![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pooh_collectorTitle: Hope Fills the Holes of My Frustration
Word Count: ~2450
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, P/E/N
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Summary: Another timestamp in the Of Christmases verse. Neal has only just emerged from his coma and regaining what he lost is proving hard for both him and Peter. Title from a quote by Emanuel Cleaver.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
angelita26!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *HUGS*
Peter was late. Something he was often in his life, due mostly to the responsibilities and the unpredictability of life as an FBI agent. He hated that it meant disappointing El so many, many times in the course of their life together. But, these last few days, being late meant not being there for Neal when his partner needed him the most, and that was completely unacceptable in Peter’s book.
Today, El had had to leave the hospital early to complete some final preparations for a New Year’s Eve party for five hundred guests that Burke Premier Events was managing. It was too much for Yvonne to handle on her own, especially since El had been so absent from her company of late. Peter was supposed to have relieved her at the hospital at two, but it was going on three when he finally made it up the Neuro unit.
He greeted everyone with a quick hello as he passed the nurses’ station and made his way to Neal’s doorway. He stopped there for a moment, formulating his apology, and then peered into the room. Neal was sitting up in a chair beside the bed, the tray table was pulled up in front of him with a laptop perched on it. Leon, Neal’s occupational therapist was crouched beside him, talking to him quietly.
As Peter watched, Neal nodded and then hesitantly moved his hand up to the computer. He touched the screen and the machine bonged in response. Neal frowned and pounded his shaky fist on the arm of his chair.
“Hey, it’s okay Neal. Try again,” Peter heard Leon say.
Neal hesitated and then finally brought his hand up and touched the screen again. Again, it bonged.
Neal huffed and used his hand to push the tray table away. It spun on its wheels, but it didn’t go far.
Leon said nothing as he pulled the table back over Neal’s lap. Neal frowned, his frustration written plainly across his features, and pushed the tray table away again.
Leon glanced down at his watch and then looked back to Neal. “We have another twenty minutes on our session, Neal. Are you going to just sit here or are you going to work?”
Neal glared at Leon, a look Peter recognized well. It was a perfect match for the look Neal had given him that day on the pier, when Peter had wrongly accused him of stealing the sub treasure - stubborn indignation. To his credit, Leon held his ground, staring back at Neal.
Peter was about to step into the room to intercede, but Leon held up a hand. It was under the edge of the tray table, so Neal couldn’t see the gesture; it was clearly meant for Peter. For a moment Peter considered entering the room anyway, Neal was his partner, it was his job to protect him, a job that he had failed at so dramatically when Neal had been hurt. But, Leon wasn’t here to hurt Neal, just the opposite in fact. So Peter nodded slightly and stayed tucked into the edge of the doorway to watch and wait.
Finally, Neal replied with one sharp and stilted utterance. “Work.”
Leon nodded and pulled the tray table back into place again. This time when Neal touched the screen there was a light ding.
“Nice, Neal!”
Neal smiled in response, but from where he stood Peter thought the gesture looked strained.
Leon continued with their next task and Neal followed along, sometimes getting his responses correct on the first try, sometimes not. He was moving slowly, thoughtfully, even for post-coma Neal, but he kept at it.
Eventually Peter made his way into the room and over to the loveseat where he parked himself to continue his vigil until Leon wrapped up their session.
It was so desperately hard to just sit and watch while his beautiful, talented partner struggled with the simplest tasks. Peter had never known anyone as adept at so many things as Neal. He had never known anyone whose unshakable self-assurance was rooted so deeply in his seemingly unlimited skills and abilities. Less than two months ago, Peter sat in Neal’s third floor studio and watched him recreate a perfect Picasso in an afternoon, his hand steady, his vision pure, his confidence unwavering. And now...
Neal was getting better. The progress he had made just in the last week was astounding, but Peter’s fear that Neal would never again be the debonair, sharp, capable and brilliant man he used to be felt like a vise around his heart. And the worst part was that he could only sit here and watch while Neal struggled to regain all that he has lost.
