I've been feeling the need to write another White Collar story in order to thank all the people who enjoyed 'I'm not your parent!' for their support.

Unfortunately, I haven't really thought of much to write for White Collar right now. And with the new season out in America (and it'll be years before I can legally see it), little-old-me who lives down under is feeling left out. It doesn't make for good fanfiction writing.

However! I did think of an answer! Around the time I wrote 'I'm not your parent!', I also responded to a few other prompts. So, I thought I would repost one of them here. This is posted on The Collar Corner COMMENT-A-THON posts; I won't say which round though, so apologies if you've already read it there but I've got nothing new for you.

So, enjoy!

Prompt/Request: It's a freezing winter, Neal has a nasty cough and takes too much syrup. So Peter (with El or not) has to take care of a very drugged Neal.

Too Much Syrup

A shower turned too hot and water attaching itself to everything. The fogged up mirror had been quickly wiped before slightly fogging up again.
Neal turned the tap and watched morbidly as the discoloured phlegm swirled down the drain. His hair was still dripping and his body was slightly shivering. Yet, the bathroom was still warm as steam still clung to everything.
Neal felt hot and dizzy but was thinking with a much clearer head. He opened his mouth and tried to get a look but the mirror was too steamed up.
"-od -m -ick," he croaked and then hacked his way into another coughing fit. It did not bode well if he couldn't even speak properly.
He wasn't going into the field today but even Hughes would notice if he didn't speak.
"-m oh-, Nea-" his voice squeaked as he tried to pronounce his name and sent him coughing and hacking again.
Turning on the tap again. Watching the phlegm wash down the drain.
Neal tried not to panic. Every time he tried to speak he started coughing again. He coughed as if he had the hiccups instead. Involuntarily and often.
"Neal?" June knocked on his door.
It was time for him to brave the big, cold world and leave the warm, secluded safety of the bathroom.
As soon as he opened the door, June was inside. She pulled out a bottle of cough syrup and measured it out for him.
"Thanks," he croaked and coughed again. He had intended to say 'thank you, June', but hadn't been able to get the rest of the words out.
Being about to form a word was an improvement. Since he had woken up hacking in the middle of the night, he hadn't really been able to do anything. June had found him in the morning when the maid brought up his breakfast and suggested a hot, steamy shower.
And she had even gone out in search of cough syrup for him.
"Not a problem, dear," she said, placing a hand on his cheek. She frowned and moved the hand to the other cheek and his forehead. "You're not hot."
He raised an eyebrow in a 'really?' gesture and she gave him a light slap on the shoulder in retaliation.
"You know what I mean."
He smiled at her as she placed the bottle on the bench and gave him some more advice for the day.
"Are you sure you're going into work? I'm sure Peter would-" She stopped as he shook his head.
"I can't trouble, Peter." His voice was still just a soft croak but at least he wasn't coughing. "Not for just a cough." And he coughed again, a single wet one that made him tremble.
June sighed and left. He knew she meant well but Neal wasn't about to give up just because of a little cough.
He glanced back at the cough syrup. The little bit June had given him had helped, what if he had a little more?

Peter pulled the car in front of June's and got out. While a lot of people seemed to get depressed by the cold weather and dull days, he loved them. There was nothing better than being curled up on a couch with something warm in one hand and the other wrapped around El. Human contact is supposed to help ward off chills, after all.
He greeted the maid as she opened the door and walked straight in. They were used to him turning up every workday and he no longer felt out-of-place in this huge house.
Then he heard June screech.
He was up the stairs and in Neal's apartment in moments.
"What the-?" he gasped out, "Neal!"
Neal was standing on the back wall, balancing there on one leg and wobbling while smiling happily to himself.
"Peter!" he cheered when he spotted the agent. He jumped down and into June's waiting arms, waving at him.
Peter took three deep breaths in order to calm down.
"Neal? What were you doing?" he asked in a low tone, trying not to lose his temper.
"Balancing," was the answer, along with a few coughs.
"Let's get him inside," June said. Peter agreed. He pushed himself under Neal's other arm and helped dragged the suddenly unsteady conman into the apartment and dropped him on the couch.
"Seriously, Neal, what were you thinking?" he asked. He wanted to ignore the unfocused look on Neal's face as he stared at him.
Neal's head bobbed a few times and he coughed; once, twice, and then bit down on two of his fingers.
Now, Peter was growing very uneasy. He turned to June for answers. There were a few silent moments as they both tried to figure out what had happened to Neal. Peter was thinking that maybe Mozzie tested some strange drug on his unsuspecting friend when June suddenly started.
"Oh dear," she mumbled as she pulled a half-filled bottle of cough syrup out of the bin. "I think he took this."
Peter thought that was obvious, with the way Neal was still coughing into his hand.
"It was full this morning," June elaborated, "a new bottle."
Realisation dawned and Peter turned back to Neal.
Who was... mumbling his name over and over.
"Neal?" he questioned.
"Peter!" he responded in a loud voice. He started coughing again and hacking up phlegm into his hand.
"Yeah, there's no way you're going into work today." He tried not to recoil as the gooey sight in his consultant's hand.
"I thought that might be the case," June said, "I need to go cancel a few appointments."
"Don't bother," Peter responded. This was already going to impact his day, there was no need for June to be put-out as well. "I'll take care of him."
June agreed readily and seemed to leave him alone with Neal a little too quickly.
Neal had wiped his hand off and was now scrunching up tissues and throwing them around the room.
"Come on, Neal," Peter ordered. He was reluctant to touch the obviously-sick man but he needed to get Neal to the car. He grabbed Neal's arm and hauled the conman to his feet.
"Too fast," Neal complained with a wince and Peter was forced to catch him before he toppled over the coffee table.
"Come on, Neal," Peter repeated, "let's get you out of here."

