dasleidenderanderen

[dasleidenderanderen]

Neal and the fever

4

Some Tylenol, water and sleep later, Neal had been feeling a little better. El had been most concerned, when she came home to find him asleep in her living room. “You need to drink a lot”, she had stated and then made him drink one tea after another. In the late afternoon, he felt a little more human again and managed to eat a big bowl of chicken noodle soup, El had been cooking for him. It was later, when the three of them were sitting in the living room, a sports-game running on TV, when Neal started to feel … strange. He shuffled a little, trying to find a more comfortable position, but lying down only made that strange feeling worse and he carefully sat up again. “Are you alright?”, Peter asked. Neal wagged his head. “I think I’m starting to feel a little sick.” To his surprise, Peter wordlessly got up from his chair, putting his hand against Neal’s neck. “Well, your fever is spiking I think. How about some more Tylenol.” Neal slowly shook his head. His stomach was feeling really off by now. Hollow and to full at the same time. He swallowed, having suddenly to much saliva in his mouth. “Alright, maybe some ginger tea then”, El suggested. Neal again shook his head, frantically this time. His spittle was flooding his mouth and the bathroom was upstairs. “Bucket!”, he croaked. Peter seemed to get on a lot faster to the situation then his wife. He quickly grabbed the bin next to the bookshelf, pushing it on Neal’s lap who immediately curled around it, his knuckles white as he latched on its rim. He sat there, panting, his mouth wide open, as extensive saliva dripped on the used tissues at the bottom of the bin. He could feel it, the contents of his stomach, sloshing around. A shiver ran down his spine and cold sweat broke on his skin. He could already taste it. The chicken. The flavours. The bile. It made him shudder. He felt his stomach muscles cramp, felt his breathing stop, his throat contract. And then it shot from his mouth, from his nose and into the bin on his lap. A thick mix of noodles, and vegetables, and chicken, and stomach acid. He barely had time to take a breath before his stomach contracted again, sending a huge gush of more watered down soup up his oesophagus, the more solid contents making him cough and gag, as they passed his throat. He shook his head, spitting, panting. Someone was rubbing his back, up and down. Someone was talking, but his ears were ringing. His nose was clogged. It felt disgusting. “Just get it all up.” Elizabeth’s voice made it through the ringing in his head. His whole body was shaking as he sucked in a few quick breaths. The pressure in his lower oesophagus grew again. He knew what would be coming. His breathing became even quicker, and he tightly shut his eyes, while tightening his handle around the bin. A torrent of mostly tea was pushed to his mouth, splashing on his half digested lunch in the bin. And then it was over.

He sat there, panting, his eyes tearing, his nose dripping, not daring to move an inch, still shaking, feeling absolutely spent.

After a few minutes someone carefully pried, the bin from his fingers, handing him a glass of water and some tissues. He rinsed his mouth. He blew his nose, rubbed his eyes, cleaned his face.

They waited. But nothing happened. Finally Elizabeth coaxed him into lying down, his head was resting in her lap, a clean bucket right next to them. Just in case.

--------- End-----

#White collar #Neal #Peter #Elizabeth #sick #sickfic #fever #whump #h/c #puking #Neal and the fever

[dasleidenderanderen]

Neal and the fever

3

“Good morning”, Peter chipped, as Neal got into his car.

“Hm”, was the very eloquent answer he got.

Someone seemed to be having a grumpy day.

He watched as Neal settled himself in his seat, tugging his coat a little tighter around his slender frame. Outside it was freezing and the icy streets had been the reason for Peter being a little late. So probably Neal had been standing a bit longer in the cold than he would have liked. Shrugging Peter turned up the heating and slowly they started back on the streets and towards the office.

Today would be an important day. For month they had been working on a case, collecting data, evidence and on Neal’s part: conning people into getting them crucial information. And today there would be showdown. Today they would have the opportunity to get the whole pack of them red handed during a handing over.

If only the weather would not disturb their plan to badly…

Had he not been as deeply in thoughts about their mission, maybe he would have become aware of the frequency of Neal discretely clearing his throat. Or the fact, he had not been saying a single word since he stepped in the car.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was about three hours later, that they were siting in the back of their van, listening in to Neal playing a middle-man wanting to have a shady deal involving laundered money earned by drugs and human trafficking.

Peter moved his earbud a little. Somehow Neal’s voice did have an unusual tone. Changing the position did not solve it. Probably some kind of loose connection. He made a mental note to get a new one as soon as they finished.

And it was then, that Neal said the codeword.

Giving the signal to their SWAT-team on standby, Peter jumped from the car, Diana and Clinton right behind him.

The door had by then been broken down and most of the criminals were already secured, when Peter entered the warehouse.

After making sure, all was going as planed, and non of the felons had managed to escaped, he started looking for Neal.

It took him a few minutes until he found him a little offside, sitting on a wooden crate.

“Well done!”

Neal nodded, wincing a bit, as he did.

Peter felt his skin growing cold. Did he miss something?

“Are you hurt?” He was walking faster, crossing the distance dividing him from the younger man, while eyeing him closely.

Neal shook his head.

“No”, he said, with a voice more like a croak. He was starting to say more, but his breath caught in his throat and he had to stop to cough. It sounded painful.

“Are you sure?”, Peter asked, getting to one knee beside him, putting his hand against Neal’s shoulder, steadying him a little.

Neal took a careful breath and cleared his throat. “Yes, it’s just my throat. Has been bothering me for some time.”

