AN: okay, first of all – Yes, it rather convenient that there is someone with a BM machine in the court room. A convenient plot device and rather a easy route, but it serves up a purpose (and pushing up the suspense – for Harvey, anyway. ) And while Mike's down for the count, I really enjoy toying with Harvey's pretty obvious caring for his associate by making him scared. I will explain in the next chapter why she carries one.
I had a battle of my own. With what way to spell hypoglycemia – the ae way? the ea way? I settled on hypogycemia in the end because it got too tiresome. And wikipedia had a page on it.
Standard disclaimers apply
It takes a second longer than intended for Harvey's brain to kick-start again and then he moves in a rush – time quickly moving forward as though someone had stuck it on pause – and everything speeds up around him.
He skids forward by his associates fallen body – lax and unmoving – and drops immediately down on to his pristine knees, suit be damned.
He's aware of a throng of people hovering over them and feels like battering them away. He'd only be interested if one of them was actually a doctor or nurse. Hell, he'd even take a vet if it meant Mike was actually in at least half competent hands. He can just about make out the bodies from the crowd behind, some raised and looking on interestedly. A muffled wave of hushed excitableness swims through the crowd and reaches them a second later.
He swallows down the urge to glare at them – all of them – and concentrates on his charge before him. Mike's showing no signs of stirring.
"Mike?" he he asks. Behind him he hears the judge order the room to be cleared and for a bailiff to arrange a first aider to come to the room. Mike doesn't respond to his name . The face is still startling pale, his hairline peppered with dampness. "Kid?" he asks again, planting his hand against the side of his face. It's clammy to the touch.
There's a little groan of response. It's hardly there at all, really, but he feels a slight shift of Mike's head as he tries to push his face into his palm.
"Hey?" He tries again, swiping his thumb across his cheek. "C'mon, kid. Open your eyes eyes for me?"
Mike, unsurprisingly doesn't respond, but there's a flutter as though he's struggling to comply. Harvey, though, thinks it's more of some intrinsic and in-grained response to him (or an automatic response to try and bring himself back to the surface – fear and a loss of control fuelling the small twitches) rather than any awareness.
He glances up around him again. The room is slowly filing out, a few people throwing worried or nosy looks in their direction. Edwards hovers near-by and offers to stay but Harvey shakes his head and ludicrously moves his body as though he and his well-tailored suit would block Mike from any unwanted attention. He doesn't know what has come over him, but he knows he doesn't want anyone to see the stupid puppy all defenceless and... weak.
"Uh, excuse me?" a voice says from somewhere to his left.
When he glances up he sees a woman in her mid thirties. He vaguely remembers seeing her when he'd came in to the court room. Fourth row back. She was pretty in a momsy type of way. Harvey noticed every woman, even the ones he wouldn't necessary end up sleeping with.
"I might be able to help."
He was about to ask how, when Mike let out another moan. Louder this time. More desperate sounding.
"Mike?" He asks again, leaning over him more.
Mike lets out a little choking sound and his lips move restlessly against each other in an incoherent whisper. Leaning forward he just about makes out what thinks is a squeezed out 'sink...'
Harvey doesn't know why, but he has a sudden urge to lift Mike – to hold him against him. It's probably a ridiculous move, and the kid will most probably loose what little blood he had rushing around his head, but he thinks it's easier to control the situation with Mike closer, pressed to his chest. He hopes Mike would feel his heart-beat through his chest, despite it beating a little too fast.
Mike lifts easily and lists even easier against him. He drops a hand against Mike's arm that trembles between them. He can feel it through the rest of his body too.
But that's okay
It masks his own.
The woman from before is still there.
"Is he diabetic?"
He's still holding Mike up and wondering where the hell the first aider is.
"Wha-" he asks. He looks at Mike and wonders briefly if Mike hadn't disclosed everything, before squashing it completely (who in their right mind would disclose their entire, disastrous time between college drop out to pot seller-slash-test taker and not disclose that they were diabetic). Besides, nothing like this had ever occurred before. Why hadn't he insisted the kid go home when Donna – and yes, him too, had the first inkling he was unwell. He shakes his head. "I... don't think so."
He's surprised by how shakyhis own voice sounds.
