AN: I have not seen past episode ten of the second season of Suits. Everybody else who is already on episode 12 – 13? – is lucky and I am extremely jealous I am away from home and my TV and proper Internet so I cannot also be in your privileged ranks. That is, incidentally, what prompted this fic: I am having such withdrawal symptoms that this is the only thing I could possibly do. That, and the fact that there can never be too much Mike whump.

This does mean, however, that this is going to consider all the events up until episode 10 but will not have any knowledge of the episodes that followed. In other words, it will probably be very AU. I am also about as medically inclined as I am a unicorn, so this is probably riddled with medical mistakes I couldn't fix because, again, no proper Internet so no research. I'm so sorry if this is OOC – I tried very hard for it not to be but this is my first Suits fanfiction so…

Lastly: This is really just a bare skeleton because I didn't have the time (or Internet) to go into meaty plots and back stories and all that. If anybody wants to add more to the beginning or end or do Harvey/Donna's perspective or use "Mike breaks something but comes into work anyway" as a prompt PLEASE do. All I ask is a link in a PM so I can read it and fave it and squee over it.

Disclaimer: None of this is mine at all. Just borrowing for fun and no profit.

Mike had stopped being relieved things could go back to normal at Pearson Hardman – now just Pearson, he had to correct himself in his mind – about nine hours after Daniel Hardman left the building. Somehow, in the throws of war, he'd forgotten how much of an ass Harvey became when there was nobody out to sabotage him. It was still bearable for Mike to be around his mentor until Harvey took him to meet a new client. A client who, at first, seemed to be the epitome of an innocent victim, all tears and "I can't believe they'd do this!" exclamations and trust and urges for them to tell her how else she could help.

Of course, it was only a day later when their opponents showed her to be about as squeaky clean as Mike's apartment building (he was beginning to think Harvey was right – it was time for that place to get evicted). And, okay, Mike hadn't dug as deep as he could have because, yes, he'd felt bad for the doe-eyed girl that even had Harvey a bit softer than usual (read: he didn't call her any really bad names). And Harvey, pissed at being so completely thrown and unprepared, had used that to grill Mike for at least forty five minutes after the smug bastards left Mike alone at Harvey's mercy.

After a while the whole 'sit and humbly take the crap' got really old and Mike had argued back, upset with himself for missing this, for screwing up, for letting Harvey down on the first case they'd gotten after the whole mess. And things had gotten… heated. Mike had ended up storming out, heading home with files weighing down his messenger bag and Harvey's words weighing down his heart.

"I stick my ass on the line for you time and time again and every single time I do I always end up questioning your competence and your loyalty!"

It didn't hurt that Harvey thought he was stupid – Mike could prove that allegation wrong in an instance. He didn't like using his intelligence to show off or pick up chicks or get an unfair advantage unless it was necessary, but when he was backed into a corner he would not back away from what he could do. No, the thing that stung and led to his angry words and his storming out was that Harvey questioned his loyalty. Even after the whole Hardman thing, Harvey getting sued, not telling Rachel…

That irked him. That made him pissed. That actually hurt.

Because Harvey Spector was an asshole and a terrible boss sometimes but he was also the closest thing Mike had to family right then. And having Harvey doubt that… Well, the man might not care but that didn't mean he didn't have to know Mike would have his back through everything. Everything.

That was why Mike stayed up until the early hours of the morning, pouring over files to try and save the situation in any way he could. His hunger and exhaustion were overpowered by the burning anger – "I always end up questioning your competence and your loyalty!" – and the unwavering desire to put things right. Finally, just before five, he stumbled across something that could help. Suddenly alert with relief and excitement, Mike made a mental note of all the files he'd have to look for to confirm and backup his theory and then dove for the shower to get ready for work. He'd get to Harvey with the answers neatly mapped out and he'd be early.

Dressed in a clean – and only slightly rumpled – suit, Mike wolfed down some coffee to smack his body awake and a piece of bread he didn't dare look at too closely because he was sure it had been in his fridge for far too long. He pedaled extra fast to work, taking chances in his haste to get to the firm and sort things out. About three minutes from his work, already tasting the pleasure he'd feel at the look in Harvey's eyes when he showed him his plan, Mike became almost overly reckless and cut in front of a car to speed up his journey.

