For suits_meme prompt
Phreakycat: I've got a major craving for some diabetic!Mike. More specifically, Mike with crashing blood sugar who faints manfully passes out in court. Because he tried to sneak a snack and got in trouble with Harvey, who was all WTF ARE YOU DOING PUT THE GRANOLA BAR AWAY, THIS IS COURT, NOT SUMMER CAMP (because Mike totally hasn't told him that he's diabetic). Then (to steal an expression from laylabinx) Mike goes down like the Hindenburg right in the middle of Harvey's dramatic closing arguments. At first, Harvey's all HOLY SHIT, THE KID IS OVERCOME BY MY GREATNESS AND SWOONED LIKE A VICTORIAN LADY but then he realizes it's more serious than that and sort of freaks out.
Or you can come up with your own scenario, just so long as I get diabetic!Mike in crisis and Harvey saving him. :)
Summary: Mike's working like a dog, as usual... this time he's so in his zone, he might just end right out of it. Low blood sugar causes Mike to go down like a Hindenberg in the middle of court.
A/N: Tweaked slightly from OP, not giving Mike Diabetes, but opting for an (un)healthy dose of low blood sugar. (I will NOT neglect Growing Up... I just have to share my responsibilities like any good step-parent would.)
Disclaimer: I do not own Suits or the characters. No infringement intended.
Down Like a Hindenburg
He's pretty sure he can taste the lateness on his lips
Along with coffee and tufts of puckered dry lips that he'd sucked on a few million times
Harvey left at least a few hours before
He'd graced him with some leeway though; he can have have a later start than usual as long as the paperwork and corresponding file was on his desk by the time he got in the morning.
'Ten at the latest. I need you sharp for court, rookie.'
He'd barely managed a mumbled thanks in return
Stumbling from the offices, he opts for a cab instead of his bike.
By the time he gets back to his apartment, he briefly wonders if he should refill with something that equates as food, but his body vetoes his brain (and his grumbling stomach) causing him to dump his jacket and bag on the floor halfway between his door and beckoning bed...
He makes it to the end before face planting to the covers, body crumpling in on itself, and pushes sleep driven and slack face into his rather un-plumped pillow
He ignores(oblivious)the want and need for food
Likewise, he ignores the need to rehydrate and smacks dry lips together, body rapidly falling into oblivion of the early hour darkness.
By the time he's awake, body laden and unresponsive, it's already nearly 10:00. He needs to be ready for court by 2:00 pm. More importantly, he needs to be at work in fifteen minutes.
He struggles from the bed, which shouldn't have been even half the difficulty it was considering he wasn't tangled in sheets.
He feels odd – confused in what he thinks is a sleep-muddled way – and drags his ass into the bathroom to freshen up. The water that he splashes across his face seems to help so he promptly submerges his whole head into his half-filled basin. He comes up spluttering as some of the wayward water makes a move to his parched throat.
He coughs again and shakes his head in an effort to clear the foggy cobwebs from his sleep-laden brain.
He's aware that he should change, catching sight of his crumpled (and completely ruined) suit. He can only guess that it's drool that adorns his lapel. He wonders briefly what Harvey's reaction would be if he turned up for court in his current state. He grins slightly before it naturally falls into a grimace. He rubs at his eyes tiredly. Little black spots dance wildly across his vision when he takes his hand away.
One fumbled change later and he's dragging heavy legs (and arms that were suddenly two ton heavier) to his small kitchen. He practically inhales a glass of water.
He eyes the kitchen longingly, but the mere thought of loosing time to make something or even eat, causes an unnecessary headache both figuratively (Harvey) and literally (the pounding drums and little black dancing figures in hula skirts). Food and drink could wait until he was safely at PH. Until Harvey could see him and he could see that Harvey could see him. If he was lucky enough to hail a cab within the next few minutes he might just make it to the firm by 10:20. He then might be lucky enough to charm Donna into convincing Harvey he was there by 10:00. But knowing Harvey, and his luck, he would probably be waiting by his desk all knowing. And Donna, from personal experience, wasn't easily bought or charmed unless it involved lashings of servitude in form of frothy latte's. Which he most definitely did not have the time for.
It must have been the sleep-laden brain that masks the obvious way his body, and completely parched throat and quiet displeasure of his stomach, screams out for something more.
Yes, that what it was.
Well, that's what he would have said, if he was even half aware of it.
Harvey would have probably said 'Idiocy.'
"Hey, Donna-" Mike croaks at her. Damn, he thinks, as he coughs to clear it.
Donna eyes him with a bored expression.
"Are you sick?"
"What? No?" He says with a shake of the head. He regrets it the second his head bobs on his neck, body suddenly feeling heavier. A little bit of nausea rises too.
