Fic: Feed a Fever (Harvey/Mike, PG)
Jun. 26th, 2012 11:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silverfoxflowerTitle: Feed a Fever
Fandom: Suits
Genre: H/C, Pre-slash, Fluff
Word Count: ~2000
Pairing: Harvey/Mike, Donna
Rating: PG
Warnings: Sketchy medical knowledge
Written for:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shiroi_ten at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
suits_exchange
Notes: Had this on my hard drive since January, finally getting around to cleaning it up and putting it out there.
Beta: Thank you tophreakycat and random00b!
Summary: The puppy is sick and obviously can’t be trusted to take care of himself.
Disclaimer: No ownership was claimed in the making of this nonsense.
“I have a temperature of a hundred and two,” Mike said as he opened the door. “I’m most likely delirious and certainly contagious.”
“Awwwww,” Donna smiled. “Sweet of you to worry, but since my immune system hasn’t been steadily chipped away by a steady diet of Red Bull and 12-hour work days, I think I’ll take my chances.”
“Okay?” Mike coughed as Donna pushed her way in, a move which wasn’t all that fair considering her opponent’s significantly weakened state. “Did Harvey send you here to make sure I’m too sick to do his paperwork, or to take care of me so I’ll get back to doing his paperwork faster?”
“Mike Ross,” Donna turned on her heel and stared him down, one perfectly manicured eyebrow rising into her hairline. “If you have learned anything about Harvey after working for him for three months, or about me, after worshiping me for roughly the same amount of time, you would know the answer.”
“The paperwork is in your bag, isn’t it?” Mike smiled, and oh God, even that hurt so much. He limped to the sofa, collapsing into it as if his legs were made of wet newspaper.
“You should be lying down,” Donna said, her eyebrows furrowing. “You’re sick.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Mike said, scooting forward and pressing his face against the side table just to feel its blessed, plastic-y coolness against his feverish skin. “I was thinking about running out and frolicking in the rain without pants, but now …”
“I’m going to attribute that smartass comment to your delirium and spare you the wrath such a statement would usually deserve,” Donna toed a pile of dirty laundry with a look of distaste. “Come on, do you need help getting into bed? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.”
“I’m going,” Mike mumbled docilely. Judging by Donna’s bemused expression, she was expecting a snarky protest, but Mike just really, really wanted to get horizontal as soon as possible. He stumbled his way into the bedroom, flopped onto the first thing that looked soft and narrowly missed slamming his face into the nightstand as a result. Sleepily groping his way to center of his nest of covers, Mike burrowed down and immediately began dozing. Distantly, he heard the sound of running water and cupboard doors opening.
“Here, drink up.”
Mike opened one eye to see a tall glass of water set down on the night stand, along with some over-the-counter fever reducers he had had left scattered on his kitchen counter. Throwing Donna a grateful look, Mike painfully maneuvered himself into a sitting position in order to gulp down the pills and water.
Donna perched on a chair by the bed. “Have you been to see a doctor?”
“Yep.” Mike put the glass back on the nightstand and settled back into bed. It was kinda weird that Donna was in his bedroom, looking impeccable in her designer dress as she sat in the middle of what was essentially piles of dirty laundry, empty pizza boxes and crumpled tissues. Vaguely embarrassed, Mike scooted down in bed and dragged the covers to his chin. If he squinted a little, the combination of his fever-delirium and copious amounts of medication made Donna look like a beautiful, snarky guardian angel. He snorted a little to himself at the thought. “The doctor said that I’ll be functional by tomorrow. Back to proofing briefs and accepting verbal harassment from Harvey.”
“Really?” Donna looked skeptical.
“Well, she said that it was a 24-hour bug. I extrapolated the rest.” Mike rolled over, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Provided that I get enough sleep.” He added significantly.
“Hm.” Donna said. Mike closed his eyes as she stood, her heels making clicking noises on the wood floor as she walked away. He expected to hear the sound of the front door slamming. Instead, there was a distant gush of water as the kitchen faucet was turned on and minute later Mike felt a cool cloth press against his forehead.
“Wha?” He whimpered, his eyes snapping open.
“Congratulations,” Donna smiled brightly. “It seems that the combination of your pathetic state and puppy-like countenance has awakened a long-dormant maternal instinct within my bosom.”
“Thanks?” Mike said, trying desperately to keep his eyes from gravitating to Donna’s chest. Maternal instinct or not, that was a death wish.