The car slammed on breaks and hooted at him angrily, the driver pushing his head right out the window to yell obscenities that would have made any hardened street criminal proud. Mike didn't have to be as good as Harvey to read this guy: he had serious road rage. Too eager to get to work, Mike simply waved a hand over his shoulder in a half-apology. And then he was forced to put both hands on the handlebar as said car revved right behind him. Angrily, he looked over to glare at the man on his ass. The irate driver gave him the middle finger. Irritated, Mike gave it right back and continued on his way, calling the driver some choice names of his own under his breath.

The next thing Mike was aware of was a car coming out of nowhere to his right; a flash of deep red that came at him from the corner of his eye. Then there was the feeling of being airborne, along with the squeal of metal on metal, and he suddenly found himself staring up at the sky. A second later, the pain hit and it was all he could do not to start screaming like a loon right there where he'd landed. His brain, desperate to distract him from the burning that was coming from his left side, helpfully told him what a good thing it was that he was wearing a helmet, otherwise he would probably be a lot worse off. There was a commotion around him and he realized he should get up and tell them not to all freak out and call an ambulance and whatever but that plan was stopped at his first attempt at moving.

His left side was on fire. His side hurt, his back hurt and his arm… holy fucking shit even thinking about moving it made him want to pass out. Or be sick. Or both. He settled for just the second option, missing his shirt by a few inches as he tried and failed to curl into a position that would just make it stop holy shit. Everything was hazy and he was still trying to remember how to breathe properly by the time the ambulance arrived and he was forced to the hospital.

Of course, as soon as they'd given him the good stuff for his bruised ribs – shit – and his very bruised back – double shit – and put a cast on his broken left arm – fucking shit – he'd requested to be signed out. While scribbling his name on the AMA under the disapproving glare of the nurse he mourned the loss of his trusty steed and reluctantly concluded that he was going to be anything but early that morning.

The walk to the taxi he'd called was not a very pleasant one. He was still feeling the effects of the truly wonderful drugs the kind people had given him, but they didn't block out the pain entirely. And while his arm was strapped firmly to his side, cradling it and actually giving his ribs some sort of weird support that gave him respite from that pain as long as he didn't breathe too deeply, his back was completely under strain and every step jarred the bruised muscles he had to grit his teeth. And there was also the added effect the drugs had on his mind. They made it fuzzy. Fuzzy. Mike hated not having full control of his thoughts – it was the one reason he'd never done anything other than pot. Somehow, the weed made him think clearer. Or made him think he thought clearer. It didn't inhibit his intelligence, in any case. Whatever drugs the hospital had given him? Yeah, they were screwing up with his thought process big time. And there was no way he was going to stand for that. It left him feeling far too exposed.

To top things up, just as he got settled in a semi-comfortable position his phone rang, the caller ID helpfully informing him he was about to get an earful.

"Hi, Harvey. Listen I kno-"

"Where the hell are you?"

"I'm on my way. I'm sorry I-"

"You better the hell be here five minutes ago. And I don't want to see your face until you have a solution for the mess you've created."

The line went dead and Mike had to groan, rubbing his eyes with his uninjured hand. Honestly, all he wanted to do was sleep. He was sore, he was naturally tired and the damn pills were making everything feel seem like it was wrapped in cotton wool. But sleep was not an option. He had screwed up, so this was his mess to fix. And, anyway, he knew how to fix it. Well, in theory. The sooner he got it done, he soothed himself mentally, the sooner he'd be able to crawl into a corner and sleep away the aches that made themselves known at every bump in the road. But getting to the file room and sorting through stacks of files was easier said than done, as he found when he tried to maneuver himself out of the taxi. His ribs and back protested loudly to the action and seeing as his remaining arm was full of messenger bag he couldn't even really use that to haul himself up. Mike actually had to stand still on the sidewalk for a few moments, gritting his teeth to ride out the pain. Then he hobbled – he'd never thought he'd understand bent men hobbling due to back pain until at least forty years in the future – to the elevators and to the file room.

Getting the boxes of files was another arduous task that left him panting and swearing and half-collapsed against a table or shelf more than once. But the memory of Harvey's words – so clear and sharp – kept him pushing on until he could gratefully collapse in a chair and awkwardly thumb through a file, searching quickly for what he needed, pen expectantly in hand.

