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‘Someone wants you fucking dead right now and he’s sitting in close quarters with you.’

Yet another thing he didn’t spit right out, though he thought that if he had acted on it, it would have been easier to just reach over and strangle the life out of Harry.

At least, that’s what he wanted to think that he wanted to do. Perry van Shrike did not – did not – want to reach over and pull Lockhart into an embrace and tell him that he was going to die, as soon as Perry calmed downed and tended to him like some fucking worried lover.

Fuck. Look where his mind was wandering if he let it.

Mentally shaking that off of his mind, he just closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before turning to fully take a look at Harry’s state. Worry battled with anger, and he found himself reaching over with his pocket handkerchief before he thought fully on what he was doing. It was pressed almost roughly against the wound on the brunette’s forehead, soaking in the blood that oozed out like a freshly sliced tomato. Though his hand pressed against it hard, his thumb unconsciously stroke across the unmarred, though bruising flesh just aside the eyebrow.

“All right, Chief. You have thirty of my fucking seconds to explain before I decide that leaving you to bleed on the streets is the better option.” he snapped out, eyes focused on the wound he was dabbing at and examining it to see if Harry had a concussion. He would rather avoid the hospital if possible, but what if Harry was hurt anywhere else? “First, who the hell did you meet up with? No one wants me fucking dead.” that he knew of.
 
...How Harry Ended Up In the Fountain​
​


The sun was high and hot and Harry was surrounded by elves; as if that wasn't fucking weird enough, he was pretty sure the Mrs. Clause who had been eye-raping him for the last twenty minutes was actually a guy, so he did his best to ignore her tinsel-adorned winks and focus on getting through the crowd.

It turned out that the twentieth of December happened to be the first day of the annual Tennenbaum Parade, a five-day public Christmas festival that came complete with a sideshow, which was ultimately just a travelling circus dressed in holiday wear. The air was thick with the smell of California and peppermint and he was surrounded by staggering drunks, children, and little people wearing prosthetic pointed ears, though sometimes he couldn't really tell the last two apart.

Weaving through the crowd and scarcely avoiding colliding with a guy dressed as latex fetishist rudolph, he managed to get to the less-populated area of the fountain, just beyond all the booths and rides. The Archangel stood at the centre of the display, staring heavenwards; a bit of her face had chipped off long ago and the daylight shone through the visible iron rods underneath, water occasionally spouting from the broken concrete as though she was weeping violently, like a cartoon character shedding buckets of discoloured tears.

Harry lingered by the fountain, and it was around the time he was lighting up a cigarette that he realized he probably should have asked for a way to identify Elaine Bensen. Taking a draw on his cigarette, he had to do a double-take when he realized there was an enormous Santa Clause lingering nearby, giving him a hard stare behind his fluffy white beard. The moment Harry made eye contact, Santa looked away and resumed wandering around, waving a sign pointlessly printed with a cheerful 'Merry Christmas!'

When did the circus get so fucking aggressive?

A hand landed on his shoulder and Harry nearly choked on his cigarette, ducking down and turning - he wanted to say he was ready for a fight, but the bewildered look on his face made it clear he was more likely to bolt.

"Wha, hey!" Harry said, and found himself nearly face-to-face with a short, slender dark-haired woman; her make-up was styled like something out of the forties, complete with the little mole by her eye and the dark red lipstick; she was wearing a particularly striking purple dress, and Harry's eyes immediately fell to her legs, but he forced them back up again.

"Mister Van Shrike?" she asked.

Harry did a quick search for a wedding band; engagement ring - expensive one. And his brief downwards glance had informed him her shoes were Manolo-Blahnik, not the sort of thing one walked around in for any length of time. No public transportation for this girl.

"Ms. Bensen?" Harry replied.

"I'm sorry I had to bring you here. I just felt safer somewhere public."

Harry tried not to feel insulted.

"Not because of you," Elaine added, "I mean I know you're -"

She waved a hand vaguely and Harry struggled to keep up.

"You know." She said, "You wouldn't try anything on me."

A lightbulb went on. Right. He was Perry Van Shrike. Gay Perry Van Shrike.

"Right. Yes." Harry said, swallowing down contempt, "As gay as a handbag full of rainbows. Gotcha."

Elaine looked startled,

"I didn't mean -" Elaine began, but Harry waved her off.

"It's cool, I'm a huge fag." he confirmed cheerfully, glancing back over his shoulder for an instant, "And what is with that Santa over there?"