“You owe me,” Donna answered breezily, lifting the damp cloth off of Mike’s forehead and flipping it to a cooler side. “Also,” her voice turned conspiratorial, “don’t worry about the briefs. Between you and me, Harvey had me bring them over so I could check up on you.”
“Uh huh. I still have to have them on his desk by -”
“Four PM tomorrow.”
Mike groaned and shifted on the bed, seeking to smother himself in the pillow. The wet towel on his forehead flopped off and made a dark spot on the bedsheets. Sleep. Blessed, blessed sleep. It was like a beautiful nymph dancing just out of his reach, laughing as he tried to catch her. Mike screwed his eyes shut tight.
Twenty minutes later, Mike had thoroughly exhausted all possible sleeping positions without success. He cracked open an eye.
“Having trouble sleeping?” Donna asked innocently.
“Yeah. Kinda,” Mike said, because maybe it’s because you’re staring at me was the kind of sentiment that Donna would take offense at and Mike valued all of his organs where they were, thank you very much.
“Well, I suppose if you begged me to, I could treat you like my five-year-old niece and tell you a bedtime story.”
“I don’t really think-“ Mike started to protest.
“Shush, you’re sick. You don’t get to make your own decisions.” Donna leaned forward dramatically. “How about the tale of Cinder-Mike, who attended Prince Harvey’s ball but had to flee at midnight, leaving, as the only clue to his identity, a briefcase of pot.” She beamed. “All with the help of the gorgeous fairy godmother Donna, of course.”
“Okay,” Mike rubbed at his eyes. “That sounds interesting and … weird.”
“Weird?” Donna lifted an eyebrow. “Or a perfect example of the schoolgirlish fantasies you’ve been entertaining about Harvey since the first time he called you his puppy?”
“Probably the second,” Mike admitted. Damn fever, making him all truthful.
“Alternately, you could choose the story of Mike, the poor miller’s son who won King Harvey’s heart by proofing an entire room of briefs in one night without even having to offer his firstborn to a creepy little man.”
“That actually sounds like an accurate representation of my life right now,” Mike said, “if that creepy man’s name is Louis Litt.”
“Isn’t it always?” Donna said, arranging herself comfortably in her seat, “Now, once upon a time …”
When Mike opened his eyes, his room was considerably darker. His skin felt sticky with sweat and his mouth was dry. Groggy, he shifted under the covers as he heard noises outside the room.
“Harvey, as much as I support your slow but inevitable conquest of Mike’s affections, you can’t just scoop him up and move him into your apartment.”
Donna’s voice came from the living room. Mike could see her if he craned his neck forwards and squinted.
“In case you haven’t noticed, he’s sick,” she continued, walking out of his view. Was she talking on the phone? Mike’s head wasn’t pounding as painfully as before, so he continued to lay in bed, drifting in the space between sleep and wakefulness, not really comprehending the point of the conversation.
“Really, Donna? Because this apartment is a health hazard.” Harvey’s voice made Mike blink in surprise. Then, the man himself walked past Mike’s bedroom door and into his line of sight.
At first Mike couldn’t believe that it was Harvey. The man’s back was to the bedroom door and his suit jacket was off, exposing a pale blue shirt and grey vest. Mike was pretty sure he’d never seen Harvey in this state of undress (which, frankly, said more about his boss than about their relationship).
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Mike’s mysterious illness cropped up as a result of that fluorescent mold currently occupying the sink. I wouldn’t let Louis live here, much less my Mi- … associate.” Harvey turned on his heel, surveying the apartment with the patented Specter Look of Distain.
“Is this a fever dream?” Mike called out, struggling to sit up, “Because I think I just heard Harvey say that he caaaaaaaares about me.”
“It’s a dream.” Harvey said. “Go back to sleep.” Then he walked into the bedroom and contradicted his earlier order by snapping on the light. Mike greeted him with a dopey smile.
“Oh, will you look at the time!” Donna poked her head in and made a production of glancing at her wrist despite the fact that, as far as Mike could see, she wasn’t wearing a watch. “Looks like I’ve been here for three hours doing something outside my job description. Your shift, Harvey.”
“What.” Harvey said flatly. A moment of silence resulted wherein Harvey and Donna glared at each other like they were communicating solely through eye contact. It was something they did regularly through the glass walls of Harvey’s office, deliberately giving passerby the impression they were telepathic.
“Better stay with him, Harvey,” Donna said finally, smiling in triumph, “He’s got a temperature of a hundred and two.”
“Oh for the love of-“
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll tell Ray to drive me home.” Donna blew a kiss in their direction. “Play nice, boys.”
