Notes: Phreakycat – Thanks for the nice, long detailed review. (I like long reviews – hint, hint!) Yes, I did do a lot research on complex partial seizures and really wanted to capture what it really felt like (so I visited forums etc, to see what people were saying). I'm not sure if I pegged it down 100%, of course, but I'm glad someone said that it's authentic enough. I felt that CPS is so misunderstood (people have actually died because people thought they were drunk etc) that I wanted the information to get out there in any way.

Still, again, I'm no doctor so the medical details may not be 100% accurate.

Anyway, onwards to the story!

Chapter Seven

Beneath the darkness of his eyelids, Mike Ross knew only one thing. He ached. Every part of his body – including his hair – was throbbing with a dull ache. As he searched for clues to his current predicament in his usually sharp and limitless memory, he was surprised to find that he came up empty. Unlike most, Mike never had any problems with recall – not even a bit. That startlingly new experience made him fight hard enough to open his heavy eyelids, but he managed only a tiny slit.

A bland, white ceiling. Nothing like the ceiling of his apartment, which had stains and soot marks from a fire accident courtesy of a previous tenant. So, this was not his apartment. Then, he felt the crisp sheets he was lying on, and the light blanket that covered him up to his neck. And as if his senses came awake all at once – he felt a flood of sensations: The sting of needles in his arms, the sound of beeping in the background, and the heat – the all consuming heat that seemed to radiate from within him. The fever that had dogged him the last few days had turned into a monster that was now threatening to devour him whole.

He froze, stunned by the onslaught of sensations and the realisation that all was indeed not right. He quickly struggled to get up but found his arms completely useless in the task. He fell heavily into the bed as he struggled to draw breath into his labouring lungs. His weakness alarmed him further.

"Hey, hey, easy ..."

The voice. He knew he should recognise it, but his memory failed him once more. He saw a man – dark hair, concerned dark eyes … wearing an expensive suit … bending over him. He shrank back – the man looked extraordinarily close and huge.

"Harvey. Harvey Specter," he croaked, pleased that he could finally fish the name from his memory banks.

Harvey gave him a small smile. "Glad your memory's intact."

He shook his head feebly. "I'm not supposed to be here."

Harvey frowned.

"I was heading to your office … and then …. nothing. Why can't I remember? I should – " He managed to use his elbows to push himself up briefly but Harvey quickly grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back down. Before he sank in a heap in the bed, he saw the sterile surroundings of his current abode – a hospital room.

He breathed heavily, trying to make sense of it all. His mind was churning so wildly that he didn't realise that Harvey was speaking to him.

"... you've been sick," Harvey was saying.

He turned to his side, blinking eyes that felt like they were burning in their sockets. "What?" he croaked.

Harvey sat down and placed a hand on his chest that was rising and falling at an alarming rate.

"It's okay, take it easy."

"No, it's not okay," he bit out. "I don't remember anything. Why can't I remember anything? What's wrong with me?"

Harvey seem to consider his question then said softly: "You've had a seizure. One of the side effects is memory loss. It's normal."

"Normal? The hell it is! What the hell did you do to me? Get your fucking hands off me!" he yelled, pushing Harvey's hand away from his chest as he struggled to get up again.

"So is extreme mood swings. Apparently," Harvey muttered.

Mike found himself thoroughly restrained by Harvey, who pinned him down. Frustrated, he lay back in a sweaty heap in the bed, staring angrily at his tormentor.

"Get the hell off me," he growled.

Somehow, in a vague, distant way, Mike knew that he was behaving … rather out of it. But at this moment, all he felt was rage at the man who held down his arms. And he remembered how angry he had been for the last few days. No, for the last few months. All the impossible tasks, cutting remarks, tough love pep talks swirled around in his addled mind and it made him want to –

"Kill you," he muttered. "I'm going to fucking kill you!" he kicked out at him, which caused Harvey to let go. Free at last, Mike found a sudden surge of strength and pushed himself off the bed.

"Nurse! Someone get in here now!" he heard Harvey yell.

Hearing Harvey yell like that startled him. He froze, and what he saw confused him: Harvey was breathing hard, his hands held out in front of him as if he was ready to grab something and staring at him like he was some kind of wounded wild animal. And it hit him once again that all was not right in his universe, because Harvey Specter was not the sort to be rattled by anything. Exhausted, Mike felt all the strength suddenly drain from him and he felt himself tipping forward –

"Shit!" he heard Harvey curse.

Black spots danced before his vision; he didn't know which way was up or down, but he felt someone laying him down on something soft, and he let them. The world spun around him like a hyperactive top and the heat that boiled his blood turned to ice. He shuddered.

Overwhelmed by it all, Mike forgot that Harvey was there, or his frantic desire to know what the hell was happening, because his world had contracted to the pain and heat that suddenly became all consuming. All he wanted now was for the misery to be over.

And then it was, because the world went dark.

- S - S - S -

Harvey Specter was never at a loss. Throw him a complicated legal problem, and he always found a solution. Sure, they may not always be by the book. But he won. Always. But when he found himself confronted with a wild-eyed Mike Ross in the throes of delirium, he found himself completely clueless.