Elaine looked back, eyebrows raised; Harry noted that she had used copious eyebrow pencil - probably not her natural colour, then.

"What Santa?" she asked, and it figured that the fat man was gone just in time to make him look insane.

"Nevermind." Harry said, blowing his smoke out away from her and putting out the stub with his foot; Elaine linked her arm with his and began to walk with him, "You said you needed help with something?"

"Yes." Elaine replied delicately, leading them towards the fountain and perching herself on it; Harry took the cue and sat down beside her, "But I'm afraid I've brought you here under false pretenses; I don't have a case for you."

"Uh?" Harry asked.

"I brought you here to warn you." she said, and Harry's eyebrows shot up; she put a hand on his shoulder, "The case you're on now - you have to drop it. For your own sake."

"What?" Harry asked, "Look, I know Taiwanese hookers are a little weird to deal with, but that one is wrapped up."

Elaine looked bewildered for a moment,

"This is no time for levity, Mr. Van Shrike," she said, brows knitting with concern, brown eyes watching him imploringly, "I mean what I'm saying - I know you've dealt with some hard cases before, but you're in over your head. If you carry on with this one, you're going to die."

Harry felt like someone had thrown ice water down his spine.

"I have to go." she said, getting to her feet now.

"Wait, hey," Harry said, rising as well and stepping after her, "What case are you talking about? I don't even -"

"If you follow me, I'll scream." Elaine replied quickly, and Harry was briefly stunned by the comment; she was already heading through the crowd by the time he got his brain back in order.

"Like I haven't heard that one before!" Harry called after her, and frowned.

What the fuck was that about?

He stared for a long moment, frowned, and then lit up another cigarette, putting his foot up on the fountain and staring at the Archangel.

Perry wasn't even on a case right now, outside of the usual financial-theft and adultery ones - standard stuff. Unless there was something Perry wasn't telling him, which he wouldn't doubt, given that there tended to be a lot that Perry didn't tell him.

Someone tapped his shoulder; for an instant, he thought Elaine had come back. He turned, and Santa gave him a hard stare, then whirled his billboard around and hit him in the head with it hard enough to knock Harry backwards into the fountain. Floundering for a moment, he came up for air, stunned,

"What the f-" Harry began, but Santa leapt into the water and grabbed him by the scruff; it was immediately evident that the guy was wearing a fat suit because the strength defied the softness as Harry was dragged, struggling, to the centre of the fountain. Harry threw an elbow back but it only impacted with the fake pillowy stomach; his arm was wrenched up and yanked for his efforts, hyperflexing his shoulder before he was dropped into the water, hands and knees hitting the cement base. As Harry tried to gain footing, a hand went into his hair, grabbing it roughly and he was rammed face-first into the Archangel, his forehead contacting with her knee.

Stars exploded in his eyes, pain blinding him as he swiped a hand through the water and grabbed hold of the first thing he could get, which happened to be the fallen chunk of the Angel's face; Harry shot his hand out and managed to swipe it across his attacker's thigh, splitting part of the flimsy costume and cutting through skin. Santa let out a roar of pain, and then came the second impact with the statue; Harry smelled blood and felt it fill his mouth as his tooth cut into his lip and everything went black.

---

Harry stared at Perry,

"Santa tried to kill you." he said finally.
 
Elaine.

The name struck something like a memory that he couldn’t quite place. Throughout the entire story that Harry was telling him – which he was surprised he could even follow – he tried to think of who that person was. It was almost obvious that it was a trap, and sadly, Harry had been caught in the middle of it.

When the brunette stated that Santa tried to kill him, Perry felt a twitch on his arm. Just barely, did he stop himself from whacking Harry’s head; not a good idea if the other male had a concussion.

“He didn’t try to kill you – er, me.” he stated offhandedly, temper much cooler now that he had time to count to a hundred. So Harry answered his phone, thinking he could pick up some case like he was the detective, and ended up getting his ass kicked in Perry’s stead.

It’d be fucking romantic if Harry hadn’t been the one that got canned.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he shook his head and began to drive towards the ex-client’s house to join the party there. Let them ask questions if Harry wasn’t presentable. Not like the other male was ever. At least, he wasn’t, but he will be, once they got a chance to shop in the next day or two.