It didn't take too long for the drugs to start wearing off. Pretty soon every shallow breath Mike took was accompanied by a twinge of pain from his ribs. His arm ached constantly and his back was like a whining child, refusing to settle down and be quiet no matter what position he shifted into. Finally he just gave up trying to make it happy and hunched over the files and his notes awkwardly, knowing he'd have to settle for the mild 'I'm not very happy' twinges from behind that were the best he was going to get.

The file room was empty and nobody came to bother Mike. Donna was obviously busy, Harvey and Rachel were pissed at him and Louis was now riding the other associates so hard there was going to be a sexual harassment suit soon. Or a really bad porn video. While this lack of distraction would usually have been appreciated, it now just meant that Mike was alone with his aching body as the meds wore off. As the pain got worse he found he had to take short breaks to just close his eyes and try and ride out the agony his body was throwing at him. The pill bottle the hospital gave him was completely and stubbornly ignored – Mike was not going to lose his clarity again.

It was lunch time when his phone buzzed again, startling him enough to jump. Swearing at the sharp shoot of pain, Mike reached for his phone without looking who was calling.


"Why aren't you done yet?" Harvey, of course.

"Five minutes. I swear I just need five-"

The phone went dead. Mike growled in frustration and scribbled the rest of his notes in deliberately messy handwriting. Luckily, he'd found more than even he'd dared to hope for so Harvey was going to have that arrogant attitude knocked right out of him. Oh the look on his face… That was going to make it all worth it. Vicious in his vindictiveness, Mike slammed the file shut and then gripped it as he pushed himself up from the chair.

Immediately he had to grip the table, half leaning over it and completely unable to keep in the strangled cry of pain.

"Fucking shit."

Everything screamed at him, making it feel like knives were stabbing into the left half of his body. He felt nauseas again but knew throwing up would only make his ribs hurt more. Not that he could take deep breaths to quell the queasy feeling. Swearing in his head, gasping for breath, he wrapped his good arm over his injured one and his damaged ribs, praying for it to all go away. All it did was simmer down a little, and even then it was barely manageable. And his back… Turns out hunching over like that had not been the best thing to do. He could feel how the muscles were locked up and regretted the mere thought of moving.

Steadying himself with the thought of Harvey's reaction once more, Mike grit his teeth and started towards the senior partner's office. Every hobbled step killed his back, and he was bent over in an uncomfortable position in a vain attempt to give himself some relief. It was honestly one of the longest walks of his life. Every step was agony and by the time he was limping past the bullpen he was swaying and all but ready to keel over.

The rest of the associates must have stared at him, but he was too busy trying not to pass out to notice. He did, however, catch the widening of Donna's eyes as she caught sight of him. He grunted at her, pausing only to catch his breath a little and lean against her desk before stubbornly setting his shoulders and marching his way into Harvey's office.

Mike was so incredibly glad for his eidetic memory the very moment Harvey looked up and caught sight of him. Because Harvey's expression? Holy shit it was even better than he'd hoped. And it actually did make some of the pain more bearable. Especially when he slapped the file down on Harvey's desk (and okay he was leaning against it to stay upright but he wasn't going to admit that and spoil the moment) and smugly told his mentor that he'd just saved their asses.

"We don't only have a way out, we basically have the case made."

"Mike, what the fuck-"

"If you'll open the file, you'll see that our client was actually telling the truth about something. It's been proven that-"

"Mike! What the hell happened to you?"

"- they can't use their best attack on us because-"


Harvey was suddenly standing up, but Mike ignored him and loudly went on with his explanation, chin thrust up into the air and indignation burning through his body. Not loyal? Not loyal, his ass. He would give Harvey everything. And he'd be the reason they kicked ass. He vaguely noticed that the room was doing some strange zooming out and in thing and that his voice was breathless and Harvey was walking closer with his arms outstretched like he was about to pet a spooked animal. Then, suddenly, Harvey was right in front of him, one hand on Mike's uninjured arm, and the contact made everything fall apart.

"And can I sit down? I'cn still spea' when I'm…"

Harvey answered by manhandling Mike down onto his couch. The movement jarred Mike's hurt everything and he blacked out a bit, teeth grit, eyes closed and breathing harsh. When reality came back he was mortified to find he was sort of moaning in pain. He stopped the noises immediately and tried to get his breathing under control. The horizontal position was brilliant for his ribs and his arm but fucking damnit his back hurt…

"Mike, what the fuck?"

