Sickness in Style

[Zwee]

Hello, everyone! I thought I would give all the White Collar fans out there some sick Neal. Because we all know he's gorgeous, and after watching two and a half seasons of this lovely show, I couldn't resist. This story has been rolling around in my head since the beginning, but I managed to get it down into real words. I promise to update regularly, and since the story's actually fully written (almost) it will be a lot easier.

Okay, okay. As you might have guessed, no sneezing yet. But don't worry, there's lots in the future. Without further ado, here is the first part:

* * * * *

"They actually wanted little flakes of gold on their $100 ice cream! Can you believe it? So I said, ‘if you can find a catering agency that will do that for you, please give me their number so I can arrange it. If not, then I’m sorry.’” Elizabeth Burke took a sip of coffee, raising her eyebrows at Peter expectantly.

“What? Oh, uh, that’s wonderful, El!” Without having listened, he mistook her face for one of expecting joy rather than disbelief.

She shook her head, nose wrinkling.

“What? Not right?”

She continued shaking her head, smiling a little.

“I’m sorry, El. This case is just such an enigma. Will you tell me that story again?”

She sighed and started over, grinning. “This rich couple hired me for an engagement party for their Yale-graduate son and his fiancée…”

Peter actually listened this time, about to make a comment when the sound of his front door swinging open stopped him mid-word. He rolled his eyes, not even looking up and saying, “How polite of you to let yourself in, Neal. I guess you’ll want to take breakfast too, maybe interrupt my shower later, and then sleep in our bed?”

Neal didn’t rise to the comment, however, merely said, in a voice quieter than usual, “Morning, Peter. Elizabeth.”

The FBI agent turned to look at his consultant, gauging his mood from his expression and dress.

He had neglected to take off his coat, maroon scarf wrapped around his neck and his fedora placed at a perfect angle over his styled hair. Gray suit trousers were visible beneath a black peacoat, an outfit that had probably cost more than half of Peter’s wardrobe combined.

Neal turned away, coughing lightly into his shoulder before turning back, grinning with less enthusiasm than normal, but still grinning. He headed into the kitchen, helping himself to a cup and letting Elizabeth pour him some coffee, thanking her and making charming conversation.

“Good morning, Neal. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks, El. How are you?”

“I’m great.” She beamed, beginning to tell him the story of the rich couple she was event-planning for.

Outside in the dining room, Peter was lost in thought about the case once more, face brooding.

When Neal and Elizabeth returned, he had an empty cup and Elizabeth looked as though she knew something neither of the boys did, frowning at Neal in mild worry.

“Neal, we should go. Sorry, honey. You go plan some events. I love you.” Peter said, exchanging a confused look with his wife.

“I love you too, Peter.” Elizabeth kissed his cheek, smoothed his tie and spun him around, giving him a light push out the door. As Neal was slipping into the car, Elizabeth murmured, “Keep an eye on him. He’s a little under the weather today.”

* * * * *

The ride to the office was quieter than usual. Neal was staring out the window, massaging a temple, in either thought or pain, or both, Peter couldn’t tell.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Neal hesitated. “I’ve got a little headache, but Elizabeth gave me some aspirin a few minutes ago. Just waiting for it to kick in.”

“You’re quiet today.” Peter said observantly.

“I’m tired.” Neal said simply, pulling a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his nose absentmindedly. His eyes were watering, but he pressed a fingertip right beneath his nose and sighed, tucking the cloth back into his pocket.

Peter was oblivious, as usual.

* * * * *

To Be Continued...

[jezebel215]

LOVE IT!

[ID2006]

Twitching for more.

[Lexi]

WOAH. I NEEEEEEEEEEEEED MORE

[LeapYearKisses]

Very good start!

[queenie]

BEAUTIFUL

[Zwee]

Thanks so much guys! I know that wasn't very much to leave you with, so here's a much bigger part. A warning: this story has actual plot. I'm not super good at writing actual plot, but this one has it. Also, I guess there was an episode that had a dress and downloaded information, it was like the second episode or something? In my mind, the idea was original, so just ignore the fact that it was already done. Sorry!

Alright, here it is, I hope you enjoy!

* * * * *

The conference room was too noisy. Neal hadn’t really noticed the rustling sounds of paper and the scratching of pens to be as annoying in the past, but with his splitting headache (which hadn’t gotten better, despite the aspirin), he was finding it hard to bear. Although only Peter was talking at the moment, nearly everyone was fiddling with something. The weird guy four seats from the door was texting, Vera, the redhead Neal had chatted up in the break room earlier that week was flipping through pages of notes, Peter was shuffling through old files, Jones was tapping his foot— Neal wanted to scream. His head pounded dully.

