Peter watched as Neal fidgeted for the five hundredth time in the last twenty minutes. His partner was lying prone on the sofa, not watching tv and not reading, because of his concussion. His casted left arm was propped on a pillow that rested on his thigh. His sprained ankle sat atop another pillow that was leaning on the far arm of the sofa. From Peter’s position at the dining room table, where he was attempting to get some work done, Neal looked like misery incarnate.
Neal sighed and shifted again as Peter watched. That was the last straw. Peter got up, went into the kitchen and got a bottle of water from the fridge and Neal’s Vicodin from the counter, and then made his way into the living room. He sat down on the coffee table in front of Neal and held out the bottles to him.
When Neal turned to look at him, Peter could see just how miserable his partner was. He was squinting and pain lines marred the corners of his eyes, the edges of his mouth and the expanse of his forehead. Neal sighed again when he saw what Peter was holding and then glared up at his lover. “I don’t want those, Peter.”
“I know you don’t. But you’re in pain.”
“I’m just bored. I’ve been home for two days already with nothing to do. There’s only so much time I can spend thinking up cons I’m never going to pull.”
Peter scowled in disapproval, both at Neal’s obvious lie and at the content of Neal’s obvious lie. “You’re not conning me now. Take the medication, please.”
Neal closed his eyes and shook his head carefully. “I can’t stand how it makes me feel, Peter.”
“I can’t stand watching you lie here in obvious pain,” Peter countered.
Neal opened his eyes again and met Peter’s gaze. “I would rather be in pain, than be nauseated and out of it. The concussion is making it hard enough for me to think. I know there’s no great solution here, but this is the one I prefer.”
Peter looked down at Neal for a long moment before speaking again. “Okay, but this,” Peter said pointing at Neal and the sofa, “isn’t working. Let’s go back upstairs where you can get more comfortable.”
Neal nodded minutely and then began the slow process of getting himself vertical, his good hand pressed up against his aching ribs. Peter helped by pulling the pillows out from under his injured limbs and then keeping a steadying hand on Neal’s shoulder as the younger man moved to sit up. Neal stood on his own, but Peter hovered next to him while Neal fought off the dizziness created by the change in position. From there Peter shadowed Neal up the stairs and into their bedroom.
Down in the Dark Timestamp - Part 1
Neal sighed and shifted again as Peter watched. That was the last straw. Peter got up, went into the kitchen and got a bottle of water from the fridge and Neal’s Vicodin from the counter, and then made his way into the living room. He sat down on the coffee table in front of Neal and held out the bottles to him.
When Neal turned to look at him, Peter could see just how miserable his partner was. He was squinting and pain lines marred the corners of his eyes, the edges of his mouth and the expanse of his forehead. Neal sighed again when he saw what Peter was holding and then glared up at his lover. “I don’t want those, Peter.”
“I know you don’t. But you’re in pain.”
“I’m just bored. I’ve been home for two days already with nothing to do. There’s only so much time I can spend thinking up cons I’m never going to pull.”
Peter scowled in disapproval, both at Neal’s obvious lie and at the content of Neal’s obvious lie. “You’re not conning me now. Take the medication, please.”
Neal closed his eyes and shook his head carefully. “I can’t stand how it makes me feel, Peter.”
“I can’t stand watching you lie here in obvious pain,” Peter countered.
Neal opened his eyes again and met Peter’s gaze. “I would rather be in pain, than be nauseated and out of it. The concussion is making it hard enough for me to think. I know there’s no great solution here, but this is the one I prefer.”
Peter looked down at Neal for a long moment before speaking again. “Okay, but this,” Peter said pointing at Neal and the sofa, “isn’t working. Let’s go back upstairs where you can get more comfortable.”
Neal nodded minutely and then began the slow process of getting himself vertical, his good hand pressed up against his aching ribs. Peter helped by pulling the pillows out from under his injured limbs and then keeping a steadying hand on Neal’s shoulder as the younger man moved to sit up. Neal stood on his own, but Peter hovered next to him while Neal fought off the dizziness created by the change in position. From there Peter shadowed Neal up the stairs and into their bedroom.