Sunday evening. January 2, 2005.
"Tell me about it," Henry said after Peter left.
"He already told you," Neal said.
Yeah, Peter had told him, but Henry hoped to hear it in Neal's words to get a clue as to how to help him get past it. "You gonna keep staring at that menu, or call room service?"
"Food'll get cold in here," Neal said, gesturing toward the air conditioning vents. "Let's hit the beach."
Henry followed. They both often found it easier to relax outdoors, especially when they felt trapped, and he thought that was part of the reason Neal was happy living in his loft with the massive terrace – easy to get outside and think stuff through. Neal was almost on the beach when he suddenly turned and ordered a banana shake from one of the beach-side shacks that sold drinks.
For a while they sat on the sand, listening to the crashing waves, while Neal drank his shake.
There was something familiar about this, and Henry kept trying to figure out what it was. He'd never been to Hawaii before. In the years he'd traveled with Neal, they hadn't spent a lot of time on beaches. Last time had been in the Florida Keys, and they'd tried paddle boarding and snorkeling. They'd been busy and active, not chilling on a beach, so why did he feel a sense of déjà vu?
Neal finished the shake and lay back on the towel, staring up at the stars.
"I'm gonna get a burger from that restaurant down the beach," Henry said. "Want anything?"
Neal handed him the empty cup.
"Refill?"
"Yeah."
Henry scrambled to his feet. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." A few minutes later he returned and handed Neal a fresh shake. He'd eaten half his burger on the walk, and sat down to devour the rest. The teriyaki sauce was fantastic. "You sure you don't want to try one of these?" he asked Neal as he crumbled up the wrapper. "I could get you one fast. Line's real short right now." He put the wrapper in the bag and drew out a package of fries. "And these fries, man. C'mon, take one." He looked at Neal, who was sitting up again and savoring the shake.
Neal shook his head.
"More for me then," said Henry. He thought he saw Neal shiver, which was odd. The sun had gone down but it was still in the mid-seventies. He almost warned Neal to take it slow and avoid brain freeze, but honestly he was drinking that shake so slowly you'd think he was trying to make it last all night. And then the memory that had been eluding him popped into place.
Oh, no.
"Peter said you did great work this afternoon. He was impressed by your con. Said he'd never seen anyone act so cold."
"Mozz was worried I'd lose my touch, but I've still got it. I'll always have it."
At last, a response. And he heard it now. It had probably been there all along, but Neal had been suppressing it and Henry hadn't been listening for it. Neal's voice was slightly raspy. It wasn't just overuse from the concert, not two days later. "Maybe it's easier to act cold when you're feeling chilled?"
"What are you...? Hey!" Neal turned away but wasn't quick enough, not now. Henry got a hand on his forehead.
"You're running a fever. I should have realized. Not hungry, not talking, just wanting to be alone. Classic sick Neal." Henry stood up and walked over to a trash bin to get rid of the remnants of his dinner, and then returned to Neal, both hands extended. "We're not two runaways anymore, Neal. We've both got jobs with health insurance. Time to visit a clinic."
Neal begrudgingly grabbed Henry's hands and accepted the help pulling himself to his feet. "Just need sleep," he suggested, but Henry wasn't going to be satisfied until Neal saw a doctor.
###
When they got back to the hotel room, Edmund and Irene were anxiously waiting for them. So were Peter and Elizabeth.
"I thought you were going to stay here and order room service," Peter said as soon as they walked inside.
Neal rubbed his face.
"Go on," Henry said gently with a pat on his back. "I got this. You should get some sleep."
Neal nodded and yawned. He clutched a bottle of water as he shambled toward his room.
Henry held up a bag from a local pharmacy. "I figured out what was wrong with Neal. Strep throat. It was bothering him a little last night, and then suddenly got worse this afternoon. Doctor gave him antibiotics and said he won't be contagious after twenty-four hours. Should be fine to fly back home as planned on Thursday. We've got some stuff from the drug store to keep his fever down and reduce the pain and swelling in his throat. Fortunately he's craving banana milkshakes, because he's got a lot of liquids and soft foods on his menu the next couple of days."
Irene walked up to her oldest grandson and hugged him. While she had him in her embrace, she ran a hand along his cheek, checking for a fever.
"I'm fine," he insisted.
"Yes, but get plenty of rest. I'd rather have you healthy and helping me take care of Neal, than needing to take care of you both."
There was an odd knock on the door, and Edmund opened it to Mozzie. "Where's Neal?" he asked. "Tulane's already been in contact. I need him to..." Mozzie trailed off as he noticed Peter.
"Go on," Peter invited.
"Where's Neal?" he repeated, looking around.
"Poor boy's in bed, running a fever," Irene explained. "The doctor said it's strep throat. You may want to be watchful for symptoms. You spent the afternoon with him?"
