Last chapter, yay! I mean, apart from the epilogue. Whatever.

CaribbeanTrinidadian: glad you liked it; I hope the answers you get in this chapter will be satisfying!

kasinka613: gdyby nie Louis i jego ciasto, byłoby tak słodko, a tak czułam się rozdarta... Ach, kto nie lubi, kiedy Harvey w ogóle cośkolwiek okazuje? :)

littlegirlm: don't get a heart attack, please! (and if you do, do not sue me, unless you can get Harvey to represent me - though that probably wouldn't exactly work in your favour...)

hikeyosemite: thank you!

Chapter 10 in which Mike is, thank God, alive

(Saturday)

Grammy was dying.

Her eyes had been full of amusement and affection just a minute ago, and now they were screaming in terror and pain.

'Grammy, what's wrong?'

The features of her face suddenly changed and then froze when she let out her last, long sigh. In that single sigh there was everything: all her pain and sadness, all her jokes and chortles, and loving smiles, and a huge part of Mike, the best part of him and his life that she had formed and created.

He stared at her motionless body and then screamed like a wounded animal, yelled for help, begging for someone, anyone, to come, but nobody did. Why would no-one come? Why would they refuse to help him?

'Because you've slept with another woman after telling me you still wanted to be together' he heard Rachel's voice and spun around, but he didn't even catch a glimpse of her. Darkness and greyish shadows were all that surrounded him.

'Because you've kicked me out' Tess's voice gave him the shivers, some of disgust and guilt, others — of lust, but she, too, was nowhere to be seen. It was just him, lifeless Grammy in her bed and the creepy shadows.

Awaiting the next voice in anxiety, already suspecting of whom it would be this time, he realised it didn't matter. What use was it to worry about the relationships he had damaged? Those could be fixed.

Grammy couldn't.

He pressed his eyelids together to stop the tears.

'Because you've slept with a married woman, you've been smoking pot again and I'm in a crappy mood'.

Wow, that was quite a lot of reasons.

A sudden scent of tomato sauce appeared in the air and for the first time since Grammy's death he asked God, fate, the world or simply himself the question 'how?'. How was he going to go on? How was he supposed to keep on living after losing the very person who had made his existence possible? Who had given him all the reasons to fight and dream, and accomplish, and move on after failing?

'Because you've bled on my carpet'. Hey, what was Louis doing in his shadowy world? He was never expected to help anyway, he had no place there!

Just when Mike was about to tell him that, something struck him: had he really bled on Louis's carpet? No, he hadn't. He would have remembered that — in the end, bleeding was not one of the things one would easily forget, was it?

And then he remembered. A very vague memory smelling of blood, vomit, expensive cologne and paralyzing fear. Oh no.

Where was he? How come he hadn't bothered to ask himself that question before? What was happening to him? He wasn't—? Or was he?

You can only truly appreciate the value of something when you think you might have lost it forever. Where was his breath? Where was his precious heart beat? They had to be there like they always had, they had to, if he had only looked, because oh God, he could not die, he could not die, he could not!

What he could not do was also breathe. His lungs were empty and dying for oxygen. Dying. How ironic. He needed air. He needed to breathe. Breathe in, breathe out, he told himself. It had never been difficult, had it? You can do this. Mike couldn't die. Mike wanted to live. No matter if Grammy lived or not, if he cried in bathrooms in the evenings, if he felt alone or broken, if he was in pain. Mike wanted to live so badly it hurt.

But then he heard something. He felt something trembling inside of him, rhythmically doing the job it was supposed to — somewhere in his chest. When he realised what it was, he filled his entire lungs with one gasp, as if life was around him, in the air, and all he had to do was take it in.

He calmed down slowly, listening to the regular beat of his heart.

A—live, a—live, a—live, a—live.

He was finally coming back to his senses, which had been disabled by the rush of adrenaline. Beginning to feel curious about his surroundings and current situation he didn't know that much about since his memories were vague and probably not fully trustworthy (there was one in which Louis was dancing polka over his body while Harvey played the accordion), he first tried to mute the sound of his bumping heart and tune to different sounds around him. There was a silent beeping from some kind of medical appliance, he guessed, as he felt an IV under his skin, some distant footsteps and quiet breathing he decided was not his own. The shadowy world was gone by now, but all he could see was darkness. It took him a moment to realise that was because his eyes were still closed.

Mike carefully opened one of them to see darkness yet again. For a minute he thought he had gone blind, but after his eyes had accustomed to the light — or lack thereof —, he understood that was, luckily, not the case. He had an awful lot of luck lately, he decided — being alive and able to use most of his senses. He opened the other eye and first saw his own feet under a colourless blanket, which must have been white during the day. The only light was coming from the screen of some medical device and from the corridor, through the glass, transparent door and into the room, allowing Mike to distinguish shapes. The one he took most interest in was sitting on what seemed like a chair, leaning against the wall. He turned his head to take a better look and then the figure moved closer, so close he could see its eyes.

