A day later, and Harvey hadn't been fired. Mike had suffered another, smaller fit, though further tests concluded that he wasn't in any immediate danger. Begrudgingly, Harvey had sat down with Doctor I-can't-quite-hear-you-from-up-on-my-pedestal, and had the next few steps explained to him at length. Mike was scheduled for theatre at two in the afternoon the next day, and that they were very confident he'd walk away with next to no complications. The surgeons were the best, he'd be in safe hands, and Harvey didn't need to worry. Harvey could even afford to go home if he wanted to. That was around the time that he'd excused himself, and gone back to Mike's room. He'd assumed Mike was still asleep, as he had been since his second scan. He'd only just sat down when the blankets shifted, the body beneath them unfurling almost warily.

"Harvey?"

"Hey" Mike's words seemed to just crawl out of his mouth; his eyes still glued shut and his breathing deep and heavy.

"Is it over?"

"Is what over?"

"…Surgery – I, um…heard you talking. To a nurse, I think, I don't really know…I feel weird…"

"You've been asleep for about fourteen hours –want some water?"

"Mmm…" While Harvey went about getting him a drink, Mike mustered the energy to push himself across the bed, making room for one more. He felt awful; everything hurt – his head, his ribs were aching, his wrist. He wanted to sleep but at the same time couldn't think of anything worse. It even took a gargantuan effort to grip the paper cup being handed to him. He made himself drain it completely, carelessly going to put it on the table and missing and completely not giving a fuck. Every movement was frustratingly sluggish. He just wanted to go home, to his own bed, his own food. Harvey was perched on the edge of the bed, watching Mike but not saying anything. Hoarsely clearing his throat Mike repeated his question.

"Is it over?"

"Sorry. You're still in one piece, until tomorrow afternoon anyway."

"Can I go back to sleep till it is?" Harvey considered this with a soft smile.

"If you're that tired, I'm not gonna stop you"

"I'm not tired…I just, don't wanna be awake while I wait…I'll over think everything and freak myself out more…"

"You've got nothing to worry about. Mike, they're going to look after you."

"But there's a risk, right..? This is my brain, and…" His sentence trailed as he rubbed his hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as though trying to order his thoughts. "…what if something goes wrong? My memory's already screwed, what if it gets worse? Or something else happens?"

"Mike – Mike, stop. This isn't helping you."

As a response, he just reached over and tugged on Harvey's hand, silently asking him to get in bed with him. Even after being in the hospital with him, Harvey still smelled good – not like everything else in the place. So sterile and clinical, and then there was the God awful stuff they passed as meals. But Harvey…he was clean, smelled and felt and tasted expensive. It was as though Mike had snuck into a fancy hotel and was crashing in one of the VIP suites and at any second he'd be chased out by security. That's how their relationship felt. Only, security was constantly busy, but room service always available. And he fucking loved it. He loved the suite. He loved Harvey. Some people say love is simple once you boil it all down; others say it's as complex as the meaning of life.

In Mike's opinion, people talked a load of crap. They make it out to be this huge thing that everyone aspires to have but hardly anyone has the balls to reach up and grab, but really at the end of the day, it's staying in hospital for day and night after day and night, and not having to say anything to know that you can tell each other everything. He knew he could be a pain in the ass – he also knew how much of a pain Harvey could be – but that was part of it. While fingers absently combed through his hair and a voice told him secret reassurances, Mike wondered what would have happened, or where he'd be right this second had he not stumbled into the Harvard interviews, or if Rick Sorkin had shown up seconds after him, or if Harvey had decided to play by the rules. Harvey would be mentoring some suit-clad law school clone and he'd probably be in jail. And most certainly, neither would be laying with another man in a too-small-for-two hospital bed, one soaking up the others warmth and protection like a emotionally needy sponge, the other happily providing said protection as they tried to convince their partner they'd be alright.

It was difficult at first, but after a few tries Mike managed to wriggle the buttons on Harvey's shirt open. Harvey didn't put up much protest – only that Mikes hand was cold as he slipped it under the fabric. In contrast, Harvey's skin was sinfully warm –so much so that Mike shifted himself a few inches closer, and rested his forehead against exposed chest. It was quiet between them for a minute or so, before eventually, a small voice came up from the pile of blankets and tangle of limbs.

"…I'm scared, Harvey."

"…I know. Me too."