When Neal’s session was over Leon packed up his equipment, patted Neal on the shoulder and reminded him that his physical therapist would be in in a few minutes.
Neal sighed and dropped his head against the back of his chair.
Peter got up and moved over to his partner and kissed him on the forehead. Neal smiled tightly back up at him and hummed quietly for a moment. Neal looked tired and as Peter stood over him, he closed his eyes and slumped into the chair.
“You tired, buddy?”
Neal nodded slightly.
“Can you stay awake for physical therapy?”
Neal squeezed his closed eyelids tighter before replying. “Yes.”
Peter ran his hand gently through Neal’s curls. Neal sighed again and slid over to the side, dislodging Peter’s hand.
Peter dropped his arm back to his side and pushed down the hurt that bloomed in his chest from Neal’s mild rebuff. He deserved it, he had been late. He deserved worse, much worse for his role in what had happened to Neal just before Thanksgiving. Neal still didn’t seem to remember that horrible day, but it wouldn't surprise Peter if on some level Neal knew that all of this was Peter's responsibility.
Peter was saved from continuing down the path where his dark thoughts led by the entrance of Celia, Neal’s physical therapist.
"Good afternoon, Agent Burke, Neal".
Peter nodded in greeting and then watched Neal open tired eyes and smile thinly at this therapist.
Celia seemed to see the same things that Peter did. "I know it's been a long day, Neal. We just need to do a few strength and flexibility exercises and then we can get you back to bed, okay?
Neal nodded slowly and sat up straight in his chair. Celia moved the tray table out of the way and settled in next to Neal to begin their session while Peter returned to his former place on the loveseat. He spent a few minutes checking his emails on his phone before turning his attention back to Celia and his partner.
Even from across the room Peter could see that all the color had drained from Neal's face in the short time that he had been focused on his phone and his partner's eyes were closed again. Celia was talking to him softly as she gently manipulated his right arm.
Peter stood up and then wavered. He knew he shouldn't interfere. Leon had been right to hold him at bay earlier, but Neal looked so fragile that Peter couldn't help himself. He walked over to the chair and knelt on the opposite side of it from Celia.
"Neal?"
Neal opened his eyes and turned to look at Peter.
"What's going on?"
Neal shook his head and then swallowed thickly.
Peter bit back on his frustration and tried again. "Buddy, you don't look good. Can Celia and I help?"
Neal looked at Peter and for a moment he thought that the younger man was going to admit that something was off, but then he shook his head again, carefully and said, "Work."
Peter took a deep breath, stood up and walked away. Pushing Neal had never been a great way of gaining his cooperation. Peter likened it to trying to break through the Great Wall of China with a feather. So from across the room he watched as Celia continued to work with Neal. Peter had witnessed enough of their sessions over the past few days to realize that Celia was skimping on the exercises, shortening the number of reps and going more slowly than usual.
Finally, she finished and prepped Neal to stand so that he could take the two steps back to his bed. He seemed to manage the task of standing easily enough, with Celia supporting him, but what little color still remained in his face washed away suddenly once he was upright and then he's knees buckled.
Peter was across the room and had a hold of Neal's arm before he even consciously realized that Neal needed his help.
Neal closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself and when he opened them again, he locked his knees and straightened his spine. Then he shrugged off Peter's supportive hand and took a tentative step forward. Celia was still bracing Neal's other side and she continued to help him as he made his way to the bed and sat with a barely audible moan.
While Celia helped Neal get resettled in bed, Peter stood where he was, afraid that any assistance he could provide would only be shrugged off yet again. It hurt, to be pushed aside. Peter wanted nothing more than to do whatever he could to help Neal in his recovery. But it was Neal's choice, and Peter had to respect it, despite his unquenchable need to protect and care for his partner.
On her way out of Neal's room, Celia must have spoken to Elise, Neal's primary nurse, because there she was standing at Neal's bedside when Peter finally pulled himself back together.
She placed her hand on Neal's forearm. "Neal, are you feeling okay?"
