it to me. "I feel like I'm drowning."
"That's just the drainage," I assured him as I stood up.
When I came back from the kitchen with another bottle of water, he let his shoulders slump in defeat. "You are trying to drown me. I drank two bottles and the glass at lunch. Enough already."
"Sinus infections usually dehydrate you," I told him, placing the bottle on the table firmly to let him know that there would be no arguing with me. "Now, stop working yourself up. Just relax and watch the movie."
He gave a look that was definitely a sulk, but he turned back to the TV. After about thirty minutes, he threw the covers off and gave me a mean look before stomping to the bathroom.
I chuckled. Satchmo looked at me, and I said, "Oh, come on, he needs the water. And this is barely a drop in the bucket compared to the years I spent chasing him. I could have made him stay upstairs in bed with nothing to do, but I let him come down here and watch TV. If anything, I'm being too lenient."
A few minutes later, Neal came back to his spot on the sofa, pulled the quilt back up, and glared at the TV. When I didn't comment, he muttered, "You're a jerk."
I grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV.
"Aw!" he looked at me. "That's just heartless."
"You've had enough TV. You've been watching for an hour. Listen to some of the stuff I got here," I motioned down to the papers spread over my lap.
Neal looked so disgruntled I thought he might refuse, but he nodded.
We went over a few cases and he gave me his best advice which was helpful. I love working with my colleagues at the FBI headquarters, but Neal makes a good partner because he can think like a criminal and he's super smart. Most of the time, we're so busy on the go that we don't have a lot of time to sit and talk over cases carefully. But since he was now trapped on my sofa, I got to ask him question after question and he responded as best he could.
Around four, he started looking a little worn, so I flipped back on the TV and let him watch another old movie on AMC. I got so involved in my work that when I glanced up it was almost five and he was sound asleep again. Satchmo had also fallen asleep.
I smiled – I realized that I liked Neal the best when he was asleep and I didn't have to worry about him getting into trouble or getting hurt. I don't know when it started, but I was feeling very protective of him lately, worrying about him more than I had to.
When I heard El's heels on the stairs, I got up and hurried over to the door. "Shh," I put a finger to my lips when I opened the door. "Neal's here, but he fell asleep."
"Really? Why?" El looked confused.
"He's sick. I took him to the doctor and brought him back to rest. A sinus infection."
"Oh," El made a sympathetic face as she crept in the house. "Is he feeling better?"
"Well, the doctor gave him medicine and a steroid shot. Neal pitched a fit about that. I about had to hold him over the table for the nurse to give it to him. And he fussed about going to sleep upstairs and eating his lunch and then he complained about drinking enough water."
"Oh, baby," El put her hands on my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. "Sounds like you've had a rough day. But you did a good job, taking care of him. I bet you want me to play nurse for while now."
"You don't have to do that," I gave my best martyr's expression. "He's my responsibility after all."
"Nonsense, I want to help, too," El squeezed me in a side hug as we tiptoed in the living room. "Oh, Peter, he's adorable. Look at him and the dog."
"Maybe now, but you should have been here earlier," I grumbled. "He was anything but adorable then."
"I'm very proud of you. But I'll take over for a while. I'm going to fix some supper, and then he can stay up for a while, and we'll send him to bed early. You didn't take him to work today, did you?"
"Please," I shook my head, "it was all I could do to get him to go to the doctors. I had to trick him and say we were going to the pharmacy. Which by the way, one of us needs to go get his prescription filled. I got some samples, but he'll need more tomorrow."
"Why don't you run get them while I fix dinner?" El suggested.
I glanced down at our patient. He hadn't moved, even with the whispering. I thought he would sleep until El got finished with dinner.
"He gives you any trouble," I picked up my keys and my coat, "any trouble and all, and he'll be answering to me when I get back."
"Neal's no trouble," El smiled down at him. "No one that angelic can be trouble."
I highly doubted that, but I kissed her again and headed outside for my car. As I got inside and closed the door, I decided I would pick up a few galleons of water while I was getting his medicine. I would drop a straw in one galleon and hand it to him, telling him he could get up once the whole galleon was gone.
But I felt relieved, too. El was a much better nurse than I was, and if Neal felt a little bit better under my care, he would be feeling worlds better after El saw to him.
I've never seen a guy look so pitiful and anguished while at the doctor's. I had to bite my tongue to keep from berating him about his paranoia. But that's Neal for you – sensitive, vulnerable, delicate, touchy – give me a break.
I managed to get him in the car and inside my house, but of course, he had to kick up a fuss once we were inside. He moaned about wanting to go home. I would have been happy to drop him off, but El had this thing about leaving people when they were sick. I once had a poker buddy leave in the middle of a game because he was coughing and sniffing. I offered to drive him home, but he said he'd be fine on the bus. Two days later when I heard he was in the hospital with pneumonia, El lit into me and then made me go buy a gift and show up at the hospital to apologize.
