Chapter Text
Harvey is honestly kind of surprised the hospital let him go home with Ray.
Through the headache and fatigue from his mild concussion, he must have missed the man convincing the nurse at the station that he would be much better off at home, only really remembering being herded outside and into the car. He does, briefly, remember Ray standing right outside of his door, talking to someone on the phone, his voice muffled by the window. He also misses most of the car ride home, only startled out of his brain fog by his driver waving a hand in his face- he hadn't even realised they'd stopped.
"Harvey? Harvey, we're here." Ray gives him an awkward smile, offering him a hand. "Your doorman said I could park here while I help you get up to your place."
For a moment, Harvey wants to refuse, to argue that he's fine and he can make it up there himself, but as soon as he's standing upright on the sidewalk his stomach lurches dangerously. He ends up being too busy trying not to ruin his Oxfords as he's slowly guided inside, Ray bearing most of Harvey's weight. He breathes deeply through his nose during the ride up his private elevator, closing his eyes as they climb higher and higher. The only time he really hates living on the top floor of a building is when he's as nauseous as he currently is.
The journey from the elevator into his living room is lost on him- he blinks and suddenly he's sitting down on his couch. He can hear Ray in the kitchen behind him, saying words he can't understand through the water in his ears. Harvey closes his eyes, head leaning back against the backrest, the pressure on the base of his skull doing wonders for his headache.
A hand on his shoulder startles him, and he hisses in pain as he jerks up. His glare is met with an apologetic look as Ray passes Harvey a glass of water, one that is begrudgingly accepted with both hands before being sipped very carefully.
"Can't fall asleep yet, boss." There's a note of apology in Ray's voice too, and Harvey strains to understand what's being said to him. "Just wait a little longer, okay?"
Ray's phone buzzes suddenly, and he fishes it out of his pocket, quickly reading the notification before breathing a sigh of relief. He says something else to Harvey, but the ringing in his ears drowns out the words, and he can only nod helplessly at Ray before watching him leave, the click of the door shutting faint but noticeable. Vaguely, he wishes that he was better at reading lips, wanting just a little more context about what he's waiting for before the headache reminds him that he wouldn't have been able to understand the man any better that way.
He brings the heel of his palm up to his forehead, pressing at the spot that stings the most with a little force. It's wet when he pulls it back, and through his blurred vision he can see a red streak across the bottom of his hand before something warm drips down his cheek.
"God damn it." He mutters. He'd forgotten about the cut from being punched in the wake of the concussion, and he'd just reopened it after it had finally stopped bleeding. Still muttering curses, Harvey tries to stand carefully, succeeding on his third try with the help of the armrest. He breathes through another wave of dizziness and nausea, waiting until his vision clears before stumbling towards his kitchen, happy that it's not as strong as it was at the hospital. Catching himself on the counter, he gives himself time to let the dizziness pass again before slowly kneeling down in front of his sink. Prying open the cabinet, he grabs at the first-aid kit he stashes down there in case he cuts himself while cooking, taking care to stand up extra slowly. He's winded by the time he places the kit on the counter, and he collapses with his back against the marble for a few moments, letting himself breathe.
When his head feels less heavy he paws at the first-aid kit, fumbling until he finds the zipper and yanks it open haphazardly. He rifles through it for a few minutes, ignoring the feeling of blood dripping down his face and onto his very white shirt, frustration growing steadily as he keeps forgetting what he's looking for. The pounding of his headache also seems to have worsened, the pulses deep as they follow the pattern of ringing in his ears.
It takes him a few more minutes to realise the pounding is someone knocking on his door.
Pushing again through his brain fog with a grunt, Harvey stumbles his way towards his front door. The walk through his entry hallway feels much longer than normal, and he wonders briefly if Ray had come back for some reason. He leans against the door for a moment once he reaches it, letting his mind catch up to his body before he pulls it open, still unlocked from when Ray left.
Rather than his favorite chauffeur, Mike stands in his doorway staring wide-eyed at him, hands clutching the strap of his messenger bag as his eyes dart from Harvey's face, to his forehead, and down to his shirt before repeating again.