He leans a hand across the raised wall of her desk until it passes.
"Take your diseased hand off my desk," Donna implores him in a quietly controlled voice. She flicks her hand to her half open draw. "I have pointy scissors just asking to be used."
Mike gives her look, evaluating her mood. Raised eyebrow, firm set mouth and unblinking stare and Mike was pretty sure he was at risk of loosing at least a couple of digits.
Mike removed his hand and raised both in mock surrender.
He briefly considered a smirk but abandoned it completely when her glare intensified.
"I'm not sick," He insists, dropping his hands before waving one around dismissively. "Just hungry and thirsty. I've had a busy morning and haven't had a chance to have anything yet."
"Huh.." Donna huffs, eyes crinkling suspiciously, before her head goes back down to glance at the paperwork she was working on before Mike had arrived. "Busy being a hobo?"
Mike doesn't have a comeback for that and looks down at his clothes, hands brushing his fresh on suit, and sniffing slightly. Considering how he looked this morning, he didn't think he looked bad at all.
"And the answers no, by the way."
Donna still has her head down.
"To what?" He asks innocently, Donna raises her head and they both eye each other knowingly, the start of small quirks of lips forming even though he knows it's a useless cause. "Even with the promise of a week of latte greetings."
Donna tilts her head and taps her pen on her desk.
"I would have considered it if you'd actually brought some with you," Donna said thoughtfully, but nods to the area of the associate pen. "But Harvey's already at your cubicle-hell."
Mike feels dejected even though he'd already played the scenario out, including a one Harvey Specter waiting impatiently at his desk.
"But he got the file. I left it on his desk, right?"
He hasn't a clue as to why it ended in a uncertainty. The only thing he could think of was that he was worried in his haste to go home and sleep, he might have forgotten something and ruined their case.
Donna nods and waves him off with her pen.
Okay, all's good.
It takes him less than a minute to make it to his desk.
Sure enough, Harvey is sat there, hand resting against his face in a thoughtful (possibly worriedly preoccupied) manner and Mike abruptly stops, worried that his innate fear, that he'd fucked up, was a right presumption.
"Hey-" Mike starts, hoping his boss would fall into a rant about tardiness and his lack of respect for instructions to be in before said time.
"Donna says your sick," Harvey says, cutting him off with a quick look.
Mike startles and looks around quickly, surprised Donna could have passed on any (ir)relevant information so quickly. But then this was Donna they were talking about.
"I'm not si-"
" 'He's all pale and funny looking...' " Harvey says with air quotes.
God, he hates air quotes.
"I'm not sick," Mike insists again (despite kind of feeling floaty and heavy all at once) before a thought occurs to him. "Is that why you look so worried?"
"I'm not worried," Harvey says and looks at him as though the mere thought (and therefore him) is absolutely absurd. He waves a file around in the space between them. "I've just been thrown a curveball, that's all."
"Oh," Mike says, the sentiment of I not being completely lost on him. He'd hoped that they were past that. Not that he had a clue what the curveball was or even if it actually involved him. His brain is trying to fire a million and one thoughts at once and he does another (discreet) shake of the head again (because the damn hula dancing spots are back). Thankfully Harvey's head is back down looking at a loose paper within the file. "What -"
Harvey cuts him off. Again. He seriously thinks both Harvey and Donna have started some ridiculous tag-team of 'How many times can you stop the pup from finishing a sentence...'
"Go eat, drink. Whatever," Harvey says (seemingly interrupting his thoughts too), standing quickly. He thrusts the file into Mike's hand and pushes past him and the cramped cubicle. The movement is so fast that the cubicle spins with him and Mike has to swallow the nausea that follows and blink away the greyness to the cubicle walls. "But make sure the amendments are proofed and filed as soon as possible."
"Course," Mike says, slightly breathless. Harvey doesn't seem to notice.
He looks down at his hand holding the file. It trembles against the paper.
"And make sure a courtesy brief is sent to chambers," Harvey throws over his shoulder.
Mike is still staring down at his trembling hand with a frown. When he glances up he sees Harvey has paused and is staring back at him with an equal frown.
"Right..." Mike says, shifting the file to his other, less trembling hand. He clenches his temporary useless one into a fist and then releases it, tremors dissipating through the tips of his fingers. He musters up a grin. "We don't want to piss off any judges."
Harvey rolls his eyes and smirks at him before shaking his head and heading back towards his office.
Of course, Mike takes 'Go eat, drink, whatever...' as 'eat and drink after you've proofed and filed and sent courtesy briefs and done the whole court thing...'
Which might explain his epic face plant later in the day (in the middle of court no less).
A/N2: I think I have a kink for Harvey and air quotes