Mozzie backed away, one hand over his mouth. It wasn't easy to hear what he was muttering, but it seemed to be a list, including: antibacterial soap, saltwater gargle, and then he'd closed the door behind him and could be heard running down the hall.
###
Neal drifted in and out of sleep. He was tired, but too uncomfortable to rest deeply. When the door opened, he rolled over from his back to his side to face Henry.
"Thought you might want more." Henry set a full glass of water next to the empty one on the nightstand.
"Thanks. Did I hear Mozzie?"
"Yeah. Ran out as soon as he heard you were sick." Henry sat on his bed. "Need anything?"
Neal shook his head.
"Probably should take the pills the pharmacy gave us." Henry opened the bag and read the instructions on the bottles. "First one says you should take two every four hours until we run out or your throat stops hurting. The one for your fever is every six hours." He popped the lids and poured the prescribed pills into his hand. "Here."
"No, I can't."
"Listen, kiddo, I'm sure swallowing these doesn't sound fun, but they're gonna make you feel better."
"It's not that." Neal sat up. He cleared his throat, which was a painful exercise he hoped he wouldn't need to repeat often. "The doctor asked if I'd been drinking."
"Yeah, you said you hadn't."
"Forgot." Neal drank some water. "At Tulane's. Brandy." He gave up on talking and held up three fingers.
Henry pulled a sheet of paper with very fine print out of the bag. "Drug interactions. Here we go. Alcohol." He read it through. "Well, you can either suffer another few hours before you take these, or you can take them and be very sleepy and loopy and have some vivid dreams. However, it sounds like alcohol or not, those are potential side effects. The alcohol just intensifies it."
"You'll stay?" Neal asked.
"I'll be here. I won't let you do anything too wild." He grinned. "And I won't let anyone record you either."
Neal held out a hand for the pills. On his last trip to a hospital the pain medication made him think Peter was a dinosaur and El was a bumblebee. It couldn't get worse than that. Swallowing the pills was as awful as he expected. After glugging more water, he settled back into the bed and willed the medicine to take effect. He dozed, occasionally opening his eyes to see Henry across the room, reading a psychology journal.
And he dreamed. In some of the dreams he'd never given up the life of crime. He pictured himself participating in the Uffizi job Tulane had described. He imagined going to Myanmar to steal rubies. He envisioned forgeries he'd never gotten around to. One dream even featured retiring to an island and building the Manhattan skyline as sand castles. But a component to all of those dreams was the threat of capture. He hadn't made friends in the FBI. Instead he was on their most wanted list. Often he woke panting, as if he was being chased. The last time was so intense he was sweating and tossed the covers off. Henry gave him another set of pills to bring down his fever, and he fell asleep again.
This time he slept longer and dreamed even more vividly. The con he'd spun for Tulane had come true. His life with the Caffreys was a hoax. He didn't really belong and felt constant pressure to stay a step ahead of them. At first he looked down on them for believing him. Their happy lives were a silly illusion. They kept trying to pull him in, but he refused. Being an outsider was part of his allure to them, part of what made the con work. He was cold, inside and out.
"Cold," he said aloud, and then he felt warmer, as if someone had pulled a blanket over him.
And then things changed. It was harder to stay outside their circle. Their warmth seemed to have expanded to include him before he realized it had happened. It was harder to keep his distance, and harder to keep secrets. Henry, in particular, was on the verge of figuring out that Neal had been lying to them. The con was going to fall apart. He'd made a stupid, greedy mistake. Now that he valued this family, now that he truly considered them to be his friends, he was about to lose them.
"Why, Neal?" they asked. "You stole the Raphael. After everything we gave you, why?"
Because he craved the adventure, the challenge. Because it didn't matter how much they gave him or did for him, he'd always want more. Because happy endings weren't for guys like him. Because he was a criminal at heart.
"It's a lie," he admitted to Henry when he knew the truth couldn't be hidden anymore. "It's all a lie. I'm not who you think. You don't know who I am."
"We know you," Henry said, reassuringly. Why wasn't he yelling, or walking away?
Neal blinked. "You're still here."
"Not going anywhere, kiddo. I promised. Sit up now. Time for more pills. And if you're up to it, you really ought to eat something."
He did as instructed, and after he swallowed the pills asked, "I'm really your brother?"
"Yeah. Is that what that last dream was about? Scared of having a big brother to keep you on the straight and narrow?"
"Like you'd recognize the straight and narrow." Neal reached for a glass of water, but it was empty.
"Here." Henry handed him a full one.
"What time is it?" Neal wondered.
"About 8am on Tuesday. Think you're up to a shower and then hanging out with Dor and Dressa in the suite? They're worried about you, and you're not contagious anymore."
"Yeah, let's try."
"What do you want for breakfast? We'll call room service."
"Banana smoothie."
"And?"
"Another banana smoothie. Keep 'em coming."
"Okay. Maybe we'll add on some scrambled eggs to make things interesting."