Neal blinked up at her and hummed aimlessly for a long moment before replying. "Fine."
Peter couldn't help but smile and shake his head at Neal's reply. It was so... Neal. Despite everything. It gave Peter hope that someday Neal really would be the same man he had been before his injury.
Elise frowned down at him. "Why do I think you're not being honest with me?"
Neal closed his eyes and curled up on his side effectively shutting Elise out. She turned to Peter and shook her head.
"Don't take it personally. This is typical Neal when something is bothering him."
Elise nodded and left the room. Peter pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down with a sigh. "Do you need anything, buddy?" He asked, keeping his voice low in deference to the headache his partner was clearly suffering from. Dr. Kline had warned him and Elizabeth that headaches would probably be a lifelong side effect of Neal’s injury.
Peter wasn't surprised that Neal didn't reply.
Fifteen minutes later Elise was back with Dr. Kline in tow. "Peter," he said in greeting as he made his way over to Neal's bed and sat, tucking himself into the vee created by Neal's bent knees.
"Dr. Kline."
"Neal, Elise tells me that you have a pretty nasty headache." Neal humfed in reply. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Dr. Kline concluded. “I’m going to have Elise give you something to help.”
“No,” Neal murmured.
Dr. Kline rested his hand on Neal’s knee. “Neal, being in serious pain can slow your recovery and honestly it’s not necessary. Let us help you, okay?”
Neal was quiet for a minute, and Peter knew he was weighing his doctor’s words against his desire to be in control of something, anything in his life right now. “No, nar… no narcotics.”
It was the most complex word Neal had spoken since he had awoken from his coma and Peter couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride in his lover.
Dr. Kline patted Neal’s knee. “A compromise it is. No narcotics. Elise would you please get eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen for Neal.”
Elise nodded and headed out of Neal’s room only to return a couple of minutes later with a small cup with the pills and another of water. Elise raised the head of Neal’s bed and he dutifully took the pills and washed them down with the water. Then she lowered him back down to lie flat.
Dr. Kline patted his knee one last time. “I’ll stop by to check on you later, Neal. Get some rest.”
Neal nodded slightly in acknowledgement. Dr. Kline stood and turned to Peter. “Make sure you get some rest too, Peter. You look like crap.”
Peter snorted a laugh at Dr. Kline’s bluntness. “Will do.”
Neal’s doctor nodded in reply and then headed back out to the hallway.
When they were alone, Peter put his hand over Neal’s and squeezed it gently. Neal made a small sound and tugged his hand out from under Peter’s.
Peter’s first reaction was to feel the hurt that welled up in him earlier resurge. But he stuffed it down. This, right now, wasn’t about him. It was about Neal and what Neal needed. Nothing else mattered.
He leaned in close to the bed and whispered, "I love you and no matter how stubborn you are and no matter how much you try to push me away, that's not going to change. I know I can only imagine how hard this is for you. I know you're frustrated with trying to communicate and with trying to relearn things that were second nature before you even reached kindergarten. But, you're getting better, Neal, every day. I can see it. And, I'm here to help you as much as you'll let me."
Neal was quiet for so long that Peter thought that his partner had drifted off to sleep, but then his hand emerged from where he had tucked it under his pillow and he reached out toward Peter while he scooted back closer to the far edge of the mattress.
Peter smiled at the invitaion, stood and kicked off his shoes and shed his jacket. He lay down on the bed carefully, hoping not the aggravate Neal's headache and then gently fit his partner into his arms. Neal's head came to rest against his chest and Peter could feel Neal's breath as it wafted against his shirt. A tangible reminder that Neal was indeed getting better.
"Love you too," Neal murmured. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Peter assured him. Peter kissed the crown of Neal's head and then took up slowly rubbing circles on his back as Neal's tense body gradually relaxed and his breathing evened out in sleep.
When Dr. Kline arrived to check on Neal an hour later, he found Neal and Peter both peacefully asleep, wrapped up in each other arms. He smiled at the sight. He always loved it when his prescriptions were filled.
