FIC: 'Twas the Night Before Christmas
Dec. 19th, 2014 01:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pooh_collectorTitle: ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
Word Count: ~2775
Rating: PG13
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, P/E/N
Spoilers: None
Warnings: A little squicky.
Summary: Neal has an unfortunate encounter on Christmas Eve. Post-series, not season six compliant.
Written to complement![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kanarek13's beautiful art found here.
A/N: This is a little holiday gift for the lovely and amazingkanarek13 for her brilliance, her generosity and her thoughtfulness. Merry Christmas!
'Twas the Night Before Christmas
Neal blinked in an attempt to clear his vision. The falling snow was clumping in his long eyelashes, blurring his view of the park around him. He took a shallow breath and blinked again. His vision cleared slightly and Neal could just discern the hazy red and gold of the Christmas ornament he had made for Elizabeth lying broken in the snow just beyond his extended leg. He should have put it in a box. But the final touches of paint weren’t completely dry when he left his apartment and he didn’t want them to smudge. El was going to be so disappointed.
He took another shallow breath and as the cold air hit his lungs pain lanced through him starting from the spot that burned ominously just below his ribs. Neal moved his shaking left hand to his side. The touch made the pain burn brighter and his fingers came away warm, sticky and wet from his blood. That couldn't be good.
***
Elizabeth was in the kitchen taking the rib roast for Christmas Eve dinner out of the oven when Peter’s cell phone rang. He had left it on the counter when she had asked him to run down to the basement to find the centerpiece she had decided to use on the table.
She placed the roasting pan down on the trivet on the island and then reached for her husband’s phone. She smiled when she saw Neal’s name on the screen. “Hi sweetie.”
“El? Where’s Peter?”
Neal's words were terse and El could hear the underlying tension in his voice. “What’s wrong?” She asked.
“Everything’s fine, but I really need to speak with Peter. Can you get him, please?”
El knew a deflection when she heard one. She’d been Peter’s wife and Neal’s friend, then lover, for too long not to be able to read them both like a torrid romance novel. “He’s in the basement. Hold on.” El put the phone to her chest and walked over to the stairs. “Peter, Neal’s on the phone.”
“What’s so important that he can’t talk to me about it when he gets here?” Peter called up from somewhere in the depths of their cluttered basement with an exasperated huff.
El frowned and pressed the phone tighter against herself. “Hon, I think it’s important.”
Peter appeared at the bottom of the steps moments later. He furrowed his brows at the look on her face and then jogged up the stairs. She handed the phone to him the moment he reached the landing.
“Neal, what’s up buddy?”
“Peter,” Neal breathed a sigh, clearly relieved to hear his partner’s voice. “I’m a couple of blocks from the house, across the street, walking through the park. Someone’s following me.”
“Are you sure?” Peter replied as he headed quickly through the living room toward the stairwell and the second floor.
“Peter,” Neal retorted, incredulity clear in his tone.
“Yeah, okay. I’m on my way. Keep walking toward the house.”
“Roger that.”
Peter hung up and bounded up the stairs and into the bedroom to get his weapon out from the safe. El was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs with his coat in her hands. She held it open so he could easily slip it on.
“Bring him home, Peter.”
He nodded, kissed her cheek and took off out the door.
***
Neal shivered. When had he gotten so cold? Instinctively, he brought his hand up to his collar to tug it closer to his exposed neck, smearing his tailored white shirt with his blood. Despite the falling snow, the temperature had been mild, the air still and wind free when Neal left his apartment wearing just his suit jacket and hat. He was dearly missing his coat now.
He had taken a cab from June’s to Brooklyn, but had the driver pull over at the park that ran for several blocks across DeKalb from the Burke’s. It looked so beautiful with the snow falling gently among the trees spotlighted by the streetlamps that stood in formation along the pathway through the park. He got out of the cab, took a deep cleansing breath and started walking toward Peter and El’s. It was a perfect Christmas Eve. The snow falling, the air crisp, the trees coated in glistening white like nature's addition to the festive decorations. It all added to the warm flutter of anticipation that Neal felt over spending his first Christmas with Peter and El as their lover. He took a quick look at the large, glass ball he had painted with images of the three of them and Satchmo. It was a shame that he couldn't give it to El wrapped, but he had only finished the final flourishes just before leaving June's. Besides he thought with wicked glee, there would be plenty of things to unwrap later, up in the bedroom.