Peter withstood the urge to his himself. And here he had been thinking his earplug was defect.

“Alright, how about I talk to a few people for a second and then we can make it out of here?”

“Sounds good”, Neal said, giving a small smile, that did not really reach his eyes.

Neal had not moved from his improvised seat, when Peter came back a few minutes later. But he had leant back, sitting now with his back against the wall. His eyes were closed.

“Ready to go?”, Peter asked.

“Hm?” Neal opened his eyes, squinting and blinking a few times.

Following some sudden inspiration, Peter reached out to touch his cheek.

“Fuck, Neal, your burning up!”

“Really?” Neal tentatively touched his forehead, obviously confused.

“Come on, let’s get you home, before you melt down that precious brain of yours.”

Neal carefully rose to his feet, lacking the natural elegance he usually sported.

As soon as he was upright, he suddenly pressed shut his eyes, blindly reaching to his side, as he swayed dangerously.

Peter hastily grabbed him by his arm, keeping him from loosing his balance.

“You need to sit down again?”

Neal slowly shook his head.

“Only a bit light-headed. Just give me a second.” He blinked, rubbing with his free hand at his squinting eyes. “Nhgh, my head is killing me”, he croaked, his face all pale.

Peter did not like this at all.

Pulling Neal’s arm around his shoulder, he started looking out for Clinton or Diana. Finally spotting the female agent not to fare from them, going through some papers.

“Hey Diana!”, he called to get her attention, making Neal unintentionally flinch.

The agent rose her head, looking around, her mouth forming a unspoken question as she got aware of Peter and Neal.

Putting down the papers in her hand, she quickly walked towards them.

“Is he hurt? Do we need an ambulance?”

Peter shook his head.

“No, but he’s sick. I’ll bring him home.”

Without another word of him, Diana got to Neal’s other side, taking his free arm. Keeping him stable, they shuffled their way through the maze of crates and people, earning themselves some worried glanced and questions as they went.

As soon as they were outside, someone had already organized for a car to be ready for them and not for the first time, Peter was proud for their team.

During all this, Neal had been awfully quiet, letting himself being leat outside and helped in the car.

He immediately leant back in his seat, closing his eyes.

Peter gave him another once-over, quietly talking a few words with Diana. She hurried away, coming back a few minutes later, a firm bag of plastic in her hand.

Peter thanked her, closing Neal’s door and got into the car himself.

He put the bag on Neal’s lap. Neal carefully opened his eyes, pulling up one of his eyebrows in question.

“Just to be safe”, Peter said, starting the engine.

Besides him Neal curled up in his seat and soon seemed to have fallen asleep.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Neal woke with a start, from some strange dream he could not remember. His throat was hurting, his head was hurting and every muscle in his body felt as if he had been doing a power workout. They were still in the car, somewhere on the highway. The clock of the car told him he had been asleep for not even fifteen minutes. “You awake?”, Peter asked, not taking his eyes from the street in front of them as he passed a slower car. “Mhm.”Neal felt the car first going to one site, than to the other, while the scenery around them swam with the movement and his brain seemed to slow to keep up with the change. He closed his eyes, trying to fight of the dizzying sensation. His fingers felt the plastic bag Diana had given him before. “How do you feel?” “Not so sure”, he ground out. He could hear the rustling of Peter’s cloths, as he quickly had a look at him. “We will soon be off the highway. Do you need me to pull over?” Neal thought about it. He felt a little sick, but he probably would be able to shake it off. “No, but maybe you can go a little slower.” Slowing down the car a little, Peter carefully changed to the right line. Neal kept his eyes closed, breathing through his nose, nodding off a few minutes later.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

They were already back in the city, when Neal woke up with a start with some hot pressure in his stomach and throat. He hastily fumbled with the bag in his hands, his brain still feeling a little mushy. Not to soon he managed to find the opening, as a gag forced up some burning acid in his mouth, followed by something more solid and evil tasting. The taste and feeling was enough to coax another gag from him and quickly he held his head over the bag, as some of the coffee and egg he had for breakfast made an unwelcome reappearance. Next to him Peter cursed. “Just another block, and we will be there. Do you want me to stop?” “N..o”, Neal miserably retched, pressing his eyes shut, coughing up a half digested bite of toast. “Just .. keep going.” He panted, trying to calm his breathing, his body on autopilot. He gagged again, his shoulders rolling, bringing up a wetly belch but nothing else. It felt disgusting and his whole body was shaken by a shudder. “You’re doing fine”, Peter said, his voice full of sympathy. “Just get it out and you will feel better.” With his right hand he started to rub Neal’s back in slow circles, as he steered the car with his left hand only, stopping at the side of the road. Another gag made Neal curl in on himself, but nothing came up. He spat in the bag, trying to get rid of the hideous taste coating his tongue. “It’s alright”, Peter coaxed. “Just keep breathing.” Neal did his best fighting of another dry heave, breathing carefully. Finally he was able to lift his head. “That’s not June’s place.” His voice was even more strained than before. “No, but El would kill me if I just deposited you in your flat with the fever your running and the fact you nearly keeled over in that warehouse. Do you think you’re ready to go inside or do we need to wait a bit more?” “I think it’s safe for now.” Securing the nasty bag Neal opened his door. Peter already awaited him, having hurried around the car. Together they made it to the front yard, where they got rid of the bag in one of Peter’s trash cans. Neal was shaking with exhaustion, when finally they reached the door. Peter quickly opened it, bringing Neal to his couch, helping him to sit. He then vanished to get some supplies.