Word Count: ~2450
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, P/E/N
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Summary: Another timestamp in the Of Christmases verse. Neal has only just emerged from his coma and regaining what he lost is proving hard for both him and Peter. Title from a quote by Emanuel Cleaver.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY my
angelita26!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *HUGS* Peter was late. Something he was often in his life, due mostly to the responsibilities and the unpredictability of life as an FBI agent. He hated that it meant disappointing El so many, many times in the course of their life together. But, these last few days, being late meant not being there for Neal when his partner needed him the most, and that was completely unacceptable in Peter’s book.
Today, El had had to leave the hospital early to complete some final preparations for a New Year’s Eve party for five hundred guests that Burke Premier Events was managing. It was too much for Yvonne to handle on her own, especially since El had been so absent from her company of late. Peter was supposed to have relieved her at the hospital at two, but it was going on three when he finally made it up the Neuro unit.
He greeted everyone with a quick hello as he passed the nurses’ station and made his way to Neal’s doorway. He stopped there for a moment, formulating his apology, and then peered into the room. Neal was sitting up in a chair beside the bed, the tray table was pulled up in front of him with a laptop perched on it. Leon, Neal’s occupational therapist was crouched beside him, talking to him quietly.
As Peter watched, Neal nodded and then hesitantly moved his hand up to the computer. He touched the screen and the machine bonged in response. Neal frowned and pounded his shaky fist on the arm of his chair.
“Hey, it’s okay Neal. Try again,” Peter heard Leon say.
Neal hesitated and then finally brought his hand up and touched the screen again. Again, it bonged.
Neal huffed and used his hand to push the tray table away. It spun on its wheels, but it didn’t go far.
Leon said nothing as he pulled the table back over Neal’s lap. Neal frowned, his frustration written plainly across his features, and pushed the tray table away again.
Leon glanced down at his watch and then looked back to Neal. “We have another twenty minutes on our session, Neal. Are you going to just sit here or are you going to work?”
Neal glared at Leon, a look Peter recognized well. It was a perfect match for the look Neal had given him that day on the pier, when Peter had wrongly accused him of stealing the sub treasure - stubborn indignation. To his credit, Leon held his ground, staring back at Neal.
Peter was about to step into the room to intercede, but Leon held up a hand. It was under the edge of the tray table, so Neal couldn’t see the gesture; it was clearly meant for Peter. For a moment Peter considered entering the room anyway, Neal was his partner, it was his job to protect him, a job that he had failed at so dramatically when Neal had been hurt. But, Leon wasn’t here to hurt Neal, just the opposite in fact. So Peter nodded slightly and stayed tucked into the edge of the doorway to watch and wait.
Finally, Neal replied with one sharp and stilted utterance. “Work.”
Leon nodded and pulled the tray table back into place again. This time when Neal touched the screen there was a light ding.
“Nice, Neal!”
Neal smiled in response, but from where he stood Peter thought the gesture looked strained.
Leon continued with their next task and Neal followed along, sometimes getting his responses correct on the first try, sometimes not. He was moving slowly, thoughtfully, even for post-coma Neal, but he kept at it.
Eventually Peter made his way into the room and over to the loveseat where he parked himself to continue his vigil until Leon wrapped up their session.
It was so desperately hard to just sit and watch while his beautiful, talented partner struggled with the simplest tasks. Peter had never known anyone as adept at so many things as Neal. He had never known anyone whose unshakable self-assurance was rooted so deeply in his seemingly unlimited skills and abilities. Less than two months ago, Peter sat in Neal’s third floor studio and watched him recreate a perfect Picasso in an afternoon, his hand steady, his vision pure, his confidence unwavering. And now...
Neal was getting better. The progress he had made just in the last week was astounding, but Peter’s fear that Neal would never again be the debonair, sharp, capable and brilliant man he used to be felt like a vise around his heart. And the worst part was that he could only sit here and watch while Neal struggled to regain all that he has lost.
