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12. "You're not fine, you're throwing up/coughing up a lung” (Continuation of 1.)
Neal woke up about to vomit for the second time that day. Feeling his heart rate increase with panic, Neal looked around for something to throw up in; he didn’t think he would make it all the way up the stairs to the bathroom. Thankfully, El had planned for this instance and had set a metal mixing bowl next to the couch for Neal if he needed. And boy did he ever.
After what felt like hours of heaving and spitting, Neal lifted his head from where it had been hanging over the bowl. Elizabeth was sitting on the coffee table in front of him, one hand on his back and the other bracing the bottom of the bowl. He hadn’t even known that she was in the room with him. He must be sicker than he thought.
“I’m sorry you’re so sick, sweetie.” El pulled the bowl away from him and stood to empty it.
“I’m fine,” Neal protested weakly. He’d been in worse situations and gotten himself out without incident.
“You’re not fine, you’re throwing up.” El sighed and quickly cleaned out the bowl. “There’s a big difference between being fine and surviving, sweetie.” She set the bowl back down on the floor within Neal’s reach and sat next to him on the couch. “You never have to pretend to be fine for me or Peter, okay? We can take it.”
Neal sniffed and scooched over to lean against El’s side.
She gasped when she felt the heat coming off Neal’s skin when he tucked his head onto her shoulder. “Oh, sweetie, you’re burning up. You need to drink something.”
“It’ll come back up,” Neal whispered, his throat on fire from vomiting.
“You’re going to have to try for me, okay?” El nudged Neal until he was sitting up on his own, and then hurried to the kitchen. She cracked open a can of ginger ale and poured it into a glass, stirring it to make it go flat, before bringing it to the living room with her. “Here, sip on this while I go get the thermometer, alright?”
Neal whimpered as he eyed the glass of ginger ale. His stomach was roiling uncomfortably already—he didn’t want to add anything to it to make it more angry than it already was.
When El came back downstairs from the bathroom Neal still hadn’t dared to take a sip.
“Sweetie, you need to drink something. Remember how Peter said you might have to go to the ER? You’re sure to end up there if you don’t drink.” El sat next to him again and gently placed the thermometer in his ear. She hummed quietly at the numbers displayed on the little screen. “Would water be better?”
Neal thought about it for a second, but he decided that it didn’t really matter what he drank—it was probably going to come back up anyway. He shook his head and took a small sip of the ginger ale to make El happy. It tasted amazing and made him realize how thirsty he actually was.
“Easy, easy,” El said. She saw the moment when Neal realized how thirsty he was and she didn’t want him to gulp it down.
Neal did as he was told and slowly sipped at the ginger ale until the glass was empty, setting it on the coffee table and collapsing into El’s side again. He shivered and pulled his blanket up around his shoulders, glad when El draped her arm around him protectively.
“Want to watch some tv? I think there’s probably a Project Runway marathon on.”
Neal nodded into the side of her neck and watched as she clicked buttons on the remote and made Project Runway appear on the screen. The ginger ale felt okay in his stomach, surprisingly. He was even a little, dare he say, hungry, but he didn’t want El to move again. He was finally getting comfortable.
After half an episode, El got up and went to the kitchen to get Neal something to eat. She plated some saltines and a little cup of apple sauce, poured a glass of water and another one of ginger ale, and brought it all back to the living room. “Think you can manage some crackers?”
Neal perked up a bit when he saw the plate and a second glass of ginger ale. He nodded and propped himself up on the armrest of the couch so that he could drink the ginger ale without spilling it. Sipping it slowly, he nibbled on a saltine as he drank. His stomach was still feeling okay enough to finish the cracker and the whole glass, which made him hopeful that his stomach bug was just about over.
“Still doing okay?” El asked. Neal was looking a little more with it than he had before they started watching tv and she was curious if his fever had gone down at all. As she reached for the thermometer on the coffee table, Neal spoke up. He’d been silent for far too long, El thought.
“Yeah, I’m alright. Not fine,” he said with emphasis on ‘fine’. “But I’ll live.”
El smiled. “I’m glad, sweetie. Let me check your temperature again.” She set the thermometer in his ear, happy to see that his temperature was heading in the right direction.
Neal and El passed the afternoon in front of the tv, alternating between sipping at ginger ale and throwing up into the bowl as El rubbed Neal’s back. Neal’s fever went up and down depending on how much ginger ale he’d sipped and how long he could keep it down, but El was getting nervous about how often he was vomiting.
When Peter got home from work, she glanced at him worriedly. Neal was in the middle of throwing up and El wasn’t even sure if he was aware that Peter was there. As she rubbed Neal’s back with one hand, she kept the other on the bowl, not trusting that Neal wouldn’t accidentally spill the contents everywhere.
Satchmo went up to Peter excitedly, glad that someone was home to play with him since El and Neal had been basically ignoring him all day. Peter pet the dog for a minute and went to sit on the edge of the coffee table to check on Neal.
“Hey, kiddo. Still not feeling too good, huh?”
Neal glanced up at Peter and his eyes instantly filled with tears. He sat back, done throwing up for the time being, and bit his tongue so that he didn’t start bawling at the sight of Peter looking at him with so much love and concern.
El took the bowl and swiftly carried it upstairs to the bathroom. Peter sat in the seat she’d just vacated and held out an arm, motioning for Neal to lean into him.
Neal practically flopped into Peter’s side, letting a few tears slip out as Peter pulled his blanket up and wrapped his arms around him. “I’m sorry you’re so sick, Neal.” Peter kissed the top of Neal’s sweat-soaked head gently.
“I’m okay,” Neal whispered, glad that Peter was there. El was great, and Neal knew that he was lucky to have two people as wonderful as Peter and El in his life, but there was just something so homey about having Peter there.
Peter rested a hand on Neal’s forehead and hummed disapprovingly. “You’re still burning up. I think I’m going to call the doctor for you.”
Neal took a breath to argue, but Peter stopped him before he got a word out.
“No arguments from you. When you can keep something down for more than 20 minutes, we’ll talk, but not until then.” Peter kissed the crown of Neal’s head again. “What are we watching?”
“Project Runway,” Neal replied. He yawned, his eyelids feeling heavy all of a sudden.
“Oh, goodie,” Peter deadpanned. He hated this kind of show, but knew better than to change the channel. El always loved watching this show when she was sick, and it seemed that Neal shared that trait with her.
“You can put something else on if you want to,” Neal yawned. “I’ll be asleep soon.”
“Nonsense. Sickie gets the remote, those are the rules.” Peter tightened his arms around Neal like a hug. “Even if you fall asleep I won’t change it.”
Neal smiled and glanced up at Peter. He was watching Project Runway despite how much he hated it, and Neal laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Peter asked, looking down to see Neal already looking at him.
“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re home.” Neal looked back to the tv and let himself relax until he was drifting off to sleep.