After he heard the sound of a door closing, Mike cracked open a gummy eye to find Harvey standing next to his bed, looking down at him as if internally calculating how much emotion could be expressed without Mike teasing him about it forever and ever.
“Please don’t leave me to die because you’re scared of my wit,” Mike mumbled sorrowfully.
“Right. I think you have larger issues to worry about.” Harvey said, sitting down in the seat Donna had previously occupied. “For example, your apartment is tragic. Also, Donna tells me you are on the brink of death.”
Mike crossed his arms behind his head. “Donna was an awesome caretaker. She told me a story, you know.”
“Oh no, how will I ever compete with that?” Harvey deadpanned. “I know, I’d better sing you a lullaby and tuck you in with a tender goodnight kiss on the forehead.”
“Really?” Mike looked up with a hopeful expression.
“No.” Harvey held up his cell phone. “First, I’m calling Roma’s, the best goddamn diner you’ll ever have the privilege of hearing about from me, and ordering a delivery of chicken noodle soup. And I don’t care about the whole feed a cold, starve a fever business. You’re eating every last drop. Then, you are going to sleep for eight full hours and wake up coherent enough to go through the Mackenzie briefs. If you’re lucky, I won’t have had most of your possessions – including those skinny ties - dragged outside and burned. I am, however, seriously contemplating calling up maid service.”
“No kiss?” Mike said, mock-disappointed. Or it might have been real-disappointed.
Mike flinched and almost pulled away when Harvey leaned forward and put a hand on his forehead. “Easy,” Harvey said, his breath cool on Mike’s feverish skin. His scent, some expensive cologne that made his skin smell like sandalwood and superiority, sank into Mike’s senses.
“Uh …” Mike mumbled as he felt Harvey’s dry lips brush his forehead. Fever dream. Definitely a fever dream, and one that could go on forever as far as he was concerned.
“You’d better not be contagious,” Harvey said as he pulled back slightly, smile unruffled.
“Little too late now.” Mike couldn’t help smiling, because it turned out he liked the feeling of Harvey’s lips on his skin even more than he’d imagined. “But don’t worry, when you get sick, I’ll take gooooood care of you.”
Harvey raised an eyebrow. “God help us all.”
Fandom: Suits
Genre: H/C, Pre-slash, Fluff
Word Count: ~2000
Pairing: Harvey/Mike, Donna
Rating: PG
Warnings: Sketchy medical knowledge
Written for:
shiroi_ten at suits_exchangeNotes: Had this on my hard drive since January, finally getting around to cleaning it up and putting it out there.
Beta: Thank you to
phreakycat and random00b!Summary: The puppy is sick and obviously can’t be trusted to take care of himself.
Disclaimer: No ownership was claimed in the making of this nonsense.
“I have a temperature of a hundred and two,” Mike said as he opened the door. “I’m most likely delirious and certainly contagious.”
“Awwwww,” Donna smiled. “Sweet of you to worry, but since my immune system hasn’t been steadily chipped away by a steady diet of Red Bull and 12-hour work days, I think I’ll take my chances.”
“Okay?” Mike coughed as Donna pushed her way in, a move which wasn’t all that fair considering her opponent’s significantly weakened state. “Did Harvey send you here to make sure I’m too sick to do his paperwork, or to take care of me so I’ll get back to doing his paperwork faster?”
“Mike Ross,” Donna turned on her heel and stared him down, one perfectly manicured eyebrow rising into her hairline. “If you have learned anything about Harvey after working for him for three months, or about me, after worshiping me for roughly the same amount of time, you would know the answer.”
“The paperwork is in your bag, isn’t it?” Mike smiled, and oh God, even that hurt so much. He limped to the sofa, collapsing into it as if his legs were made of wet newspaper.
“You should be lying down,” Donna said, her eyebrows furrowing. “You’re sick.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Mike said, scooting forward and pressing his face against the side table just to feel its blessed, plastic-y coolness against his feverish skin. “I was thinking about running out and frolicking in the rain without pants, but now …”
“I’m going to attribute that smartass comment to your delirium and spare you the wrath such a statement would usually deserve,” Donna toed a pile of dirty laundry with a look of distaste. “Come on, do you need help getting into bed? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.”
“I’m going,” Mike mumbled docilely. Judging by Donna’s bemused expression, she was expecting a snarky protest, but Mike just really, really wanted to get horizontal as soon as possible. He stumbled his way into the bedroom, flopped onto the first thing that looked soft and narrowly missed slamming his face into the nightstand as a result. Sleepily groping his way to center of his nest of covers, Mike burrowed down and immediately began dozing. Distantly, he heard the sound of running water and cupboard doors opening.
