A/N: pt 2 of Dogwood Rose symbolizing pain and pleasure.
"Shit," Mickey said, barely managing to get his arms under Harry's body in an attempt to catch the collapsing figure. Mickey hadn't expected the man to literally drop at his feet, and the sudden weight pulling him forward forced him to his knees as he supported the body hanging limp in his arms.
Looking around quickly for a spot to deposit the unconscious form, Mickey began dragging Harry towards the sofa, his muscles straining under the dead weight and his breathing becoming laboured as he shuffled backwards.
Settling Harry onto the cushions, he placed a small throw pillow under his head and set two fingers against his neck. The skin was a bit clammy but there was a faint pulse, racing slightly. Mickey frowned; it should be slower if the person was unconscious. Of course, the usual reaction to the drug he'd used was disorientation, the victim wading through a fog of hazy comprehension, yet still compliant enough to be able to answer questions. He'd have to find out from Morton if Mickey had given Harry the wrong dosage.
He would have to wait now until the other awoke to find out any information. Beginning to pull his hand back, Mickey started as a loud buzzing tone sounded behind him, and he grabbed the mobile off the table inwardly chastising himself for being so jumpy. A glance told him the caller id, and he turned the phone off, hoping Rose would think Harry had called it a night.
Dropping the phone back onto the table, Mickey looked back at Harry. The older man's slack features seemed to mock him and he tentatively stretched a hand towards the other's chest. Pausing momentarily in indecision, Mickey shook his head and deliberately placed his palm over Harry's chest. One heartbeat, he noted, unsure whether this discovery eased his mind or came as a disappointment. Harry's chest rose and fell as a slight pressure against his hand. Mickey leaned forward, placing his ear close to Harry's mouth then sat back, satisfied at his findings. Human, to all intents and purposes, at least after a cursory inspection.
Sighing, he watched the still figure a few minutes more then stood moving towards the bar and pouring himself a drink. If he was going to have to wait for Harry to wake, he may as well make himself comfortable. Dropping ice cubes into the glass, he watched them bounce against the sides before settling on the bottom as he considered taking Harry into Torchwood where he could be observed by the medical team. He shook the thought off, not wanting to answer any more questions himself than were necessary. And besides, Harry didn't appear to be in any distress.
Mickey poured amber liquid into the glass then carried it back over to the lying form, pulled an armchair closer to the couch and sat down, grabbing the remote before stretching his legs out onto the table. He tipped his glass towards the comatose Harry. "Don't mind if I do," he stated, taking a drink and turning his attention back to the large screen to watch the replay between Chelsea and Manchester United.
XXXXX XXXXX
Rose looked at her phone again. Why wasn't Harry picking up? He'd sent her the photo of the rose not too long ago, which she had taken to mean she'd been forgiven for her earlier outburst. But now doubt was beginning to overshadow that idea and the gnawing fear in the pit of her stomach wouldn't let her rest.
Staring out the window as the familiar sights of the city passed, Rose was lost in her own thoughts, unaware of the scenery flashing by. Would Harry even talk to her since he was still unreachable on his mobile, and for a moment she panicked thinking he may have already left the city, then calmed herself. She knew where he lived, so even if he had decided to leave she could still find him, but she wanted to confront this sooner rather than later and held on to the hope that he was still in town.
She thought of all the wonders she'd been witness to, all the strange and unusual creatures, locations and unknown things, learning and discovering beside the Doctor, the near escapes, the seemingly constant running for their lives. She chuckled; it had been so worth it. She had felt a part of something bigger, something so wonderful she couldn't put it into words. Then in a heartbeat, the one person that had meant so much to her, had offered her the chance of a lifetime, had opened not only her eyes but her mind and heart to all that the universe could offer had been separated from her.
And now she'd met Harry, and there was an unknown to him that she couldn't quite figure out. He reminded her so much of another brown-eyed man, yet was completely different. And yes, she admitted to herself, she did harbour feelings for him. But did she trust him, or was she letting her reaction to Mickey's paranoia obscure her judgement? She had learned there was only one way to find the answers, and that was to not be afraid to stand up and ask the questions. She sat up, determined to face her own fears and confront Harry herself, subconscious be damned.
Smiling as the vehicle came to a stop in front of the lobby doors, Rose let herself out and reached for her crutch. No denying Harry enjoyed the finer tastes, she mused; the five star hotel, glamorous in its décor, made her begin to feel a bit underdressed, having thrown on a pair of jeans and a pink hoody. She couldn't remember if she'd properly combed her hair and ran a hand through it briefly, then decided to ignore any snobbish looks that were sure to be directed her way and started towards the doors. Harry was probably in the penthouse suite too, she thought, which would save her a bit of time having to traverse any long hallways on her bad foot.