The woman steps through the gate and drops down on the other side of them. She takes a second to glance at Mike, resting her hand on his exposed cheek. Again, it's ridiculous, but Harvey tightens his hold a bit too possessively.
"Hypoglycemic?" she asks, dropping her hand and looking back up Harvey. She has a direct stare and Harvey can see she is serious and determined. He relaxes slightly – he doesn't know who the hell she is, but she seems to know more than him, and that, really, is enough.
Harvey shrugs and can only offer "Nothing like this has happened before."
She nods, her shoulder length hair bobbing with her.
"It doesn't mean diabetes. Anything could cause low blood sugar. The only reason I'm asking is because he seems to be having an episode like my daughter use to have."
Harvey knows what hypoglycemia is, but hearing the words low blood sugar bounce around his head makes him realise how stupidly blind he has been – and how dumb fuckingly idiotic Mike has been. The kid has probably not even had anything to eat today, and quite honestly it scared him to wonder when he had actually eaten, suspicion telling him he hadn't a chance when he finally got home. He knows he's had minimal to drink too, the whining in the back of the car and the dry lips all evident enough.
"Use to?" Harvey asks, concern lacing words despite knowing it didn't, if controlled probably with due care and attention, have to result in mortality. But, this, he knew was not controlled (or expected) and there was definitely a lack of due care and attention.
"Yes," she said, lifting her head from where she was rummaging in her bag, a flutter of reassurance smiling at him. "It's well controlled now."
Mike stirs against his shirt, body squirming. The trembling increases as he lets out another little choking sound before it twists into a miserable sob. A few tears escape from the side of his closed eyes and his body stiffens, hands flexing as fingers splay out and then recoil tightly into his own palms.
He makes another miserable sound of displeasure and Harvey is sure he feels him try and push deeper into his side.
"Hey, it's okay," Harvey reassures him, pulling him tighter, squeezing him more. It's not though, not at all, because despite the calmness of the woman, Harvey knows it's not normal – not okay – to be down and out for so long. "Just open you eyes for me, kid."
Mike doesn't though. He's gone silent against him, seemingly content to be pressed there – against his own trembling self, and he can't help but increase the urgency to his voice or the little shake he gives Mike to go with it. Mike's head simply lolls against him.
"Hey," The woman says, taking his arm and squeezing it. "It's okay."
He stares at her as she turns away for a second before turning back and holding a small palm like device. It had a small screen and two buttons on the front.
"May I?" she asks, indicating with the equipment towards Mike. "I need to test his blood glucose."
Harvey nodded dumbly.
She revealed a small piece of purple plastic and pushed a small strip of shiny paper into the bottom of the device, "I need to prick his finger. Can you hold his hand?"
Harvey wordlessly picked up Mike's now laxed right hand – the one nearest the mystery woman – and offered her his index finger.
It was fast and over before Harvey had time to register. Although the small plastic had a minute needle, Mike still flinched as it pricked at his finger and Harvey found himself hushing and murmuring down to him. Harvey wasn't someone who liked to inflict pain, especially to Mike, but he was somewhat reassured that it had elicited some form of response. Responding to pain stimuli could only be good.
Harvey watched, mesmerised at the small bubble of blood on Mike's finger, seeing it placed against the tip of the strip. It was kind of magical to realise just a small drop of blood could tell someone so much about someone's state of health.
The finger and freshly built bubble of blood is re-offered back to Harvey and he takes the offending finger, unsure what to do with it. Eventually he runs his thumb along it, wiping it away against his own skin.
"So, what the diagnosis doc?..." he starts to ask before tailoring off at the frown on her face. He didn't like that look.
"Normal blood glucose range is anywhere between 4-8."
From her tone and worried frown Harvey knows that it's nowhere near any of those numbers.
"Hypoglycemic symptoms normally start to show between 2-3."
"Okaaay..." Harvey says slowly. He wasn't liking where this was going.
She holds the monitor between them.
A/N2: I actually did some background reading for this fic. I know a bit anyway as a lot of my psych patient's have diabetes. In my first week as a nurse I had a patient develop acid-keto-cydosis (sp?) as a complication. One of the scariest things I've seen (medically) while working in MH.
This fic and possible future chapters will probably have some info from