“Here, drink up.”
Mike opened one eye to see a tall glass of water set down on the night stand, along with some over-the-counter fever reducers he had had left scattered on his kitchen counter. Throwing Donna a grateful look, Mike painfully maneuvered himself into a sitting position in order to gulp down the pills and water.
Donna perched on a chair by the bed. “Have you been to see a doctor?”
“Yep.” Mike put the glass back on the nightstand and settled back into bed. It was kinda weird that Donna was in his bedroom, looking impeccable in her designer dress as she sat in the middle of what was essentially piles of dirty laundry, empty pizza boxes and crumpled tissues. Vaguely embarrassed, Mike scooted down in bed and dragged the covers to his chin. If he squinted a little, the combination of his fever-delirium and copious amounts of medication made Donna look like a beautiful, snarky guardian angel. He snorted a little to himself at the thought. “The doctor said that I’ll be functional by tomorrow. Back to proofing briefs and accepting verbal harassment from Harvey.”
“Really?” Donna looked skeptical.
“Well, she said that it was a 24-hour bug. I extrapolated the rest.” Mike rolled over, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Provided that I get enough sleep.” He added significantly.
“Hm.” Donna said. Mike closed his eyes as she stood, her heels making clicking noises on the wood floor as she walked away. He expected to hear the sound of the front door slamming. Instead, there was a distant gush of water as the kitchen faucet was turned on and minute later Mike felt a cool cloth press against his forehead.
“Wha?” He whimpered, his eyes snapping open.
“Congratulations,” Donna smiled brightly. “It seems that the combination of your pathetic state and puppy-like countenance has awakened a long-dormant maternal instinct within my bosom.”
“Thanks?” Mike said, trying desperately to keep his eyes from gravitating to Donna’s chest. Maternal instinct or not, that was a death wish.
“You owe me,” Donna answered breezily, lifting the damp cloth off of Mike’s forehead and flipping it to a cooler side. “Also,” her voice turned conspiratorial, “don’t worry about the briefs. Between you and me, Harvey had me bring them over so I could check up on you.”
“Uh huh. I still have to have them on his desk by -”
“Four PM tomorrow.”
Mike groaned and shifted on the bed, seeking to smother himself in the pillow. The wet towel on his forehead flopped off and made a dark spot on the bedsheets. Sleep. Blessed, blessed sleep. It was like a beautiful nymph dancing just out of his reach, laughing as he tried to catch her. Mike screwed his eyes shut tight.
Twenty minutes later, Mike had thoroughly exhausted all possible sleeping positions without success. He cracked open an eye.
“Having trouble sleeping?” Donna asked innocently.
“Yeah. Kinda,” Mike said, because maybe it’s because you’re staring at me was the kind of sentiment that Donna would take offense at and Mike valued all of his organs where they were, thank you very much.
“Well, I suppose if you begged me to, I could treat you like my five-year-old niece and tell you a bedtime story.”
“I don’t really think-“ Mike started to protest.
“Shush, you’re sick. You don’t get to make your own decisions.” Donna leaned forward dramatically. “How about the tale of Cinder-Mike, who attended Prince Harvey’s ball but had to flee at midnight, leaving, as the only clue to his identity, a briefcase of pot.” She beamed. “All with the help of the gorgeous fairy godmother Donna, of course.”
“Okay,” Mike rubbed at his eyes. “That sounds interesting and … weird.”
“Weird?” Donna lifted an eyebrow. “Or a perfect example of the schoolgirlish fantasies you’ve been entertaining about Harvey since the first time he called you his puppy?”
“Probably the second,” Mike admitted. Damn fever, making him all truthful.
“Alternately, you could choose the story of Mike, the poor miller’s son who won King Harvey’s heart by proofing an entire room of briefs in one night without even having to offer his firstborn to a creepy little man.”
“That actually sounds like an accurate representation of my life right now,” Mike said, “if that creepy man’s name is Louis Litt.”
“Isn’t it always?” Donna said, arranging herself comfortably in her seat, “Now, once upon a time …”
When Mike opened his eyes, his room was considerably darker. His skin felt sticky with sweat and his mouth was dry. Groggy, he shifted under the covers as he heard noises outside the room.
“Harvey, as much as I support your slow but inevitable conquest of Mike’s affections, you can’t just scoop him up and move him into your apartment.”
Donna’s voice came from the living room. Mike could see her if he craned his neck forwards and squinted.