“Ideas, anyone?” Peter said, too loudly.

Neal yawned, leaning back in his chair.

“Am I boring you, Caffrey?”

“No, sorry. Just tired.”

Peter nodded, turning to a guy who’d just started speaking. Ideas were thrown out, and finally, when it seemed they’d reached rock bottom, Neal gave his input, which got them talking excitedly for about ten more minutes until they’d formed a plan and Peter had given orders. Once everyone had left, Neal folded his arms on the table, resting his head on them.

“Nice work, Neal. Although, I couldn’t help but feel you’d had that idea originally and were just waiting to see if any of us would think of it.

The dark-haired man lifted his head sleepily, about to say something when he sneezed into his wrist twice. “Hehetsch! Hehaashhoo!”

“Bless you,” Peter said. “You feeling okay? Tired, headache, and now you’re sneezing?”

“I’m fine.” Neal insisted. “I don’t get sick. And anyway, I’m not sneezing, I just sneezed. Once. Well, twice, but the point is, I’m not sick.”

Peter raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. But you should still take it easy. I know you’re not completely at your best today, so don’t overdo it.”

Neal nodded. “Elizabeth said something didn’t she? I swear, it’s just a headache. Please tell me you still want me undercover at the design agency today? I dressed for it!”

“If there was someone else—” Peter began, but Neal cut him off

“No! I want to do it. I’m the only man for the job.” He grinned attractively, smoothing his suit jacket and standing up. Trying to ignore his dizziness, he made his way out of the office for another cup of coffee. He was going to need to be awake and functional if he wanted to pretend to be the Italian designer, Angelo Giordani.

After his third cup, he fell asleep on the couch in Peter’s office, waiting for him to get back from an errand.

* * * * *

“Hey, Neal.” His shoulder was shaken rather gently. “It’s time to go. We rented you a limousine, and it’s waiting outside.”

Neal stirred, coughing hard. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He rubbed his eyes and sat up. “We’ve got to go!”

Peter nodded, helping him sit up and filling him in. “Your boss knows you well. He respects your work and is happy to hear you’re available for consult. He says your input will be of great value for his new spring line, launching in March of next year. His name is Claude Chevalier, do you know him?”

Neal’s eyebrow shot up. “Know him? An eighth of my wardrobe is Chevalier. Oh, this is gonna be so good. Who’s the person I’m trying to get to know?”

“This is Capri Orschetta. She’s done modeling for many international agencies, but has been working as a designer under Chevalier for some time now. We have reason to believe she’s trying to steal a dress prototype that’s worth several million.”

The woman in the picture was striking. She had sharp, dangerously beautiful features, high cheekbones, sculpted jaw, huge eyes, full lips. She wasn’t just pretty, she grabbed the attention of the viewer immediately.

“I can see why she’s a model.” Neal said, examining the picture with interest. “Just look at the definition of the cheekbones. I wish they’d given a full length shot, I’d like to see what shapes I could make work on her.”

“Great, you’re getting into character already. Now we have to go, Mr. Giordani, or you’ll be late for your meeting with a world renowned designer.”

Neal jumped into action, practically tumbling down the stairs, though still managing to look graceful and composed. Moving this quickly was a bad idea, however. As soon as he got outside the doors, he rested his head against the wall, feeling dizzy. His stomach gave an uneasy lurch, and his face drained of color, but he got himself under control, sighing and rubbing his forehead.

Peter emerged finally, noticing how pale the ex-conman was and frowning as they stepped into the elevator. “You okay? Maybe today’s not the best day for this…”

“No! I’m fine. I stood up too fast. I’m not missing out on Chevalier.”

“Okay, okay. Get in the car.”

Neal followed the FBI agent to the limousine, feeling woozy. Once inside, he stifled two sneezes into his shoulder and winced. The car was spacious and well kept. A woman sat a few seats away, pulling out a suit brush and smoothing his coat gently, touching up his hair delicately and giving him a pair of mirrored, designer sunglasses to wear. He thanked her, turning to Peter, who was sitting in the backseat.

“You have no idea how much this is my favorite case.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Peter said, with an air of disinterest.

Neal rested his eyes for a moment, hand supporting his head without mussing his styled hair.

* * * * *

Before he knew it, the car was stopping and Peter was nudging him awake.

“Go catch some criminals.”

Inside the building, natural light streamed in. All around were private offices designed for specific areas of expertise. He made his way over to the front desk, smiling and removing his sunglasses.

“My name is Angelo Giordani. I believe Chevalier is expecting me.”

