I Believe In You

Fever

Peter padded down the stairs to the living room quietly. El was right behind him and rounded the corner, disappearing into the kitchen, while he approached the still figure on their couch. The coffee table was littered with medicine and pills. Once they had placed Neal in the living room and had made him as comfortable as possible, they had given him antibiotics and pain-killers like the doctor had ordered. Neal had fallen into an exhausted sleep shortly after and had not woken once until the Burkes went to bed themselves.

Peter turned on the lights and elicited a breathed "oh" as he saw the way Neal was sprawled out on the couch. The young man's cheeks were flushed, his hair curled everywhere around his head and he was so incredibly still, it scared Peter. The blanket lay in a heap beside the couch and Satchmo had made himself comfortable on top of it, his head lying mere inches underneath Neal's limp hand as his right arm was dangling halfway off the couch. Neal was only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs, his lean figure appearing slightly more gaunt and his pale skin making the freckles on his shoulders stand out in contrast.

"Neal?", Peter approached the couch and knelt beside it, laying a hand on his friend's forehead. "Oh . Not good. Neal, can you open your eyes, buddy? You're burning up. We need to bring your fever down." There was no response. The only sign of life was the shallow rise and fall if his chest and the raspy breath that quietly escaped his parted lips.

"Neal! Come on!" Peter raised his voice to no avail. When he laid a hand on Neal's cheek and turned his slack face toward him a little, the momentum made the young man's head loll all the way towards him listlessly. But it didn't wake the young man.

"Damn it. EL!"

His wife entered the living room with a panicked look on her face and a water-jug in her hands.

"What? Something wrong?" She saw Neal and put the jug aside to rush towards the couch.

"El, he's unconscious. I can't wake him. His fever is really high I think."

"Peter, should we get him back to the hospital?" She had one hand on Neal's head, gently stroking his wavy hair.

"I don't know, hun. You saw the situation there. Let's try to bring his fever down here first. Can you go upstairs and run a bath? If we fill in cold water bit by bit and it mixes with the warm water, it might help him regulate his body temperature."

"How will you get him upstairs?"

"I have no idea." Peter shot a glance at Neal's slack form. He knew from experience that Neal was heavier than he looked. Especially in his passed-out state.

He sighed and weighed his options, when Neal coughed weakly. "Neal?" Peter shot up and sat on the edge of the couch, shoving one hand behind Neal's way too hot neck. His friend's eyes were closed but his lips moved every so slightly to whisper: "P'tr."

"Yeah, I'm here. Look, you're not well, buddy. I need to carry you upstairs. Can you wrap your arms around my neck and try to hold on?"

Wanting to seize the moment, Peter didn't wait for a reply but stepped around the sofa to have Neal's upper body on his right and carry his legs with his left arm. He reached down and shoved both arms underneath his friend's limp body. "Come on, Neal."

"...k." Neal groaned a little and raised his arms weakly towards Peter's neck and while his torso was being propped up, he let his head flop onto the agent's shoulder before Peter took a deep breath and lifted him up into his arms.

Peter's face was set in a grim expression. Going was slow but he took one agonizing step up the stairs at a time, grateful that Neal was awake and aware enough to hold on.

This was, however, short-lived as Neal passed out again once they had reached the upper floor's hall. With a small groan, all tension left his body and he instantly slid a few inches from Peter's arms, practically sagging towards the floor from one moment to the next as if his strings had been cut, his arms falling away from Peter's neck, his upper body and head tilting backwards so that Peter was only able to see the underside of Neal's chin, the rest of his face disappearing over the crook of his arm.

"Damn!!"

After what seemed like forever, he finally reached the open bathroom door and stepped inside. El was kneeling next to the bathtub, checking the water's temperature. She gasped at the sight of her husband with his unconscious CI draped across his arms. "My god, Peter!"

"I know, I know. Help me lower him into the tub."

Between them, they managed to submerge Neal into the water, whose head was falling to the side, his hair flopping over his forehead, looking way younger than he actually was.

Bit by bit, they exchanged the warm water with colder streams and after a while, Neal began to cough and stir, blinking his eyes open. They were red-rimmed and unfocused and way bluer than usual.

Slowly, their patient turned his head towards them and to their surprise, he smiled a little, clearly happy to see them. "Thank you." He slurred, his eyes falling shut again and his breath evened out.

"Thank god. He's asleep. El, can you check his temperature again? I think he's turning a corner. Let's put him up in the guestroom up here then."

He sighed... and remembered the nightmare he had earlier. The feeling of a bad conscience and the ever present concern for Neal's well being were still lingering like a tight knot in his chest. But he knew, Neal would be alright. And that he needed to apologize to him again, once he was more lucid.

"I believe in you, Neal." He whispered, as his friend slept on.