For the drive, he kept quiet, not quite sure how he should reply to Harry. Elaine… of course, that’s why the name sounded familiar. It had been a case that had been sent to him. Emailed under a “Mr. Mystery” – how lame was that? – Sentron Inc. was asked to investigate about something about a stolen artwork. That alone would have sent him shutting his email down and ignoring it. However, it wasn’t just one artwork, it was many. They happened periodically, different kinds that had more zeros attached to them than Harry had fingers. The Mr. Mystery suspected that someone from his internal household or someone who had access must be stealing them.

Now if that wasn’t an easy pay and something to fill in time in between cases, then Parry didn’t know what did. Not that he took on the case – not yet at least. But it seemed that with this evening’s events, he might just take it on.

No one hurts Harry.

Well, no one but Perry.

“Fuck…” he hissed, knowing that it wouldn’t be the right thing to be dragging their asses to the party tonight. Not when Harry needs looking after. If the fuckhead wasn’t borderline concussion, then he would have smacked him harder to hopefully right something in that airhead. “Let’s just get the fuck home so we can talk about how Santa handed you your fucking ass.” god, if he wanted to control his newly-found attraction, then he shouldn’t put those two words together. “And get you cleaned up. Stop bleeding, you’re ruining my handkerchief beyond saving.”

Turning at the next light, he began to floor it home, not caring that he might be speeding. “Want to tell me why the fuck you thought it was a good idea to pick up my damn phone and not tell me what it was about?”

If guilt was supposed to settle in now, it was behind schedule. Harry had just gotten beaten up in his stead – if it had been him that went, he wouldn’t have been beaten up – but it was easier to get irritated with Harry than become some sissy ass that was two seconds away from mothering the dumbshit.
 
Harry was slouched down in the seat, nose level with the bottom of the window as he stared dumbly out at the streets, watching the world whirl by in a glaze of colours and lights.

It wasn't the first time he had been hit in the head and it wouldn't be the last, but he couldn't recall ever being hit that hard and having it hurt so little. In fact, his head felt numb, which he supposed he should be grateful for.

"Hey," Harry said, sitting up and dripping all over the leather seats, holding the handkerchief to his forehead; despite Perry's protests, he continued to bleed anyways, and the square of cloth was beyond salvation at that point, "Wait, no. There's that party we're supposed to be at. I mean, I know I'm not exactly cleaned up for it, but it wouldn't be the first time you left me in the car, right?"

The car sped up; they were on their way back to the condo anyways.

"I don't know. Want to tell me why someone wants you dead bad enough to try it in a public place in broad daylight?" Harry shot back, confident that with his head as numb as it was, he wouldn't feel it when Perry swatted him anyways. He looked over at Perry after he said it, giving him a hard stare; it was rendered less effective when his nose suddenly and unceremoniously began to gush blood.

"It only looks bad." Harry added, clutching at his nose.
 
He truly believed that it took an iron will not to just reach over and smack Harry upside the head at not answering him. Even worse, he only answered by questioning Perry. Luckily, Perry had that iron will.

Well, not really. The only thing that stopped him was that they were back at the condo, parking, and Harry’s nose decided this was a nice time to burst a few blood vessels. “Shit!” he instinctively cried out. Worry for Harry flashed over his features, and for a moment, he might have looked like he was caring for the safety and health of someone he was fond of. “Don’t drip!” Perry demanded, trying to shake off that feeling and justifying his shout through anal hygiene habits.

Getting out of the car, he was quick to leap to the other side and yanked open the door. ‘Helping’ Harry out of the car – yanking him almost as hard as the car door was yanked, actually – he tried to get them into the house before Harry passed out on him. “Hold your head back. Fuck, are you downplaying how hard they kicked your dumb ass? Do we need to go to the hospital?”

He hated that the ending sentence had a twitch to it. The thoughts of the untouched case that got Harry into this mess was thrown out of his mind for now, as he tried to get Harry into the bathroom without dripping blood anywhere on the carpets or wooden floor.

Blood was a bitch to get out.
 
As he was yanked out of the car, Harry's hand was briefly pulled away from where it was being held; by that point the blood from his forehead had converged with the blood streaming down his nose, mapping out a river of it across his face,

"I'm not dripping!" Harry protested, half-staggering alongside Perry and into the condo; as he was yanked around like a ragdoll, he was realizing more and more that he probably needed to gain some fucking weight, "I'm not downplaying - and it wasn't a 'they', okay, it was one. Singular. Kris Kringle is not a happy man; jolly my ass."