Harvey came into his line of vision suddenly, and Mike blinked at him. "Look, it's nothing. I just had a bit of a… detour to work this morning. What I'm trying to get at is the client-"

"A bit of a detour? There's a fucking cast on your arm."

"They ran out of Cones of Shame," Mike replied dryly, and some of the raw emotion in Harvey's eyes dimmed at the joke.

"You're a reflection of me, remember? Now tell me what the hell is going on!"

Mike was about to open his mouth and bullshit out an answer when the door to Harvey's office smacked open and the staccato sound of heels sounded. Suddenly, a file was being bashed against Mike's head.

"Ow! What the-? Donna-?"

"You complete idiot. You got hit by a car and then signed yourself out of hospital AMA? You're. A. Complete. Idiot." The last four words were accentuated by blows by the paper to his head which Mike weakly tried to bat away.

When he looked again at Harvey's face (to get away from Donna's fury) it was to find Harvey's face drawn with anger.

"Explain." His voice was dangerous.

Mike shifted uncomfortably and then winced as he was accosted with waves of pain. Gritting his teeth and getting it under control, he gave an abridged version. "Some dick was giving me shit this morning and I didn't see the other guy until he flipped me off my bike. It's not too bad, just bruising."

"Oh, they're putting casts on bruising now? Donna, remind me to sue this hospital for charging patients unnecessarily." Mike glared at him, but Harvey wasn't phased. "How the hell could you have been so stupid?"

Mike glowered. "If I recall correctly – and I'm kinda good at that – you kept grinding on my ass to do my job. I can't do that if I'm in the fucking hospital, Harvey. Would you just let it go and let me explain what I found to get our asses out of shit?"

Donna gave Mike a glare that could have curdled milk. "What did you bruise?"

His decision not to answer held up against the glares that were being sent his way for only about half a minute. "The ribs on my left side and my back."

"When last did you take the pain meds?" Donna demanded, the ever-efficient secretary.

"I didn't." Both of them opened their mouths but this time he bit back. "No way. I'm not taking that crap."

"Nobody likes a martyr, genius! Shit, kid, do you think not taking meds is going to get you brownie points or something? That it's going to make you some sort of hero?"

"You don't get it!" Mike snapped back, pissed and in pain. "All I have is my mind, Harvey! I've had it my whole life – being able to think and think damn well is like breathing to me. That shit? It takes clear thoughts away from me. It takes away my brain, Harvey. I'm not taking it."

Donna's lips pressed into an impressively thin line before she stalked out. Harvey instead moved closer, glowering but for once silent. Mike, suddenly exhausted, slumped against the pillows. Embarrassment crawled its way into him and the desire to not be lying on Harvey's couch washed over him so strongly he would have stood up if he was able to move right then. Finally, the silence got too much.

"Look, so the client-"

"Mike? Shut up."

Anger and hurt washed through Mike and he childishly turned his face away from Harvey, burning inside in a totally different way. He'd busted his ass for Harvey and the asshole didn't even want to give him the chance to explain. Mike should have gone home. He hissed in pain as he pulled his back, shutting is eyes and wishing for unconsciousness. Breathing through grit teeth, Mike started running through the decimals of pi to try and keep his mind off the pain. Suddenly, the click of heels returned and he opened his eyes to find Donna hovering over him with thin lips and…

"Is that a hot water bottle? Where the hell did you even-?" The rest of his sentence got covered over by his groan of pure relief as the towel covered bottle was pushed gently against his sore back. The water-filled sack cushioned his deep bruises at once and the heat… "Oh my- Donna. Donna, I love you," Mike moaned, shutting his eyes in pure bliss.

"I only accept declarations of love on Thursdays," Donna snapped at him smartly, nudging the side of his face. She sighed in irritation at the look he gave the pills she held out to him. "They're just Advil, genius." Mike took them and dry swallowed, earning him two irate sighs. "Honestly, you've been hanging out with Louis for far too long. You're turning into as much of a girl as he is."

Her harsh words were betrayed by the gentle way she stroked Mike's hair back from his forehead. Mike just hummed in response, closing his eyes once more and waiting impatiently for the meds to kick in. Now that his back was being appeased, his arm had decided to make its complains known, thrumming with pain like a speaker turned on on full blast. He felt exhausted but he couldn't sleep, not with the pain or the feel of eyes on him or the sounds of work just beyond his ears – work he was supposed to be doing. The Advil helped a little but not much and he was still left squirming a bit and trying not to gnaw his own lip open with pained frustration.