He had walked less than a block into the park when he sensed another presence. Unsurprisingly the path had been deserted when he entered, but it was New York. It was likely just someone out walking their dog, but Neal’s gut was tingling. And, while he didn’t place as much credence in its indistinct value as Peter did, he knew better than to completely ignore its warnings.
He picked up his pace and dug in his pocket for his phone. Halfway through the next block he was suddenly certain that he was being tailed, the footsteps behind him keeping perfect pace. Neal stepped up his stride one more time and pulled his phone from his pocket, quickly finding Peter’s number and hitting call.
***
The snow was coming down pretty hard when Peter stepped out of the house and headed down the front steps. The street was mostly empty, just one couple walking hand in hand to the east and one car heading west. An inch or two of new snow covered the sidewalk and DeKalb Avenue. Peter moved quickly, but not so fast that he risked slipping across the road and into the park. Once he was under the trees and walking briskly west he pulled out his service weapon and moved to intercept his partner.
Outside of the rings of light thrown off by the streetlamps the park was dark, the falling snow limiting the visibility and the trees drawing long, murky shadows across the scene. Peter knew that Neal would stick to the path, where the lighting was best and where Peter would have the greatest chance of locating him. He walked as quickly as he could, making sure to scan into the gloom around him as far as he could manage as he went.
At any other time, Peter knew he would see the beauty in this night, the gently falling snow coating the tree branches and the ground in sparkling white, the hush in the air, the deep December darkness, but now it all felt eerie and threatening. Neal wouldn't have called to ask for his help if he wasn't certain that he was in some danger. Peter stifled a shiver born of dread and kept moving.
Finally, in the distance he was able to discern a shadow just beyond the light of the next streetlamp on the path. A figure on the cold ground leaning up against the base of a large oak tree. "Neal!"
***
Neal watched as a particularly large flake of snow drifted past his face to land on his thigh and melt into the dark fabric of his slacks. It was big enough that he was able to see the individual crystals and the complex pattern they formed. He wished he had his sketch book and a pencil so he could capture it's unique beauty before the image faded from his mind.
He tried to follow another flake on its journey, but It was getting hard to keep his eyes open. He was so tired and it seemed like he had been waiting for Peter for a very long time. Maybe he should call him again. Neal fumbled ineffectually with his jacket pocket and then remembered that the first thing his attacker had done was slam into Neal's arm sending the phone flying off somewhere into the snow.
It had been stupid, really. Neal let himself get just distracted enough by his conversation with Peter to let the man who was following him close the gap between them. He hadn't been prepared when his attacker had shoved his arm. Neal's Italian leather shoes lost traction on the slippery snow from the momentum of the shove and as his phone flew in one direction his body spun in another until he was partially facing the man who hit him.
"Gimme your wallet and we can both walk away from this," the man growled. He was wearing a black, oversized hooded sweatshirt. With the hood pulled up over his head, the man's face was hidden in the shadows. Neal couldn't get a good look, but he could see that the man's eyes were dark and deep set. In his black-gloved hand he held a switchblade which he brandished at Neal's midsection to punctuate his words as he spoke.
Neal held up his now free hand. "Okay, it's in my inside pocket." Slowly, Neal reached into his suit jacket and withdrew his wallet from the liner pocket. The FBI consultant in him was certain there was some way for him to take his attacker down and restrain him until Peter, his backup and his partner, arrived. The conman in him knew immediately how very wrong that scenario could go and insisted he simply do as he was directed, if he had any intention of making it to Christmas Eve dinner with his lovers. He was unarmed and in no way prepared to square off against a guy desperate enough to go a mugging on Christmas Eve. So he held his wallet out.
The man grabbed it and without moving the blade from where it was pointed at Neal, quickly flipped through it. He scowled when he found nothing but Neal's i.d. and his three credit cards. "Where's the cash? A fancy guy like you's got a money clip somewhere."
Neal shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, but I don't. Even cabbies take plastic. I had no reason to carry any cash on my tonight."
In anger, the man tossed Neal's wallet into the snow off the path. Then he grabbed the hat off of Neal's head and snarled as he tossed it away too.
Neal really didn't like the direction this encounter was heading. His attacker was clearly volatile and becoming increasingly angry. He backed up a small step and said placatingly, "Look, I'm sorry, really. But, I have no cash to offer you. If I did I would have turned it over as freely as I did my wallet. Let's just go our separate ways and call it a night."
The man hesitated, apparently thinking about what Neal had said. "Sure, fancy boy, let's do that. Let's just go our separate ways and call it a merry Christmas Eve." His voice rose on the last syllables of his sentiment and his hand flashed forward.