The receptionist smiled, white teeth flashing. “I’ll let him know you’re here. I really like your designs, Mr. Giordani.”

“Oh, you do?” He grinned again, sitting back on his heels and waiting. She nodded, biting her lip. She sent Chevalier’s secretary to inform him of his esteemed guest, then turned back to the attractive FBI consultant.

Neal turned, sneezed into his silk handkerchief softly. “Kktsch! Hht-schsh!”

“Bless you!” She gushed, looking sympathetic.

“I’m so sorry.” He smiled charmingly, and she seemed to melt.

“You’re fine.” She waved a hand dreamily. “It was cute.”

The secretary returned, beckoning for Neal to follow. He did so, waving goodbye to the receptionist and smiling hello at the new woman in front of him.

“Mr. Giordani? My name’s Amelia Grabofsky. I’m Mr. Chevalier’s secretary. He will only be able to speak to you for a few minutes, as he’s about to meet a few international designers for dinner, but I’ll get you set up at your desk today and you can feel free to do as you will for the day.” The woman gave him a firm handshake, her walking pace quick and purposeful.

She had loose, auburn curls that hung about her shoulders, but were pulled away from her face, and her eyes were a pale grey blue that drew the attention immediately. She was pretty, but not in a typical way.

Neal nodded easily, suppressing yet another sneeze and internally kicking himself. What was wrong with him today? “S-so I’ll be—“

“Getting on your feet, coming up with ideas, meeting with other designers. Today you’ll talk to Capri. She’s waiting for you in the studio whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m meeting with Mr. Chevalier first, then?”

“Yes.”

She led him to a huge office lined in windows. It had a spectacular view of the skyline, a huge desk and an easel brimming with papers, covered in pencil designs. A few of Chevalier’s most cherished outfits were on display in the corner, and he had Neal’s resume open in front of him.

“Ah, Mr. Giordani,” the man said in an accent. “What a pleasure to finally meet you! Sit, sit. Thank you, Amelia.”

She nodded and departed.

“So, Neal, I understand you’re going to catch a thief for me?” Chevalier said, without skipping a beat, his eyes boring into Neal’s.

“I am. And I’m very good at my job. I can pull off being a designer, too. It’s been a dream of mine.”

“I can see that,” Chevalier said, nodding at his wardrobe. “I believe that scarf is one of mine?”

“It is, actually. You’re a genius of fashion, if I may say so.”

“You may indeed. Now, go, meet with the designers, and stop whoever it is before he or she starts.”

Neal grinned and nodded, stepping out of the office and following Amelia, who had been waiting outside, to the meeting room where Capri would be.

* * * * *

To be Continued...

There, see? Much longer, and contains some actual sneezing!

[tma]

I've never seen this show, but OMG the guy that plays Neal is HOT!!!!

And I'm Adoring this story

Btw- this Melted me -

Neal turned, sneezed into his silk handkerchief softly. “Kktsch! Hht-schsh!”

“Bless you!” She gushed, looking sympathetic.

“I’m so sorry.” He smiled charmingly, and she seemed to melt.

“You’re fine.” She waved a hand dreamily. “It was cute.”

SO Cute!

[polychrome]

Another non-watcher enjoying the read! I'm conflicted just knowing that *something bad* is going to happen...I don't like that feeling...but also excited that there is more cuteness to come.

[Lexi]

Oh I loved it! Keep going! You right Neal so well.

[Zwee]

Thanks, you guys!

tma: You're right, Neal is friggin' hot! And, thanks! The receptionist's reaction to his good looks was probably what I would have been like. And I wanted someone to tell him he was cute when he sneezed without making it awkward...

polychrome: Don't worry, I won't be too hard on Neal. And I'll make sure some caretaking comes in soon, promise!

lexilovessneezes: Thanks so much! It's all written, so I just need to make the time to post each part. I'll probably be able to put something up tomorrow morning. I'm so flattered that you think I write Neal well! That was one of my biggest concerns!

[flower]

I'm glad the caretaking is coming. It makes me sad that Peter is just ignoring all of Neal's obvious misery. I am really enjoying this fic though!

[Zwee]

flower: You’re right, even I feel bad about making Peter ignore it. But I guess I just like to prolong the denial stage so that when his health REALLY deteriorates, it’s an even bigger deal because everyone sort of believed him. And, to his credit, Peter has been trying to get Neal to talk, or at least take it easy, but Neal won’t have any of it. (It’s a fashion case, and it’s NEAL, so… ) You’ll see more of Peter getting concerned in this part.

Okay guys, here's part 3. I hope you like it!