How much time passed, Mike would never know. Later he'd conclude that he'd probably dozed a bit because when he was startled into opening his eyes again the light had changed and it felt like some of the meds had worn off. And he was in a different position than he remembered settling himself in, which would explain the aftershocks of pain that had probably been caused by him shifting around…

"Donna!" It was Harvey's barking voice that made him aware again. Obviously. "Call Ray." A few beats of silence, and then Harvey was in his line of sight, face blank. "Get up, kid."

"Why?" The thought of moving – let alone standing up – made Mike's stomach drop.

"I'm taking you home."

Okay, that sounded better. Sure, Harvey was obviously still pissed at him and seemed annoyed Ray had to take Mike back home at this hour but right then the younger man didn't give two shits. Home meant solitude and his bed where he could sleep and just get out of the world of pain…

"Aw, shit," Mike groaned, remembering. "I forgot to pay – Shit. I'm not going to have any lights tonight." There went the idea of stealing the heavenly hot water bottle and refilling it that evening.

"Of course you would forget to pay your bills." Harvey rolled his eyes so dramatically, he could have been having a fit. "Forget your phone – sure, every day. Forget to pay for shit like lights and water – right up your alley. Everything else, though, you recite like a damn parrot."

Mike glowered at him. "It's not the same thing, okay?"

"Whatever. Luckily for you, I actually remember these things." There was the sound of a clearing throat over the intercom and Harvey rolled his eyes. "Fine, I pay Donna to remember these things. Same difference."

Mike frowned at him, still resisting the order to move. "Great, gloat ahead. That doesn't make me feel any better."

Harvey gave him the famous 'you're being a moron' look. "It should, genius. Didn't you hear me? I'm taking you home."

"Yeah and – wait. You mean to like your place?" Harvey raised an eyebrow coolly. "Wh-? I-? Why?"

"Because apparently I can't trust you not to make stupid decisions after you've been hit by a car. I need a damn associate who knows the case we're on right now and I need him alive and competent."

"I can take care of myself," Mike snapped back, suddenly struggling to his feet.

The process was long and very painful and by the end of it he was still more leaning than standing, breathless and wincing but luckily not moaning or anything embarrassing and now tall enough to glare at Harvey in the eyes. Harvey glared back.

"Apparently not! You're practically passed out in my office because you refu-"

"You made me lie there!" Mike winced as the tone pulled at his ribs, wrapping his unhurt arm around his side as a shadow passed over Harvey's face. "And you made me come to work!"

Harvey's glare intensified. "Because you didn't tell me what the hell was going on! Do you really think I'd make you come into work when you're completely useless like this?"

"Even if you didn't it would still mean you could use it against me!"

The older man's face turned incredulous, then slightly murderous. "You… You think I would-?"

"You said you questioned my loyalty, Harvey! My loyalty. After everything. Do you seriously think I'd take that bullshit lying down? There's no way in hell I was going to go anywhere until you had your fucking proof in front of your eyes so that you would know you were eating shit when you told me that."

Mike could feel himself burning with the anger, and he didn't even flinch a bit under Harvey's intense gaze. The air was so tense Mike could practically feel it pressing down on him and making it harder than ever to breathe. He leaned even more against the couch. And then, suddenly, Ray was there.

"Hey, Harvey, Donna told me to-? Holy crap! Mike! What happened to you?"

"Get him to the car, Ray," Harvey said in a clipped tone. "I'm going to go and tell Jessica I'm taking the rest of the afternoon off."

Mike watched his boss go, rubbing his eyes tiredly as Harvey's back retreated around the corner. Ray was suddenly at his uninjured side, gently patting Mike on the elbow and hauling his ass off the couch. He made as though to put his arm around Mike's waist but the blonde quickly stopped him.

"Bruised ribs." Ray winced and retracted his arm. "Okay, my stuff's on my desk. Still in my bag and everything. So we just need to grab it and…"

To his embarrassment, Ray grabbed his elbow and refused to let go as Mike began his painful hobble towards his desk. The staring was going to be bad enough with the cast and the limping, Ray supporting him would just be wrong. This faded to his second concern as they walked, however – the pain from his injuries was intense enough to block everything else out.

"If you don't do exactly what he tells you I'm coming after your ass, Ross." Well, everything except Donna.