I love El to death, but even I don't cross her on some things. She made me promise as she drove me back from the hospital that I would never, ever abandon a sick friend again. I felt like I had left a dying comrade on the battlefield. After that, I took particular care to call friends when they got sick.
As for Neal, I had no doubt in my mind what would happen to me if she found out I left him alone after the doctor's. El hadn't really liked the poker buddy that much and she had developed this sisterly affection for Neal that got on my nerves. She was always asking about him as we got ready for bed at night, wanting to know if he was helping at work, but I flatly refused to talk about him anywhere near sex, before, during, or after. Neal annoyed me all day at work – I should have a few minutes of peace without him when I was with my wife.
I didn't tell any of this to Neal, hoping he would just go along with my orders, but he protested at going up for a nap, even though he looked exhausted. When he swore at me, I grabbed him, turned him around, and started swatting.
Rather than take it like a man, he started crying right away and begging me to stop. I got slightly freaked out when he went upstairs, changed, and got into bed and kept crying.
I can't stand it when women cry, but I accept that women have to cry because they're women. They have to put up with the bone-headed things we guys do, and I don't blame them for getting upset now and then. I've always thought that El was nothing less than a saint to put up with my work schedule and the way I get when I'm closing in on a suspect.
But a guy crying – that's a whole nother world of awkward. I felt torn between telling Neal to man up or I would give him something to cry about and wanting to put my arm around him and tell him to calm down. I've seen Neal cry before. He got all weepy when Kate left him that bottle and he bawled like a baby a week ago when I paddled him. His eyes get all red, and his mouth does this sad little thing, and every instinct inside me that doesn't tell me to shoot him tells me to help him feel better.
He was still crying when he got into bed, and I had the crazy impulse to go sit beside him and put my hand on his shoulder until he got himself under control. That's the weird thing about Neal – he responds really well to any kind of physical reaction. I can rein him in by grabbing his arm and pulling him back. I can get him to shut up by snapping my fingers, or pointing to the door, or even with a simple shake of my head.
But here I didn't know what to do (I wished El was there to give me a clue), so I just went around the room closing up the blinds. As an afterthought, I grabbed a quilt from the closet and put it over him, hoping his teeth would stop chattering. He sniffed, but his eyes were drifting shut as I went out the door. I left the door a few inches open, just so I could hear in case he attempted to bolt.
Satchmo followed me downstairs and stood around while I called work and asked them to messenger over some papers from my office. I explained that Neal had come down sick and I was going to bounce some ideas off him later. I had no argument from them, and I made myself some coffee while I waited for the messenger. Once the kid arrived on his bike and gave me a stack of documents, I tiptoed back upstairs to peek in the guest room.
If Neal were still awake, I was going to get him to prop himself up in bed and discuss the case with me.
From the dim light inside the room, I saw that he was fast asleep in bed. He slept on his back, his face turned to one side. He had kicked off the quilt at sometime, and I crept into the room and pulled it back up over him.
He opened his eyes, and I saw the light blue flicker up to me, but he was too drowsy to wake up fully. He mumbled something incoherent and turned onto his side, snuggling deep into the bed.
"Get some more sleep," I said softly.
He did not move; his dark wavy hair looked almost black against the pillows, and he looked so young with his face relaxed in sleep. Despite his age, he seemed barely more than a kid, lost in the queen-sized bed.
I tugged the quilt up to his chin, hoping he wouldn't kick it off again. He needed to stay warm to recover quicker.
I went back out into the hallway where Satchmo watched me anxiously. "Come on, downstairs," I told the dog.
I parked myself on the sofa, turned on CNN, and started going over the paperwork. I kept the TV turned low enough that I could barely hear it, and I got Satchmo to lie down underneath my legs on the coffee table.
Two hours passed peacefully, and then I heard the floorboards creak upstairs. I got up, went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, and trotted upstairs.
Neal was in the bathroom, but when he came out, he looked a little better, not quite so pale.
"Here," I handed him the bottle. "Drink all that. I'm going to make us some lunch. Why don't you take a bath," I nodded back to the bathroom, "while I fix it?"
"Too cold," Neal wrapped his arms around his torso, clutching the water bottle with one hand. He sounded less stopped up and congested.
"There's a heater in the bathroom," I went and flipped the switch underneath the light switch. The tub was tricky to manage so I put the stopper in and turned the water on. I waited until steam started billowing out, and I told him, "Don't get it too hot. Turn it to the right to get it colder. And don't stay in too long. There's towels in the small closet, and you can put your pajamas back on after you're finished."
"Aw," Neal pouted, "don't make me go back to bed after lunch. I'm not that tired."