* * * * *

Capri, the gorgeous girl from the photo was waiting for him inside.

“You must be Mr. Giordani. It’s an honor to meet you at last!” Capri said smoothly, standing and shaking his hand before gesturing for him to sit and regaining her seat once more.

They talked fashion for over an hour, comparing ideas and demonstrating to each other. Neal fit into the part with ease, and lost himself in the conversation.

He steered her towards rumors of the dress Chevalier was designing. She grew uncomfortable, answering his questions, but distracting him, and managing to turn the topic to something else each time he did.

He paused a moment, holding up a finger and pulling out his handkerchief again. “Atshch! Heh-hepshtchuh! Eh-hehtshoo! Excuse me! I beg pardon.”

“Gesundheit. You sound a little under the weather.”

“I’m fine, but thank you for your concern.” He managed a smile, covering for his annoyance. This was going to blow the whole investigation. His concentration was off and he couldn’t be as convincing if he had other things to worry about. “Actually, could you get me a coffee, by any chance?”

“I’ll go find Amelia.”

“Thank you so much.”

As soon as she was gone, he flipped open her laptop, scanning her e-mails. In her ‘private’ folder (he cracked the password with ease) were many e-mails to a blocked address, containing dates and mentioning fabric recreations, and talk of the rest of the spring line. He read through all of them, then copied them and sent them to Peter before erasing any sign he’d been there and shutting the laptop again, just in time for her to come back.

Her eyes flicked from him to the computer, but he pretended to be lost in drawing an evening dress.

“Amelia’s retrieving you an espresso. She should be back in a few minutes.”

“Thank you. What do you think about the lines on this?”

“I like a deeper plunge neckline if you’re doing this kind of sleeve.” Capri said, motioning on the drawing, and then on herself so he could imagine it better.

“Oh, I agree. I value your input.”

The model merely nodded and opened her laptop in suspicion, eyes scanning to make sure everything was the way she’d left it.

“Something wrong?”

“No! Nothing.”

* * * * *

An hour later, Neal had slipped out, calling Peter.

“Neal, I got your e-mails. We tried to trace the recipient, but came up with nothing. Any ideas?”

“Yes, actually. We know she can’t pull this off alone, we need someone with access to all Chevalier’s private information, someone who knows everything about him, and someone with a motive. What do you know about Chevalier’s secretary, Amelia Grabofsky?”

“I know she’s been working with him for six years. Before that, she had a job for a fashion magazine, which was probably why she scored this job in the first place. Her experience was clear.”

“But she never actually had any success in designing or modeling?”

“Not that we know of, no.”

“I think that Amelia has… haaahh… has always—Hih-hitchoo! Kktchsh! Sorry. She’s always wanted to be a designer. Chevalier never looked twice at her ideas, and when given an opportunity to make some money and a name for herself, she jumped at the chance. I think she and Capri are working together to… ugh. Etshchoo! To bring him down.”

“Bless you. Good work, Neal. What was this about the rest of the spring line?”

“Ah, I’m still looking into that, and we don’t have solid evidence. The e-mails aren’t enough alone to get them, we need something more. I’ll keep… keep… Hiitshch! Keep looking.” Neal rubbed his nose roughly, wanting to hit something. His head was pounding, and he could barely keep his eyes open.

“Gesundheit. Neal, remember what I said about taking it ea—“

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

With that, Neal hung up and stepped back inside to the warmth of the building, giving the receptionist a smile and was about to head back to his desk when he saw Amelia’s desk was unoccupied.

“Hi, again! Where’s Amelia?” He had paused at her desk, grinning charmingly.

“She had to run an errand for the cosmetics studio I think. How are you doing?”

“I’m great, thank you. I actually needed to ask her something about a design I gave her. Can you give me a key to her office so I can check it out?”

“I’m not really supposed to…” She looked up into his face, resolve weakening.

“Aw, come on. You can keep an eye on me the whole time.”

“Well, okay. Here you go, but make sure to return it as soon as you’re done.”

“Will do. Thanks so much!” He snagged the key, pulling a fake card from his pocket and slipping the real off the chain, replacing it with the fake. Using it to unlock the door, he pocketed the key card, pretended to write something on a notepad, and gave the key ring back to the receptionist.

Planning to come back when he had more time and wouldn’t risk being seen, Neal returned to his work, health growing worse as he went along. He was coughing much more frequently, and his throat was aching. The sneezes wouldn’t stop, either.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced around before answering.

“Peter.”

“Neal, we did a background check on Amelia, and we’re almost sure she was the one who Capri has been e-mailing.”

“Peter, I think I know what they’re planning. They’re developing the technology to incorporate downloaded data into the dress. They can steal all of Chevalier’s designs for the spring line before he ever gets to see them made, download them into the prototype. And get this—“

But before he could finish, a small hand slipped over his mouth and a blinding flash of pain made his vision spin and go black.

* * * * *

Neal awoke slowly, spitting headache making him groan. Something cold and hard was pressed against his temple and he glanced over to see the barrel of a gun.

“Mm, my favorite. Waking up to a gun pressed to your head.” He said weakly, voice sounding a little hoarse.

“Shut up,” came the purring alto he recognized as Capri. “Who were you contacting? How much do they know?”

“I was talking to Santa Claus. He says you’re on the naughty list—“ There came a click of the safety on the gun being removed. “Okay, okay! I was talking to… Iitshch!” He directed the sneeze toward Capri’s hand, and she gave a gasp of surprise, almost dropping her gun.

Looking at him in disgust, she said, “Fine, we’ll give you time to weigh your options. You can die, or you can tell us who you were contacting. We may even spare your life if you help us finish the dress.”

She turned and walked away, footsteps echoing in the semidarkness.

Looking around, Neal began to evaluate his surroundings.

The walls were gray concrete, as was the floor. There were a few light fixtures on the ceiling, but they were dim and made the room look eerie. It seemed to be a basement, he suspected the basement of the studio, since he could see an elevator a few feet away that was similar to the ones he’d been using all day. A guard was sitting in a chair by the elevator, staring at Neal with cold eyes. Neal shivered; the chill was getting to him. Two more sneezes made his head spin.

“Huptscheew! Eh-heptshch!” He gave another quiet groan, massaging his throat. His phone was gone, tracking anklet gone as well, and he had no idea how he’d be able to contact Peter, or anyone else, for that matter. He knew they would probably be jumping into action, maybe already were, but he didn’t know how they’d find him.

He pulled his knees in closer to his body, rough coughs shaking him. Closing his eyes for only a moment, he was out.

* * * * *

I know, I know! I feel really bad for doing all this to him, but I swear, there actually IS caretaking in the next parts. A whole bunch of it. And Elizabeth makes an appearance, and she and Peter just care for Neal. You know, as soon as I wrap up this cliffhanger...

[tma]

OMG... I :wub: him. Am dying for more. *bats eyelashes* Pleeeeease.

[flower]

Zwee--I am really enjoying this. I love it when the sick character is in denial and resists comfort but eventually gives in, so this is right up my alley. Looking forward to more!

[Lexi]

Dear, you've made my night! I literally cannot wait for more!

[Zwee]

tma: Oh goodness, who doesn’t love Neal? You flatter me. It’s the least I can do…

flower: Well, then, that’s exactly what you’ll get! Hope you like this bit. Have some caretaking!

lexilovessneezes: You’ve made MY night! Hopefully I haven’t kept you waiting too long…

Happy New Year, guys! Have some sick Neal...

Part four--

* * * * *

“Hey, wake up.” This time, there was no gun pressed to his head, but there was one in the hand of Amelia. “Your FBI friend has been calling and texting you.”

“Hm, well, they’re probably on their way down to arrest you already. Response time for them is usually pretty short.” Neal said, clearing his throat with a cough.

“That’s why we’re giving you a choice. Get killed, or help us finish the dress. Decide now.”

Neal sighed. “Fine.” He glared, unable to suppress a sudden sneeze. “Hht-kshch!”

“And keep your filthy germs to yourself.” Amelia added, beckoning him to follow her.

She led him to a small room off of the big one. The dress was draped over a mannequin, partially complete, but not entirely. Already, he saw a few flaws on the real life version. Capri was pinning some gold fabric over the shoulders. Neal spotted his phone sticking out of her pocket. It was that easy…

He strolled over to the dress, standing right behind her. “See this, here? If you want it to look like the design, you’re gonna want to tuck the pink silk under the gold, or it won’t fold the way you want it to.”

Capri nodded and did as he said, unaware he had just pulled his cell phone from her pocket. He pretended to be inspecting the back, while pulling up a text for Peter. The message was this: Capri and Amelia have me in basement of design studio. Want help with dress. Have guns.

“What are you doing?!” Amelia’s voice rang out menacingly, and Neal started, nearly dropping the phone. He sent it quickly, hiding the device in his pocket.

“What do you mean? I’m making sure the dress looks right.”

“No, you little ass. Don’t think I didn’t see you texting. Who were you contacting?”

She was advancing on him, and he took a step back. She kneed him in the stomach, hard. Her knee was much bonier than he’d anticipated, and the jab left him breathless. He was doubled over, coughing, and she gave him a whack over the head to keep him weak while she talked to her business partner. Neal’s eyes streamed.

“Capri, we’re gonna have to pack it up. It’s good, we can sew the rest once we’re out of here, and the information is downloaded. We have to go, before the Feds get here.”

“What about him?” The gorgeous designer asked, jerking her head at Neal, who was grimacing in pain and still coughing.

Amelia’s face went hard. “We’ll have to kill him. He knows the whole thing, and now the FBI’s involved. We can’t risk it.”

Capri nodded, stony faced. Her hands were shaking, but she passed a gun to Amelia with no hesitation, not looking at Neal.

Amelia stepped forward, pressing the gun to Neal’s head.

“Really? I’m dying over a dress? This just isn’t my week. Hptschsh!”

The secretary took the safety off the gun, cocked it. Neal sighed. His hands trembled. This was not supposed to happen.

“Hht-ktscheew!” Neal sneezed, head pitching forward just before she fired the shot. The bullet whizzed past him and lodged in the far wall.

Amelia cursed and grabbed Neal’s head, cocking the gun once more, but the moment’s hesitation was just what the Feds needed.

“FBI! Drop your weapons!”

A swarm of dark-clad, gun-carrying agents poured into the room, pointing their firearms at Amelia and Capri, who complied, shooting frantic looks at each other and the dress.

“Neal!” Peter had heard the shot and was extremely worried.

Neal doubled over again, coughing hard. Someone’s hands supported him, and he looked up to see Peter, clapping him on the back.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, Caffrey. I don’t know what you were even thinking coming into work like this.” The agent sounded relieved, however.

“Couldn’t… pass up… designer job…” Neal managed between coughs. “I’m really okay. I just—Hetshchshuh! Hht-kschhoo! Huh-huh-huh-Hitchoo!” The consultant shivered hard. He was suddenly freezing.

He let Peter lead him to the elevator. Upstairs, the offices and desks were vacant. He followed the agent outside into the cold where an ambulance was waiting as a precaution.

“Can we have a shock blanket over here?” Peter asked, quickly provided with one. Neal tried to refuse, but it was so warm, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold up much longer without a source of heat. His teeth were chattering.

“Th-thanks, Peter.”

“Come on, Neal.”

By the time they had gotten in his car, Peter was rethinking his decision to take Neal back to June’s. In this condition, he would be a danger to himself, and Peter knew Mozzie only stopped by the apartment sometimes. He couldn’t take him back to the bureau either. The only place left was…

* * * * *

Neal was clutching the blanket around his body in the bitter cold, nose scrunching at the nipping of the wind as Peter locked up the car. Neal didn’t seem to be totally aware of what was going on, but tapped the FBI agent’s shoulder.

“Peter.” He whispered.

“Yes, Neal?”

“Why are we at your house?” the ex-conman asked, still in a whisper.

“Because it’s warm there. And I don’t trust you to take care of yourself in your apartment alone.”

“But… I—Hptschh! Heh-etshchuh! Mm-tscheew!” Neal groaned, burying his nose in his handkerchief, and hiding the whole bottom half of his face in the warm folds of his blanket.

“Come on, Caffrey. You can make it to the door.”

Neal rolled his eyes in indignation. “Of course I can. I’m the world’s greatest forger-con. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Stupid for coming into work today. You know you’re allowed to take a sick day, right?” Peter rolled his eyes at the ‘world’s greatest’ comment.

“I don’t get sick,” Neal insisted. He needed Peter’s help to get to the door, however, as he was rather dizzy, and could barely stand up straight, let alone walk, especially while he was coughing so violently.

Peter unlocked the door and pulled the coughing man in behind him.

“Peter!” Elizabeth looked up from the table. “Oh, Neal! You look awful. Come here, honey, sit down on the couch.”

Neal did so, managing to take in a deep breath and slow his coughing.

“Well, I must say I’m surprised, sweetie.” The agent’s wife commented softly, addressing Peter. “I didn’t think you would be… sensitive enough to take him home with you, but I’m so glad you did. Good choice.”

“I can be sensitive!” Peter insisted defensively.

“Oh, I know, Peter. I’m sure you can.” Elizabeth made her way over to Neal, instructing him to lie down and propped a pillow underneath him to ease his breathing. In the kitchen, her husband boiled water for tea, while she bustled around, covering the ex-conman in blankets and feeling his forehead. “Ooh, that’s a fever, Neal. You’re a wreck; how did you manage to work a case feeling like that?”

Neal shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad at first. I—Huhh… Huh-kshhtshuh! Sorry. I was more or less just tired this morning.”

“Bless you, honey. I don’t believe that.” She handed him a box of tissues, which he accepted with a weary smile, resting his head against the pillows.

“Thanks, El. I really appreciate this.”

“Shush. You need rest. Satchmo will keep you company, won’t you, Satchmo?”

The dog lifted his ears, padding over to the couch and resting his head on the cushions by Neal’s side.

“Aw, thanks Satchmo.” Neal scratched behind his ears, before his shivering took over and he had to pull his arm beneath the covers.

By the time Peter returned with his tea, Neal was fast asleep, as was Satchmo.

“Well, I guess it’s just you and me now, isn’t it, El?”

“Sure is.” She smiled, taking his hand and leading him toward the stairs. “And I think it’s our turn to get some sleep. You had a long day, but you did really well.”

“I love you, Elizabeth.” Peter said, pulling on his pajamas and sliding beneath the covers of their huge bed.

“I love you too, Peter.” Elizabeth said, switching off the light.

* * * * *

Don't forget to reply! Thanks so much for reading, everyone. Two more parts after this one.

[ID2006]

Neal sick plus Peter caretaking equals heaven.

[Lady Blessington]

I've never seen this show but I love the combination here of derring-do, flippancy and sneeziness. Rarr!

[tma]

And sneezing saving the day! Always a plus. Just am absolutely adoring cold-ridden Neil. Thanks muchly!!

[flower]

I've never seen the show either but I know what the actor looks like--he's a hottie. I really like this.

[Lexi]

I told myself I wasn't going to read any more till it was all posted, but I just couldn't resist!

I love it! MORE. NEED MORE.

[Zwee]

Thank you thank you thank you!!

ickydog2006: I agree so much. It's irresistable.

mads3rv3r: That just about sums up what I would want a first impression of the show and my story to be! Thanks so much!

tma: I'm so glad you thought so... I'm embarrassed to say, I was so proud when I thought of the "sneezing saving the day" thing. If only Neal would actually get sick in the show!

flower: I'm flattered so many non-watchers are enjoying this! And, God, isn't he just?

lexilovessneezes: thank you! I guess I should update quicker, huh? Well, you're in luck!

I'm glad you all like it! The next two parts are pretty short, and I apologize for that. Hopefully you'll still be inspired to reply! I love you all for the feedback. Thanks!

Here you go, with the penultimate installment. Part 5:

* * * * *

Peter awoke to a cold, wet nose in his face and soft canine whining. He groaned.

“Mmm… Satchmo, go lie down.” He muttered into his pillow. The dog persisted and Peter sighed. “Satchmo, no.” After a minute more of whining and nudging, however, the FBI agent was forced to get up.

“Couldn’t you have held it a little longer?” Peter asked the dog as he followed him down the stairs.

Satchmo didn’t seem to want to go outside, however. He parked himself a few feet from the couch and began to whine again. Peter looked over, seeing that Neal was trembling, his face practically white, but for the spots of color high on his cheeks.

“Neal!” Peter knelt down, shaking the ex-con forcefully enough to wake him without totally shaking him up. “Neal, are you okay?”

“P’ter? M’cold…” Neal slurred, only barely awake. He pulled the blankets up to his chest and shivered.

“Your fever’s spiked. Satchmo let me know.” He turned to the loyal dog. “Good boy, Satchmo.”

“Eh-HEPshuh! Heh-hetshoo! Kkt-schshsh!” Neal made a sound like a whimper, and Peter felt a pitiful tug in his chest. He was almost sure he’d never seen Neal look this pathetic before.

“We need to get your fever down, Neal. I’ll be right back. Don’t you dare move.”

Neal just looked at him, sniffling miserably.

Peter got some kitchen towels wet with cold water in the kitchen, listening to his partner cough harshly in the next room. He hurried, concern turning his brow into a mess of wrinkles and lines.

“Peter...” Neal moaned as the agent attempted to lay the towels over his sick CI’s face.

“Shh, Neal. Let me put these on your head and neck, okay? They’re gonna be cold.”

“S’too cold.” Neal said after less than five seconds.

“I know. Just hold out. I know you can do it.”

“P-p-please. S-s-so cold…” The ex-con was shivering violently, his blue eyes shiny with fever. "Hh-hhtktschh! Hih-iitschuhh!"

“Okay, Neal. We can take a break, but I want this fever down in the next half hour.”

Feet padding on the stairs made all three sets of eyes in the room flick over to see Elizabeth in her slippers and a bathrobe, smoothing her hair from her face in worry.

“Peter, what’s—Neal! Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

“His fever’s up. I’m trying to get it down before he loses his mind, but he won’t let me.”

“Ehh-tschoo! Huh-huptsch! Hht-kscheew! ”

“Bless you, sweetheart! Here, I’ll help.” She pushed Satchmo over for more room, pulling the blankets away from Neal’s feet and rubbing them. “It’ll help get the blood circulating,” she explained. “That way, his fever will move down from his head, and it will distract him from the cold towels.”

Peter smiled over at her. “You’re good at this.”

She smiled back. “I’m very good at this.”

After about fifteen minutes of the cooling towels and foot rub, Neal was looking much better, the color in his cheeks less vibrant and his eyes growing less shiny. He was sleeping softly, head resting in the nook between Peter’s torso and the couch.

“Thanks, El. This kid is so much work…”

“He’s cute, though. Look at that,” she cooed, nodding at his sleeping face.

“I know. He looks so innocent!”

Elizabeth laughed, tousling the consultant’s hair. He stirred, but didn’t wake.

“Well, I guess I can put on some coffee, now that we’re up.” Peter said, standing up.

“I’ll stay here,” his wife murmured. “I want to keep an eye on him.” She smoothed the dark tendrils of hair off Neal’s forehead soothingly. She was growing quite fond of the CI, and couldn’t help a small smile as he shifted in his sleep, exhaling in a little sigh. “Get well soon, sweetie.” She murmured to him.

* * * * *

Just one part left! Again, I apologize for the length. Hope you still liked it!

[Bongo]

I love this story!

[Zwee]

Bongo: Thanks so much! I'm super glad to hear that.

As you know, this part is really short. I feel bad, but the sixth part was supposed to be more of a ridiculously fluffy cute epilogue to my beating-Neal-mercilessly story. Probably just so he forgives me... Anyway, thanks so much to everyone for reading my story, and especially thanks to those of you that replied, it made my life! I love all of you.

Alright you guys, you've waited long enough. Here is the final installment to Sickness in Style. Part six awaits:

* * * * *

The next time Neal woke up, his head was pounding, but he felt considerably better in his cocoon of blankets. He could hear Peter and Elizabeth talking about something in the kitchen, and he smiled. This place felt like home. More like home than he’d felt in his whole life.

Peter came back into the living room, holding a cup of coffee and the newspaper. He spotted Neal awake and went over to sit in the chair beside him.

“Hey, Neal. How are you feeling? You look a lot better.”

Neal tried to speak, but his voice cracked and he coughed instead. Clearing his throat, he began again. “Sorry. I do feel better.”

“That’s good. You gave me a scare there, earlier.”

“It’s kind of a blur…” Neal rubbed his head, wincing a bit.

“Well, lucky for you, Satchmo came and got me, otherwise you might have had to take a trip to the hospital, and I know you wouldn’t want that.”

“Hup’sheww! Heh-hetschoo!” Neal shook his head, annoyed at himself. “No, definitely not a place I’m a fan of.”

“Bless you. Hey, next time you’re sick, you tell me, alright?”

Neal shrugged. “It doesn’t happen very often. Honestly, I didn’t think it’d be this bad. I probably would have told you if we were doing something boring yesterday.”

Peter crossed his arms, giving Neal a warning look. “I mean it.”

“Okay! I promise I’ll tell you next time I’m sick. But that won’t happen for years, trust me. My immune system is unbeatable.” A harsh sneeze made him regret his words. “Eh-HETshuhh!”

“Gesundheit.” Peter was unable to hide an amused grin. “Unbeatable, eh? You look it.”

Neal glared, before his face went straight again, and he caught the agent’s eye in a sharp stare.

“Peter.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.” The blue eyes were unbelievably sincere, and to get his point across, he even tacked on: “Really. Thanks.”

“It’s no problem, Neal.”

“Tell Elizabeth thanks too.”

“I will. But it’s no problem to her either.”

Neal grinned, nuzzled his face back into the blanket, and closed his eyes.

The FBI agent listened to his consultant’s breathing grow deep and slow, and he sighed. He really liked having Neal around, even like this. Actually, especially like this.

Elizabeth came in, smiling at her husband and the sleeping Neal. She slipped her small hand into Peter’s larger one, and they exchanged a look of happiness. Satchmo laid his head on Elizabeth’s knee, his wet black eyes smiling too. Even Neal was smiling just slightly as he slept.

And it felt like home.

* * * * *

Yeah, yeah. Sappy, and all that. Thanks so much for reading. Hopefully some of you will watch the mid-season premiere airing on the 17th on USA. You know I will. <3!