When Neal’s session was over Leon packed up his equipment, patted Neal on the shoulder and reminded him that his physical therapist would be in in a few minutes.
Neal sighed and dropped his head against the back of his chair.
Peter got up and moved over to his partner and kissed him on the forehead. Neal smiled tightly back up at him and hummed quietly for a moment. Neal looked tired and as Peter stood over him, he closed his eyes and slumped into the chair.
“You tired, buddy?”
Neal nodded slightly.
“Can you stay awake for physical therapy?”
Neal squeezed his closed eyelids tighter before replying. “Yes.”
Peter ran his hand gently through Neal’s curls. Neal sighed again and slid over to the side, dislodging Peter’s hand.
Peter dropped his arm back to his side and pushed down the hurt that bloomed in his chest from Neal’s mild rebuff. He deserved it, he had been late. He deserved worse, much worse for his role in what had happened to Neal just before Thanksgiving. Neal still didn’t seem to remember that horrible day, but it wouldn't surprise Peter if on some level Neal knew that all of this was Peter's responsibility.
Peter was saved from continuing down the path where his dark thoughts led by the entrance of Celia, Neal’s physical therapist.
"Good afternoon, Agent Burke, Neal".
Peter nodded in greeting and then watched Neal open tired eyes and smile thinly at this therapist.
Celia seemed to see the same things that Peter did. "I know it's been a long day, Neal. We just need to do a few strength and flexibility exercises and then we can get you back to bed, okay?
Neal nodded slowly and sat up straight in his chair. Celia moved the tray table out of the way and settled in next to Neal to begin their session while Peter returned to his former place on the loveseat. He spent a few minutes checking his emails on his phone before turning his attention back to Celia and his partner.
Even from across the room Peter could see that all the color had drained from Neal's face in the short time that he had been focused on his phone and his partner's eyes were closed again. Celia was talking to him softly as she gently manipulated his right arm.
Peter stood up and then wavered. He knew he shouldn't interfere. Leon had been right to hold him at bay earlier, but Neal looked so fragile that Peter couldn't help himself. He walked over to the chair and knelt on the opposite side of it from Celia.
"Neal?"
Neal opened his eyes and turned to look at Peter.
"What's going on?"
Neal shook his head and then swallowed thickly.
Peter bit back on his frustration and tried again. "Buddy, you don't look good. Can Celia and I help?"
Neal looked at Peter and for a moment he thought that the younger man was going to admit that something was off, but then he shook his head again, carefully and said, "Work."
Peter took a deep breath, stood up and walked away. Pushing Neal had never been a great way of gaining his cooperation. Peter likened it to trying to break through the Great Wall of China with a feather. So from across the room he watched as Celia continued to work with Neal. Peter had witnessed enough of their sessions over the past few days to realize that Celia was skimping on the exercises, shortening the number of reps and going more slowly than usual.
Finally, she finished and prepped Neal to stand so that he could take the two steps back to his bed. He seemed to manage the task of standing easily enough, with Celia supporting him, but what little color still remained in his face washed away suddenly once he was upright and then he's knees buckled.
Peter was across the room and had a hold of Neal's arm before he even consciously realized that Neal needed his help.
Neal closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself and when he opened them again, he locked his knees and straightened his spine. Then he shrugged off Peter's supportive hand and took a tentative step forward. Celia was still bracing Neal's other side and she continued to help him as he made his way to the bed and sat with a barely audible moan.
While Celia helped Neal get resettled in bed, Peter stood where he was, afraid that any assistance he could provide would only be shrugged off yet again. It hurt, to be pushed aside. Peter wanted nothing more than to do whatever he could to help Neal in his recovery. But it was Neal's choice, and Peter had to respect it, despite his unquenchable need to protect and care for his partner.
On her way out of Neal's room, Celia must have spoken to Elise, Neal's primary nurse, because there she was standing at Neal's bedside when Peter finally pulled himself back together.
She placed her hand on Neal's forearm. "Neal, are you feeling okay?"