“In case you haven’t noticed, he’s sick,” she continued, walking out of his view. Was she talking on the phone? Mike’s head wasn’t pounding as painfully as before, so he continued to lay in bed, drifting in the space between sleep and wakefulness, not really comprehending the point of the conversation.
“Really, Donna? Because this apartment is a health hazard.” Harvey’s voice made Mike blink in surprise. Then, the man himself walked past Mike’s bedroom door and into his line of sight.
At first Mike couldn’t believe that it was Harvey. The man’s back was to the bedroom door and his suit jacket was off, exposing a pale blue shirt and grey vest. Mike was pretty sure he’d never seen Harvey in this state of undress (which, frankly, said more about his boss than about their relationship).
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Mike’s mysterious illness cropped up as a result of that fluorescent mold currently occupying the sink. I wouldn’t let Louis live here, much less my Mi- … associate.” Harvey turned on his heel, surveying the apartment with the patented Specter Look of Distain.
“Is this a fever dream?” Mike called out, struggling to sit up, “Because I think I just heard Harvey say that he caaaaaaaares about me.”
“It’s a dream.” Harvey said. “Go back to sleep.” Then he walked into the bedroom and contradicted his earlier order by snapping on the light. Mike greeted him with a dopey smile.
“Oh, will you look at the time!” Donna poked her head in and made a production of glancing at her wrist despite the fact that, as far as Mike could see, she wasn’t wearing a watch. “Looks like I’ve been here for three hours doing something outside my job description. Your shift, Harvey.”
“What.” Harvey said flatly. A moment of silence resulted wherein Harvey and Donna glared at each other like they were communicating solely through eye contact. It was something they did regularly through the glass walls of Harvey’s office, deliberately giving passerby the impression they were telepathic.
“Better stay with him, Harvey,” Donna said finally, smiling in triumph, “He’s got a temperature of a hundred and two.”
“Oh for the love of-“
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll tell Ray to drive me home.” Donna blew a kiss in their direction. “Play nice, boys.”
After he heard the sound of a door closing, Mike cracked open a gummy eye to find Harvey standing next to his bed, looking down at him as if internally calculating how much emotion could be expressed without Mike teasing him about it forever and ever.
“Please don’t leave me to die because you’re scared of my wit,” Mike mumbled sorrowfully.
“Right. I think you have larger issues to worry about.” Harvey said, sitting down in the seat Donna had previously occupied. “For example, your apartment is tragic. Also, Donna tells me you are on the brink of death.”
Mike crossed his arms behind his head. “Donna was an awesome caretaker. She told me a story, you know.”
“Oh no, how will I ever compete with that?” Harvey deadpanned. “I know, I’d better sing you a lullaby and tuck you in with a tender goodnight kiss on the forehead.”
“Really?” Mike looked up with a hopeful expression.
“No.” Harvey held up his cell phone. “First, I’m calling Roma’s, the best goddamn diner you’ll ever have the privilege of hearing about from me, and ordering a delivery of chicken noodle soup. And I don’t care about the whole feed a cold, starve a fever business. You’re eating every last drop. Then, you are going to sleep for eight full hours and wake up coherent enough to go through the Mackenzie briefs. If you’re lucky, I won’t have had most of your possessions – including those skinny ties - dragged outside and burned. I am, however, seriously contemplating calling up maid service.”
“No kiss?” Mike said, mock-disappointed. Or it might have been real-disappointed.
Mike flinched and almost pulled away when Harvey leaned forward and put a hand on his forehead. “Easy,” Harvey said, his breath cool on Mike’s feverish skin. His scent, some expensive cologne that made his skin smell like sandalwood and superiority, sank into Mike’s senses.
“Uh …” Mike mumbled as he felt Harvey’s dry lips brush his forehead. Fever dream. Definitely a fever dream, and one that could go on forever as far as he was concerned.
“You’d better not be contagious,” Harvey said as he pulled back slightly, smile unruffled.
“Little too late now.” Mike couldn’t help smiling, because it turned out he liked the feeling of Harvey’s lips on his skin even more than he’d imagined. “But don’t worry, when you get sick, I’ll take gooooood care of you.”
Harvey raised an eyebrow. “God help us all.”
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Date: 2012-06-27 07:08 am (UTC)This review was written for Recensioni d'Estate @ maridichallenge (http://maridichallenge.livejournal.com/).
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Date: 2012-06-28 08:27 pm (UTC)Something scary...
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Date: 2013-01-26 04:34 pm (UTC)Loved this!