Neal felt the ice cold metal slide into his body, just below his ribs on his left side. It seemed like an eternity passed before the blade was fully sheathed in him and his attacker's hand was pressed up against his wool jacket. He blinked and tried to draw in a breath, but it stuck in his throat. Then the blade was withdrawn and his attacker was gone.
Neal stumbled in the direction of his missing phone, calling for help seemed like the right idea, and found instead the red and gold ornament that he had painstakingly painted for Elizabeth lying broken in the snow. Bereft at the loss of his gift for her, he moved to pick it up and lost his balance, landing hard on his ass on the path, next to the truck of a large tree. Agony shot through his left side and he panted shallowly for a minute in the hopes that it would ease, that Peter would find him any second, that he had never decided to walk those last few blocks in the first place.
Eventually, the pain did get marginally better and Neal carefully pulled himself up to lean against the tree to wait for Peter to find him, once more time.
***
Peter ran to Neal, propelled by fear for his lover, completely uncaring about his own safety as he slipped precariously on the frozen ground. When he reached his fallen partner, he completed the fastest threat assessment of his life, holstered his weapon and dropped to his knees beside him. "Neal?"
Neal's eyes were open, but he didn't seem to see Peter. There was blood smeared on the collar of Neal's shirt and his left hand, but Peter couldn't tell immediately what Neal's injuries were. "Neal?" He called again, placing his hand lightly on his partner's cheek. Neal's skin was pale and freezing cold.
He blinked at the touch and his eyes found Peter's. "Peter."
"I'm here." Peter murmured, relieved that Neal was back with him. "We're going to get you some help, okay? Can you tell me where you're hurt?" He started carefully patting Neal down, looking for injuries.
"It broke," Neal whispered. He was looking at something behind Peter as he spoke.
"What broke, buddy?" Peter replied absently as he focused on working his hands down Neal's chest.
"El's present. It broke. Tell her, tell her I'm sorry."
Peter turned his head to see what Neal was talking about and spied the remains of a delicate gold and red Christmas ornament discarded in the snow.
"It's okay," Peter soothed. "We can get El another one, once we get you home warm and safe, okay?"
Neal nodded absently, and then suddenly tensed, sucking in a sharp breath when Peter's hand probed the area just below his ribs.
Peter swore when his fingers came away sticky and dark red with his partner's blood. He reached into his pocket and grabbed for his phone. He dialed 911 and then stripped off his coat and pressed it against Neal's wound to try to staunch the bleeding while he spoke with the operator. At some point while Peter was attempting to give them a precise location, Neal's eyes closed.
Peter's fear for his lover grew and he called out hoping to rouse him. "Neal, open your eyes, buddy. Neal?"
***
It was very late on Christmas Eve, nearly Christmas morning in fact, when Neal finally opened his eyes again. Everything was still white and hazy and Neal blinked to try and focus his bleary vision. When that failed, he tried to use his hand to wipe the blur away, but for some reason he couldn't lift it from where it lay at his side. He sighed, tentatively drawing in air; he felt exhausted and vaguely nauseated.
There was movement beside him and Neal turned his head to see Peter and a sleeping Elizabeth sitting beside him. Peter moved closer to bed, a tired smile on his face. "Hey buddy, welcome back," Peter whispered, squeezing Neal's hand gently.
"Peter. Where?"
"At the hospital," Peter answered. "Do you remember what happened?"
Neal nodded. He remembered how beautiful the snow looked as it glittered in the light from the streetlamps. He remembered being followed, calling Peter. He remembered seeing Elizabeth's Christmas present lying broken. He really wanted to forget what had happened in between.
Neal's eyes had glazed over and Peter squeezed his partner's hand again and used his free hand to brush Neal's curls off his forehead. "Hey, it's okay. You're going to be fine."
Neal leaned into Peter's touch, feeling a little sick and guilty about ruining Christmas. "I'm sorry."
Peter frowned. "For what?"
Neal let his eyes slide around the room. "For this. This isn't how I wanted our first Christmas together to go."
Peter shrugged. "Me neither. But, I'm thankful that I have this. The people that I love most in the world with me, safe and soon to be whole." Neal thought he saw a sheen in his older partner's eyes. "You're a gift Neal, you and El, precious gifts. And, every day that I wake up with you both in my life is Christmas." Peter smiled down at him, the smile that Neal knew meant he was loved and cherished. "Merry Christmas, Neal."
