A whole year? Really? We have to wait that long? But I miss it now.
White Collar isn't as cruel. They show half in January and the second half in the summer. That's bearable. But Suits… One long year for season two. Sigh. It seems fanfiction will have to fill the void.
I, like some many of you, can help.
It was hot.
No, hot was an understatement. It was hotter than hot; worse than hot.
It was blazing, blistering, boiling, burning, flaming, scalding, scorching, searing, sizzling, sweltering.
Mike Ross stopped himself from continuing. It was just too damn hot to think. He closed his mental thesaurus (though he did feel a small twinge of pride for listing the synonyms alphabetically) and focused on what he was doing.
But his mind kept drifting. Much like his bike was.
An angry car horn blared and Mike blinked, snapping to attention in time to right his course and veer back towards the side of the curb just as a car sputtered past, the driver yelling incoherent curses at Mike.
Mike was too preoccupied with the heat wave that came trailing in the wake of the car to pay much attention to the driver. The wave slammed into his back and rolled over him, suffocating him in pure heat mixed with the choking smell of gasoline and smoke that clung to his body; no cooling breeze present to brush it away.
Coughing, he tried to wave the smog away but that mere action alone left him wheezing worse than he had when the car had passed. His bike wavered and he quickly grabbed the handle again to steady it.
It was hot.
No, hot was an understatement. It was –
Wait, he had already had this thought. But it was all he could think about.
To distract himself from the thought replying in his head and to help him focus, Mike lifted his head and blinked blearily into the sun.
A heat wave had crashed into New York and the city was drenched in it. The moment the sun touched the cloudless sky, the land burned.
Heat radiated from the sidewalk and passing cars. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat. Not even a whisper of a cool breeze or a drop in the temperature could be found. Standing still was almost as bad as moving. But at least as long as Mike kept pedaling into the hot wind, he could dry the sweat trickling down his brow, matting his hair to his forehead.
The streets were chocked with taxis, people determining it was worth the loss of the frugal dollar if only to sit in an air conditioned car rather than walk through the tangible heat. The few who braved walking in the blaze stayed close to the sides of the buildings and shops, seeking what little shelter of shade could be found under the awnings; pausing in front of shops that mercifully open automatic doors to let out tendrils of the cool air being pumped from air conditioners. The moment of bliss was short as the person was either forced to walk on, or the door closed, cutting off the sweet relief.
Diners with patios for outside dining were empty, the doors shut tight to prevent even a trickle of cool air from escaping. The empty tables simmered despite the open umbrellas that guarded them from the wrath of the sun's rays.
Mike's head dropped in defeat and his eyes returned to watching his pedaling feet. It took too much energy to keep his head up. And the weather was rapidly draining him of any energy he had left.
What a day to forget his water. Yes, his mind was fantastic with remembering anything that was written down. But when it came to remembering to bring something, like a cell phone, or a water bottle, Mike's mind overlooked it. Besides, he was running late. No time to stop and get a drink.
But it was so hot.
Mike sucked in the hot air as he forced himself to pedal faster. The stale air coursed down his throat like sandpaper. The contents in his stomach felt like they were boiling. Sweat clung to his body like an extra set of clothes.
Speaking of which, his suit was stifling. He had at least had the wisdom to remove the heavy jacket before riding but even in a white shirt and black pants, he was baking. He worked at the knot of his tie with damp fingers, trying to loosen it; to just remove its contact from his neck. His clothes were so damn heavy. And it felt like the fabric was sucking in the heat from the sun to press it against his fevered body.
A wave of nausea overcame him and he veered back into traffic. Angry horns buzzed in his ears, ripping apart any coherent thought he may have had. His head felt like it was splitting.
But he straightened his back and continued going forward, though he felt himself slowing slightly. He knew why. His legs were on fire and he was having difficulty relaying his orders to command them to keep pedaling.
He looked up again, blinking away the sweat and a tired smile cracked over his face.
Pearson Hardman was in view. He was almost there.
Just as Mike was pulling up to the bike rack in the front, a black car pulled up to the curb. The driver Mike recognized as Ray hurried over to the rear passenger side door and opened it.
Harvey Spector stepped out, trailing a tide of fresh, cold air with him, the cold practically pushing the heat away in order to accommodate Harvey. Hair slicked back perfectly; dressed in his full three-piece suit of glistening black complete with a thick black tie resting on his collarbone, Harvey was the epitome of cool amidst an ocean of people drowned in heat.
Harvey nodded his gratitude to Ray and stepped away from the car as Ray hurried to return to the shelter the car provided from the sun.
Harvey instantly targeted Mike and sauntered up to him, slicing neatly through the heat that ravaged Mike.
"You're late," he deadpanned. He examined Mike from head to foot disapprovingly. "And sweaty."
