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Despite all of the times he had been hit in the head, it was the first time Harry had been scheduled for an MRI; sitting on the edge of the machine, it occurred to him that there was something cruel about not only shoving a man into a screaming metal tube, but also making him go into that tube wearing a backless polka dot dress.

The instructions were pretty simple; lay back, don't move. He could do that.

"Hey," Harry said, directing his voice towards the one-way mirror at the side of the room, knowing Dr. Smith would be behind it, "There was a girl - when we were going down the hallway? In one of the rooms. She was attached to a breathing tube. What, uh, what happened to her?"

For a long moment there was silence, and then the doctor's voice came through over the speaker,

"Car accident." he replied, "Please lay back now, Harry."

"Car accident. Right." Harry repeated, laying back on the steel table, staring up at the white ceiling; he closed his eyes again as the flourescents burned into his aching skull and the table began to shift, causing Harry to instinctively bring his hands down to his sides and clutch at the edge of the table.

The thing moved with painful slowness and Harry kept his eyes closed, jaw set as the machine started up, making a low whirring sound; without knowing why, Harry's mind was brought back to the noise he'd heard on the drive to the hospital. Like the car had been making noises. He'd thought maybe it had just been his ears ringing but -

- Harry's eyebrows furrowed. His internal narration began to flash the words 'car accident' into his eyelids, again and again until he opened his eyes to escape it.

And as he stared at the inside of the metal tube, he thought about being in Inglewood park with Elaine Bensen telling him that he was going to die. He thought about Perry saying he was going to take the case. He thought about the car and the noise it was making.

He thought about Perry leaving to go back to his car.

And suddenly Harry was squirming out of the MRI machine with Dr. Smith's voice crackling over the speakers,

"Harry, what are you doing?

But Harry didn't even acknowledge it; he popped out of the machine, wild eyed, his hair sticking out at bizarre angles; he leapt to his feet, stumbling for a moment as the world tilted on him, but then he was running, barefoot, through the hospital hallways, half leaping over a man in a wheelchair and colliding with a nurse, knocking a tray of pills across the floor,

"Sorry; your scrubs are very nice." Harry called back hurriedly, emerging into the waiting room, looking around in bewilderment before running for the front doors; he burst through them and half-stumbled down the steps, staring out at the parking lot - and in the distance, he could see Perry walking towards the car.

"Perry?" He called, then began to run, repeating, "Perry!"

But he knew he was too far away; he broke into a sprint. Someone wanted Perry dead. Someone wanted to kill him and they'd tried it once already that day, even if it had been a case of mistaken identity, anyone could have seen him climbing into Perry's car, leaving Inglewood.

Thankfully, years of regular running-for-his-life had gifted Harry with fantastic cardio and he closed the distance between them just as Perry was roughly ten feet from the car; he rammed into Van Shrike's side, sending both of them sprawling onto the ground, Harry landing directly on top of the bigger man, expression bewildered.

Of course, he felt pretty stupid a few seconds later, laying on top of Perry Van Shrike with blood still dripping out his nose and absolutely nothing to justify why he had done it. Harry had just long enough for his expression to develop into one of sheepishness,

"Please don't -" Harry began, and then there was a sound like air collapsing, clapping in on itself before the car's windows shattered, the hood exploded off, and the hub caps were sent spiralling into the air as plumes of smoke and fire towered into the sky, glass and debris flying across the parking lot.
 
As he neared the car, he slowed his brisk walking and began to pat his sides. The ringtone of ‘I will survive’ began to jingle along, but as he had taken it off of vibrate, he had to search the wide pockets he had.

Caller: Unknown

Tilting his head and frowning at it, he pressed receive and placed it up against his ear with a “van Shrike speaking.”

“It’s been awhile, hasn’t it Per?”

Before Perry even registered the person attached to the mysterious voice, he had a mental shiver at the tone. Of course he knew who it was; how could he not? “Why are you-.” why are you calling me. At least, that’s what he was going to ask. But before he could do so, he felt something hard impact his back and sent him sprawling.

“FUCK!” they fumbled onto the ground and his phone went into the air, smacking against an unfortunate person’s head. The world swirled for a moment as he tried to clear his mind, shaking it a few times. Things began to clear up and after shifting to look at the fucker that was going to die had tackled him, he shook his head again to clear the confusion.

But no. Harry fucking Lockhart was still half on top of him, giving him that sheepish look. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DO-.”

Then the explosion. A snapping sound before the grand explosion really. God, why was everything interrupting him today?!

The car wasn’t too far from them, but perhaps just enough. Before he even thought about it, he rolled them as soon as he could, nearly pressing Harry down onto the cold and unforgiving ground as he huddled over the smaller male. Perry could even feel the radiating warmth of the heat that resulted from the explosion, smoke of burnt areas that caught on fire after the mass of the boom floated near and around them.

They were close enough that he could hear a ringing in his ears, lucky in the fact that sonic booms usually didn’t happen in a result from a car bombing. They were also luckily in front of a hospital, as the paramedics were quick to respond. People were shouting and calling 911 – never mind that they were in front of the hospital that would already have an auto signal to all emergency crew – nurses and doctors rushing all over the place…

Harry under him, clothes askew, hospital gown bunched so that there was no mistaking the fact that he was between Harry’s legs with nothing between them…

And all he could think about?

“MY FUCKING CAR?!”

Devastating.

“My. Fucking. Car! FUCK!” Perry dropped his head against the closest available surface – Harry’s shoulder – and banged his head a few times against it, repeating ‘fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck’ and quoting the price of the car, the things he had touched up with it to style it just as he wanted, and even his derringer that was in the glove compartment and FUCK just didn’t cover it all.
 
Harry was almost relieved to hear the explosion; for starters, it made him look less insane for tackling Perry, and for another, well, it stopped the big guy from going on another rant. As the car went up in flames, intense heat briefly washed over them and Harry was bewildered to find himself suddenly being rolled, pinned to the ground beneath Perry's broad frame, his forehead pressed into the man's neck, so close that all he could smell was Perry's cologne and the distant tinge of something that just distinctly Perry.

It was quickly followed by the smell of gasoline, smoke, and burning rubber, but because Harry told himself he was most definitely not going to inhale Perry's scent - because that would just be weird - he turned his head to the side and just beyond Perry's arm, he could see what was left of the car - the doors were gone, the windows were gone, and flames were engulfing the skeletal frame that had been left behind.

"Fuck." Harry agreed and then put his head back against the ground as the world spun rapidly around him and Perry began to headbutt his shoulder in frustration; of course, the shifting made Harry suddenly aware of his current state of dress - or undress - as he realized he could feel the material of Van Shrike's trousers -

- rubbing.

Against.

Him.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, trying to tug the hospital gown down a bit more but it was pretty useless with Perry on top of him.

"Maybe the elves did it this time." Harry remarked, shutting his eyes and coughing as smoke plumed around them.
 
Nothing seemed to register with Perry for the moment. Not Harry underneath him, not the paramedics screaming at them to see if they were all right, not even the little bug that was leisurely crawling along the cement ground before his face. His car. . . his fucking car that he specialized. The fucking car seats that took three months to tailor correctly.

Oh god, and his faggot gun. Those were not cheap. He couldn’t get his mind off of it.

However, eventually, his body caught up with his mind, and he found himself feeling the shifting motion beneath him. “Fuck…” but this time, this fuck was for the fact that he was basically on top of Harold fucking Lockhart and grinding him.

“Harry! Perry! Oh, thank goodness you two are all right! Are you injured? Perry, you’re crushing the patient.” Larry came rushing out, the doctor followed by a nurse and orderly. The orderly didn’t even wait and nearly dragged Perry off of the brunette, seeing as Harry had already been admitted into the hospital and they were worried the blonde was crushing him to death.

So for a brief moment, the detective was given a glance of Harry in all his glory from the waist down.

Okay, so he fucking stared. Just until the doctor pulled his attention and checked over his features for any dazed pain.

“Harry…?” the blonde asked out tentatively, his tone airy as he tried to piece together what just happened – aside the anger of his car being blown up to pieces. “How… did you…?” know? And he’d have to kill the son of a bitch if Harry had somehow caused this.

Harry and bombs? Bad, bad combination. That’s way he decided against investing in even small ones that could be used for doors or locks.
 
Unlike Perry, Harry was very aware of the situation - very, very aware. He was aware of the fire and the heat, aware of the birds scattering overhead and the nurses and doctors running towards them, and the shouting and the fact his paper thin hospital gown was bunched up to his sternum and he was almost completely fucking naked in the middle of a parking lot.

He was painfully aware of it all, but all of that was fading out and becoming somehow less important as the world began to go white around the edges. Eventually Perry was off of him and Harry had enough awareness to tug down the hospital gown and cover himself - modesty was still up there with his instincts, even if he didn't really have anything to be modest about - but he made no move to get off the ground, instead, laying there and blinking hard at the sky to try and get the smoke out of his eyes.

Harry was silent for a long moment after Perry's question:

"New York, Perry." Harry clarified, "Grew up in New York."

He rubbed at his eyes; the smoke was overtaking his vision now, turning Perry into a blur.

"Christ." Harry groused, half-sitting and waving his hands in front of himself to clear it - and it was around the time that the smoke didn't wave away that he realized it wasn't smoke at all.

"Oh." Harry said, suddenly colourless, "Hey. How about that."

And he dropped his head back against the cement and didn't bother trying to get up a second time.
 
Oh, of course the fucking East Coast had to be some hot-zone that Harry had learned from. But that wasn’t the issue at the moment, because as soon as Harry seemingly passed out, Perry nearly jumped out of the orderly’s arms and his own skin. “Harry! Fuck, someone get him in the hospital!” why were they just standing out in the middle of the crisis anyways?

The doctor nodded and called for more backup, where the nurses and orderlies dragged over a stretcher and eased Harry onto it. It wasn’t hard to carry the brunette, as the other male wasn’t that heavy to begin with. Perry knew that for a fact. There were layers of slight muscles under those baggy clothes that Harry usually wore, but it was enough to give that deliciously defined body.

Not that he thought it was delicious.

Nor did he look. Really.

“Perry-.”

“I’ll stay out here to talk to the police.” he cut Dr. Smith off, despite the other’s attempt to order him into one of the rooms for a check up as well. Perry had been one of the ones closest to the car, after all. Only a few other people had been caught off guard, sent to the ground and now sent into the hospital for minor injuries.

“I don’t see why they can’t do it inside of the hospital.” the doctor reached out and placed a hand against Perry’s forearm, as if a lover enticing another back into bed.

The blonde just stared at the hand for a moment, feeling it’s warmth that paled in comparison to the explosion’s heat and Harry’s warmth. Slowly glancing back up, he gave a brief smile. “How about next time?” he teased, pulling a card out of his back pocket. It was slightly damaged from the tumbles, but he slipped it into the doctor’s coat pocket and brushed aside to head to where the police were.

He briefly wondered if Harry was going to be all right, as he used informing the police of what happened as a distraction. Inside, other doctors were fluttering about, while Dr. Smith went to check on Harry’s injuries.
 
The world faded in and out in a blur of colours and weird smells as Harry was rolled down the hallway a second time and shifted from one stretcher to another; he was vaguely aware of someone tugging his wrist, followed by a brief pinching sensation on his inner arm. Words like 'trauma', 'concussion', and 'insane' were being bandied about around him and he cracked his eyes open enough to see the blurry figures moving in harmony around the bed.

Harmony. He should call her. See how she's doing.

Let her know how they were.

They. Perry.

Shit. Was Perry alright?

An oxygen mask was put over his face and Harry tried to shift his head to avoid it, trying to talk around it, but all that came out was:

"Speryrhgmgl?"

At that juncture he realized that warmth had spread up his arm, across his chest, and had crept up his neck, a strange numbness that had rendered his tongue utterly useless. One of the nurses put a hand on his forehead, flashing a light into his eyes that made him let out a hiss as throbbing pain knocking around inside of his skull.

"He's still conscious."

"The blast must have really got him."

"No, he was like this before the explosion happened."

"What the hell happened to him?"

"I don't know, he won't hold still long enough for anyone to find out. He still won't."

"This guy needs ADHD meds, is what he needs. Dose him, give him a little shut eye."

Harry wanted to protest, but there was another pinch on his arm and the warmth spread suddenly to his head, the pain ebbing away; finally his eyes rolled back and he faded away into a drug-induced sleep.
 
After quite some time, Perry was able to back away from the police. They had assured him that he would be one of the firsts to know if anything was found, but the detective was sure that he’d figure things out even before they would. LAPD weren’t the best cops out there at times, so he wasn’t going to bet his money on them. Not when some asshole blew up his car.

He should be thankful that he wasn’t in it, and thankful that Harry had came in time.

Harold.

At that reminder, he sighed and brushed a hand over his face, trying to clear it of thoughts and frustrations. As if he could wipe the faux innocent look he showed others to just be him for a moment to think. When his hand came back into view and away from his face, he found soot and a bit of blood. He had been bleeding from a slight cut to his lips and the junk from the explosion mixed with the blood was decorating his goatee.

Fucking gross.

“I need a shave…” he murmured, walking back into the hospital with a dazed air around him. At the front desk, it was the same woman as before, only this time, she looked like she was well up to her ears with work. “Excuse me… can you direct me to Harry Lockhart?”

She gave him a pointed look, as if she couldn’t remember who he was for a moment. Wouldn’t be that surprising, what with all the chaos and all.

“My… brother? The short, insane one?” at that, a light bulb flashed behind her eyes and she relayed a room number that Lockhart had been placed in.

Thanking her, he just left to go to room 40B – the same room that they were in just almost a year ago. “You awake, dipshit?” Perry called out, knocking lightly against the door frame as he let himself in. There, he spotted Dr. Smith, who was checking over Harry’s progress in healing. “Is he all right?” he asked, not fully checking if Harry was awake by now or not. He was more concerned with what they had done to help the idiot – and hopefully placed a few marbles back in the emptying sack of the dumbass’s head.
 
Harry had always been active; when he was younger, he had been the kid who couldn't stay at his desk for longer than five minutes at a time, the one who bounced around like a maniac in gym class and kept winning track and field every year. He had always been possessed of too much energy for his own good, and it wasn't any different in his sleep.

In his dream, he was running. He wasn't even sure why, but he was just running like hell through Inglewood Park, but the damn place was empty of people even though the Christmas decorations were still there, stands full of cotton candy and a ferris wheel that was still moving with no one on it or operating it. The fountain was there, and Elaine Bensen was standing in front of it with her back facing him; he reached out to touch her shoulder, and when she turned, suddenly it wasn't Elaine Bensen, but it was Harmony and she was pointing at the fountain.

The archangel had been replaced by a statue of Protocop.

You awake, dipshit? Protocop asked, climbing down from the fountain, which he just noticed was splattered with blood.

"Perry. Why didn't you tell me you're a robot?" Harry asked out loud, then Protocop grabbed his ass, and suddenly there was a doorway in front of him and Harmony looked really pissed off and slammed the door on his hand.

Harry sat up in the bed, eyes wide, hand held up in front of his face as though to check that his remaining fingers were still there; bewildered, he looked at Dr. Smith, then at Perry, his pupils dilated to an unnatural size.

"I might just be tripping balls here," Harry said, "But you guys are both like, three feet tall right now."
 
When Harry popped up like some jack-in-the-box toy, Larry and Perry jerked a bit in surprise. The doctor was the first to react, as he quickly moved to ease the patient back into a laying position. The tubes and wires were connected to Harry, so he was worried that they had been unhinged. Luckily, nothing was out of place, and the IV was still steadily dripping a small bit of pain medication for the other male’s injuries.

“Nice to see you awake, Mr. Lockhart. I hope everything feels all right?” Dr. Smith asked, not even bothering to question the other male’s sanity. From what he’s to understand, his patient had little to nothing to begin with.

Perry wasn’t as instantaneous as the doctor, but he did take a few steps towards Harry. From his standing position, he had to look down at Harry – which made him wonder why Harry thought he was three feet talk. “Fucked up your eyes, chief?” he asked with a tad bit of concern and a healthy dosage of sarcasm. Reaching out, he pressed a thumb against Harry’s eyebrow and lifted the skin there to force the eyelid to stay open.

The fuckhead looked like he was on more than pain medication, what with his eyes blown out like that, but he decided whatever they used to attempt to sedate Harry was probably working as much as it could.

Sadly, looked like it had minimal results from how Harry woke up. “When can he get discharged?”
 
"I feel like a cloud." Harry said ambiguously, fixing his eyes onto Perry who, thankfully, was not wearing the Protocop suit, "There's nothing wrong with my eyes, there's something wrong with your height. You're like a keebler elf right now. Christ."

One of the nurses from earlier passed through, pausing only briefly to look Harry over,

"He's awake already?" she asked, voice lined with surprise; she shook her head and kept moving.

"'Already'?" Harry asked, "Why did she say 'already'?"

Aside from the fact they'd given him enough sedatives to keep a horse down.

"I can get discharged now." Harry said eagerly, sitting up again despite Dr. Smith's gentle insistence that he stay down; he settled on his knees, the hospital gown shifting to roughly mid-thigh but thankfully sparing his modesty. "Seriously, just unhook me and I can go, right?"
 
From his vintage point, Dr. Smith raised an eyebrow at the backside of the patient. He wondered if Harry even realized that hospital gowns didn’t cover the ass very well.

“Now wait a minute – only if you’re well. I don’t want to end up back here just to get your sorry ass back into this very bed.” because Perry would rather have it in some other bed. Glancing up at the doctor, he met the other’s eyes and realized that Larry had glanced at no doubt, Harry’s exposed ass.

Dr. Smith just cleared his throat and made a vague eyebrow movement that was more than suggestive towards Perry. Sure the detective had slipped his card into the doctor’s jacket… but that had been impulse. A good fuck where he could get it, since he was obviously not going to get it from mentally handicapped in front of him.

“Well, I suspect that if he takes it easy. The MRI didn’t show any heavy concussion, so just wake him up every hour if he dozes off. Other than that, rest and recover from the shock, I’d say. He has scrapes and bruises that will take some time to heal, so make sure to wash thoroughly and disinfect.” he flipped the chart he grabbed over and wrote something on the piece of paper, before signing it.

With a sharp tear of the paper away from the clipboard, he handed it to Perry. “He’s free to go. If desirable, I’m willing to do a few house calls.” Larry hinted at suggestively, clearly indicating that he didn’t mean just for Harry’s benefit.

Once that was settled, he gently eased the IV out of Harry’s arm and unattached the wires on the brunette’s body. There would be little circle marks where the wires were attached, but they’d be easily washed off, as they were only gel marks. The IV mark was covered up with a bandage so Harry didn’t ooze what blood he had left in his body. “Thanks.” Perry remarked as Dr. Smith left, going to attend other duties.

“Think you can get up, chief? Or should I call for a nurse.” the detective’s voice had a naturally hard edge to it now, clearly indicating that he was still irritated from the events of his car – oh god, they’d have to call a cab! A cab! – but trying to be civil to the person that had saved his life.

. . .

Fuck. Where was his phone?
 
Harry would have grinned if it didn't hurt too much and seem too complicated to arrange his muscles in the correct pattern right then; the I.V. was removed from his arm, a fact he was grateful for. He resisted the urge to rub at the spot where the needle had been and maneuvered himself on th ebed,

"I can get up." Harry replied, managing to sound mildly insulted while flying high, "Just give me a second to find the floor."

Even though his feet were already on it.

He tottered his way across the room, aiming for the door, but remembering mid-way that clothes were a neccessity, so he walked in the other direction like Frankenstein's monster, picking his clothes up from where they had been folded on the chair, unsteadily tugging on his boxers and jeans before he gracelessly let the hospital gown fall away, disregarding the t-shirt in lieu of just zipping on the hoodie - which was still stained with blood.

"S'go." Harry slurred, trying to ram his foot into the wrong shoe.
 
Perry just rolled his eyes at the dipshit trying to put on his clothes and prove that he was able to move around without help. “Harry. Harry! Jesus, just let me help. You’re going to fucking hurt yourself.” he shook his head, stepping closer to help the brunette. After calling out for a wheel chair, he stepped up behind the other male and helped adjust his clothes.

Touching Harry’s waist again made him soak in the warmth there, before he moved on and knelt before the brunette. “You’re obviously not well, Harry… so about that case. I don’t think it’s a good idea.” he helped slip on the shoes onto the right feet, before grabbing for the wheel chair that finally was brought in.

Ordering Harry to sit, well more like forced him down, he began to wheel them out of the hospital. At the front desk, he showed the release forums, then went in search for his phone. Thank gods it was still in one piece, just battered from falling on the ground. “You hungry? Fuck, it’s scratch…” Perry paused for a full moment though, staring at the screen of his phone.

The last number was still there. Well, ‘unknown’ titled there, but still. He’d recognized that voice.

Shaking it off and thinking it wasn’t useful information right now, he dialed for a RadioCab and nudged at the high dumbass he was wheeling around to answer him.
 
By the third attempt to get his left shoe on his right foot, Harry decided it was best not to protest when Perry moved to help him; again, there was the strange feeling of two big hands on his waist as Van Shrike shifted his clothes around so they weren't twisted and he watched blearily as Perry knelt in front of him, staring at the neatly parted blonde hair that was currently near his belt.

"I think you just think i'll fuck up." Harry replied almost airily, too high to actually feel hurt by the idea and too familiar with their dynamics to think it might not be the real reason, "Not that I can blame you. I mean, I always do, right?"

He didn't even protest to the wheelchair, falling into it and leaning his head back to stare up at Perry,

"I can see up your nose." Harry added pointlessly, "But still, you have to admit. Someone definitely wants you dead. I was right about that."

He watched Perry swipe up his phone, trying to focus on the question he had been asked,

"Um." Harry said, squinting just a little as he questioned his own stomach, which told him it was very, very empty, "Yeah. I think I could eat Mr. Ed right now."
 
He thanked the person on the other line and confirmed that it’d be another five minutes before the nearest cab could get to them. “Mr. Ed?” he repeated, staring blankly at Harry for a moment. Shaking it off, he decided he’d make something at home. Might as well not poison Harry when the guy was on the mend. “I’ll make us something light when we get back.”

Sometimes, he wondered if he should even attempt to inform Harry of things. Or even worse, he wondered if his own sanity was put into question whenever he offered Harry to come with him on surveillances and cases. “Harry, you’re not listen. It doesn’t matter if you fuck up or – okay, well it does. But that’s not the point. You’re barely conscious as it is. Let’s just get you to rest and then we’ll deal with things, all right?”

It was Perry’s way of saying, back the fuck off and let him handle it. But for now, he wasn’t going to be so harsh to the person who saved his life. Sadly, Harry couldn’t have saved his car at the same time.

When the cab finally came, he basically poured his partner into the back seat, folded up the chair and got in as well. The drive back to the condo was a quick and mainly silent one for him – at least, because he zoned everything out. It was only once they got back to the condo did he speak to Harry, asking him if anywhere hurt and tauntingly asked if he needed to spoon feed the brunette.

Then a thought entered his head and he couldn’t let it pass.

So with a leer, he asked, “Want me to bathe you too?”

It’s only fair, really. Harry annoyed him twenty-four seven. What’s a little revenge in making the little shit uncomfortable?
 
Harry grimaced at Perry's reply - even though he was stoned out of his mind, it still seemed like a canned answer.

"I'm conscious." Harry moped, leaning his head against the window of the cab as they were driven back to the condo; it occurred to him at one point that Perry was probably mourning his car, but he had some difficulty feeling the same way about it - for the most part, he was just privately glad that Perry wasn't blown into little gay chunks.

He maneuvered his way back into the condo and for the second time that day, he aimed for the couch - only this time he actually achieved getting to it, slumping down into the seat; it took a moment for Perry's remark to register, however.

"Nurse Van Shrike." Harry said, as though testing the thought out, "Scary stuff."

There was a momentary pause, and then Harry barrelled on,

"Who were you talking to?" he asked suddenly, "On the phone, I mean. Just before the bomb went off."
 
As Harry moved to rest on the couch, he emptied his pockets onto the coffee table. First his wallet, then his cards, then his gun. Checking the barrel and then snapping it shut, he frowned down at Harry. “I’d make an excellent nurse.”

He would too. If they messed with him, he’d shoot them. It’d save the hospital the trouble of watching them die for sure.

Placing the gun down and on safety, he moved to make something to eat. Nothing heavy, he read off of the discharge papers. So he threw together a light pasta salad, dished it up, and placed it on the coffee table before Harry. “Eat.” he ordered.

It wasn’t until he sat down did Harry speak up again. What might have been ‘suddenly’ and of impulse for Harry was actually a large gap in between. Perry really hoped that the knock on the head didn’t make him crazier than the brunette usually was. “No one of your concern.”

Unconsciously, he struck out of irritation and pinched Harry on the thigh hard enough that it might bruise. “Now. Eat.”

Perry busied himself by stuffing food in his mouth with the fork, and using the other hand to flip on the television to find something to distract Harry. He just couldn't wait for the night to be over, despite having to wake Harry every hour if need be.

...

Of course he wasn't tempted to just let Harry sleep the night through...
 
Harry actually watched as Perry reached out for his thigh and pinched it, yet he didn't feel a thing - not a god damned thing. In fact, he even managed to give the big guy a smug look for it, apparently pleased that, for once, Perry's swats and pinches and smacks would be ineffective, if only temporarily.

"I feel no pain." Harry said crisply, reaching unsteadily for his plate and poking at it more than he ate it, distracted by the flashing pictures on the television as it was changed from channel to channel, his mind already overstimulated by the colours and noises being emitted from it.

"Bet it was a hot date calling." Harry added, too loopy to care what he was saying, "Which reminds me, you were practically tearing the doctor's clothes off with your eyes. Gonna, um, take him up on the - house-call thing? Condo call?"
 
Pinching Harry had been a bad idea, especially after Harry stated that he felt no pain from it. It’ll probably hurt like a bitch later, but since he didn’t know how much damage he was doing to the brunette with little to no reaction, he figured waiting on the rest of the smacks he had stored up over the day.

And gods, did the fucking mouth ever shut the hell up?

Mm… fucking mouth.

Fuck, no.

“Yeah, a hot date. I’m going to take Larry home,” wow, he remembered the man’s name. “lay him out all nice and wanton on this couch, rip off all his clothes, and fuck him right then and there. I’ll even make it loud enough for you to hear, happy?” Peregrine replied in autopilot, just numbly flipping through the channels.

It finally settled onto a movie – the Notebook or some shit – and he left it there to play as white noise. He waited until Harry ate a good portion of the dinner, before taking it and moving to clean it. A blanket was draped over Harry after he snapped the couch out to become a bed. It’d be best to not move Harry too much when the other male was most likely going to go flying down the stairs at some point in the night. “Sleep.”

…

Shit, he might as well.

“And Harry? Thanks…” the gratitude was spoken so softly that it could have been imagined. Instead of elaborating, he moved to go get ready for bed.

So for the rest of the night, he made sure to check on Harry every hour or so. A gentle shake on the shoulders, a poke in the belly; anything to get a twitch to see if Lockhart was alive. By the coming morning, he was exhausted, but figured he might as well do surveillance. God, he hated to do it, but he left a note for Harry,

‘Going to work. Be good. Do paperwork. Call me when you’re done.’

And called Harmony to come take care of Harry. He hoped she got his message.

As for him? He was going to check out this Mr. Mystery.
 
Harry had meant for the comment to be casual and playful, but Perry had the tendency of turning that sort of thing into - well, something else entirely. He managed it again, going into more detail than Harry ever wanted to know about the big guy's sex life - not that he ever wanted to know any details. About anyone's sex life. But definitely not Perry's.

"Um," Harry said, "Yeah. Great. Just let me know so I'll be aware of when to flee the house and so I can plan to ritually burn the couch afterwards."

He shifted on the couch and only then realized that his eyes had fallen half shut, leaving only slivers of brown iris showing, though even they were nearly taken over by his blown pupils; they opened fully only once, and that was when Perry stood to leave, uttering just one word he wasn't sure he had heard out of Perry before:

Thanks.

Harry stared for a long moment, and then gave a small nod, watching the other man leave the room; eventually he turned his eyes back to the television, but by that point, nothing was making sense. Eventually it became so mind-numbing that he just slipped off into sleep without being aware of it, face pressed against the arm of the couch, the bloodied hoodie zipped up to his neck.

Throughout the night he was subjected to random pokes and prods, some of which he was aware of and others simply became part of his distinctly fucked up dreams.

By the time morning rolled around, he was as sick of being poked as Perry was sick of doing the poking - god that sounded wrong - so when a finger prodded his nose around eight in the morning, his grumbled reaction wasn't entirely enthusiastic. The poke came again, aiming for his nose, but Harry had the misfortune of trying to sit up at the same time and a finger ended up in his eye.

"Ah! Shit!" Harry said, hand clapping to his face; unfortunately, the motion immediately sent pain through his entire skull and he clutched at his head with one slightly pitiful sound.

But then hands were on his face, on his head, stroking through his hair and touching, touching in a way that just couldn't be Perry, because Perry's touches always came with pain,

"Jesus, Harry, I'm so sorry."

Harry's eyes snapped open, but the one that had been prodded immediately protested and fell shut again, his one available eye focusing in and out several times before he could identify one very clear colour - red. Lots of red. Red hair. Red lips. Red blouse.

"Hrmny?" Harry said thickly, forcing his other eye open; everything came into focus and yes, god yes, there she was.

"Yeah I'm here." Harmony said, and Harry glanced around, eyeing the condo suspiciously, "What are you looking for?"

"S'gotta be a dream." Harry mumbled out.

"Your shirt - what - is that blood all over your shirt, Harry? What the fuck have you been doing?"

"Can't be real." Harry insisted, clamouring to his feet now, unsteady; his head twinged again and he clutched at it and Harmony took hold of his hoodie and yanked him back down onto the couch so hard that he nearly fell off of it.

"I'm here to fucking take care of you; Perry called me, told me you needed a nanny, what happened?" Harmony said, then shoved him back again when he tried to get up, "Lay the fuck down."

"Santa hit me with a fountain and Perry's car exploded." Harry re-iterated dazedly, "You look great."
 
What Perry Did in the Meantime​

Attempting to find the Mr. Mystery had led to a dead end.

No surprise there. Not that he knew what he was going to do when he met the man, but he supposed it would have been somewhere on the line of homicide. But unlike his clients, he knew how to get rid of the body without leaving clues. It came with the job, really.

Instead, he had the luck of running into the said person that had spoke to him on the phone just before the explosion had happened. Strawberry blonde, vibrant blue eyes, muscular and attractive… Damien would have made him drool like some teenager, if he didn’t already hate the other male’s guts.

Their conversations never got far – just like their love life.

When they were together, it went something like –

“Hey, welcome home.”

“Hey.

And they’d fuck. Sure Perry enjoyed it, but it was always fucking. Damien probably forgot how to have a relationship outside of the bed.

But now that they weren’t together, they’re meetings turned out to be –

“You fucker!”

“BITCH!”

And they’d fight. Sure, Perry enjoyed it, but it was always a hassle to get the blood out of his shirt. Plus, he’d have bruises afterwards. Damien probably forgot that homicide attempts were illegal.

This encounter wasn’t any different. Just a “Why the fuck did you call me?!” and a “Fuck, I missed you” coupled with a rubbed crotch and a flying punch. It wasn’t until later, when he was sitting on a sidewalk curb and looking worse for wear, did he realize that the fucker had slipped something into his pants when he was groped.

‘Ravan requests to meet with you. 5PM tomorrow. Don’t be late. Wear a rose corsage.’

Once he comprehended the note, it didn’t take long for him to realize that Damien was probably working for the real Ravan. That is to say, assuming that Harry didn’t meet the real woman and just an actress hired to play her.

Rubbing on his bruised jaw, he sighed and thought that maybe it was time to head back. It was already late afternoon, and he had spent most of the morning doing surveillance for another case. A small one, of a typical cheating husband and a bemoaning wife. He was cheating on the client, but after meeting her, Perry could see why.

It wasn’t until four in the evening did he make it back to the condo and for a brief moment, he thanked the higher powers that there was a condo to come back to. Half of him had been afraid that Harry woke up, Harmony decided not to come, and he’d come back to bits and piece of the place.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he decided he’d save off this goatee tonight – it was getting annoying. Harry had mentioned it once or twice in the past that he looked strange with it, but Perry kept it on just to annoy the shit. Now it was annoying him, and that would just not do.

With a push of the last amount of energy he had left in him, he got out of the car and made a beeline right into the condo. He slammed the door shut and dropped the keys into the bowl by the table, before sitting at the dining table and placed his hands in his head. God, his head hurt. “Fuck… Har-er, fuckhead, you still alive?” he called out, exhausted and barely noticing anything around him. Perry wasn’t too out of it that he would call out for Harmony though. Because if she hadn’t came, he might as well not mention it.

He’ll wait for Harry to come to him. And as much as he hated to admit it, he’d need to bring Harry with him on this case – of course he was going to pick up on it, now that he was dragged in. The other male would be his only clue in whether or not they’d spot Ravan.
 
Harry was distantly aware of the front door opening and it took an intense level of concentration for him to maneuver himself to it, the world tilting and tottering with each movement; he paused midway down the hall and closed his eyes, taking in a breath in an attempt to steady himself.

"M'alive." Harry replied, stopping at the top of the stairs and eyeing them as though he had encountered some sadistic mind game - of which he had already spent the day dealing with. Gripping the banister, Harry began to shuffle his way down the steps, having some difficulty with his spatial awareness - this, of course, could be blamed on the concussion he had suffered only a day ago, but more likely had to do with the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed in the last two hours, in combination with prescribed pain medication. His head had never felt more numb.

His heart was a different story, but he made a choice to ignore that.

Ultimately, the night had not been kind to Harry Lockhart. The cut on his forehead was bandaged over and was covering only a portion of what had become a particularly impressive bruise, mottled in blue and purple and extending from his temple down to his cheekbone. A five o'clock shadow had managed to creep its way across his jaw - an indication that Harry either hadn't looked in a mirror or just didn't trust himself with a razor - and his palms were raw and red from where they had scraped across the fountain. He looked like a train wreck.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs after much complicated maneuvering, Harry finally focused his vision onto his partner;

"You look like hell." Harry managed, and in a rare moment of physicality, he reached out to unsteadily take hold of Perry's face, examining his jaw, "What'd - who'd you get'n a fight with?"
 
It took a lot longer than he’d like to wait for someone, but with Harry, it was a surprise that the other male got to him in such a short time. Honestly, Perry thought that he’d call out for the fucker and it’d take him an hour to realize that someone had spoken to him. But there he was, examining van Shrike’s features.

Like he cared.

Well, of course he did. He was Harry fucking Lockhart. But sadly, not Harry fag fucking Lockhart.

Wishes, wishes.

“I ran into – wait, me? There are levels in hell, Harry and you look like you’re rock bottom. I’ll tell you about my day in a moment, but first, where’s—did someone come over today?” he changed his tactic, not wanting to completely out the fact that he expected Harmony to have been here. Perry brushed the brunette’s hand away and rubbed at his own jaw, feeling his own whiskers scratch at his hand.

It was strange, but he felt the void of their interaction at the most inopportune time. The blonde was always at a lost for words when with Harry – mainly due to the dumbstruck moment of not believing Harry could do or say something that idiotic – but with Harry, the male seemed to have some sort of quota per day on words he needed to speak. Now that Harry was drugged up like some two dollar whore with a speech impediment, it felt… quiet.

That, and he’d rather have Harry flaunting around and chatting away, then staring at him for any length of time. It made him want to… do things. Things that would probably be illegal.

And maybe immoral.

Definitely not socially accepted.
 
Harry was unsteady even as he stood in place, fingers coming insistently back to Perry even as they were swatted away, dropping back only after the third time the other man knocked them off.

"You can stop acting, Hamlet." Harry said, still staring at Perry, eyeing the bruise, "I know you asked Harmony to come here. I might be stupid, but not stupid enough to think she'd - come on her own. To see me. What'd you tell her anyway? That I was dying? That she needed to move my body? I'd - I'd just like to know. Give me some insight. 'Cause I probably would've got a concussion sooner if I'd known it would get her to say 'hi'."

It sounded pathetic. Even drunk and high and concussed out of his skull, it sounded pathetic, but he was too drunk and high and concussed to care.

Harry visibly struggled to get his head back on track,

"Who - who did you run into?" he asked.
 
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