When they reached the other associates and the whispers started, Mike couldn't take it any more and subtly asked Ray to let go. The driver paused but did not honour Mike's request. It was only then that Mike realized how much he was leaning on Ray and that in the haze of pain he hadn't noticed that Ray was just about the only thing keeping him upright. Mike swore weakly and Ray patted his shoulder in slight sympathy. They had to stop about five times on their slow journey to the car so Ray could re-adjust his hold on Mike. By the time they reached the car and Mike was gently pushed down onto the seat, the blonde associate seriously wished he would just be beaten around the head heard enough to be rendered unconscious.

Harvey arrived about two minutes later, and him sliding onto the seat next to Mike made the younger man protest at the movement. Ray fiddled with whatever CD Harvey had handed him and then set off at an almost alarmingly slow pace, careful to avoid as many bumps as possible. Mike was overwhelmingly grateful: every bit of him had stopped aching and was now being drilled by something or other.

"Do you want me to help you get his ass up there?"

Mike was jolted back to reality by Ray's voice and found they were outside Harvey's apartment building.

"Nah. I got this. Thanks, Ray."

Stubbornly, Mike opened his own door and hauled himself – painfully – out of Ray's car, gripping the door for support as the pain hit him. His back was once again the most pressing matter at hand and no way he stood seemed to alleviate it.

"You sound like a walrus having sex when you groan like that," Harvey shot at him and Mike glared and shut the door, beginning to hobble up to the doors of the apartment.

Somehow, his feet got caught on something – or maybe his legs just gave way – and he felt himself tipping towards the ground. Harvey's arms caught him and steadied him and everything would have been fine, if mortifying, had the older lawyer not managed to press on the injured part of Mike's back. Pain exploded like a volcano and even though Harvey took his hand away almost immediately the damage was done. Swearing like a sailor Mike tried to stay standing, gripping Harvey's shoulder and gasping despite what that did to his ribs.

"Shit fucking shit." He was practically clawing at Harvey by this stage and not caring.

His boss took up Ray's former position, firmly gripping him by the elbow and hauling him into the elevator. There was a painful moment when Mike was forced to lean against the wall while a disturbingly quiet Harvey unlocked his door, but before long the blonde was being manhandled to Harvey's couch. Harvey's couch that was about five times softer and more comfortable than his bed back home. Mike yanked at his tie with his right hand, happy when it came off. He pulled half-heartedly on the lapels of his jacket but taking that off required sitting up and that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

Instead, Mike gingerly settled into a more comfortable position and turned on Harvey's huge – huge – TV. A while later the owner of said TV appeared with a hot water bottle – seriously. Why did these people have a ready supply of the things? – and some pills in his hand.

"You don't need clarity when you're going to sleep," he said shortly, seeing Mike's expression. "Don't even try fighting me on this."

And Mike didn't. He was exhausted and he was so damn sore even lying down that he just took the pills and swallowed them. The relief was quick and he groaned in pleasure.

"Rule one of staying over at my house: no more seriously pathetic sex noises." A blanket was thrown over Mike and a pillow thrust under his head to his complete surprise. "Rule two: you pee on my couch and I will disembowel you."

Mike snorted but didn't reply, already drowsy and feeling himself losing his edge. Harvey sat in the armchair to his left and both of them stared at the television for a long time. Mike's eyelids were already drooping heavily before Harvey spoke again.

"I didn't mean it, idiot." Mike's first wild thought was that he was talking about the pills. "I know you're… Well. I know your dirty secret, don't I?"

"You gave me everything, Harvey," Mike replied quietly. "After Grammy…" He stopped, clearing his throat in embarrassment. "I don't have anything… anybody… You go, I go too," he finished simply.

"I'll try and remember that," Harvey said quietly.

"Can you put that in a note?" Mike slurred.

"You want written proof?"

"Not for me. For when the real Harvey comes back from wherever the aliens are keeping him." At least, that's what he'd meant to say. Whether he got it right was another story. Everything faded out after that.

Mike woke up a few hours later to find the apartment silent and dark. There were two pills next to him and he was somehow out of his jacket and devoid of his shoes. Blearily, painfully, he swallowed the pills and then allowed himself to go back to sleep. This wasn't home. This wasn't his Grammy singing him to sleep when he didn't feel good. But this was a place where he was trusted and where he could trust, and that was good enough for him.

AN 2: Seriously. Please use this however you want. And please, please, please let me read it.