Having been manhandled to the bathroom, Harry ended up stumbling into the sink, gripping it's edges in a position that was astoundingly similar to the one he had been in the previous evening - bad time to think about that.

Also similar to the previous night, he found himself looking up at the mirror and finding Perry's reflection in it - only this time the big guy's expression was different. Sure, there was the usual self-righteous anger and the ever-present look of irritation, but that tiny trench that was dug between his eyebrows told the tale of worry, and Harry might have even said something, but then he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

And jesus, no wonder Perry was asking about a hospital.

The gash in his forehead was split diagonally across his temple, the skin around it already reddened, a bruise that would extend down to his cheekbone. Veins of blood had covered most of the left side of his face and trailed down his neck, absorbing into the collar of his shirt, and even his palms were torn to shit from where they had struck the fountain.

"Huh." Harry said, blinking dumbly at himself as he leaked into the sink,

"She was wearing a wig." Harry added as he reached up and pinched his nose, clutching at the faucet to steady himself, "Just thought it was - you know. Little weird. Since she gave her name and all - assuming it was her name. She was either hiding from me or from someone she thought would be nearby."
 
Once they were in the bathroom, Perry instantly moves to grab for the towels. There was only a brief moment where his movements paused, just to take a look at Harry and make sure the other male wasn’t going to keel face first into the sink. When he was assured that it wasn’t going to happen, he moves to wet the towel with the bathtub’s faucet, and then moves back to Harry.

“Sit.” he orders, basically manhandling Harry to sit on the closed toilet cover. Using the towel, one that he would obviously throw away later, he gently dabbed at the streams of blood. With his other hand, he reached below the bathroom sink and shuffled through things to find the peroxide to stop the bleeding – rubbing alcohol, while good for germs, would have been cruel. Even from Perry.

‘Wearing a wig… of course it could have been anyone. Nine out of ten, it probably wasn’t even Elaine.’ the blonde mentally processed, but externally, he didn’t respond to that. Instead, he found himself cleaning Harry up.

He found himself dong that often, now that he thought about it. It was like he had some Munchausen syndrome… and that thought was enough to make him shiver.

With one hand on Harry’s thigh, he leaned in closer to take a look at the gash on the other’s forehead. The blood was trying to coagulate, which was a good thing, but the skin around it wasn’t a pretty picture. It was like some kid had taken their paint set and slashed it all over Harry’s face.

“Fuck…” and then, as if he was on delay, he found himself on the last subject they were talking about, rather than the case subject. “You know that the guy who beat you up was some fuckup in a suit, not Santa. Some idiot that actually knows how to fight?” because while Harry was an idiot, his fighting skills amounted to that of a five year-old’s. Then, there was a strange expression over his features, while he continued to clean Harry’s face; dabbing at the pink lips, smeared with blood. “You… do know that Santa doesn’t fucking exist, right?”

One never knew with Lockhart.
 
Harry didn't bother to protest as he was tugged over to sit on the toilet cover; he slouched back against the cistern, staring at the opposite wall; he briefly furrowed his eyebrows, but thought better of it when the action pulled at the cut, sending a sharp pain through his head, reminding him that the numbness wasn't going to last forever. This was going to be a bitch in the morning.

He became aware that, at some point, Perry had come very, very close; so close, in fact, that when he tried, he found he could actually start counting the big guy's eyelashes - but his mind couldn't focus long enough for him to get very far, he just knew there were lots of them.

And that the hand on his thigh was warm and strangely comforting.

He refocused when Perry spoke again, and Harry's expression dropped into a deep frown,

"I guess I should stop writing those letters to him then, huh?" Harry asked, running his tongue over his lips to wet them, only to gather the taste of blood and peroxide.

"I stopped believing in Santa when I was six and he still hadn't brought me a new dad." Harry added, tacking on a lopsided smile, but it faded away just as quickly as it had arrived,

"Who wants you dead, Per?" he asked again, voice suddenly flat as his nose continued to steadily run thick blood; the world was going a little too bright all of a sudden.
 
A small twitch around the edges of his lips was the only indication that Perry thought Harry’s comment was entertaining. Other than that, he concentrated on cleaning off the blood on his partner’s face. The only fleeting thought he had on Harry’s comment on wanting a new dad – why did they all have father problems? – was: ‘I’ll be your daddy’

Thankfully, he mentally shot that one down and beat it like the hooker owed him money.

“No one that I know.” he told honestly, noting that more blood was trickling down the nostrils. “There’s this one case… just got it in the company’s email a few days ago…” at this, he shrugged and tried to tilt Harry’s head back so that the blood wouldn’t gush all over.