TBC

#White Collar #Neal #Peter #sickfic #fever #h/c #puking #Neal and the fever

[dasleidenderanderen]

Neal and the fever

2

Neal stood in front of the Burke’s door, a bottle of wine in the crook of his arm, waiting for them to let him inside.

The lock clicked.

“Neal, so nice to see you!”, Elizabeth greeted him with a smile. She stepped aside, and he entered the house.

“It really has been some time. Sorry I couldn’t make it last week.”

“Well Peter had told me you had been quite busy with that undercover case. Even if he could not tell me what you were working on.”

“Oh, I brought you something”, Neal suddenly exclaimed, holding up the bottle he chose for his host.

El expertly eyed the label, approving it with a nod. “Thank you, that will be just right for the our meal. Very considerate of you.”

She led him to the kitchen, making him seat at the counter, while she made herself busy at the stove, pulling an apron over her nice looking dress.

“Peter should be down any minute.”

As if being summoned by her words Peter’s steps could be heard on the stairs.

“Hi there Neal, glad you could make it.” He turned to is wife. “That’s smelling great.”

“That you. How about you put some plates on the table and we will be able to have dinner in a few minutes.”

Later, with there stomachs filled, the three of them were sitting in the living room, talking with some of El’s wine – and in Peter’s case a beer – in hand.

Neal realized he had trouble concentrating. Maybe he had been indulged a little to much with Elizabeth’ cooking.

He put his still half filled glass on the table, stretching his neck a little, blinking his eyes.

Only when Peter stopped talking, he realized the other two were eyeing him.

“You alright?”, Peter asked.

“Just tired, I guess. I think a will call it a night and get a taxi home.”

“You could also have the guest room”, Elizabeth offered.

Neal actually thought about it. He felt really spent all of sudden, his temples starting to throb a little.

“No, thank you, but I prefer my own sheets.” He flashed her a smile.

“Come on, I will drive you than.”

“You drank.”

Peter lifted up his bottle, showing it was a root beer. So probably he had been planing to drive him all along.

Neal said his goodbyes to Elizabeth and Satchmo and then followed Peter outside to the car. The outside air felt chilling and he shuddered against his will.

Peter started the car and Neal fiddled with the controls, turning on the heating.

“Are you sure, you’re alright? It’s about 68 degree.”

“Hmh. Just tired.”

Peter let it be and kept driving towards Neal’s flat, but now and then spent a quick second to have quick glance at his CI, who had been unusual quiet during the last hour.

When a few minutes later he stopped at a red traffic light, Neal had slumped a little, his head resting against the window, his breathing evened out, already asleep.

Peter shook his head a little as the light switched.

There was a spot just in front of June’s house. Peter put the car into park and waited.

Neal did not stirr.

“Neal.”

Nothing.

He raised his hand, giving him a little shake.

With a start Neal’s eyes flew open, while he grasped for air, looking around in confusion.

Peter frowned, feeling the damp fabric beneath his fingers.

“Neal, we’re at your home.” Peter said, trying to calm his fried down.

“Oh.” Neal said, lacking all eloquence at the moment. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Peter moved his hand from Neal’s arm towards his neck.

“You’re feeling a little warm there. Come on, let’s get you inside. I think you’re starting to have a fever.”

Without much resistance Neal let himself be walked up the stairs to his flat. He squinted against the light as soon as Peter pressed the switch, pressing his eyes shut.

“Do you have a headache?”

“Hmh.”

“Where’s your thermometer and your Tylenol?” “Should be somewhere. Maybe the bathroom.”

He sat down heavily on one of his kitchen chairs, waiting for Peter to return from his quest in the bathroom.

One moment he was sitting there, trying to muster the strength helping Peter find the Tylenol. And in the next second he scrambled for his sink, as something hot and burning suddenly shot up his oesophagus.

A torrent of chewed dinner flooded from his mouth, splattering in the metal basin he just reached in time. Coughing he tried to breath but only managed a few gulps of air before another retch had him leaning forward again, as he lost another part of his precious dinner in a huge gush, making spots dance in front of his eyes, when finally he was able to breath again.

He heard hurried steps, and then Peter was there, holding him upright with one hand, while rubbing slow circles along his upper back.

He gagged emptily, burping loudly before painfully bringing up a mouth of bile and stomach acid.

“My, you really never do anything by halves, do you?”

Reaching over his bend head, Peter turned on the water of the sink.

With shaking hands Neal rinsed his mouth. His legs were shaking badly by now.

“Anything more to come up right now?”

Neal slowly shook his head. He did not protest, as Peter guided him towards his couch, helping him sit. He vanished, returning shortly after with a bucket in hand, as well as some water, Tylenol and the thermometer.

“102. Could be worse, could be better. Is you’re head still hurting?”

“A little.”

“Anything else hurting?”

“My dignity?”

Peter refrained from shoving his shoulder, instead rolling his eyes.

He waited for a few minutes before making Neal sip a little water, and when they were sure, it would not make an immediately reappearance he made him take some Tylenol against the fever.

“Thank you. I guess I will be alright now. I’m sure, El will be missing you by now”, Neal said. He had curled up beneath a blanket, still shivering from now and then.

Peter sighed and sat down in one of the armchairs.

“I wrote her an message, so she knows, I will not be there anytime soon. And I’m sure, she would kill me if I left you alone.”

“Hm.” Neal mumbled something, Peter could not decode. A few minutes later he had fallen asleep.