''Morning, sunshine' the figure said, its lips forming a little smile.

'Donna' he uttered with relief. No matter how bad your situation was, it was always nice to see a friendly face. 'What time is it?'

She glanced at her watch.

'Four o'clock. In the morning' it was quite funny how she was whispering though there was no one else in the room she could wake up by speaking too loudly. Maybe she was simply trying to fit in with the atmosphere.

'And what day?' he asked, since he found the time hadn't told him as much as he had previously thought it would.

'Saturday. You've been sleeping for awhile, you were admitted around eight'.

Donna's hand moved in Mike's direction and after a moment of hesitation it met with his forehead. Pretending to be taking his temperature, she held it there for a couple of seconds and then lowered it to touch his cheek. Donna had a nice hand — cold and gentle.

'How are you feeling?' Mike almost jumped in surprise when what he had originally thought was a lamp of some kind turned its head in their direction and spoke in a deep voice, a bit croaky, like the voice of someone who hadn't been talking or hydrating in a long time, but still impossible not to recognize.

'Um, fine, I think. Hi' he greeted him awkwardly, but all he got in return was a nod. Harvey was still motionless, like that lamp he resembled in the dim light, and his eyes were fixed on Mike, like the eyes of a wild animal just before it leaps and devours its prey.

'What's happened to me?' he said to Donna, aware of the fact that though he was now looking in her eyes, Harvey's gaze was still on him. But it didn't seem like a good idea to talk to him now, not with all the awkwardness and tension in the air, and not when being unclear about how much of what he remembered from last night had really happened, especially when some of his memories consisted of playing polka and other highly improbable elements.

Donna bit her lip and shot a glance at Harvey, then stood up from the chair and patted Mike gently on the shoulder.

'You know what, I think I'll go find some coffee, we've been waiting ages for you to wake up, okay?' she smiled at him with a sad smile, if smiling could be sad, reminiscent of those he had enjoyed so much back in the bathroom that Thursday night. And then she left, back straight and head high, swaying a bit from side to side, hiding it under the impression it had been intentional.

'Where is she going to get coffee at 4 o'clock in the morning?'

Harvey shrugged. The Chronicles of Awkward Silence part one hundred and sixty seven, Mike thought. Approximately. He wondered what Harvey might be thinking and had he been standing there, next to the door, playing dead, since Mike had been brought in. Maybe it was some kind of a self-defence mechanism, pretending to be a lamp.

'Am I on meds? My thoughts begin to lack common sense'.

Harvey refused to respond at first, but then something broke in him — maybe he hadn't grown as fond of the awkward silence as it would seem — and when he did, his voice was still a bit croaky. Mike had to fight the urge to tell him to get some water or go see a doctor, because that could be a developing throat infection.

'More than usually?'

On second thought...

'Within normal' he watched Harvey make first moves after being a lamp for the last couple of hours, very rigid and slow moves, as he approached the bed, his eyes still on Mike. He wasn't sure whether his boss was even blinking.

'Do you remember anything from last night?' Harvey placed his hands in his pockets. It was really weird, that staring at each other — it had to be the longest stare he had ever received from anyone. Even his primary school teacher, who had got mad at him during the first couple of days and had then promised she would watch him extra closely, had never made him feel under such careful observation.

'A bit'. For example the polka episode. Best not to reveal that though, at least not yet.

'You got poisoned by arsenic from the pot' explained Harvey.

'Arsenic?' Mike blinked in surprise 'I thought you died from arsenic poison'.

'You do' he snarled and something in Mike's chest shrank in fear.

'But I'm going to be OK, right?' Of course he was, he felt fine, maybe a bit sick, but he was off the hook by now, wasn't he?

'You are' Harvey promised quickly, as if sensing the fear in his voice. 'But it was goddamn close'.

Mike sighed in relief, rested his head on the pillows and carefully watched Harvey approach a night lamp on a little stool next to the bed. The light was yellowish and warm, and it allowed him to see his interlocutor more clearly — his dark eyes, something resembling a stubble slowly forming on his chin, a wrinkled, white shirt with rolled up sleeves (though how he managed to wrinkle it by standing straight Mike could not imagine) and purple marks on his forearms. Mike furrowed his eyebrows when Harvey immediately hid them by rolling the sleeves down. Before he had the chance to demand an explanation though, his boss spoke.

'Let me tell you a cautionary tale: there once was a fake lawyer who was stupid enough to smoke weed from an unknown source and, when he experienced symptoms of poisoning, not to tell anyone about them, even after he was asked a goddamn direct question' he seemed to be speaking louder and louder with each and every word. 'You wanna know how he ended up? Dying on the floor of someone else's office!'

'But I didn't die' Mike spoke in his own defence, trying to pull further away from Harvey when he saw his remark only infuriated him more. If life had been a cartoon, Harvey's head would have had exploded by now.

'Why the hell didn't you tell me?'