Neal swallowed back on the lump that had formed in his throat and nodded. "Merry Christmas, Peter."
Word Count: ~2775
Rating: PG13
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, P/E/N
Spoilers: None
Warnings: A little squicky.
Summary: Neal has an unfortunate encounter on Christmas Eve. Post-series, not season six compliant.
Written to complement
kanarek13's beautiful art found here. A/N: This is a little holiday gift for the lovely and amazing
kanarek13 for her brilliance, her generosity and her thoughtfulness. Merry Christmas! 'Twas the Night Before Christmas
Neal blinked in an attempt to clear his vision. The falling snow was clumping in his long eyelashes, blurring his view of the park around him. He took a shallow breath and blinked again. His vision cleared slightly and Neal could just discern the hazy red and gold of the Christmas ornament he had made for Elizabeth lying broken in the snow just beyond his extended leg. He should have put it in a box. But the final touches of paint weren’t completely dry when he left his apartment and he didn’t want them to smudge. El was going to be so disappointed.
He took another shallow breath and as the cold air hit his lungs pain lanced through him starting from the spot that burned ominously just below his ribs. Neal moved his shaking left hand to his side. The touch made the pain burn brighter and his fingers came away warm, sticky and wet from his blood. That couldn't be good.
***
Elizabeth was in the kitchen taking the rib roast for Christmas Eve dinner out of the oven when Peter’s cell phone rang. He had left it on the counter when she had asked him to run down to the basement to find the centerpiece she had decided to use on the table.
She placed the roasting pan down on the trivet on the island and then reached for her husband’s phone. She smiled when she saw Neal’s name on the screen. “Hi sweetie.”
“El? Where’s Peter?”
Neal's words were terse and El could hear the underlying tension in his voice. “What’s wrong?” She asked.
“Everything’s fine, but I really need to speak with Peter. Can you get him, please?”
El knew a deflection when she heard one. She’d been Peter’s wife and Neal’s friend, then lover, for too long not to be able to read them both like a torrid romance novel. “He’s in the basement. Hold on.” El put the phone to her chest and walked over to the stairs. “Peter, Neal’s on the phone.”
“What’s so important that he can’t talk to me about it when he gets here?” Peter called up from somewhere in the depths of their cluttered basement with an exasperated huff.
El frowned and pressed the phone tighter against herself. “Hon, I think it’s important.”
Peter appeared at the bottom of the steps moments later. He furrowed his brows at the look on her face and then jogged up the stairs. She handed the phone to him the moment he reached the landing.
“Neal, what’s up buddy?”
“Peter,” Neal breathed a sigh, clearly relieved to hear his partner’s voice. “I’m a couple of blocks from the house, across the street, walking through the park. Someone’s following me.”
“Are you sure?” Peter replied as he headed quickly through the living room toward the stairwell and the second floor.
“Peter,” Neal retorted, incredulity clear in his tone.
“Yeah, okay. I’m on my way. Keep walking toward the house.”
“Roger that.”
Peter hung up and bounded up the stairs and into the bedroom to get his weapon out from the safe. El was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs with his coat in her hands. She held it open so he could easily slip it on.
“Bring him home, Peter.”
He nodded, kissed her cheek and took off out the door.
***
Neal shivered. When had he gotten so cold? Instinctively, he brought his hand up to his collar to tug it closer to his exposed neck, smearing his tailored white shirt with his blood. Despite the falling snow, the temperature had been mild, the air still and wind free when Neal left his apartment wearing just his suit jacket and hat. He was dearly missing his coat now.
He had taken a cab from June’s to Brooklyn, but had the driver pull over at the park that ran for several blocks across DeKalb from the Burke’s. It looked so beautiful with the snow falling gently among the trees spotlighted by the streetlamps that stood in formation along the pathway through the park. He got out of the cab, took a deep cleansing breath and started walking toward Peter and El’s. It was a perfect Christmas Eve. The snow falling, the air crisp, the trees coated in glistening white like nature's addition to the festive decorations. It all added to the warm flutter of anticipation that Neal felt over spending his first Christmas with Peter and El as their lover. He took a quick look at the large, glass ball he had painted with images of the three of them and Satchmo. It was a shame that he couldn't give it to El wrapped, but he had only finished the final flourishes just before leaving June's. Besides he thought with wicked glee, there would be plenty of things to unwrap later, up in the bedroom.
He had walked less than a block into the park when he sensed another presence. Unsurprisingly the path had been deserted when he entered, but it was New York. It was likely just someone out walking their dog, but Neal’s gut was tingling. And, while he didn’t place as much credence in its indistinct value as Peter did, he knew better than to completely ignore its warnings.