#neal caffrey #peter burke #Neal and the fever #sickfic #fever #puking #h/c #whump

[dasleidenderanderen]

St. Martha's (Original work)

On second thought it should not have been a big surprise to him.

You would actually think, six years at university and one year working as a doctor would have taught him enough to know it was not his best idea to come to work that day.

They were lacking manpower, with two colleagues at maternity leave, four more on vacation and another one trying to improve his ultrasound skills far away in Berlin.

So when he woke with a slight headache and the feeling that his body temperature was not exactly within normal range, he decided to go to work anyway. It was Friday already and he would have the whole weekend to rest from there.

An ibuprofen, a quick shower and some coffee and soon he was sitting on his bike, cycling through morning traffic. It was twenty past seven, when he passed the apothecary with the thermostat above its sign.

<i> 21°C. </i>

It had not cooled down as much as he would have liked during the night, so probably today would be one of these too hot summer days. He nearly felt envious towards his colleagues working at the emergency room this month. Of course their job was more stress full, but at least the rooms there were air conditioned.

He had thirty minutes left to prepare his day, before he had to go to the morning meeting.

Inside his office, the air felt thick enough to be cut. He opened the windows, enjoying the cooler air filling his lungs.

The meeting lasted a little longer than usual, but finally it ended and he was able to start his rounds. He made a good pace, with no emergencies during the night and not to many complicated cases.

He handed his charts to one of the nurses, crabbed another coffee and left for his office to do some paperwork.

Lime followed him about fifteen minutes later.

They sat in silence, completing files medicine controlling was waiting for.

He had finished three files, before his temples started hurting again. He leaned back a little, rubbing at his temples and took a sip of his coffee. It was cold by now, but that did not bother him.

Around twelve o’clock Lime put away the last file from his desk and rose from his chair, stretching his arms and back.

“Time for lunch, I’d say”, he said, waiting for him to come along.

“I will just finish this and crap something later. I’m not really hungry yet.”

“Okay. See you later.”

“Bye.”

He even tried to do some more of his work, but his headache seemed to grow with every minute. He was hot and cold at the same moment. He felt his one forehead, but was not sure, if he was running a fever.

His search for some more ibuprofen inside their office was not successfull, he only found an empty blister. So he left the office and went for the nurses’ station..

“Are you looking for something?”

He nearly jumped when one of the nurses stepped beside him as he rampaged through the cupboards. She had not been there, when he came in.

“Fuck, Linda, don’t scare me like that.” He rubbed his chest, trying to calm his racing heart.

“A little jumpy, aren’t we? What were you looking for? You should know, the good stuff is not in here”, she joked.

“Ha ha, very funny. Actually I just need some ibu, but I still don’t get how you sort this stuff.” There was a tickle in his throat and he turned away to cough in the crook of his arm.

“That doesn’t sound too healthy, James.”

He shrugged his shoulders and she opened a door to his left taking a package from one of its upper shelves.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you.” It came out a little rough.

He took out one of the blisters, storing the rest again on the shelf.

He could feel Linda’s eyes on him, as he swallowed one of the pills.

“You know, we have tea and water just around the corner. I would even have brought you some, if you would have asked me.”

“That’s nice of you, thank you.”

He involuntarily rubbed his arms when a shiver ran through him.

Linda rose he left eye-brow. “Are you..”

Her question was interrupted by an emergency call from one of the patient rooms. She rolled her eyes, “I don’t know when the technicians will finally have repaired that damn bell”, but nevertheless went to take a look.

He stayed, waiting for the signal to stop, but the signal coming from room 207 was not cut off.

<i>Shit.</i

Of course he had been anticipating an emergency, but he was not really prepared, for what he found when he reached the room.

Linda was kneeling on the floor beside an elderly man, holding him to his side as blood was spraying from his mouth.

The bedsheets. The floor. Linda’s cloth.

Never before had he seen that much blood.

He was on his phone even before he had reached them: “Walters here, I have an emergency in room 207. We need the rescue team right away. Patient is puking up blood. Unconscious. Call the laboratory to bring us blood, and the endoscopy and the ICU to be on standby. We will be there as soon as we have him stabilized.”

He took over Linda’s position, while she ran to get the emergency kit.

<i> Patient in recovery position. Airways free.

Breathing: not steady but there, a little wet.

Recap: to slow. </i>

“I need some Jono, Linda! At least he still has an iv-access.”

“Shit, I think he just stopped breathing.”

“What?! No, no no. Turn him around. <i>1,2,3,4...</i>Get out the Ambu...<i>7,8,9,10</i>. Where is that fucking rescue team, we need more hands in here. ….<i>17,18,19,20</i>…alright, we can do this. Give me that Ambu bag and get me some epinephrine….28,29,30.”

<i>Two ventilations. Another cycle of CPR.</i>

“I have the epinephrine ready.”

“Okay, administer it, then get me another iv-access and another infusion”... <i>20,21,22</i>…

Sweat was dropping in his eyes, but there was no time to brush it way.

… <i>two more ventilations</i>…

“Call Lime or anyone you may reach.”

He heard her speaking on the phone, as he tried to concentrate on the situation.

<i>Infusion, epinephrine … fuck, fuck,fuck.</i>

“Linda! Get me the intubation kit!”

...<i>20,21</i>...

“Ready.”

… <i>25,26</i>...

“Okay, we need to switch. 28,29,30.”

She took over his position.

He had not intubated often before.

