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17. Brain Fog/Spaced Out
“Earth to Neal!” Peter waved his hand in front of his partner’s face. “Are you listening to me?”
Neal started and looked over at Peter in surprise. “Huh?”
“I’ll take that as a no,” Peter said with an angry sigh. Picking up the camera he was using as a set of binoculars, Peter aimed the lens towards the window he’d just seen the suspect in. “Open that file, would ya? I want to compare this guy to the photo in there.” Peter snapped a few photos of the suspect as he pulled the curtains across the window, effectively blocking Peter’s view entirely. Lowering the camera, Peter looked over at Neal, expecting to see the file open to the photo he needed. Instead, he found Neal staring out his window, again. “Neal!” Peter cried.
Neal jumped and looked at Peter with panic in his eyes.
“I don’t bring you on stakeouts to daydream! I need your help!” Peter was angry—Neal didn’t have much to do other than help him out and he couldn’t even manage that.
“Sorry, sorry,” Neal mumbled, clearing his throat. “What do you need?”
Peter sighed, exasperated. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.” Peter ripped the file out of Neal’s loose grip and flipped to the page with the photo, pulling up the camera roll to compare facial features.
“Oww,” Neal muttered, sucking on his finger. “You gave me a paper cut.” He glowered at Peter.
“Pay more attention next time and I won’t have to harm you.” Peter moved the camera and file to the center console so that Neal could help him confirm the identity of their guy. “Think he’s the same guy?”
“Could be,” Neal said. “Hard to tell with that beard. Yeesh.”
“I seem to remember a certain criminal growing a beard like that before he escaped prison.” Peter glanced over at Neal. “I’ll call it in to Hughes. Looks like we’ll be able to join El for dinner after all.” Peter pulled out his cell phone and called Hughes, explaining his findings and assuring him that he’d email the photos when he got home.
“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Peter said as he hung up the phone and shifted the car into drive.
“Where to?” Neal asked, rubbing a hand up and down the back of his neck like it was stiff.
Peter frowned. “I just told you—what’s the matter with you today?”
Neal shrugged. “Guess I’m just tired.”
“Honey, he’s sick,” El said, a frown spreading across her face. She turned to face her husband, cornering him in the kitchen.
“Who, Neal?” Peter paused, his hand halfway to his mouth with a slice of cheese.
“Yes!” El swatted him with the dish towel she was holding. “He’s not acting like himself.”
“He has been spaced out all day, now that you mention it. He said he’s just tired.” Peter continued eating his slice of cheese and peeked around the corner to check on his partner.
Neal was sitting on the couch petting Satchmo, his eyes glazed over. He still had his coat on, and had it wrapped around him like he was cold.
“I guess he doesn’t look that great, huh?” Peter swallowed his cheese with a side of guilt and turned back to his wife. “Want me to get the thermometer?”
“Please. And a change of clothes. I’m not letting him out of my sight until he can hold up his end of a conversation.” El waved Peter out of the room and busied herself carrying the dinner dishes to the table. “Neal, sweetie, will you help me bring everything to the table?” El asked, gauging his response.
Well, she would have gauged his response if there had been one. “Neal?”
He looked up at her questioningly. “Hmm?”
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” El felt her heart break the longer she looked at Neal. He looked exhausted, his eyes were glassy, his cheeks were red. He was rubbing at his neck like it was giving him a headache, and she could see him shivering ever so slightly.
He smiled at her weakly. “I’m okay.”
The fact that he didn’t tell her that he was ‘fine’ spoke volumes about how he was really feeling.
El sat next to him on the couch and pulled him close to her as she felt his forehead. “Oh, sweetie, you’re burning up.” She left her hand there when she felt how much he leaned into her. “Peter!” Rubbing her hand up and down Neal’s back, she let him slowly melt into her side.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Peter said as he came down the stairs. “Here’s the thermometer.” Peter walked up to the coffee table and sat on the edge of it, in front of El and Neal. “Jeez, he looks like hell.”
El frowned at him, upset that he’d let Neal stay at work all day with a fever. She took the thermometer and placed it gently in Neal’s ear. “102.7. Why didn’t you tell Peter you felt sick, sweetie?” She set the thermometer on the coffee table and moved her hand away from Neal’s forehead.
Neal whined at the break of contact, but sat up a little. “Didn’t know I had a fever. Just felt—I dunno—weird all day.
Peter glanced at El when Neal said ‘I dunno’. His usually eloquent speaking partner never said things all smooshed together like that; Peter was feeling rather stupid for not noticing Neal’s illness earlier in the day.
“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” El instructed, her event planner personality slipping into place. “You’re going to go upstairs and change into these,” she motioned to the sweats Peter was holding. “And we’ll make the couch up for you.”
Neal nodded, holding a hand out for the clothes.
Peter handed them over and watched with worry as Neal practically stumbled up the stairs. “I’m sorry, hon. He wasn’t like this earlier, I swear.” Peter ran a hand nervously over his chin.
“Would you have noticed if he was?” El chewed on her bottom lip and looked her husband over. “I need to go get some sheets.” She got off the couch and went upstairs to the linen closet.
Peter rubbed his hand through his hair and started rearranging the couch cushions so that it was more conducive for sleeping. Guilt was sitting like a rock in his stomach—of course he didn’t want Neal to be sick, but the kid could’ve spoken up if he’d felt that bad all day. Peter grabbed the throw blankets from where El kept them folded in a decorative box at the far end of the couch and set them on the coffee table so that they were in reach when she came back with a sheet.
Deciding to try and get back on El’s good side, Peter went to the kitchen and started making Neal a cup of tea to help him feel warmer. He dug through the drawer to find some Tylenol while the water was heating, pulling out a half empty container. He was just pouring the boiling water into a mug when he heard El speaking to Neal.
“Hold on one second, sweetie. Let me spread this sheet out over the cushions.”
Peter brought the tea to the coffee table and immediately started helping El spread out the sheet. He glanced at Neal, who was standing, barely, and shivering in the old sweats Peter had pulled out for him. He really looked terrible; Peter wasn’t sure how he’d missed it earlier.
“There,” El said, ushering Neal to the couch.
Neal sat down heavily and breathed a sigh of relief when he was lying down, blankets being piled atop him.
“I brought you some tea and some Tylenol,” Peter said, sitting on the coffee table again. He poured two pills into his hand and held them out for Neal to take, along with the tea cup.
“Thanks,” Neal said. His voice was hoarse and Peter could hear the beginnings of congestion rattling in his chest.
Peter glanced around, and, upon seeing that El had gone into the kitchen, scooted a little closed to Neal. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were sick earlier. I wouldn’t have made you stay on the stakeout with me, you know that, right?”
Neal nodded. “It’s okay, Peter. Honestly I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t focus. I didn’t know I was running a fever.” He looked at Peter and smiled, trying to reassure him that he wasn’t angry or upset. He knew that if he’d told Peter he wasn’t feeling well that Peter would have driven him home.
Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He leaned forward and ruffled Neal’s hair. “How about watching something on tv while you eat dinner?”
Neal smiled and nodded, pulling the blankets close around him, glad that he was home. With the Burkes.