"You can sit on the sofa and help me with some paperwork," I told him. "But any nonsense and you're right back up here."
I didn't know what nonsense Neal could get into laying on our sofa, but I found that continually warning him to stay in line helped in the long run. He nodded, and I left the bathroom and headed downstairs again.
In the kitchen, I got some cans of soup and dumped them in a small pot. I rummaged through the refrigerator and found some noodles, green beans, and chicken breasts, all leftovers from other meals. I put them in the soup, added some water, and let it heat up while I put some toast in the toaster oven. I was getting out plates and bowls when I saw the soup boiling over.
I ran to turn it down, and I stirred it quickly before pouring the soup into two bowls. I smelled the burning bread a second before the fire alarm started blaring. Satchmo began to bark loudly, but I grabbed a chair, climbed on it, and yanked the alarm out of the ceiling. I pulled the battery out, and the shrieking alarm went silent.
The bread was black on one side so I grabbed a knife and started scrapping the burnt side. I barely had time to put the food on the table with glasses of water, when Neal came into the dining room.
His hair was all damp, toweled dry a little, and he was barefoot.
"Sit down and eat," I directed him to the seat opposite of El's.
"You cooked," Neal blinked. "I heard the fire alarm upstairs."
"Sit down," I told him, a bit sterner.
We sat and though Neal raised his eyebrows at the blackened toast, he didn't make a comment. He took a few bites of the soup, then frowned.
"My throat still hurts," he admitted. "I feel a lot better, but it still hurts."
"You can't heal in a couple of hours," I told him. "But you need to eat. You got to take another round of antibiotics in an hour, and you shouldn't take too many on an empty stomach."
He didn't protest, and to my relief, he finished the soup and most of the toast. I didn't want to yell at him while he was still sick.
When we were done, I stood up and said, "I'll clean up. You get on the sofa and get comfortable."
I piled the dishes in the sink and grabbed the medicine to keep handy before heading back to the living room. Neal had propped himself up in a corner of the sofa, but he shivered slightly. I grabbed a folded quilt (I had questioned El for buying so many quilts but she assured me they would come in handy, which they did). I unfolded it, and he pulled it over him gratefully.
"Thanks, Peter," he burrowed down into the sofa to get warm.
"Get Satchmo up there with you," I told him. "He'll warm you up. Maybe I should make some tea."
"No!" Neal objected. "You've damaged the kitch – I mean, you've done enough for me already. I'll be fine here with the dog."
"You need more fluids," I frowned as I sat down in a nearby chair. "That's what El's always saying."
Neal nodded in agreement, but then his attention wavered over to the TV. CNN was reporting on some murder, showing a body bag being carried out of a house.
Neal winced. "Can I change the channel?"
"Sure," I agreed. I had no idea that Neal was sensitive about people getting killed. I mean, I don't like it, but it happens, and changing the channel doesn't mean it stops happening. This vaguely reminded me of El. She hates violence, and she doesn't understand why I like to watch all the guy movies like Rambo and Die Hard. I have to change the channel every time Criminal Minds comes on because she gets scared and thinks my job will turn into hunting down serial killers.
Neal flipped around until he settled on AMC which was playing Casablanca. I rolled my eyes, but didn't comment. Trust Neal to like something like that.
I got busy with my work, and he kept the sound down low so I could ask him questions about a few cases. Every so often I urged him to drink more water, and he finally objected,
"If I drink anymore, I'm going to have to pee every five minutes."
"I don't care. Drink the water."
"If I say no, are you going to swat me again?" he snatched up the bottle.
"Probably."
"Jackass," he scowled. "I'm sick."
"You said you weren't sick."
"You like torturing me."
"A little."
He was silent for a second, and then he said, "I should report you."
I laughed and looked at him. He looked like a puppy-dog, sweetly-sad and needy. "You're not going to report me. I'm keeping you in line which you need. You don't do too well with too much freedom."
"That's a terrible argument," he said. He reached up to pet Satchmo's head. "And it's not even true."
"Oh, really?" I challenged. "Have you been tempted to steal as much after getting released into my custody? You stole that painting, but you confessed to me. Would you have done that if you were off on your own?"
Neal opened his mouth to make a brilliant retort, but then he frowned and complained, "It's not fair to question me while I'm sick. I can't think straight, and you're getting me all confused and saying things I don't mean."
"Even if you confess something I don't already know, I wouldn't use it against you," I assured him. "I'm not low enough to trick a confession out of you while you're sick."
"I wouldn't tell you anything, anyway."
I wanted to take him up on that challenge, just to prove that I was as smart and as capable as he was, if not more so, but I decided not to bully him.
"Time for more medicine," I reached for the pills.
"I don't want more," he objected. "I feel better, but that stuff makes me feel kind of jittery inside. I'm tired, but I feel all nervous."