'How was I to tell you?' Mike raised his voice too, it made him feel a bit more in control of the situation — plus, he had had enough of obediently listening to Harvey's yelling in the past days. 'You were finally talking to me instead of yelling, and well, I really needed that, Harvey! And what, I was supposed to ruin all that by telling you I was smoking pot? So that you'd treat me like shit again?'

'It wouldn't matter!' Harvey exclaimed and Mike shot a worried look at the nurses' station, since he was under the impression they were being a bit too loud. 'Look, there are— there are two kinds of things. The first one are things like sleeping with married women or screwing up, or breaking promises, things that seem to matter at first, but really don't, because there is that other type and stuff like kneeling on the floor with someone literally dying in your arms, not having the skills to do anything but wait and pray the ambulance arrives on time' he seriously looked as if he was about to punch someone, but there was no one in reach— no one expect Mike, to be precise, which made the situation even less comfortable. He glanced at the nurses' station again and saw one watch the two of them carefully. He'd better calm Harvey down or she'd come and kick him out; she'd have every right to do so, since he probably shouldn't even be here long after visiting hours had finished. And Mike didn't fancy the idea of being left alone in the dark room with the sole beeping of medical appliance.

'Look, you think I wasn't scared out of my mind too? I was. And I'm sorry about the pot—and for not telling you' he wanted to continue, convince Harvey to let it go, assure him he was probably just as angry with himself, but realised he had grown tired of trying to make it better. He felt a bit nauseous, his hands were shaky again, his eyes stung and all he wished for was for Donna to come back, stroke his hair, ask him if he fancied some cold water or another pillow, or simply sit beside his bed and not make him feel even guiltier than he already was.

He closed his eyes and for a minute he heard nothing but silence; then Harvey's steps approached him and then stopped when he slumped down the chair Donna had been sitting in before setting off for a coffee hunt.

'Well, everybody does stupid things from time to time' Mike heard him say and, knowing how hard it was for him to forgive, granted him with a thankful glance.

'Like playing polka when somebody's almost dying?'

Harvey furrowed his eyebrows.

'What in God's name are you talking about?'

Oh. No polka then.

'You've got blood on your trousers' he quickly changed the subject. He was lying now and Harvey was sitting so close to the hospital bed that Mike was scared he would break his nose with a knee if he suddenly moved. 'Is it mine?'

Harvey lowered his gaze and removed his knees from Mike's face, clearly noticing the danger.

'No, I had two other associates die on me yesterday evening, it must be one of theirs'.

'Soap can do miracles, you know' he said, causing Harvey to chortle, when in the same time pulling closer to his dangerously close and edgy knees, suddenly realising he'd liked it better when they had been seconds from blasting his nose. It gave him a warm feeling of comfort.

'It can't without ruining the material'.

'Oh' he made a couple of quick calculations in his head, 'maybe if I sold my apartment—'

'I'd be more glad if you took the money and bought yourself a decent suit' Harvey smiled and leaned back in the chair in a more relaxed pose.

'That is not only unfunny, but also completely invalid! I've been wearing decent suits since you drew a frown on that grey one'.

'I bought a special marker for that' the fake nostalgia in his voice caused Mike to chuckle for the first time in quite a while. 'What did you want to talk with me about?'

The question got him by surprise.

'Nothing in particular' he uttered finally, since nothing came to his mind. No, that wasn't it — a lot of things came to his mind, but after such a long time of keeping it all inside, after all the thinking he had done, all the things that had happened and all the changes of perspective, he wasn't so sure as to what to choose or which of those subjects were even worth talking about. He wanted to tell Harvey his grandmother had died, but that Harvey already knew and it wasn't like he could change anything about it, no matter how much he wanted to — and Mike was sure it was a lot. He wanted to ask him what had made him so tense and unwilling to notice others had been going through some shit too, but he could imagine his boss disregarding it as unimportant in their current situation and insisting they switched their attention back to Mike, any attempt at gaining further information bound to failure.

Harvey was getting impatient and Mike still couldn't come up with something to talk about that could really get them somewhere — some place he didn't already know the looks of. But then again, it was not that much about the results, but rather about the act of talking itself, he thought when he remembered his late night walk with Donna. There was hope that if there had really been some things worth talking about, they would maybe come up later on. And so he said:

'Rachel hates me'.

Harvey let out an exasperated sigh, but there was some sort of an exaggeration to it which served Mike as a hint that it had not been completely serious.

'I thought the soap opera didn't start until eight'.

'That's a rerun'.

'Then call her and tell her you've nearly died, maybe she'll go into an overprotective mode for a change'.

'Like you did?'

'Hilarious. You're still thinking about your grandmother?'

'Sometimes. Hey, you know what...'

And then they just went with the flow, as if some metaphorical wall between them had just broken down.

This has been the longest one, hasn't it? It had been even longer originally, but I cut out some of the conversation at the end, since I found the best way was to leave it open (though it was hard to resist, writing carefree dialogue between those two is so heart-warming). I hoped you liked it - I'll try to post the epilogue soon!