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Peter should not be so nervous about going a day without seeing his CI.
Neal called in sick. And he actually sounded like he wasn’t well. He is probably just holed up in his flat eating soup with a stuffy nose. It’s fine. Totally fine.
Peter is going to go check.
June greets him as he walks by, but he can’t rely on that to confirm that Neal is staying out of trouble. She wouldn’t give him away like that. So Peter continues his hasty climb up the stairs and then knocks briskly on Neal’s door. To which there is no response.
“Neal!” Peter shouts as he forces his way past the door and strides into the flat. There is no one in the kitchen, or back by the hall, or on the balcony. Panic is just beginning to well up in Peter’s throat when he turns and spots a figure pushing off of the bed.
For a brief moment, Peter is about to get angry. He can’t see a single thing wrong with his CI, why would he have called off work today? Just because they finally wrapped up a tough case doesn’t excuse Neal to a day off. Peter is about to say all of this. Then Neal’s knees buckle and Peter is sprinting across the apartment to keep the younger man from collapsing to the floor.
“Neal,” Peter says again, far quieter this time. Far more urgently. There is a sheen of sweat on Neal’s forehead and his eyes are glazed with pain. Peter sits them both down on the bed, his alarm mounting when Neal leans limply against him. “Neal, what is going on? Where are you hurt?” Peter demands. He still can’t see anything wrong, no hidden injury that could be causing this. Is Neal truly ill?
“Phone,” the CI huffs out, voice broken and raw. He nods weakly towards the device sitting on the bedside table. It isn’t FBI issue. If Peter wasn’t so horribly worried, he would have far more of a problem with that. As it is, he just grabs the phone and hands it to Neal, silently begging the younger man for some sort of explanation. Even the barest detail would do.
Peter gets a barebones detail, one that is completely useless to him and this situation. He watches as Neal opens his contacts to reveal three names: Big Bird, Coffee Gremlin, Overprotective Father Figure. Before Peter can ask, Neal is pressing the first name and placing the phone on speaker. The person on the other end picks up after only three rings.
“Little Wing? What is it?”
Peter narrows his eyes at the phone. That isn’t Mozzie. In fact, that isn’t the voice of anyone he has met before. This is a new player. One that sounds on the edge of panic from a mere phone call.
“Bad day,” Neal practically whispers. The words mean little to Peter, but everything to the other person. The next time he speaks, it is with hardened resolve.
“Are you alone?”
“I am with him,” Peter quickly answers, ready to demand to know who this person is. Only they beat him to the question.
“You are?”
“Agent Peter Burke, FBI.” There is a slight pause before the person continues to speak, this time with clear orders.
“I will be there in around an hour. Agent, do not let him be alone.”
Peter inhales to protest, but pauses when he takes another look at Neal. Pale, half conscious, pained Neal.
“I will be taking him to my place,” Peter declares at last. He can’t very well stay here, but he doesn’t feel right leaving Neal alone like this. “I can send you the address-”
“No need. One hour.”
Then they hang up.
Peter stares at the phone for a long moment before taking a breath. He pulls out his own device and quickly calls Elizabeth.
“Hey El,” he sighs when she picks up.
“Late night at the office?”
“Not this time. Neal’s sick and I don’t want to leave him alone.”
“Oh no, is it bad? Just bring him here.”
“You're the best, hon.”
“I know I am.” They exchange farewells and then Peter is up and throwing together a quick bag for Neal. Neal, who doesn’t react to anything that is happening until Peter drags him towards the stairs. Peter can tell he is trying very hard not to react and make this more difficult, but the guy can only suppress so much. By the time they make it to Peter’s car Neal is practically unconscious, his brow tightly pinched from the pain that Peter is unable to locate.
He is silent the entire ride, so Peter instead spends the time listening to Neal’s breathing. Each breath is quick and shallow, harsh and strained. But there isn’t the sound of anything in his lungs or airways. At least there’s that.
Now if only Peter could determine what in the world is wrong. If only Neal would give him some hint. If only, if only.
Peter parks the car, not looking forward to the short walk into his house. Not because of Neal making it difficult. On the contrary, Neal is far too pliant at the moment. Willing to do whatever Peter says. It has him more concerned than the prospect of the CI using a sick day to sneak out.
El takes one look at Neal and directs him to the couch. A good call, as the young man is out within seconds of collapsing onto the cushions. Leaving Peter and El to worriedly whisper at the dining table. Peter explains everything he knows, which isn’t much, and then describes the voice on the other end of the phone. El had no better idea of who the mystery person is, or what is going on, than Peter does. They are completely in the dark on this one. A feeling that Peter hates.
When a sharp knock comes to the front door, Peter is almost too wrapped up in his thoughts to remember that the owner of the voice promised to find this place in an hour. It hasn’t been an hour yet. But when Peter pulls the door open, he instantly realizes that he is face to face with the person Neal turned to when he could hardly string together two words.
The man on the other side of the door can’t be more than a year older than Neal. He has a sweep of black hair and striking blue eyes that are hard with intent. He is muscular but lean, like a high performance runner. He wears a sweater and a pair of tattered jeans like they are a full suit and clutches a black duffle in one hand like it holds the key to his salvation.
“Let me see him,” the man says quietly, the warning lilt to his voice unmistakable. If Peter doesn’t listen, this man will go through him to get to Neal. Without a moment's hesitation.
“Who are you to him?” Peter demands, even as he takes a step back to let the man through the door.
“His brother,” the man answers automatically. He closes his eyes briefly like he is realizing he just said something he shouldn’t. Then he forges ahead with steel in his voice. “Not by blood. But when has that ever mattered, outside the lineage of kings?”
Peter has no response to that. Neal has a brother? Biological or not, this is a huge development.
The man (Neal’s brother!) strides into the living room and falls to his knees beside Neal. He shakes his shoulder, oh so very gently, and Neal blinks awake with an agonized grimace.
“What is wrong?” Peter whispers, knowing that his wife, who is tucked half behind the doorway to the kitchen, is also listening carefully. Probably with a hand ready to call for backup should the need arise.
The man glances back at Peter with clear consideration. Then he looks back at Neal, gives the slightest edge of a smile, and finally answers the question.
“Neal… faced a lot as a child. He healed from it all. But his body doesn’t always remember that.”
Peter blanches, mind reeling as the man takes a bottle of medicine from his bag and coaxes Neal to take it. What could have happened for lingering pain to cause such a reaction? Who did this to Peter’s friend? How often does Neal have to face this? How often in prison was he laid low with agony because he told no one?
“Agent.” Peter snaps out of his spiral to meet the gaze of Neal’s brother. “Don’t blame yourself for this. This is just how Neal is. He wouldn’t have told a single soul if he didn’t have to.”
“Is that meant to be reassuring?” Peter says brokenly.
“Of a sort,” the man smiles, a cocky grin that is so very much like Neal’s. “It means that you are close enough that he is no longer trying to hide.”
There is a long pause after that. While Peter realizes that this guy- this guy is right. If Neal has been hiding this his whole life, he could have found a way to hide it from Peter for longer. But he didn’t.
“Peter?” Neal croaks, grabbing the attention of everyone in the room. Then he grins, the light that is always present in his eyes shining as brightly as ever. “How glad are you that I’m not doing anything illegal?”