He picked up his pace and dug in his pocket for his phone. Halfway through the next block he was suddenly certain that he was being tailed, the footsteps behind him keeping perfect pace. Neal stepped up his stride one more time and pulled his phone from his pocket, quickly finding Peter’s number and hitting call.
***
The snow was coming down pretty hard when Peter stepped out of the house and headed down the front steps. The street was mostly empty, just one couple walking hand in hand to the east and one car heading west. An inch or two of new snow covered the sidewalk and DeKalb Avenue. Peter moved quickly, but not so fast that he risked slipping across the road and into the park. Once he was under the trees and walking briskly west he pulled out his service weapon and moved to intercept his partner.
Outside of the rings of light thrown off by the streetlamps the park was dark, the falling snow limiting the visibility and the trees drawing long, murky shadows across the scene. Peter knew that Neal would stick to the path, where the lighting was best and where Peter would have the greatest chance of locating him. He walked as quickly as he could, making sure to scan into the gloom around him as far as he could manage as he went.
At any other time, Peter knew he would see the beauty in this night, the gently falling snow coating the tree branches and the ground in sparkling white, the hush in the air, the deep December darkness, but now it all felt eerie and threatening. Neal wouldn't have called to ask for his help if he wasn't certain that he was in some danger. Peter stifled a shiver born of dread and kept moving.
Finally, in the distance he was able to discern a shadow just beyond the light of the next streetlamp on the path. A figure on the cold ground leaning up against the base of a large oak tree. "Neal!"
***
Neal watched as a particularly large flake of snow drifted past his face to land on his thigh and melt into the dark fabric of his slacks. It was big enough that he was able to see the individual crystals and the complex pattern they formed. He wished he had his sketch book and a pencil so he could capture it's unique beauty before the image faded from his mind.
He tried to follow another flake on its journey, but It was getting hard to keep his eyes open. He was so tired and it seemed like he had been waiting for Peter for a very long time. Maybe he should call him again. Neal fumbled ineffectually with his jacket pocket and then remembered that the first thing his attacker had done was slam into Neal's arm sending the phone flying off somewhere into the snow.
It had been stupid, really. Neal let himself get just distracted enough by his conversation with Peter to let the man who was following him close the gap between them. He hadn't been prepared when his attacker had shoved his arm. Neal's Italian leather shoes lost traction on the slippery snow from the momentum of the shove and as his phone flew in one direction his body spun in another until he was partially facing the man who hit him.
"Gimme your wallet and we can both walk away from this," the man growled. He was wearing a black, oversized hooded sweatshirt. With the hood pulled up over his head, the man's face was hidden in the shadows. Neal couldn't get a good look, but he could see that the man's eyes were dark and deep set. In his black-gloved hand he held a switchblade which he brandished at Neal's midsection to punctuate his words as he spoke.
Neal held up his now free hand. "Okay, it's in my inside pocket." Slowly, Neal reached into his suit jacket and withdrew his wallet from the liner pocket. The FBI consultant in him was certain there was some way for him to take his attacker down and restrain him until Peter, his backup and his partner, arrived. The conman in him knew immediately how very wrong that scenario could go and insisted he simply do as he was directed, if he had any intention of making it to Christmas Eve dinner with his lovers. He was unarmed and in no way prepared to square off against a guy desperate enough to go a mugging on Christmas Eve. So he held his wallet out.
The man grabbed it and without moving the blade from where it was pointed at Neal, quickly flipped through it. He scowled when he found nothing but Neal's i.d. and his three credit cards. "Where's the cash? A fancy guy like you's got a money clip somewhere."
Neal shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, but I don't. Even cabbies take plastic. I had no reason to carry any cash on my tonight."
In anger, the man tossed Neal's wallet into the snow off the path. Then he grabbed the hat off of Neal's head and snarled as he tossed it away too.
Neal really didn't like the direction this encounter was heading. His attacker was clearly volatile and becoming increasingly angry. He backed up a small step and said placatingly, "Look, I'm sorry, really. But, I have no cash to offer you. If I did I would have turned it over as freely as I did my wallet. Let's just go our separate ways and call it a night."
The man hesitated, apparently thinking about what Neal had said. "Sure, fancy boy, let's do that. Let's just go our separate ways and call it a merry Christmas Eve." His voice rose on the last syllables of his sentiment and his hand flashed forward.