Opening the patient’s mouth, inserting the laryngoscope he searched for the epiglottis. There was blood everywhere, blocking his sight, but finally he found the right spot.

“Linda, stop!”

He inserted the tube and blocked its balloon, connected the Ambu.

Linda checked the position with a stethoscope as he gave two more ventilations.

Nodding she started the CPR again, while he secured the tube, so it would not get dislocated.

Just when he wanted to announce another switch, foot steps could be heard and finally the rescue team was there, with Lime only steps behind them and a nurse in training, carrying a box with blood preservations.

He stayed in his position as they took over, following the team leader's instructions, as they prepared the defibrillator, only letting go, when they decided to give the first shock, followed by the next CPR circle.

“...28,29,30…”

<i>Rhythm control. Sinus rhythm. Pulse control.</i>

“Well done, ladies and gentlemen. We have a return of circulation. Let’s get him back in bed, so we can bring him upstairs for intervention.”

He helped them towards the elevator, then stayed behind, as the doors closed.

“Wow. That was intense”, Lime said beside him.

“Mhm.”

“Congratulations, that was only your third intubation, wasn’t it?”

There was some ringing in his ears, as his adrenaline levels crashed. He rubbed against them, but the ringing only grew louder, as his vision started tunnelling.

“I need t’ sit down.”

“Yeah, I know how ...WOW! What the hell!”

Lime just barely managed to get a hold of him, as his knees buckled, stopping him from hitting the floor undamped, helping him down.

He was sitting with his back against the wall next to the elevator, his head on his knees, trying to get a hold of himself. Even in his sitting position he still felt faint.

Lime kneeled down beside him.

“Next time you could be a little more clear, when you’re trying to tell me your going to pass out.”

It should have been a joke, but just now he could not find any fun in it. His head hurt, his brain seemed to be made of jelly, he felt hot and cold, a patient in his care nearly had died, the fucking rescue team had taken its time and there was still blood everywhere along his arms and cloths.

He tried his best to suppress the sobs as tears started running down his face, but was not very successful.

“Hey, hey. Not need to cry. You did really well.” Lime’s hand landed on his dark curls, stroking down to rest on his shoulders. “Take a few deep breaths and then we will go and...” He stopped mid sentence, touching his neck left and right. “Fuck, I think you’re running a fever. Are you alright?”

He nodded, then shrugged and finally shook his head.

More tears streamed down his face and a sob forced itself from his throat. Lime laid an arm around his shoulder.

Visitors and patients were walking by, eyeing them suspiciously, as they sat side by side. Finally a nurse stopped.

“Do you need some help? Is he hurt?”

“No, just sick I guess. Maybe you could find me a wheelchair so we can get him out of public view.”

“Of course.” She changed directions and soon was back with the chair.

Together they helped him to sit down.

“Thanks, I think I have it from here.”

“No problem. Get him to take some rest. Bye, bye. Hope you feel better soon, Walt.”

On every other day he would have been embarrassed to be pushed along the corridors in a wheelchair, but he was out of it enough today, to barely realize it.

Lime brought him to the nurse’s station, pushing him to the back and into the rec room.

Linda and two other nurses jumped from their seats, as they stepped inside.

“James! What happened?”

“He fainted on me in the corridor. I think he’s running a fever. Could anyone get me a thermometer.”

“Here you go”, said Ella before she pushed the gadget inside his left ear.

“41,3 °C”, she announced when it beeped.

“You’re not doing anything by half, do you?”, Lime said.

He again only shrugged. It did not madder to him anymore. His head pounded and he only wished to lay down anywhere to get some rest.

“Joe, could you bring me some ibuprofen?”, Lime asked.

“Six hundred or eight hundred?”

“Eight.”

That rose him a little from his daze.

“Already took some.”

“In the morning?”

“No, he came to get some, mere seconds before the emergency occurred.”

“So that would be about an hour ago. Should actually have kicked in by then. How much did you drink today, Walt?”

He thought about it. The events of the day a little fuzzy.

“Two cups of coffee I think, ma’be three.”

“You know you doctors are pretty stupid sometimes, don’t you?”, Linda declared.

“Okay, change of plan then”, Lime said, ignoring her statement. “I need an iv-kit, five hundred millilitre of Jono, a bottle of water, a glass and one gram of paracetamol.”

“Per os or as short infusion.”

“Per os should just do fine.”

Lime picked out his phone, while the nurses went to get everything. He held it between his shoulder and ear, while he searched for a good vein. “Hi Ted, just wanted to tell you I need someone to cover me for an hour and someone for Walt for the rest of the day, while I take him home. ... No, no emergency, but he’s running a nice fever, probably the flu or something similarly nasty. … Okay. We wait for the meds to kick in, then we leave. I will switch my phone to yours, as soon as we leave and call you as soon as I’m back again. …. Yeah, I will tell him. Thanks for your help. … Bye.”

While he had spoken, he had managed to insert the iv-access and attached it with a patch. Linda gave him the iv-line and he connected it, starting the infusion.

“Ted wants me to tell you to get better soon”, Lime said. He turned towards the nurses. “I will just run and finish a few things before I take him home. Can you have an eye on him for me?”

They nodded and he left for the office.

He took the Benuron they gave him. Then they left to take care of their work, coming back now and then to make sure he was alright. He drifted in and out of sleep, resting his head on his arms on the table in front of him.

“Walt?” Someone gently shook his shoulder. “Walt, I need to take your temperature again.”