One car drive and three heart attacks later, Peter was finally able to drop Neal off onto his couch.
Neal had almost dropped over the side of the stair's railing back a June's. Then he had tried to jump out of a moving car, almost taking out a cyclist at the same time. And, finally, Neal had slumped unconscious, exhausted by his attempted escape from the car. Peter had to check numerous times whether he was still breathing.
"Are you sure I shouldn't take him to a hospital?" he questioned El as his wife brought the unconscious Neal pillows and a blanket.
"No hospital!" Neal proclaimed, suddenly waking up and slipping to the floor.
There was a surprised silence for a moment and then Neal looked up at El.
"Whoa," he proclaimed with awe in his voice, "Elizabeth's huge."
Where most women would have been offended, El just laughed and placed the blanket on Neal's lap.
"Are you insulting my wife, Caffrey?" Peter asked. He wouldn't stand for anyone insulting his wife. Not even Neal.
Neal didn't seem to hear him. The man's hands were waving through the air chasing shadows, like butterflies. He didn't seem to notice anyone else in the room, despite acknowledging El a moment before.
"Are you sure I shouldn't take him to a hospital?" Peter asked again, trying to keep the worried edge out of his voice.
Neal shifted to his knees and pulled a magazine off the coffee table. He then proceeded to flip through it, not really reading any of the pages.
"He just needs to sleep it off," El said again, wrapping her hands around his arm. Her fingers were cold from the outside and had a grounding touch.

Peter made a mental note to never take his eyes of Caffrey again. He had turned his back for a moment, leaving the room to go to the toilet, only to return and find the conman gone.
He found Neal moments later, rattling through the drawers in the kitchen like a common household thief.
"I found the shiney!" he announced happily, pulling out an old pen of Peter's. It had been a present from El's mother and had his name engraved on it.
It had also been missing for years.
"Neal, where did you find this?" he asked, after examining the pen, only to find the conman had disappeared again. "Neal!"
"Neal!" El's voice echoed his own from upstairs a moment later.
He run upstairs to find Neal in their bedroom, tossing bullets out the window. His safe was lying open and his gun was gone.
"Neal, what are you doing?" he demanded to know, physically restraining him by the wrists. Left over bullets dropped from Neal's right hand and the gun fell from his left.
"Guns bad," Neal responded in a croak and cough, "I won't stay in a place with guns."
"Alright, I'll take the mean gun outside," El said, picking the object off the floor. "But, in return, you need to get some sleep."
Neal watched her with unfocused eyes as she displayed the gun and then walked out of the room with it.
He stayed still until she returned, without the weapon, and only then did he relax.

Neal groaned as he woke up, his head pounding. Maybe it had been a bad idea to take some more syrup.
What was in that stuff anyway?
He moved his hand, only to find that it was restrained. He blinked and brought his hands up to his face. Yes, they were definitely tied together.
He was in the Burke's guestroom so, had something happened? Was Peter in danger?
"Neal." Peter's hand pushed his down and pulled the covers back up. He sounded tired.
Okay, now Neal really needed to know what was going on.
He pulled himself away from Peter's touch and balanced on the edge of the bed.
"Peter?" he questioned, "why am I in your house?"
Peter seemed surprised by the question and he stood up from the chair he had been sitting in.
"Here," he said, taking a glass of water from the bedside table and holding it up to his mouth. "Drink first."
Neal eyed the water suspiciously. Was there something in it? Were the Burkes' drugging him?
"Peter!" El screeched, arriving the doorway. Neal winced as her loud voice cut through his head. "I told you to untie him! He's sick!"
A quick snip of scissors. Neal was free and Peter was herded out of the room.
"And what were you thinking, Neal?" El asked him, standing before him with her hands on her hips. He wondered if that's where Peter got his agent pose from. It was certainly intimidating enough.
"I honestly have no idea."
"Cough syrup," she informed him, "there's a reason you only take a certain amount. It's dangerous to take more than what's printed on the label."
Oh. He didn't know that.
But, surely cough syrup wasn't the source of his headache and memory loss?
"Now, Peter's spent more of the day chasing you around the house as you constantly tried to explore every nook and cranny of this house. Thank goodness you weren't at June's or we'd never find you!"
Okay, he didn't remember that. At all.
"Now, you're going to stay in this room and you're going to sleep and get better," El ordered.
That sounded... okay. His head was still pounding, his throat hurt and he really was tired. It was only self-preservation and nerves keeping him up at this point and making sure he was safe.
He lay back and then glanced at El.
"I'm not leaving until you're asleep," she told him, her voice hard.
He shivered and buried himself in the blankets. True to her word, El didn't leave until he fell asleep.
Neal was still too out of it to realise that he was more comfortable here than in the bathroom at June's where no one could see him.