Neal felt the ice cold metal slide into his body, just below his ribs on his left side. It seemed like an eternity passed before the blade was fully sheathed in him and his attacker's hand was pressed up against his wool jacket. He blinked and tried to draw in a breath, but it stuck in his throat. Then the blade was withdrawn and his attacker was gone.
Neal stumbled in the direction of his missing phone, calling for help seemed like the right idea, and found instead the red and gold ornament that he had painstakingly painted for Elizabeth lying broken in the snow. Bereft at the loss of his gift for her, he moved to pick it up and lost his balance, landing hard on his ass on the path, next to the truck of a large tree. Agony shot through his left side and he panted shallowly for a minute in the hopes that it would ease, that Peter would find him any second, that he had never decided to walk those last few blocks in the first place.
Eventually, the pain did get marginally better and Neal carefully pulled himself up to lean against the tree to wait for Peter to find him, once more time.
***
Peter ran to Neal, propelled by fear for his lover, completely uncaring about his own safety as he slipped precariously on the frozen ground. When he reached his fallen partner, he completed the fastest threat assessment of his life, holstered his weapon and dropped to his knees beside him. "Neal?"
Neal's eyes were open, but he didn't seem to see Peter. There was blood smeared on the collar of Neal's shirt and his left hand, but Peter couldn't tell immediately what Neal's injuries were. "Neal?" He called again, placing his hand lightly on his partner's cheek. Neal's skin was pale and freezing cold.
He blinked at the touch and his eyes found Peter's. "Peter."
"I'm here." Peter murmured, relieved that Neal was back with him. "We're going to get you some help, okay? Can you tell me where you're hurt?" He started carefully patting Neal down, looking for injuries.
"It broke," Neal whispered. He was looking at something behind Peter as he spoke.
"What broke, buddy?" Peter replied absently as he focused on working his hands down Neal's chest.
"El's present. It broke. Tell her, tell her I'm sorry."
Peter turned his head to see what Neal was talking about and spied the remains of a delicate gold and red Christmas ornament discarded in the snow.
"It's okay," Peter soothed. "We can get El another one, once we get you home warm and safe, okay?"
Neal nodded absently, and then suddenly tensed, sucking in a sharp breath when Peter's hand probed the area just below his ribs.
Peter swore when his fingers came away sticky and dark red with his partner's blood. He reached into his pocket and grabbed for his phone. He dialed 911 and then stripped off his coat and pressed it against Neal's wound to try to staunch the bleeding while he spoke with the operator. At some point while Peter was attempting to give them a precise location, Neal's eyes closed.
Peter's fear for his lover grew and he called out hoping to rouse him. "Neal, open your eyes, buddy. Neal?"
***
It was very late on Christmas Eve, nearly Christmas morning in fact, when Neal finally opened his eyes again. Everything was still white and hazy and Neal blinked to try and focus his bleary vision. When that failed, he tried to use his hand to wipe the blur away, but for some reason he couldn't lift it from where it lay at his side. He sighed, tentatively drawing in air; he felt exhausted and vaguely nauseated.
There was movement beside him and Neal turned his head to see Peter and a sleeping Elizabeth sitting beside him. Peter moved closer to bed, a tired smile on his face. "Hey buddy, welcome back," Peter whispered, squeezing Neal's hand gently.
"Peter. Where?"
"At the hospital," Peter answered. "Do you remember what happened?"
Neal nodded. He remembered how beautiful the snow looked as it glittered in the light from the streetlamps. He remembered being followed, calling Peter. He remembered seeing Elizabeth's Christmas present lying broken. He really wanted to forget what had happened in between.
Neal's eyes had glazed over and Peter squeezed his partner's hand again and used his free hand to brush Neal's curls off his forehead. "Hey, it's okay. You're going to be fine."
Neal leaned into Peter's touch, feeling a little sick and guilty about ruining Christmas. "I'm sorry."
Peter frowned. "For what?"
Neal let his eyes slide around the room. "For this. This isn't how I wanted our first Christmas together to go."
Peter shrugged. "Me neither. But, I'm thankful that I have this. The people that I love most in the world with me, safe and soon to be whole." Neal thought he saw a sheen in his older partner's eyes. "You're a gift Neal, you and El, precious gifts. And, every day that I wake up with you both in my life is Christmas." Peter smiled down at him, the smile that Neal knew meant he was loved and cherished. "Merry Christmas, Neal."
Neal swallowed back on the lump that had formed in his throat and nodded. "Merry Christmas, Peter."
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