“Seemed interesting, but I haven’t picked it up. Elaine Ravan – R. A. V. A. N – pronounced Raven, is one of the suspects that this Mr. Mystery emailed about. Think that’s the same woman? Did she seem to hint at the guy in the suit to attack you?”

Even as the blonde spoke though, he was leaning in closer and closer to Harry. Not that it was for personal enjoyment – the other male was looking a lot paler than he’d like to see in living people. “Idiot, are you even listen?” he didn’t know how to voice concern, so that was the closest he could bring himself to ask. Two fingers shot out and gave a light tap against the back of Harry’s head, in lieu of the usual harsh whack.
 
"Ravan." Harry repeated pointlessly, voice distant as he processed the information with the speed of a drifting iceberg, "No I don't - I don't think she -"

He shook his head and immediately regretted it, shutting his eyes as his entire head throbbed from the motion; he leaned back against the cistern then, tilting his head against the wall to coincide with Perry's urging. For a long moment he was silent, his mind drifting away from the present, leading him back to the fountain, back to Elaine Bensen - it was only when Perry's fingers came in contact with his head that he snapped out of it, his voice drifting back, one eye cracking open:

"- she was warning me. She seemed, uh, scared." Harry said, adding, "Nice shoes too."
 
Gay.

At least, that’s what he thought when Harry mentioned about nice shoes.

Nice shoes? Even he wasn’t that gay that he’d notice women’s shoes.

But now wasn’t the time.

“What? She warned you. Warned you of the guy in the Santa suit?” seeing that the other male was fading in and out, he frowned and began to maneuver the brunette into standing. “Come on, Harry, stay with me. We’re going to go to the fucking hospital.”

Well, didn’t this make the best of nights?

Wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist, Perry tried to gently lead the other male back towards the car. All the while, he swore and cursed – mainly at himself, as he had actually listened to Harry and assumed the other male wasn’t injured. The other male was probably in shock and didn’t realize he was injured, and Perry? Well, Perry had been distracted… attachment towards the help was always bad, as it made a person forget bare facts and just ride on faux facts.

“Keep telling me about this Elaine Bensen. Anything you can remember.”
 
"What?" Harry asked, brows furrowing even though his eyes were still closed; he just needed to block out the light, just for a little bit and then he would be fine, he was sure of it, "No, not that - she just warned me; she didn't even notice 'roid rage Santa. She said she'd brought me there under - under false pretenses, she warned me to drop the case, said I'd - you - would end up dead."

He felt arms around him, felt himself being pulled onto his feet; his eyes opened again,

"Hey, no, fuck you, I don't want to go to the hospital, I hate the hospital. Just give me some - some advil. Tylenol. I'll sleep it off, it's not like my head got cut off in the door or something."

Though, knowing his luck -

"Anyways, that one case was just finished so I don't even know what she was talking about." Harry said, clumsily attempting to remove himself from Perry's mother-Hulk grip, aiming for the couch, "She was pretty keen on getting out of there fast though, like she had somewhere else to be. Giving me a death threat just before she had to run off to a party or - or something. Said she'd scream if I followed her, how weird is that? She wouldn't even, uh, give me any information. Just that I - you - are getting in over your head."
 
“Dipshit, the case isn’t over – I haven’t even picked it up.” Perry sighed with a bit more force than necessary. He was beginning to truly worry about Harry’s state though, as the other male wasn’t exactly showing signs of full health. The blonde didn’t keep a tight grip though, so the other male had easily slipped away and began towards the couch.

Telling himself that he just didn’t want the couch stained, he nearly yanked Harry by the waist towards him to keep the other male from actually sitting or lying down. “Come on, chief… you’re loopy and fuck, still bleeding. Let’s get you to the hospital.” the silent ‘for my sake and yours’ went unspoken, but he hoped that Harry got the silent message.

With a second attempt, he began to drag Harry towards the door and hopefully they’d make it towards the car. Most likely, the brunette had a concussion, and he was just lucky that Harry wasn’t vomiting all over the place.

As he held onto his partner – yet again, he’s reminded that it’s not the gay kind – Perry felt a strange sense of comfort. Harry’s waist was small compared to his bulk. Not pansy shit tiny or like a woman’s, but smaller than the muscular guys he was used to bringing home to fuck senseless. But it didn’t mean Harry was any less comfortable to hold. Pleasant even, as they shared a small amount of body heat at the areas of contact.

God, he better not get a Rodney while helping the fucker out.
 
"No, I meant the other - the other one," Harry said, lapsing into silence for an instant, and then expanding on it: "Thai hooker."

He had nearly made it to the couch with the full intention of collapsing on it and maybe sleeping for the next three days, but two big, warm hands took hold of his waist and pulled him back again; for an instant, his back connected with Perry's front and it occurred to him that the big guy was phenomenally solid.

"I'm not loopy." Harry protested pointlessly, even as he clung to Perry's shoulder to stay on his feet, "But could you please stop spinning the room? I can't see where I'm going when you do that."

Harry closed one eye as though it might help him balance things out,

" I need a cigarette." he said, patting around himself until he located his pack; he pulled one out and stuck it between his lips, but made no motion to light it, "Hey, aren't we supposed to be at a party?"
 
‘Great, he’s fucking lost his last marble…’ the detective heaved a mental sigh. It seemed like he couldn’t help but sigh in frustration or despair whenever he was with Harry. Why couldn’t his sighs be of conten-

It was a good place to cut himself off, as he began to bend down. Without waiting to explain, he hooked his arm under Harry’s knees and picked the other male up like a bride. His features clearly stated that Harry was not to say a thing about how he was – and he had to shudder at this, though the reason why was unclear – carrying Harry.

“Yeah, we were supposed to be. Doesn’t fucking matter now, we’re more than fashionably late.” he muttered, breath ghosting over Harry’s features. They had even more contact now than before, which made him wonder if it’d be a bad idea to throw Harry down and have his wicked way with the brunette. Sure their friendship – if there was anything of it – and partnership – more like a hound dog for trouble – would be over as soon as Harry’s back would hit the floor. But hey, 5 minutes of a quickie!

. . .

Yeah, not a good idea. So instead, like the good Samaritan he was, he nudged the door open, kept hold of Harry, and moved them towards the car. Whether the fuckhead wanted to go or not wasn’t an option at this point. “Hey, keep talking to me. Don’t go to sleep or anything.” Perry demanded of the brunette, trying to get Harry safely into the car.

After three tries, he got frustrated and basically just dumped Harry on the ground, opened the car door, and shoved then moved to dump the other male into the car. The drive to the hospital was going to be a long one… he could just tell if he was going to have to make conversation with Lockhart.
 
If the world had been in disarray before, it was even more confusing when Harry's entire perspective altered; Perry had swung one arm beneath him and was now lifting him like - well, like a bride over the threshold, if the bride happened to have recently suffered a terrible head trauma.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, bewildered and giving Perry a bleary-eyed look, gripping Perry's bicep to steady himself, "Hey. Hey. Put me down."

There was no sense in protesting; regardless, Perry was still bigger than he was and Harry's wriggling wasn't doing him any good; it ended with him sitting on the driveway - only for an instant - before he was unceremoniously piled back into the car.

"I know what you're thinking," Harry said, "You think I'm hurt badly. Bad. Is it 'bad' or 'badly'? Fucking adverbs. But I'm not. I don't need - I don't need to go to the hospital."

He probably did. He just didn't want to go because it was just more evidence of what a fuck up he was; maybe if he could avoid the hospital, he could avoid having another mistake added onto his ever-growing list. And then maybe if he didn't make that list grow, one day he could even get enough credit for Perry to trust him a little.

"S'funny, though, you usually want me to shut up." Harry added, looking vaguely amused.
 
“Badly.” he unconsciously corrected. “You’re badly hurt.” even so far as to make the sentence structure simpler to understand in the more common phrasing. Pulling out of the driveway, he nearly pushed speed limit to get to the hospital. Not that he was concerned that Harry might be in worse condition if he didn’t drive faster.

It was just… his fingers felt strange. There was a warm tingling sensation that he refused to believe came from holding the fuckhead that long.

“I do. Did. Fuck, just-.” he had to take another breather to calm himself and not hit the injured. “I’m going to pick up the case. Might be best for you not to get involved in this one though. Seeing as you’re… incapacitated because of it already.”

Because it would really cramp Perry’s style to be fawning over a corpse.

It really, really would.

Once they reached the hospital, a good five, ten minutes of mindless chatter really, Perry was feeling more exhausted than he had in weeks. “Can you walk? Or shall I call a fucking stretcher out to get you?” he could just see Harry faking it to get drama and peramedics to come rushing out like in that stupid show that played on that channel Harry had left it on once. Grey’s Dick? Vagina? Something like that.
 
"Badly." Harry agreed; the cigarette was still hanging pointlessly between his lips, unlit; he chewed mindlessly on the filter,

"See, but I'm not incapacitated." he protested, "In fact, I think this is even more reason for me to get involved with the case; I saw Elaine Bensen, right, so that already gives me an upper hand -"

Harry paused and peered around himself, looking at the dashboard, the window, and behind him,

"And is it just me or is the car making a weird ringing noise?" he asked, stopping his search for the mystery sound only when the car came to a halt in front of the hospital; he unbuckled his seatbelt,

"I can walk," he said flatly, "I don't need a stretcher, I didn't even need to be carried like Faye Wray. Not that you're King Kong or anything. Well. Sometimes, when you're really pissed you are. Big, angry monkey."

He climbed unsteadily out of the car, giving it another sideways look before aiming himself in the general direction of the hospital,

"Hey, you know, last time I was here was a year ago. Almost. Four days from now. Christmas was when we got shot, right? Yeah, must have been. At least it's not Christmas day this time and my balls don't hurt."

Though, they were a little blue these days.
 
Harry had gotten out of the car after his remark.

Luckily Harry had gotten out in time, because Perry’s fist went flying toward the spot Harry had occupied right after the remark of him being compared to King Kong and Harry to Faye Wray. His fist made a soft impacting sound against the seat’s cushion, the dent obviously showing his strength verses the thick seat padding.

“God, do I even need to ask him to keep talking?” Perry rhetorically asked some higher being, before getting out himself. Walking behind Harry, he tried to act casual, despite the fact that his nerves were on end. If the brunette even tittered to the side, he might jump in to help steady him – he was that fried.

The hospital doors opened like the gates of heaven - only the automatic function here started up a small chiming elevator music. And the woman that greeted them at the desk was not as appeal as he wished angles were. “Name, residential idea, and injury status?” she asked with a bored tone, not even sparing a glance towards Harry.

It felt like this was some high school teenager that was working instead of an actual nurse. “Wallet, dipshit.” he ordered of Harry, eyes glued on the other male’s ass. Perry’s tone was harsher than he had intended it to be, as he was mad at himself for even entertaining the idea of reaching out and groping that firm buttocks – he could still remember the feel of it under his palm – while ‘searching’ for the wallet.
 
"Um," Harry said, eyeing the nurse; she looked about as inviting as - something incredibly uninviting, "Name's Rumplestiltskin and I seem to have my leg caught in a floorboard."

He didn't think it was possible, but her expression was suddenly even more unwelcoming and Harry shrugged his mouth and patted around for his wallet, once even patting at his own neck as though he might find it there, before pulling it out of his back pocket. Like the rest of his stuff, Harry's wallet had been with him since New York, and as such the thing was barely holding together - in fact, the edge of it was sealed shut with duct tape.

"No?" Harry said, "Not even cracking a smile. Alright."

He pulled out his health card, handing it over; she looked him over, her eyes scrolling from the gash in his forehead, to his cheekbone, to his bloody nose.

"Gardening accident." he added, gesturing to his face, then suddenly stopping and gripping the desk as his equilibrium threatened to dissappear entirely; he continued chatting, regardless, "Got in a fight with a hoe. Oh, that didn't come out - right. At all."

By that point the nurse's expression had finally altered from its blank one, to one of mild concern,

"We're going to get you into emergency." she said and gave Perry a sideways look, "He seems - confused. How hard did he get hit?"
 
Perry glanced skyward as if asking why to someone, before returning his eyes to Harry’s ass.

Then to the nurse, because while the ass was an interesting place to stare, the nurse was talking to him. And if Harry’s ass was talking to him, then he needed medical attention as well.

“Hard enough. Fell down the stairs and busted more than his head it seems.” he smiled charmingly to her. The nurse just offered a small smile towards him, as if his charm had worked and not Harry’s. Then again, perhaps she was being polite to the one person of the two that appeared rather normal compared to the bloody and loony mess that Harry appeared to be.

“Well, this way then.” she quickly buzzed for an orderly to come. Once he was there, the orderly tried to get Harry to lay down on what looked like one of the beds in the hospital rather than an emergency bed. Perry didn’t say anything though, as he moved to follow. “Are you family?” she asked as an afterthought.

“Brothers. On our mother’s side.” the detective lied easily, just so he could follow Harry to wherever they were going to wheel him to, and visit him afterwards without questions. That, and other than himself, he wasn’t sure there was anyone else that could make medical decisions for the brunette. “I think he’s got a mild concussion… think you can fix his brain while you’re at it?” he playfully flirted. It felt natural to do so with others, but when it was with Harry, the brunette just rubbed him in a different way. He couldn’t just act with Harry.
 
By that point, the short walk down the hallway felt like it lasted an eternity, the flourescent lights burning into his over-sensitive eyes, combined with the strange sensation that he was floating rather than being propelled by his own legs. He was vaguely aware of conversation going on behind him but he was tuning in and out.

He stared at the bed, expression pulled into a grimace before he finally sat on the edge of it, hating the way the old hospital frame creaked; as the nurse exited, he gave Perry a sideways look,

"Brothers, huh," Harry said, adding jokingly, "Obviously I got the looks in the family. Who wouldn't want a face like this?"

He gestured to his bloody, bruised, and battered face, then brought his fingers closer and prodded experimentally at the cut on his forehead as though testing it. Yep. Still hurt. He closed his eyes to the pain then and flopped back on the bed.
 
“He’ll be out of it. The doctor’s coming right this way.” the nurse had left him with the parting words.

Not that comforting really, as he wanted to ‘correct’ the said face with a bit of physical… force. Before he could do or say anything though, the said doctor came by and stood in front of Harry. The doctor, a male, just eased Harry into a sitting position that allowed him to easily check vital signs and reactivity of the nerves both in Harry’s eyes and bodily movements.

“Hello,”

“Harry.” Perry kindly informed before Harry made some dumbass remark like earlier.

“Harry.” the doctor repeated, glancing over at Perry with a small smile. “I’m Doctor Larry Smith. Can you tell me how old you are?” he asked, making conversation as he listened to the other male’s heartbeat, before shifting and taking a look at the bloodied areas.

Nothing seemed cracked, so he leaned back and motioned for the orderly to wheel the patient towards the MRI ward. Probably a mild concussion, as he had seen signs similar before. Best get a look though, he mentioned to the two. “And tell me how you feel. Any pressure anywhere? Aches, pains?”

As they migrated towards the other end of the floor, Parry followed wordlessly. The only thing he found strange was how many peeks the doctor was giving him. Not that he minded. The doctor was handsome, medium built and had wild brunette hair. A good distraction away from his slowly growing infatuation with Harry, that’s for sure. Because Harry… well, Harry was his friend. Friends don’t infatuate after friends.
 
"I didn't even have to open my mouth for that one," Harry said, feeling vaguely like a puppet as Perry answered for him, "And I'm pretty sure I'm thirty-five."

The bed was moving and Harry found himself glancing through doors as they went past, driven partly from being too out of it to know better, and partly out of innate curiosity; the first room had an old man sitting on the edge of his bed. Another with a man surrounded by what was probably his wife and kids. The next, an unconscious girl connected to tubes and wires and machines.

God, he hated hospitals.

"I feel great. Peachy." Harry said, looking down at his hands, "Seriously, I think I just need a bandage and a stiff drink."

And maybe a smoke. And a redhead with a nice smile and a laugh like a song.

That would be a great night.
 
‘More like five.’ was Perry’s thoughts on the answer of Harry’s age.

He watched as they wandered by the rooms, where Harry was more interested in what the other patients were up to rather than his own well being. Shaking his head, he stopped at the threshold of the MRI room, where the doctor handed Harry a hospital gown and asked him if he needed help to change.

It was then that Perry realized he had left the keys in the car. Fuck. “I’ll be right back. Left the fucking keys in the car.” he rolled his eyes at himself. This was exactly why he hated when Harry got hurt. The detective couldn’t help that he worried for the accident prone man, so he was constantly forgetting things whenever he had to tend to Harry.

The doctor didn’t seem too worried, so he waved off the blonde and turned back to make sure the machine was in operating status. “Now once in the machine, please make sure not to move around too much. No jewelry or metal objects…”

By then, Perry had already hopped out of the MRI ward and was trying to walk briskly without breaking out into a jog. One just didn’t run in the hospital if there wasn’t an emergency after all. Once he got outside, he spotted his car in the slight distance. The engine was still on – Jesus, how the hell did he forget even that?

Frustrated, he didn’t even take the time to wonder that maybe, he didn’t.
 
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