Rose was just thanking the doorman when she pulled up short. A black Labrador launched itself towards the open door and ran past with a youngster in tow, eyes wide and mouth open, hand still clinging to the leash. Superman hadn't flown so well, Rose thought while managing to maintain her balance and sharing a laugh with the others gathered nearby. Her smile turned rapidly into a frown when she glanced across the lobby and spotted a familiar face belonging to Torchwood, and he wasn't alone. Panic gripped her and she stood frozen for a moment.
"Can I be of assistance, miss?"
Rose looked towards the friendly face of the doorman, still waiting for her to enter the door he held, and shook her head. "I'm fine thank you," she told him, her voice sounding a bit shaky even to her own ears.
Stepping into the lift and pushing the penthouse button on the panel, she wondered if she was in time to—to what? What the hell was Mickey doing?. She stared at the numbered buttons as they lit up, increasing slowly as the lift made its ascent floor by floor, her mind now racing with unwanted thoughts and irrational ideas.
The doors weren't fully open when the two individuals standing guard at the doorway found themselves facing a very angry person. And not just any angry person, but the Director's daughter, and judging from the panicked glances the two men shared, her demeanour was enough to convince them just who was in charge of whatever operation they were on.
She knew their faces; they'd worked under Jake and Mickey before, and she was hoping she wouldn't have to revert to calling Pete. Instead she tried a bluff. "Your services are no longer required this evening," she managed to say calmly, holding her hand out for the key card, and was pleased to note the two men handed it over and hastily disappeared into the lift without a word.
Her hand shook as she swiped the plastic card through the magnetic reader, watching the small LED turn green and the door click open. Pushing the door wider, she was taken aback at seeing Mickey sprawled on a chair watching football and next to him Harry laid out on the sofa. A convincing picture of two mates enjoying the evening, but Rose knew better.
"What have you done?" she shot angrily at Mickey while stepping towards Harry. "Told you to wait, yeah?"
Having spilled some of his drink at the sound of her voice, Mickey was now sitting up and glaring back. "I was getting some answers."
"By drugging him? Why didn't you just take him to Torchwood, you could have beaten him up a bit too!" she accused.
"You didn't seem all that concerned for him earlier this evening." Rose glanced up at Mickey who was now standing over her and Harry while she checked for a pulse. When Rose didn't respond, Mickey continued. "I didn't give him anything different than what we normally use. I double checked." Mickey sounded almost apologetic, and again Rose looked upwards noting the concern in his face. "But he just dropped like a deflated balloon. That's why I brought him to the sofa. I've been keeping an eye on him since."
Mickey watched Rose lean forward as he had done earlier, checking to see that Harry was breathing. "Any ideas?"
Rose shook her head. "I don't know." She placed the back of her hand on Harry's forehead and noted a slight shiver run through him. "Has that happened before?" she asked Mickey hopefully. Mickey shook his head.
"There's been nothing," he stated. "But he's only got one heart," he hastened to point out.
"Help me get him into the bedroom." Rose moved to the opposite end of the sofa, looking at Mickey expectantly. "You're going to just stand there?"
"Why do we need to move him? He looks comfortable. 'Sides, you're not going to be much help." He indicated the crutch.
"Mickey," Rose growled and the young man bent over, placing his hands under Harry's shoulders and lifted. Grunting loudly at the exertion for Rose's benefit, he managed to half drag, half carry the inert figure into the bedroom, then gingerly laid him on the bed.
"I'll be out in the front room." Mickey thumbed over his shoulder before walking away.
Rose managed, with a bit of effort, to get Harry's jacket off and threw it over a chair before stepping into the small bathroom. Wetting a towel with warm water, she wrung it out then knelt on the bed beside him, wiping his cool brow and cheeks in long strokes, remembering another time she had done this, for another man, in another universe.
She picked up the hotel phone listening for an operator. She had an idea. "Mickey!" Rose shouted.
"What's wrong?" Mickey asked at the doorway a few seconds later, the look in his eyes saying he'd expected to find more than the exact sight he'd just left. "Getting room service squared away that he-" indicating Harry with a nod. "—ordered."
"Is there tea?" Rose asked quickly.
Mickey shrugged, until he met her eyes. "I'll find out," he answered as he disappeared again.
"I need more towels and your strongest tea," she told the concierge over the phone. "Yeah, penthouse suite—" she looked imploringly at Mickey. "And could I have that yesterday?" She hung up the phone before waiting for a reply. Let them mull on that.
"What's the rush?"
"Was there tea?" she almost shrieked. Mickey looked taken aback.
"Course there's tea, and biscuits too if you—" he grew silent as she stormed past him, nearly knocking him over. She was on a mission and Mickey stepped out of the way.