He lifted his head allowing Ella to reach his ear.

“38,7. Not great, but at least a little better.”

“Good enough for me”, Lime said. “I will take him home. Ted is in charge while we are gone. You may call him anytime.”

Ella disconnected him from the iv and pulled out the access, glueing a swab over the little hole it had left, so no blood would ooze from it.

“Ready to go?”, Lime asked. “Here, take your bag. I’m not sure if I found everything, but at least you’re mobile phone, your wallet and your keys are inside.”

He tried to get up, but Lime pushed him back down. “You stay seated. I will drive you to my car. I do not wish for you to split your head on the pavement outside.”

He felt his ears turning red. “Thanks.”

“No need for that. Just promise me you will be taking better care of yourself in the future.”

#medical accuracy #sickfic #hospital #doctor #fever #fainting

[dasleidenderanderen]

O.C.

Part 4/4

„Feeling better now?“, Kirsten was asking him. It was only now, that Ryan realized, she still had her hand stroking his back.

Smoothing, circulating movements. He nodded and felt his cheeks becoming hot. „Thanks. And sorry for...“, he made a vague gesture towards the bucket. „If you think it is safe now, I will dispose of this“, Sandy offered, and Ryan was relieved when he went to rinse it. He lend against the chair Summer had placed there before. He felt exhausted. He closed his eyes, to rip them open again, when he felt Kirsten's hand on his forehead. This was definitely to much contact for his liking, but he was to groggy for actual protest. „Hm“, she said, „no fever. Did you hit your head before?“ Ryan shock his head. „Do you know, what just happened?“ „We were watching a movie“, he tried to remember. „I got up to go and get something to drink. And then...“ He shrugged helpless, when his memory stopped in nothing but blankness. „You fell over like a tree“, Seth voice came from the door. „If Summer wouldn't have been so fast... I'm sure you would at least be concussed now.“ „So he did not hit his head, when he fell?“ „No, Mum. Summer caught him in time. I love this woman. She's having superpowers I tell you. Just like Wonder-woman.“ As wretched as Ryan was feeling, he still had to grin. His best friend was a love-stricken idiot sometimes. „Seth, you are such an idiot. It's nothing about superpowers. If you would have managed to move your eyes away from the screen for only a few seconds, you would have realized Ryan looked like death warmed over all evening. No offence, Ryan.“ Ryan waved his hand to indicate he felt alright about her statement, while Seth's face suddenly was filled with guilt. Sandy returned with the rinsed bucket. „I think it's time to get you checked out by a doctor. Come on, up you go.“ Sandy reached out to him, handing his wife the bucket so his hands were free. „I don't think that's necessary“, Ryan protested. Four pair of eyes stared at him disbelieving. „Ryan, you were just giving us a great performance of the dying swan on your one floor. If there has ever been a time for you to be looked over by a physician, it should be now“, Seth told him point-blank. Ryan had no chance but to give in. The two other man grabbed him by his arms, when he made efforts to get up. They stood there for quite some time, until the world around him stopped swaying. When there was no sign he would give them a replay of his former performance, they guided him outside, their hands still supporting him. Summer watched as they left unsure, what to do next. She felt the adrenaline leave her body. Kirsten's hand gently touched her shoulder. „You did really great, Summer. Thanks for your help.“ There was a short break before she continued: „Maybe it's time for you to go home now. I will tell Seth to call you, as soon as we have more to tell you, alright?“ With that she followed her family, bucket still in hand. Summer hoped they would not need it to soon again. But better be safe than sorry. It took hours for Seth to call her. „Hi, I'm really sorry, but it's just now I'm coming out of hospital and I did not want to use my phone while we stood in the ER.“ „Never mind. How is Ryan doing?“ „More or less alright I would say. They checked him over but could not really find anything. Only his blood pressure was a bit low. He received an infusion and was told to stay for a few hours, just in case. You can imaging how he was whining about this fact, telling everyone it was not necessary. But mum and dad left him no choice with that.“ Summer could only agree with them. Remembering the feeling of his limp body in her arms still made her shiver slightly. „Tell him, if he's not cooperating Wonder-woman will come to kick his ass.“ Laughing Seth promised to tell him. Sometimes men were nothing more than idiots.

#O.C. #Ryan #Seth #Summer #sickfic #fainting #puking

[dasleidenderanderen]

O.C.

Part 3/4

The warmth of Summers body vanished from his side. He swallowed again. The more he swallowed, the more his mouth watered it seemed, but he could not stop. His oesophagus was burning. His jaw locked.

Kirsten sat in Summers place. Her hand was moving along his spine. Up and down, up and down. „It's alright, Ryan. Just relax.“ Her voice was soothing. „Try to take a deep breath.“ Sandy brought the bucket a little closer. It was the one living under his sink he realized, the one he used for cleaning sometimes. The smell of cleaning agent hit his nose. Orange. Only a hint but enough to make him shiver. He felt his throat constrict. Against his will his mouth opened. A string of spittle fell from his lower lip, landing in the bucket in front of him with a soft „blopp“. His breathing became more rapid. „That's right, Ryan. Just let it out.“ He felt his diaphragm convulse. His breath caught. A retch shook his whole body. Stomach acid coated the back of his tongue. He retched again. With a gurgle air was escaping his stomach, followed by a small splash of ice tea he had drunken some time ago. It was still disgustingly sweet in his mouth and its taste made him gag all over again. A small trickle of liquid plashed against plastic. Something got stuck in his throat. He coughed and retched and with a nauseating splashing a huge wave of partially digested crisps and skittles made their reappearance. Disgusted Ryan shook his head and coughed, as soon as he was able to breath again. His nose was burning. He spat in the attempt to make the foul taste leave his tongue. He felt lucky he hadn't been eating much this day - he had been to busy. A few times he was forced to try retch, but either his stomach was already completely emptied out, or he regained enough control to force his stomach contents to sty where they belonged. He was glad for the tissue Sandy passed him and more than once blew his nose before dumping it in the bucket. The sight of its contents nearly turned his stomach anew and quickly he shoved it away so he would not be forced to look at it.