Mike finally managed to work his lock on his bike, (though he didn't bother releasing his pants legs from his socks) clearly exhausted from the task. He looked at Harvey dryly. He felt the look suited him since he felt he didn't have a drop of water left in him.
"And red," Harvey continued, eyeing Mike's face with unabashed morbid fascination. "You haven't been sneaking the Three-Course-Dinner Gum, have you?"
Despite his fatigue and the fact that he felt like he was standing in a vat of lava, Mike cocked an amused smile. "Willy Wonka. And the gum turns your face blue, not red. Nice try." His voice was course but Harvey didn't give any indication he noticed.
Harvey smirked back. "That was an easy one to warm up on. Don't think I'll give you a freebie like that again." He turned on his heel and started for the stairs, Mike following after him. "And it wasn't a get-out-of-jail free card either," he called back without turning. "Those reports I want should have been on my desk already."
Mike opened his mouth to make a smart remark, but his throat was so dry. No sound came out. He closed his mouth again and tried to work up some spit to swallow in order to moisten his throat, but even his mouth was dry. He swallowed nothing and tried to talk anyway.
If you take the stairs they will be, he tried to say but only managed to make out the first word before his throat closed up. His sentence was cut off by a harsh cough that scrape down his already sore throat.
Mike gripped his throat, feeling the vibrations from the sound of his coughing that assaulted his own ears.
The fit passed and Mike realized he had closed his eyes. He opened them slowly to find himself leaning on the rail of the stairs, breathing heavily.
And Harvey was looking at him oddly. He had one hand on the rail and one foot on the descending step, towards Mike.
"Mike. You don't look good," he said carefully, sharp eyes taking in the sight of the red-faced, haggard kid keeping himself upright by holding onto the rail.
A sarcastic smile lifted the corner of Mike's mouth but before he could make a snide comeback, the world tilted dangerously and suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet him.
Mike slammed against the ground, hard, the heat from the asphalt searing the cheek pressed against it. But Mike didn't have the energy to move. Everything was spinning so fast and it was so hot. He felt his stomach twist and lurch.
Then the world came to an abrupt halt as Harvey's face came into view.
"Mike!" Harvey yelled, taking the younger man by the shoulders and maneuvering him off the asphalt to lay him on the ascending steps. "Hey. What's wrong with you?"
"It's hot," Mike moaned, closing his eyes against the agonizing burn of the sun.
Shade washed over him and Mike peeked out with one eye to see Harvey had moved beside him, purposefully blocking the light of the sun. His boss was looking down at him questioningly, concern lining his eyes.
"Better," Mike mumbled before allowing his eye to close.
"Hey. You stay awake," Harvey demanded as a light slap jolted Mike. He opened his eyes again as the hand that had hit him came to rest tentatively against the stung cheek and then move up to his forehead.
"Jesus. You're burning up."
"It's hot," Mike intoned, in a matter-of-fact tone rather than in his previous complaint. He wanted to continue with a comment about Harvey's austere knowledge of the obvious; perhaps even drop in the title "Captain Obvious" but couldn't. He swallowed nothing again.
The counter brought some relief into Harvey's face but worry chased it away again.
His hand moved from Mike forehead to his neck where he found a rapid pulse.
"We have to cool you down," Harvey mused, his usual nonchalant tone a barely audible octave higher.
The subtle change alerted Mike that something besides a dizzy spell was affecting him.
"What is it?" he gasped, his throat defiantly refusing to obey him further.
"You're having a heat stroke."
Mike looked up at Harvey fearfully. The potential fatal condition cleared some of the fog from his mind in time to realize that his body was shutting down on its own volition. Black rimmed his vision as he took in the sight of Harvey's worried expression. Harvey leaned in closer, his mouth moving but no sound reaching Mike's ears. His eyes started to close.
A cool touch cupped his cheek and Mike leaned into it gratefully. Then, the refuge of darkness took over and he was pulled away from the insufferable heat.
The idea for this came after a particularly hot week. Ok, it was worse than hot. The descriptions found above more accurately describe the days of that week. It was pretty bad. There was even heat lightning. Yeah, it was hot.
It did make me wonder what would happen if Mike went riding around in that kind of weather and then that thought led me to heat stroke. So, yeah, I gave Mike a heat stroke.
As you probably noticed, I repeat the word "hot" several times. No, it's not to annoy you guys. It's simply to emphasize how hot it is. The fact that Mike contuniously thinks of the single word "hot" helps get my point across that it's hot.
This fic came out a lot longer than I expected but I hope you guys don't mind too terribly.
Unfortunately, Suits and its characters do not belong to me. The Willa Wonka reference doesn't either. But I'm glad I get to borrow them.