"I hate you, Perry Van Shrike!"

Harry's last words echoed in his head as he drove himself to the hospital, not paying a single bit of attention to the road. It was lucky he didn't crash. He wanted to. Why was it that he had to be such a fucking idiot all the time? He constantly wound Perry up, and when the P.I finally snapped, Harry got angry. It was bullshit. If he had learned how to control his temper, how to just leave Perry alone, he wouldn't be here now. He wouldn't be driving to the hospital to say his good byes to his boyfriend.

When they had rang him, Harry refused to believe it. Perry wouldn't crash his car. He would pay attention to the road, always careful. Unless he was distracted. Distracted by shouted insults and screamed words designed to hurt. Harry hadn't meant it, not really. He was going to apologise when Perry got back from his drive, when they'd both cooled down.

Now it was too late.

The hospital corridors passed in a blur, the nurse talking to Harry did not register in his mind. He vaguely heard her saying that he was who Perry had asked for, but was it possible that he might have family numbers. He had shaken his head. He was being ushered then into a side room and a tall, lanky doctor with slick brown hair was explaining that it might be time to say good bye. The crash had shredded his liver, his stomach, his spleen. Everything was damaged, it was too dangerous to operate. Harry didn't care. He just wanted to see Perry; see with his own eyes that he was still alive, still breathing, that he wasn't too late.

The sight that met his eyes when he was finally allowed into Perry's room was not nearly as horrific as the images his mind had conjured up. The majority of the P.I's body was covered by the sheets of his bed, and what skin that did show was marred only be artificial cuts and scrapes. Harry paid no attention to anything else as hurried straight to his boyfriend's side, hands fluttering awkwardly when they could find no where to hold that didn't look damaged.

"Perry. Fuck, Perry. I'm so sorry. I don't hate you. Can you hear me?"

Perry's eyes were closed, but at the sound of the familiar voice they fluttered, opening just enough to let him see the figure kneeling beside him.

"I know, Harry." His voice was barely there, Harry had to strain to catch it. "I love you."

"No. No, Perry. Don't say that like its good bye. You'll live, you've got to. You got shot through the fucking heart and survived; you can live through a car crash."

His words were cut short by the continuous whine of the heart monitor. Tears fell but he made no move to wipe them away. Why wouldn't Perry listen to him? He refused to let him die. Not like this, not when it was his fault.

Not when he had never had the chance to tell him that he loved him, too.