"That's the steroid shot," I replied as I shook the pills out. "That's why I got you to sleep when you could. Those shots usually keep you awake after a few hours."
As I was talking, I put the pills in his hands and motioned for him to swallow them. He did, still listening as I went on,
"But the doctor usually recommends them because they help you heal faster. In a few days, we'll have you hopping around the office and bothering everyone all over again. Finish up the bottle and I'll take it into the kitchen."
He drank the last of the water from the bottle and handed it to me. "I feel like I'm drowning."
"That's just the drainage," I assured him as I stood up.
When I came back from the kitchen with another bottle of water, he let his shoulders slump in defeat. "You are trying to drown me. I drank two bottles and the glass at lunch. Enough already."
"Sinus infections usually dehydrate you," I told him, placing the bottle on the table firmly to let him know that there would be no arguing with me. "Now, stop working yourself up. Just relax and watch the movie."
He gave a look that was definitely a sulk, but he turned back to the TV. After about thirty minutes, he threw the covers off and gave me a mean look before stomping to the bathroom.
I chuckled. Satchmo looked at me, and I said, "Oh, come on, he needs the water. And this is barely a drop in the bucket compared to the years I spent chasing him. I could have made him stay upstairs in bed with nothing to do, but I let him come down here and watch TV. If anything, I'm being too lenient."
A few minutes later, Neal came back to his spot on the sofa, pulled the quilt back up, and glared at the TV. When I didn't comment, he muttered, "You're a jerk."
I grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV.
"Aw!" he looked at me. "That's just heartless."
"You've had enough TV. You've been watching for an hour. Listen to some of the stuff I got here," I motioned down to the papers spread over my lap.
Neal looked so disgruntled I thought he might refuse, but he nodded.
We went over a few cases and he gave me his best advice which was helpful. I love working with my colleagues at the FBI headquarters, but Neal makes a good partner because he can think like a criminal and he's super smart. Most of the time, we're so busy on the go that we don't have a lot of time to sit and talk over cases carefully. But since he was now trapped on my sofa, I got to ask him question after question and he responded as best he could.
Around four, he started looking a little worn, so I flipped back on the TV and let him watch another old movie on AMC. I got so involved in my work that when I glanced up it was almost five and he was sound asleep again. Satchmo had also fallen asleep.
I smiled – I realized that I liked Neal the best when he was asleep and I didn't have to worry about him getting into trouble or getting hurt. I don't know when it started, but I was feeling very protective of him lately, worrying about him more than I had to.
When I heard El's heels on the stairs, I got up and hurried over to the door. "Shh," I put a finger to my lips when I opened the door. "Neal's here, but he fell asleep."
"Really? Why?" El looked confused.
"He's sick. I took him to the doctor and brought him back to rest. A sinus infection."
"Oh," El made a sympathetic face as she crept in the house. "Is he feeling better?"
"Well, the doctor gave him medicine and a steroid shot. Neal pitched a fit about that. I about had to hold him over the table for the nurse to give it to him. And he fussed about going to sleep upstairs and eating his lunch and then he complained about drinking enough water."
"Oh, baby," El put her hands on my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. "Sounds like you've had a rough day. But you did a good job, taking care of him. I bet you want me to play nurse for while now."
"You don't have to do that," I gave my best martyr's expression. "He's my responsibility after all."
"Nonsense, I want to help, too," El squeezed me in a side hug as we tiptoed in the living room. "Oh, Peter, he's adorable. Look at him and the dog."
"Maybe now, but you should have been here earlier," I grumbled. "He was anything but adorable then."
"I'm very proud of you. But I'll take over for a while. I'm going to fix some supper, and then he can stay up for a while, and we'll send him to bed early. You didn't take him to work today, did you?"
"Please," I shook my head, "it was all I could do to get him to go to the doctors. I had to trick him and say we were going to the pharmacy. Which by the way, one of us needs to go get his prescription filled. I got some samples, but he'll need more tomorrow."
"Why don't you run get them while I fix dinner?" El suggested.
I glanced down at our patient. He hadn't moved, even with the whispering. I thought he would sleep until El got finished with dinner.
"He gives you any trouble," I picked up my keys and my coat, "any trouble and all, and he'll be answering to me when I get back."
"Neal's no trouble," El smiled down at him. "No one that angelic can be trouble."
I highly doubted that, but I kissed her again and headed outside for my car. As I got inside and closed the door, I decided I would pick up a few galleons of water while I was getting his medicine. I would drop a straw in one galleon and hand it to him, telling him he could get up once the whole galleon was gone.
But I felt relieved, too. El was a much better nurse than I was, and if Neal felt a little bit better under my care, he would be feeling worlds better after El saw to him.
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