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Tiptoe
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Summary: Harvey can't seem to stop sneezing. Just a little something that popped into my head.
A/N: I'm not that great at sick fics, but this idea just wouldn't leave me alone, so… what else can you do but write it on a complete whim? *sigh* I officially write too much Suits fanfiction.
Disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me. I apologise in advance for any foul language.
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Of all the places, of all the times, of course Mike just has to burst into the bathroom at the precise moment that Harvey Specter is trying is damn hardest not to heave.
He feels awful, worse than he can ever remember feeling before, although he knows that that's not true at all - in the past he's had much, much worse. But it's so hard to think past the throbbing agony launching in his head and the muted, blurry haze.
His ears are ringing. His hands are shaking. He feels so goddamn sick.
"Hey, hey, are you okay?" his associate's alarmed voice bursts into his bubble of pain and ravenousness heat, and Harvey pulls himself together like Specter men do, and answers with a characteristically condescending, "'Course. Why wouldn't I be?"
"It's just…" Mike is suddenly hesitant. "Your…your face seems kinda flushed."
"Must be the lighting in here," the lawyer rationalizes with dismissive disregard, reluctant to meet the probing stare he can feel fixed on him, as he self-consciously clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair.
He is splashing a handful of refreshing water onto his face when Mike pipes up again, "And your voice is croaky."
"Only because it still hasn't recovered from the chore of talking to you yesterday," Harvey says uninterestedly with a casual rolling of his eyes, though inside he is desperate to escape to somewhere - anywhere - he can be miserable in peace. Not his office, certainly. Donna would have him safely carted off to his condo before he could step one foot inside. "Probably best we cut this convo short. Cool?"
Leaning forward, Mike squints as he peers into the other man's face. "I think there's something wrong with your nose too. It's all red and shiny and stuff."
"Are you done?" Harvey finally snaps, pushing him away. "I don't have time for your mind-numbing commentary. In fact, I think I'm actually losing brain cel-hahH…hur'TSHOO!"
Mike jerks back, blinking in shock.
"Dude," he exclaims, "You totally just sneezed!"
"I did no such thing," he grouchily shoots back, voice thick and congested. Then, like an afterthought, "And don't call me Dude." Yanking on the door and beginning to briskly stride away, he is painfully aware of his quickening breaths and weak, rolling stomach, the riotous nausea spiralling out of control and making him gag unobtrusively.
"Are you seriously going to deny it?" the younger man incredulously asks as he hurries to catch up, "I literally just saw you."
"I am perfectly fine, kapeesh?" Harvey grunts between clenched teeth as he pauses and tries to regulate his erratic breathing. Mouth dry and sweating heavily, he is practically panting, and Harvey blinks against the dizzying swirl that tilts the hallway a little.
"Oh, wow," his associate mutters, eyebrows jumping in surprise. "You really don't look so good. C'mon, sit down for a sec before you keel over. Let me get you a glass of water or something."
"Are you deaf? How many times must I repeat myself? I said I'm fine," Harvey wheezes with an exasperated scowl, even as he grasps the edge of the wall to brace himself against the wispy wooziness which threatens to knock him off his game. He rubs the tip of his nose with the back of his wrist and sniffs, doing his best to glower menacingly.
"No, neither am I freaking blind," Mike retorts, irritated. "You look like a damn corpse someone fished out of the river this morning. I actually think that if you do that pitiful little sniffle one more time, I might even feel sorry for you, angry kitten glare and all."
"Hey! Watch who you're talking to, " the older man bites, words warped by a harsh, stuttering cough that soon ripples from his chest.
"Sorry," Mike says utterly unapologetically, mashing his lips together and stifling a snigger. "But literally nothing about you is intimidating right now. A light breeze would probably be the end of you."
"Could you try not to look so goddamn smug?" Harvey sneers as he wipes his mouth. "It doesn't suit you."
"Sure," Mike shrugs. "On the condition that you guzzle down some good-old NiQuil like a normal person and go home."
"I'm-I'm f-f-" he cuts off, turning away and cursing the tickling sensation in the back of throat, before blustering, "Hahhh…hah'tshuh!"
Hoisting a wry brow, Mike tuts and awards him with a dull, cutting look. "Fine, huh?"
The senior partner sets his jaw. "It's just all-hah… hah…arrg'TsshuXXT…allergies."
Standing tall and proud despite the deep aching of his muscles and prickly tightness of his chest, Harvey absolutely refuses to admit defeat and back down to some childish glitch in his immune system. He is fine, dammit.
There is no way in hell he is sick. It's virtually impossible; He was sick last year.
"Allergies…" the younger man rolls the word on his tongue doubtfully. "In winter?"
Fending off brusque chills, Harvey gives a controlled shiver. "Yes."
Pale skin wan and worryingly close to grey and with his customarily flawless, slicked hair dishevelled, his boss appears wretchedly exhausted. He thrusts a knuckle under his leaking nostril and starts snuffling softly, and the sight is so pathetic that Mike can't help but smirk as his heart thaws a little.
"Here." The associate shoves a hand into his pocket and digs up a crumpled tissue, pushing it into Harvey's cold hand. "Just take this and don't - don't…" He sighs, scratching the back of his neck under the older man's narrowed gaze. "Take it easy, alright? Don't do anything stupid."