#Ryan #O.C. #Seth #Summer #fainting #sickfic #puking

[dasleidenderanderen]

O.C.

Part 2/4

Without being told twice Seth hurried to get his parents. Already calling their names. Summers mind was racing. What again had it been they taught her about first aid last year, when she was forced to participate in this stupid workshop. Thinking back she thanked her mother for it. Her view got caught by one of Ryans chairs. She went to get it and positioned his legs on its seat so his legs were elevated. Was that the right thing to do? Maybe change him to recovery position? Before she could decide, she saw him stir. The movement was only short but it was there. Again she knelt by his side, touching his shoulder. „Ryan, come on man!“ His eyelids fluttered before closing again. „No, no, no!“ she cried. She again shook him, not to intense of course, but in a way she hoped it would reach him. Her efforts were rewarded. Ryan blinked once, twice before he opened his eyes. It was nearly this moment for Kirsten, Sandy and Seth to reach the pool house. Sandy sat down on Ryans other side, one knee on the floor. „Ryan? Can you hear me?“ Slowly, very slowly the teenage nodded his head. It was as if his brain was taking some time was processing what was around him. „How long has he been out?“, Sandy addressed her. Summer had to think about this. „I doubt it could have been more than five minutes“, she answered, even though it had felt like eternity to her. Sandy nodded, indicating he understood. Ryan was gazing between them. He seemed confused. His face was still almost as white as his shirt. „Sandy... Summer...what“ He broke off. With shaky hands he rubbed his face, wondering why he was lying on the floor. „Maybe we should send for an ambulance?“ Kirsten's voice came from somewhere behind him. „Better wait a moment and then we will decide what to do, I guess“, Sandy answered. „Please Seth, get him some water. You think you can sit up, Ryan?“ Ryan nodded slightly doubtful. He still could not fully understand what was going on around him. He felt Sandys grip around his right arm and Summers around his left, when the both of them helped him out of his awkward position. Dark spots danced before his eyes as soon as he was upright. For one moment he felt like passing out again, but then his vision cleared. He knew they all were watching him. He felt sick. „You alright?“, Sandy asked. All Ryan could do was shaking his head. He could feel the saliva pooling in his mouth, while his stomach contracted in knots. He swallowed convulsive and gave his best to breath deep through his nose. He did not dare to open his mouth. Behind him there was some commotion when someone opened one of his cupboards. Shortly after a small bucket was placed on the floor in front of him. „Go, wait outside“, he heard Kirsten's voice.

#ryan #o.c. #seth #summer #sickfic #fainting #puking

[dasleidenderanderen]

O.C.

Part 1/4 Everything felt … strange. One moment the colours were to bright, then too pale. The noises around him grew louder, then nearly muted before returning to their familiar level. He could feel fine beads of perspiration on his forehead, while it wasn't actually hot. He mechanically rubbed his face. It was this movement which drew Summer's attention to him. Slowly she lifted her head of Seth's lap, eyeing him sceptical. „You alright there, Ryan?“, she asked, lifting one of her eyebrows. He just nodded in response. Seth however seemed to be fully occupied with the movie they started watching half a hour ago and did not even twitch to indicate he listened to them. He only lightly patted Summers arm so she would lie down again and not hover in the edge of his view.

Somewhere, deep within Ryans head a voice was screaming, that this could have been the right moment to tell his friends something was kind of … off. But on the other hand, he was still not used to the fact, that now there were people in his life, that were concerned about his well-being and up until now he always had managed pretty well by himself. Maybe he was getting sick. Maybe this were the first signs of a cold or even the flu. No reason to disconcert his friends about something like that. Up until now they were enjoying their movie night they planed for some time.

Maybe it was time to go and get some more to drink. The ice tea on the table in front of him had been emptied nearly by Seth alone. Slowly he peeled out of the comforter he had around his shoulders and rose. He felt his face grow cold. The back of his head was prickling. „Anyone anything from the kitchen?“, he asked, not sure if his voice was even loud enough for them to hear. There was this soft hissing in his ears, which seemed to block everything else and Seth' „bring some coke“ reached him like there was cotton blocking his brain. He made an unsteady step. The ground did not seem as solid as he was used. If he wouldn't have been so occupied to do the next step, he would have realized Summers eyes were fixed on him by now. „Ryan?“ Squinting her eyes she thrust he boyfriends side before she hurried to get off the couch herself. Ryan came to a stop, standing now in the middle of his room. The world around him was swaying slightly. His vision became darker and darker before there was only emptiness in his head. She reached her friend just in time for Ryans eyes to roll back, his body becoming slack like he was a pupped having its cords cut. His knees buckled. In a swift movement Summer caught the first thing she could reach, it was his collar, and held him upright before she managed to grab him under his arm just as his body tilted backwards. He was, although not quite tall, considerably heavier than her. With some effort she managed to break his fall and let him sink to the floor more smoothly. Just when she kneeled next to him Seth appeared beside her. „Wow, what was that?!“ His voice was full of concern and maybe even a bit panicked. To her own surprise Summer felt strangely calm despite the fact, one of her closest friends just collapsed out of nowhere into her arms. She kept track of Ryans chest rising and falling as he breathed in and out. This was good she realized. Her hand felt for his wrist, searching for his pulse, finding it the first try. Of course she didn't have much experience with stuff like this, but it seemed regular to her, although maybe a little slow, maybe a little weak. Gently she patted Ryans face, calling his name. A low moan was all she got. She turned towards her boyfriend still sitting beside her, watching her anxiously. „Are your parents around“, she asked. It could be a good idea, she thought, if someone with a bit more experience in life, than just two teenagers, would be there to decide what to do now.

