Work Text:
The thick stitches holding together the skin on Harvey’s chest stuck out like a headlight on a dark road, and Mike felt his stomach bubble nervously. Could he give Harvey something that could kill him by getting too close? Was his immune system alright? If he woke him up too quickly, or made him jump, would his new heart take the strain? Mike was probably being stupid, but the slightest inkling that Harvey was going to die, and he’d had to make a detour to a bathroom to vomit. Harvey couldn’t die. Harvey wasn’t allowed to die.
Harvey wasn’t dead. He was lying in that bed in front of him, sleeping away the last dregs of the anaesthesia, someone else’s heart beating strongly under the veil of the sewn-up flesh.
Stepping towards the bed, Mike swallowed thickly, turning his head to look at the man next to him. ‘Is he going to be alright?’
The doctor popped two pills in his mouth, swallowing them dry. Mike had seen the label earlier that day; how many Vicodin could one man throw back? His eyes flicked to the cane, and the tilted stance—improperly healed break? Maybe muscle problems?
The other man nodded in the direction of the bed. ‘He’ll be on anti-rejection meds for the rest of his life. Probably need a new heart in ten or so years. But as long as he learns to relax, stays off the Ipecac and stops taking a knife to the inside of his thighs, he should be fine.’
At the mention of the knife, Mike flinched. ’…How long do you think he was cutting for?’
House simply shrugged back at him, limping over to the bed to adjust the IV. It was infuriating; how could he be so blasé about the mental state of his patient?
Mike wandered over to the chair by the bed, the box of food he had brought from the hospital cafeteria in hand, and stared at the body in the bed. He’d never seen Harvey asleep before. Hell, he’d never seen Harvey look so much as slightly vulnerable before. And yet there he was, sleeping, with a giant reminder that he had spent who knows how long scarring himself inside and out stitched into the centre of his torso.
The reverie broke when House moved back around the bed to the door. ‘You’re the most called in his phone.’
Mike frowned. ‘That’s a major invasion of privacy.’
‘We were looking for potential connections for a diagnosis—mentions of drugs, dealers. Found nothing, except that he calls you about seven times as much as he calls anyone else on his contacts list, including the woman I know to be his boss.’
‘He’s my boss. It’s about our cases. He needs me to be there day and night.’
‘You also call him a lot. I’m willing to bet more than your girlfriend who rang up Cuddy to ask whether you were here and how the patient was doing.’
Mike narrowed his gaze, eyes sharp on House’s own similarly blue. ‘What’s medically interesting about that?’
‘Cameron’s thought during the differential was Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy.’
‘Takots—that’s…also known as—‘
‘All those calls, pining over his pretty assistant M. Ross.’ House frowned, but simply shrugged again. ‘I expected someone a little more busty with a thicker tie, but at least I got the blue eyes right.’
Mike went to retort, explain how ridiculous the idea was, but House had already turned away, lopsidedly hobbling out with his cane in the wrong hand.
He turned back towards the bed, stopping his own hand as it automatically reached for the one lying on top of the sheets. It felt like a natural impulse to touch, to reassure himself that the extremity was still warm and that Harvey still had life, pumped by someone else’s heart, running through his veins.
It was then that Harvey’s eyes crinkled, before reluctantly blinking open.
When House returned to the room a few hours later, Harvey was sat up in bed, reading through a case file which Mike had brought along with him. Evidently, old habits went the way of Bruce Willis, but even he could admit that the patient looked more relaxed than he had the entire time that he had been in the hospital. The aforementioned assistant wasn’t far away; a cursory glance to the chair next to the bed showed the man asleep, arm draped over the side of the arm and head threatening to fall with it.
He gestured with his cane. ‘Is he always so annoying?’
Harvey’s lip twitched angrily, but his voice was calm and steady, if a little croaky. ‘What does it matter to you?’
He said nothing, but paced over to the window, staring out into the darkening sky as he spoke again. ‘He cares about your privacy, which admittedly is a given, because lawyers don’t want people finding out little details unless it’s beneficial to them. On the other hand, he seemed indignant when I pointed out you were the one he called the most and vice-versa. Now either he was annoyed because I was making out that he would be the next one down the path of self-harm as a way of control, or he didn’t like being reminded of what he couldn’t have.’
‘Couldn’t have?’
‘Your assistant, associate, whatever. He’s in love with you.’
Harvey frowned at him, head turning a little in disbelief. ‘That’s—‘
‘Insane? Yeah. But so was the comment when we were testing his blood for a donor match when we thought you’d need a kidney transplant.’
‘What comment?’
House pursed his lips, then turned face the patient. The man’s face was contorted in a confused snarl, awaiting his answer.
He paced back over to the door. ‘Associates who are not in love with their boss do not use the words “I’d share my heart with him if I could.”’
And then he walked out the door.
Cuddy apprehended him in the hallway in front of the room. ‘You’re a sentimental ass.’
‘The patient is a stubborn idiot who thought induced vomiting and slicing into his legs with a pair of scissors was a great idea to stay in control,’ he stated, popped the cap off of his Vicodin bottle again and taking another two pills out; his leg was aching twice as much since he’d solved the case.
Cuddy shook her head, turning to look through the glass as he threw them back. Mike had woken up, and he and Harvey were talking in hushed tones, sharing concerned looks and emotion-loaded smiles.
As eyes flicked to hands, and hands hesitantly found each other, she rolled her own eyes and nodded towards the two men behind the glass. ‘You actually thought Cameron might actually have been right about Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy.’
‘I was making sure the patient didn’t burn through his transplant.’
She shook her head, trying not to smile. ‘You went in there because you want to see them happy.’
‘I went in there to warn him about the issues of relationships between colleagues of different ranks.’
‘You wanted two people to be happy instead of miserable like you.’
‘I wanted them to stop dancing around each other like Cameron and Chase continue to. At least I get to mock those two daily. They, on the other hand, could have gone years without realising that they want to nickname each other “Pookie” and “Shnookums”.’
‘That’s ridiculous. “Pookie” is a terrible nickname. You may as well call each other “Babe” because you can’t remember what their name is,’ Cuddy shot back. She turned fully to him, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Get down to the clinic. You’ve got seven hours left this week.’
‘But it’s Christmas!’
‘It’s July. Go down to the clinic.’