Then, Mike tipped over, threatening to fall flat on his face on the cold, hard floor, and instinct took over. He wrapped his arms around the sick man's body and Mike's head lolled listlessly on his shoulder. The heat that emanated from his body shocked him, and he stared wordlessly at Mike for a few seconds. Then, he gently placed Mike in the bed, drawing the blankets up his heaving chest.

"Mike?" he called out softly.

Mike didn't answer. As he breathed raggedly, his half opened eyes stared sightlessly at him.

Then, a gaggle of nurses and doctors surrounded them, and he backed off from Mike's bed and allowed them to take over. They were calling out stats and orders as they prodded and poked the now unconscious Mike.

Harvey was hardly ever sick – he fought colds like his cases. With a cold, calculated plan and a deep determination to win at all cost. He'd not associated with anyone that had more than a sniffle, so this was a world that was completely foreign to him. And Harvey didn't like things that he didn't understand.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from Mike, who lay limply in bed, sweating heavily and mumbling something under his breath as he tossed restlessly. Then, he didn't see anything anymore because the nurse shooed him out of the room and closed the door behind him.

- S - S - S -

"Is he all right?" he tried to keep the demanding tone away from his voice because the last thing he needed to do was to be on the wrong side of the books with Mike's doctor.

"He's fine. As fine as a man deep in delirium can be," said Rollins.

"And you still don't know what's causing this?"

A new voice boomed in. "We have an idea, but we need to have the lab tests back to confirm our findings."

Behind him, Rollins rolled his eyes when the new doctor gave Harvey his hand.

"Dr Matthews. I'm in charge of Mike's case."

"I think there has been a mistake. Dr Rollins is his doctor," Harvey said. He saw Rollins widen his eyes in surprise.

Dr Matthews took in Rollins' dishevelled appearance and then chuckled. "I was told that Dr Rollins doesn't have any right to practise – "

"Don't be an ass. I still have my license," Rollins snapped, then snatched the file that the doctor was holding and flipped through the pages.

"Why the hell have you not scheduled an MRI?"

Before Matthews could form an answer, Rollins slapped the file to his chest.

"Do it," he said. Then, with another roll of his eyes, he walked away.

Dr Matthews sighed. "I think this is going to be … complicated."

Harvey ignored that, and returned to Mike's side. He looked at Mike, who was now resting comfortably in his room. Well, comfortably enough – he was now sweating profusely, and had an oxygen mask over his too-pale face.

And it had only been eight hours since Mike was admitted.

Harvey winced, remembering the series of tests Mike had to go through after he was admitted. One of which included a painful-looking spinal tap; he was thankful that Mike was unconscious during that procedure.

The spinal tap was negative for meningitis, something they – and that included Rollins, which the hospital insisted could not consult on this case – were worried about at first. But that left the doctors at a loss until Rollins pointed out the small band aid on Mike's left wrist. After removing said band aid, the doctors became really excited – but they weren't sharing their knowledge with him just yet.

Rollins, pitying him, said to him after they were gone: "It looks like a case of antibiotic-resistant bacteria," he said.

The word "resistant" made his heart speed up. "But you can do something, right?"

Rollins didn't answer, which made him worry even more. Because if it was indeed what Rollins said Mike had, it wouldn't be good news. That much he knew. So he ardently prayed that this wasn't a case of antibiotic-resistant bacteria. That it was some obscure but entirely curable disease.

"It's just a hypothesis, Specter. Nothing's conclusive until the lab test results are back," Rollins said.

So, he waited.

"How is he?"

He jumped. He found Jessica next to him, looking at him curiously. He sighed.

"It's not good," he admitted. "He was delirious, out of his head. Wanted to kill me."

"That sounds like the normal reaction of anyone who has met you."

Harvey threw her a surprised look – because Jessica only made a joke in a dire situation when she was nervous. And if it was an especially bad joke, it meant that she was really, really nervous. And he only saw her nervous once – when he found out that she was married.

"You're nervous," he said incredulously.

Jessica didn't make a move to deny it. "I'm … unsettled. I thought he was … on drugs," guilt flickered across her features.

Jessica crossed her arms over chest protectively and avoided his gaze. Instead, she looked down at Mike.

"So did I. But I should've known. Mike may be many things but spaced out and stupid isn't one of them … and he won't be stupid to break a promise again."

Jessica threw him a puzzled look and Harvey cleared his throat, realising that he had said too much already.

"What are you doing here?"

"Checking up on one of my associates. Is that so unusual?"

"Very. I think this is the first time you've done such a thing."

"Well, this is the first time an associate had a seizure in my office."

"Well, you can't say that things have been boring since he joined us," he said, grinning weakly.

Jessica merely smiled. They watched Mike sleep for a while, and then, in a surprisingly motherly gesture, Jessica reached out to brush a lock of unruly hair that was obscuring his face.

"Tell me if there is any change," she said, her eyes still on Mike. Then, she squeezed Harvey's shoulder and left.