Harvey, on the other hand, cannot look away from his undone tie, hanging around his shoulders like a scarf. His eyes briefly scan over the pale expanse of his throat, watching as Mike's adam's apple bobs with a dry swallow before his disdain over the tie makes him roll his eyes, and the headache has him turning away. He stalks back down the hall, rounding the corner before he hears Mike stumbling after him, still uncharacteristically silent.
He has neither the processing power nor the time to try and understand it, the slow drip of blood down his face irritating him too much. Ignoring Mike's eyes on his face, Harvey returns to rifling through the first aid kit, slowly finding the items he needs. He manages to pull out a large bandage and a few antiseptic wipes before he's interrupted by Mike clearing his throat and he looks up to see Mike holding out a file. He nods minutely, gesturing towards the counter with his head before looking down. Harvey doesn't remember requesting the file, but he's sure it's probably important.
After another minute of rifling, the heaviness in his head wins out. Shoving a hand through his hair in frustration, he glares down at the kit before beckoning Mike over with a half-hearted hand wave. The conversation passes him by in a haze, and suddenly he's on the couch in the same position as before, eyes closed against the light.
The minutes too pass him in another haze of faint movement and pulsing behind his eyelids. He feels more so than hears when Mike approaches him, the warmth of his knee prominent even through the fabric of his pants when it bumps Harvey's. He says something to his rookie about his headache and gets an amused hum in return before Mike is walking away from him again, presence reappearing behind his head. He cracks one eye open to Mike grinning brightly at him, meaning to be reassuring Harvey assumes, and the older can't help the way he shakes his head, concussion be damned. Mike starts cleaning him up shortly after, dabbing gently at the skin around his cut and anywhere else the blood had dripped onto.
"So," Mike says lightly, but even with the concussion Harvey can easily pick out the weight of his words, just short of blasé, "Are you ever going to tell me what happened, or should I just file this away into the "This never happened" cabinet in my mind?"
Harvey can't help his hum of amusement at Mike's failure to be subtle in his angry curiosity, his chest warming at the notion that Mike is bothered by him being injured, though he's not really sure why. Rather than dwell on that, he takes his time trying to muster up a coherent response, grateful for Mike's silent patience.
"Boxing." He murmurs finally, once the pulsing behind his eyelids ebbs a little. "Didn't block in time." Harvey manages to crack his eye open to look at Mike, taking in the worry lines around his mouth and forehead. "Accident." He tries to emphasize the last word as much as he can to reassure Mike in his own way. It works, if the kid's responding nod is anything to go by, and Harvey sinks back into the comfortable darkness behind his lids, satisfied.
He hears Mike warn him abut the sting, and though he braces for it as best he can he's never truly prepared for just how much it hurts when the alcohol touches his wound directly. He curses, grumbling about Mike being more careful and Mike makes a soft noise of apology in the back of his throat.
It's not on purpose, Mike murmurs, and there's a deeper message there, one Harvey's still too out of it to understand completely, but thinks he knows what Mike's getting at.
I know, kid. He murmurs back, I know.
The kid starts talking again as he's peeling the adhesive off of the bandages, fingers gentle when they brush against Harvey's irritated skin. He's murmuring about the invention of the bandage, tone soft and sweet as he tells Harvey that they were made for the inventor's wife, who was clumsy and injury-prone, and he wanted to make her something she could apply without needing help.
Harvey understands him, in that moment. When he thinks of Mike having an issue that he can easily solve, there's no question that he will solve it to the best of his ability.
He mumbles as such to the kid as he's cleaning up, and when Mike asks what he means, he opens his eyes, knowing how earnest and open his expression probably is and pushing on anyways.
"I would create something entirely new if it meant your life would be easier too."
The confession takes something out of him, because his eyes flutter back shut moments later, sleep tugging at the back of his mind. It'd been a long day, longer than he'd liked, and he wanted nothing more than to rest now that he was properly cleaned up and the thing Ray told him to wait for had arrived. As his breathing slows, Harvey feels the faintest of touches to the bandage, fleeting but warm. It reminds him of when he was sick and his father would kiss his forehead to help 'break the fever', and it's the last thing he needs to properly relax, letting sleep tug him into an almost dreamless rest.
When he wakes, he remembers nothing of the one dream he did have, left only with a warmth settled deep in his sternum and the lingering scent of Mike's aftershave in his nose.