"Get him in the shower," she called over her shoulder. Mickey stood staring at Harry, his brows furrowed, until Rose came back, carrying a carafe and empty cup. Pouring half a cup she set it close to Harry's head then scooted down the bed and began pulling off his shoes and socks. "I need some help here, Mickey," she pleaded with urgency.
Moving to the side of the bed Mickey removed the cup of tea then reached behind Harry once more, gathering the unresponsive man and dragging him towards the bathroom. "You want to explain this?" he managed to gasp in between breaths.
"We need to break his fever," she replied twisting the shower knob and hobbling aside to give Mickey room.
"Damn!" Mickey shouted, dumping Harry onto the floor and jumping out of the cold spray, shaking his head. "He's not even burning up," he stated a little put out by Rose's demands and the fact he was now wet and cold.
"Would you grab the tea?" Rose asked kneeling over Harry, mindful of the fact she was thoroughly soaked in moments. Hastily discarding the drenched hoody, she struggled to pull him up into a sitting position, his head dropping to her shoulder as she tried unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. Numb fingers from the cold water, and his shirt refusing to budge from the waistband, she sighed unbuckling his belt. This definitely wasn't the romantic evening she'd dreamt about. She turned at the incessant tapping on her shoulder.
Mickey stood holding the carafe out to her, a towel in his other hand, drying himself. Rose pulled the last dry towel off the rack and poured the tea over it.
"Did I miss something?" Mickey asked warily.
"Free radicals and tannins," Rose replied shivering, finally loosening the belt and unzipping Harry's trousers enough to pull his shirt free, then slowly peeling it from his arms, his body draped over hers like a large child. "It helped the Doctor, after his regeneration."
"You've still lost me. We don't even know if he is one of them," Mickey said quietly reaching over with no prompting as Rose began to remove Harry's trousers, and with Mickey's help pulled off the clingy clothing. Dumping the article in the corner with the shirt and jumper now surrounded by a pool of wet on the tiled floor, Mickey turned back to Rose. "He's not regenerating, or something?"
Rose shaking her head looked up at Mickey's tolerant smile, mascara tears trailing down her cheeks and strands of hair plastered against her face. "I'll try anything, Mickey," she said, cradling Harry's head against her shoulder, her other arm wrapped protectively around him, and the tea soaked towel draped over his shoulders, the effects of the cold water causing her to shiver uncontrollably.
"Yeah, I'll get the door." Mickey inclined his head towards the loud knocking, patted Rose awkwardly on the shoulder and left to meet room service once again.
Despite the fact she was beyond freezing under the torrent of water, Rose felt a movement and looked down into a pair of familiar brown eyes. "Wha—" he began, then closed his eyes again, leaning back into her.
Rose kissed the top of his head, rubbing her cheek against the short hair, while rocking him unconscientiously, as if comforting a small child. "I didn't know what to do," she whispered hoarsely, her thumb rubbing short strokes across his cheek.
"Time," he managed to croak out.
"'S ok. I can wait until you're ready." He shook his head, Rose frowned.
"Time lo--," his voice faded from the effort and despite the temperature Rose felt her insides freeze.
"Figured that," she threw back flippantly, wanting to ease his discomfort. "Two hearts, yeah?" He nodded in response. "How do we get the other one working again?" Receiving no answer Rose looked down and found his eyes closed once again, a soft sound coming from his open mouth. He appeared to be snoring peacefully, and she dared to believe that he would be all right.
Mickey had moved Harry back into the other room and laid him on the towel covered bed without objecting. Rose, after wrapping her hair up, began to dry Harry off. "I'll just leave you to it. Let me know if he comes around." Mickey stepped backwards toward the door.
"Yeah, I will." Rose looked up at her friend who seemed a tad embarrassed by her ministrations to Harry. "Thanks Mickey." Mickey shrugged and hurried out of the room as Rose continued toweling off Harry.
She told herself that her gaze never wandered from her task, and she didn't notice the mole above his right nipple, the smattering of light brown hair across his chest or the fact that if one followed his smooth stomach downward it led to a line of darker hair. Her breath caught as she lifted the towel from his stomach and gaped at the sight below. Glancing quickly at his face, her own feeling slightly flushed, she caught her tongue between her teeth and let her gaze drift over his boxers again before running the towel over and around his thighs, smiling to herself as certain movements brought a slight reaction.
She thought momentarily about replacing the wet boxers, then laid a dry towel over them, leaving the sleeping figure's modesty intact. Rose pulled the bed covers up and tucked Harry in, setting a fresh cup of tea next to him before rummaging through his clothes in search of a dry track suit for herself.
Stepping from the bathroom after a hot shower, she felt the day's events catch up with her and lay down on the far side of the bed from Harry, promptly drifting off.