#O.C. #sickfic #Ryan #Seth #Summer #fainting #puking

[dasleidenderanderen]

Neal and the fever

So I came upon a post with the idea of an character becoming sick to their stomach whenever he/she was running a fever. (https://www.tumblr.com/emeto-secret-agent/698349342720999424/someone-puking-every-time-they-get-feverish-the?source=share).

I kind of liked that idea and how that would effect the reaction of their environment. So here we go (There will be more than one "chapter":

1

“So these are the documents I need you to have a look at by the afternoon. We’re looking for any clue about ...”, Peter broke of mid sentence eyeing his CI carefully. Something caught his attention, but now it was gone. Giving himself a inner shrug, Peter kept on with his briefing about their new case.

It was around two hours later, before he made it to Neal’s desk again. The young man had his back turned towards him, sitting at his desk, going through the last of the files Peter had been handing him before.

“Anything interesting so far?”

He had not anticipated Neal’s reaction to that simple question. The con man nearly jumped in his seat, turning around on his seat with a start, his breathing a little faster than normal, his features crumpling for the fraction of a second from the scare before returning to their well trained calmness.

“Hey there, Peter. Not much so far. There is that one guy mentioned. It’s stated, his name was Jack Omalee, but I’m pretty sure, the last time I met him a few years ago, he went by the name Charles Wayne. Could of course be an coincident, but...” He shrugged, showing, he did not believe in his own suggestions.

Peter took out his notebook, taking the new information down. Clinton or Diana would have to dig up some more stuff about that guy.

It was just when he turned his eyes away from his notes, when he saw Neal rubbing at the base of his nose, his eyes shut.

“Are you alright?”

Putting down his hand, Neal flashed him one of his genuine smiles.

“Just a small headache. Probably from being cramped up behind that desk for to long.”

Peter threw a glance at his watch.

“Nearly time for lunch. How about a little walk in the fresh air, while we crab some food?”

With a nod Neal lifted himself to his feed and took his jacket. Only when they stepped from the elevator Peter realized the other man was lacking his trademark hat.

He frowned.

They went for a coffee store near by, where Peter decided for a nice looking sandwich to round off his coffee. Neal hesitated a little before he chose a chai latte.

“You not hungry?” Peter asked, devouring his food within a few bites as they sat down on a bench outside in the sun.

“Not yet”, Neal said, sipping at his tea leaning a little forward, supporting himself with his arms on his knees. Again Peter eyed him more closely. “Is your head still bothering you?”

There was a short pause, as Neal seemed to try and come up with an answer to that simple question.

Anticipating a kind of white lie Peter was surprised, when the other man finally gave a nod, closing his eyes.

With Neal’s acting skills in the back of his mind Peter was trying to decide, if Neal was just pulling a con on him to get off of work early. Maybe he was scheming something with Mozzie again …

A strangled noise next to him ripped him from his thought and without the slightest warning Neal was leaning over, retching between his feed, decorating the concrete with the remains of his earlier breakfast.

“Wow, wow, wow”. Hurriedly Peter took the cup from his friends hand before the hot liquid would burn his skin. Another gag brought forth some more half digested food. Awkwardly Peter was rubbing the spot between Neal’s shoulder plates, waiting for his stomach to calm down.

“Feeling any better?” Peter asked as Neal spat out some vile looking saliva, clearing his throat.

Breathing deeply through his nose Neal sat up a little, making a vague gesture with his hand, his face still pale, his eyes closed.

He swallowed warily before he spoke. “Sorry, don’t know where that came from.”

He gratefully to the napkin Peter handed him, cleaning his face and blowing his nose, squinching his face in disgust.

“Has your stomach been hurting?”

Neal shook his head.

“Alright. Maybe it’s that headache of yours. El sometimes gets these migraines, you know. Do you think your finished? Or are you still nauseated?”

“Never was. Came on really quick. But I doubt there is anything left.”

Peter frowned again.

“So, do I take you home or do we need a trip to the doctor?”

“Home would be appreciated.” Neal gave him a Caffrey smile, which was not as bright as usual, but still mesmerizing.

Helping Neal to his feet, making sure he was keeping upright, Peter suddenly became aware off the warmth coming from the younger man’s body.

With his palm he touched Neal’s neck, before the other one could wriggle out from his hand.

“You’re running a fever”, he stated.

“I do?”, Neal asked, actually seeming surprised, while carefully feeling his own skin.

“Yes you do. Are you sure don’t need to see a doctor.”

Neal again shook his head.

“Just take me home, please.”

#white collar #h/c #whump #sickfic #fever #puking #neal caffrey #peter burke #Neal and the fever