Neal blinked up at her and hummed aimlessly for a long moment before replying. "Fine."
Peter couldn't help but smile and shake his head at Neal's reply. It was so... Neal. Despite everything. It gave Peter hope that someday Neal really would be the same man he had been before his injury.
Elise frowned down at him. "Why do I think you're not being honest with me?"
Neal closed his eyes and curled up on his side effectively shutting Elise out. She turned to Peter and shook her head.
"Don't take it personally. This is typical Neal when something is bothering him."
Elise nodded and left the room. Peter pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down with a sigh. "Do you need anything, buddy?" He asked, keeping his voice low in deference to the headache his partner was clearly suffering from. Dr. Kline had warned him and Elizabeth that headaches would probably be a lifelong side effect of Neal’s injury.
Peter wasn't surprised that Neal didn't reply.
Fifteen minutes later Elise was back with Dr. Kline in tow. "Peter," he said in greeting as he made his way over to Neal's bed and sat, tucking himself into the vee created by Neal's bent knees.
"Dr. Kline."
"Neal, Elise tells me that you have a pretty nasty headache." Neal humfed in reply. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Dr. Kline concluded. “I’m going to have Elise give you something to help.”
“No,” Neal murmured.
Dr. Kline rested his hand on Neal’s knee. “Neal, being in serious pain can slow your recovery and honestly it’s not necessary. Let us help you, okay?”
Neal was quiet for a minute, and Peter knew he was weighing his doctor’s words against his desire to be in control of something, anything in his life right now. “No, nar… no narcotics.”
It was the most complex word Neal had spoken since he had awoken from his coma and Peter couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride in his lover.
Dr. Kline patted Neal’s knee. “A compromise it is. No narcotics. Elise would you please get eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen for Neal.”
Elise nodded and headed out of Neal’s room only to return a couple of minutes later with a small cup with the pills and another of water. Elise raised the head of Neal’s bed and he dutifully took the pills and washed them down with the water. Then she lowered him back down to lie flat.
Dr. Kline patted his knee one last time. “I’ll stop by to check on you later, Neal. Get some rest.”
Neal nodded slightly in acknowledgement. Dr. Kline stood and turned to Peter. “Make sure you get some rest too, Peter. You look like crap.”
Peter snorted a laugh at Dr. Kline’s bluntness. “Will do.”
Neal’s doctor nodded in reply and then headed back out to the hallway.
When they were alone, Peter put his hand over Neal’s and squeezed it gently. Neal made a small sound and tugged his hand out from under Peter’s.
Peter’s first reaction was to feel the hurt that welled up in him earlier resurge. But he stuffed it down. This, right now, wasn’t about him. It was about Neal and what Neal needed. Nothing else mattered.
He leaned in close to the bed and whispered, "I love you and no matter how stubborn you are and no matter how much you try to push me away, that's not going to change. I know I can only imagine how hard this is for you. I know you're frustrated with trying to communicate and with trying to relearn things that were second nature before you even reached kindergarten. But, you're getting better, Neal, every day. I can see it. And, I'm here to help you as much as you'll let me."
Neal was quiet for so long that Peter thought that his partner had drifted off to sleep, but then his hand emerged from where he had tucked it under his pillow and he reached out toward Peter while he scooted back closer to the far edge of the mattress.
Peter smiled at the invitaion, stood and kicked off his shoes and shed his jacket. He lay down on the bed carefully, hoping not the aggravate Neal's headache and then gently fit his partner into his arms. Neal's head came to rest against his chest and Peter could feel Neal's breath as it wafted against his shirt. A tangible reminder that Neal was indeed getting better.
"Love you too," Neal murmured. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Peter assured him. Peter kissed the crown of Neal's head and then took up slowly rubbing circles on his back as Neal's tense body gradually relaxed and his breathing evened out in sleep.
When Dr. Kline arrived to check on Neal an hour later, he found Neal and Peter both peacefully asleep, wrapped up in each other arms. He smiled at the sight. He always loved it when his prescriptions were filled.
Tags:
