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Rating: PG
Characters: Peter, Neal, some Jones
Warnings: Er... CPR?
Summary: AU ending to Hard Sell. It's more than just Neal's breathing that's stopped. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nefhiriel at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
collarcorner. Prompt here. Hope you like :D
1 Through 30
Peter's shaking fingers found the edge of Neal's ribcage.
“Follow to the breastbone, measure in two fingers...”
The heel of his hand settled stiffly over the bone. His other hand covered the first hand. He counted.
1 2 3 4 5
Stiff bones bent under his hands like they were old, brittle elastic and it felt wrong, unnatural.
6 7 8 9 10
Peter muttered the numbers under his breath. He watched Neal's face, the slack muscles, the closed eyes, his damn eyelashes, hoping, praying, begging to see a twitch.
11 12 13 14 15
Because Neal had to be so damn trusting...
16 17 18 19 20
Self-sacrificing...
21 22 23 24 25
With a heart that would rather give up on an oxygen deprived body rather than wait ten damn seconds for Peter to get Neal breathing again.
26 27 28 29 30
Peter shifted over to Neal's head and sealed his mouth around Neal's. Two breaths, inflating that elastic chest. Back to the chest, hands on the breastbone. Compressions.
1 2 3 4 5
“Damn it, Neal, come on, don't do this.”
6 7 8 9 10
“You survive how many years jumping from roofs, dodging authorities, working with people I'm pretty sure wanted to shoot you as soon as look at you and you're going to let a damn room take you down?”
11 12 13 14 15
“Come on, Caffrey, you're too damn persistent to stop. Don't you dare stop.”
16 17 18 19 20
“Would it help if I told you I talked to Kate?”
21 22 23 24 25
“She didn't tell me squat. I know you love her, buddy, but she' playing you, I know it.”
26 27 28 29 30
Two breaths. Back to the chest. Compress.
1 2 3 4 5
“I told her to stop, leave you alone.”
6 7 8 9 10
“Called you my friend. You know why? 'Cause you are my friend.”
11 12 13 14 15
“So be a friend, huh? Wake up!”
16 17 18 19 20
A hand gripped Peter's shoulder and he shrugged it off. Then...
“Sir, we need you to move, now.” Peter was shoved away. Breathless, shaking, he tumbled back and might have ended up in an undignified sprawl if another pair of hands hadn't caught him. He looked up at Jones, Jones glancing down at him then at Neal. They both watched as the paramedics did their thing, ripping open Neal's sweater and shirt, sticking him with needles, plying him with oxygen, pushing on his chest that shouldn't be able to bend so easily.
“Got a pulse!”
Peter exhaled as though he had been the one to stop breathing. He had stopped, actually, according to the sweet satisfaction of feeling his lungs fill with oxygen. He inhaled and exhaled like there wasn't enough air in the room even with it wide open. He breathed like he was still breathing for Neal.
Only when the paramedics had carried Neal out, alive, did Peter let Jones give him a hand up.
“He'll be okay,” Jones assured. “You kept him alive, Peter.”
Outside, Peter saw Neal being loaded into the ambulance, was close enough to see his eyelids flutter. Peter inhaled. He felt like he could breathe again.
~oOo~
Peter had planned on telling Neal about his meeting with Kate, anyway, so didn't consider it an act of good will for the sake of the guy who'd almost died. It was for the sake of the guy who Peter was certain was being jerked around by someone he was too much in love with to recognize the truth. Neal, of course, didn't see it that way, because he was Neal and a pain in the ass.
“Anything else I should know about, Peter? You know, if there's anything else you'd like to come clean about in case I have a relapse?” Neal said faux sweetly from the comfort of the hospital bed. Not entirely because of potential problems that could lead to cardiac arrest – the doctors had assured them of that – but because overnight observation was mandatory (Neal's heart had stopped) and also because Peter had been overzealous in his compressions, breaking two of Neal's ribs instead of just one.
“Unless the oxygen in the room gets sucked out, I doubt you're going to relapse any time soon,” Peter said dismissively from where he sat by the bed, attacking a crossword puzzle.
But Neal was grateful for the truth anyway. He was far more grateful, uncharacteristically humbled, in fact, for Peter saving his life. But one was often grateful and humble when still alive because someone else had refused to give up on them.
Nearly dying was exhausting, and Neal eventually drifted off, leaving Peter alone with only the heart monitor for company. Peter focused on his crossword, counting each beep in his head.
The End
A/N: I did my homework, researched CPR, and remembered a time when it used to be 15 compressions. Or was it 25? Was it really that long since my last CPR lesson? *rather sad about it.* But, hey, at least now I know ;)
Characters: Peter, Neal, some Jones
Warnings: Er... CPR?
Summary: AU ending to Hard Sell. It's more than just Neal's breathing that's stopped. Written for
nefhiriel at collarcorner. Prompt here. Hope you like :DPeter's shaking fingers found the edge of Neal's ribcage.
“Follow to the breastbone, measure in two fingers...”
The heel of his hand settled stiffly over the bone. His other hand covered the first hand. He counted.
1 2 3 4 5
Stiff bones bent under his hands like they were old, brittle elastic and it felt wrong, unnatural.
6 7 8 9 10
Peter muttered the numbers under his breath. He watched Neal's face, the slack muscles, the closed eyes, his damn eyelashes, hoping, praying, begging to see a twitch.
11 12 13 14 15
Because Neal had to be so damn trusting...
16 17 18 19 20
Self-sacrificing...
21 22 23 24 25
With a heart that would rather give up on an oxygen deprived body rather than wait ten damn seconds for Peter to get Neal breathing again.
26 27 28 29 30
Peter shifted over to Neal's head and sealed his mouth around Neal's. Two breaths, inflating that elastic chest. Back to the chest, hands on the breastbone. Compressions.
1 2 3 4 5
“Damn it, Neal, come on, don't do this.”
6 7 8 9 10
“You survive how many years jumping from roofs, dodging authorities, working with people I'm pretty sure wanted to shoot you as soon as look at you and you're going to let a damn room take you down?”
11 12 13 14 15
“Come on, Caffrey, you're too damn persistent to stop. Don't you dare stop.”
16 17 18 19 20
“Would it help if I told you I talked to Kate?”
21 22 23 24 25
“She didn't tell me squat. I know you love her, buddy, but she' playing you, I know it.”
26 27 28 29 30
Two breaths. Back to the chest. Compress.
1 2 3 4 5
“I told her to stop, leave you alone.”
6 7 8 9 10
“Called you my friend. You know why? 'Cause you are my friend.”
11 12 13 14 15
“So be a friend, huh? Wake up!”
16 17 18 19 20
A hand gripped Peter's shoulder and he shrugged it off. Then...
“Sir, we need you to move, now.” Peter was shoved away. Breathless, shaking, he tumbled back and might have ended up in an undignified sprawl if another pair of hands hadn't caught him. He looked up at Jones, Jones glancing down at him then at Neal. They both watched as the paramedics did their thing, ripping open Neal's sweater and shirt, sticking him with needles, plying him with oxygen, pushing on his chest that shouldn't be able to bend so easily.
“Got a pulse!”
Peter exhaled as though he had been the one to stop breathing. He had stopped, actually, according to the sweet satisfaction of feeling his lungs fill with oxygen. He inhaled and exhaled like there wasn't enough air in the room even with it wide open. He breathed like he was still breathing for Neal.
Only when the paramedics had carried Neal out, alive, did Peter let Jones give him a hand up.
“He'll be okay,” Jones assured. “You kept him alive, Peter.”
Outside, Peter saw Neal being loaded into the ambulance, was close enough to see his eyelids flutter. Peter inhaled. He felt like he could breathe again.
~oOo~
Peter had planned on telling Neal about his meeting with Kate, anyway, so didn't consider it an act of good will for the sake of the guy who'd almost died. It was for the sake of the guy who Peter was certain was being jerked around by someone he was too much in love with to recognize the truth. Neal, of course, didn't see it that way, because he was Neal and a pain in the ass.
“Anything else I should know about, Peter? You know, if there's anything else you'd like to come clean about in case I have a relapse?” Neal said faux sweetly from the comfort of the hospital bed. Not entirely because of potential problems that could lead to cardiac arrest – the doctors had assured them of that – but because overnight observation was mandatory (Neal's heart had stopped) and also because Peter had been overzealous in his compressions, breaking two of Neal's ribs instead of just one.
“Unless the oxygen in the room gets sucked out, I doubt you're going to relapse any time soon,” Peter said dismissively from where he sat by the bed, attacking a crossword puzzle.
But Neal was grateful for the truth anyway. He was far more grateful, uncharacteristically humbled, in fact, for Peter saving his life. But one was often grateful and humble when still alive because someone else had refused to give up on them.
Nearly dying was exhausting, and Neal eventually drifted off, leaving Peter alone with only the heart monitor for company. Peter focused on his crossword, counting each beep in his head.
A/N: I did my homework, researched CPR, and remembered a time when it used to be 15 compressions. Or was it 25? Was it really that long since my last CPR lesson? *rather sad about it.* But, hey, at least now I know ;)