"Isn't that my line?"
"You're always saying you're a selfish jackass," Mike points out, expression suddenly serious. "Well, now's your chance to prove it. Why don't you do yourself a favour and put your own needs first for a change? Nothing's more important than looking after yourself, Rudolf. Whatever or whoever it is can wait."
"I am not taking advice from a hypocritical bonehead who basically lives on Redbull," Harvey scoffs, feeling itchy and warm, and inwardly squirming in a way that has nothing to do with his sticking, uncomfortable clothes or parched, scratchy throat. He doesn't know what to do with all of the concern suddenly being hurled at him. "When's the last time you ate a balanced meal or got a full night's sleep instead of finding new ways to screw up your latest relationship with the one true love of the-the mont-ah'schuhh?"
"Whatever, Harvey," Mike says with annoying fondness, clapping him on the back. "I'll see you later."
But the amused tilt to his mouth and shrewd tone has Harvey bristling at the unspoken insinuation that he somehow needs a babysitter.
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It's only half an hour later and Harvey is wandering aimlessly, having gotten as far away from the bathrooms as possible after sensing, somehow, that Mike was going to tattle.
He feels so out of touch with reality as he tugs on the collar of his shirt, the slowly heat increasing, simmering fire and wrath, while the naked light stabs his sensitive eyes.
Shirt untucked and half-way unbuttoned, jacket gone and wearing only his vest, he staggers blindly. He has no idea where his tie got to. Probably wrenched off and thrown away.
People are looking at him funny. Some are yelling. He has so clue what they're trying to say.
His breaths are fast, deep. His eyes are wild.
It's so damn hot.
Harvey grips the handle to a door, recognises letters, numbers. Conference Room 3.
He's swaying, gasping. His head really, really hurts.
There's a voice, a new one, "Harvey, Harvey!" Trying to get his attention, he supposes, as he stumbles back against the wall. "Mike said you weren't feeling well-"
Then nothing. Nothing but darkness.
He doesn't feel himself fall.
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When he opens his eyes, Harvey is no longer outside the conference room. This, he knows for sure.
For one, it smells weird. Like one of those crappy scented candles that no sane human being would ever buy - fresh laundry, he thinks.
Oh, and also… if he squints hard enough and overlooks the clustering haziness of his vision, Harvey is fairly certain that the three pairs of eyes glaring in his direction are not a figment of his imagination.
His mind is still fairly fuzzy, but it feels much clearer than before, thankfully. So clear, in fact, that he fervently wishes he could forget everything that just happened. He would hope that while in that bewildered, disorientated state, he didn't make too much of a fool of himself, but Harvey knows a wasted bet when he sees one.
With great difficulty, he pushes himself up into an unstable sitting position, groaning lowly as his arms wobble underneath the weight, and casts a glance around the room, identifying it instantly.
"What the hell am I doing here?" he rasps with disgust, before promptly coughing into his fisted hand. Headache screeching in revenge, Harvey winces and pinches his eyes shut for a moment, tenderly kneading his left brow.
"You passed out, genius," Donna relates, voice tight with worry. "Louis had Mike help lug you into his office."
Well, that explains the God-awful smell.
Peeking down at the couch in distaste, the senior partner screws up his face and ponders, "But-but what if it's all... diseased or something?" Before he has even finished his sentence, Harvey feels his eyes water yet again, and he cups his hands over his mouth and attempts to suffocate a sneeze, choking out a muffled, "NNGT!"
Shaking her head at his stubbornness, the redhead rolls her eyes. He can be such an idiot sometimes. If he had been out for any longer, he'd be rushed off to hospital.
"I think you'll find you're the only diseased thing around here," Louis replies snidely with the typical bitchy element to his features that, in that moment, the senior partner would love nothing more than to eradicate with his fist.
Harvey glares back at him, but the effect is somewhat marred by his reddened nose and small sniff.
"Oh, would the two of you just grow up," Donna barks, resting a daunting hand on her hip. "You-" She aims a piercing glare at Louis and revels in his ensuing gulp. "Back off; he's sick. And you, on the other hand-" She narrows her eyes at an ever-so-slightly cowed Harvey. "Will get an extensive lecture later on following protocol. You know, the same protocol we drafted up specifically for you after last year's debacle? Because right now you're far too feverish and those sad, adorable puppy-dog eyes will ruin all of my fun."
Harvey tries to snort derisively, but is stricken by another coughing fit instead. Crumpling over, his shoulders shake with the force, a few tears squeezing out from between compressed lids. Eventually, he gains enough control over himself to try and stamp out their unwanted pity, objecting in a slight slur, "I am not, nor will I ever be adorab-" Harvey breaks off, a jaw-popping yawn emerging in his scorn's place, and he absently knuckles an eye and sniffs.
"See?" Donna turns to an amused Mike whose lips are toying with the making of a smile. "Adorable."
Huffing a breath, Harvey knits his brows and growls, "I am not ad-"
Unable to help herself, she bends down to card gentle fingers through his hair and coo, "Absolutely adorable."
The look of absolute outrage on his face is priceless.
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Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.