Brother from another mother

Heat Wave. [Part-5]

This time, when he opened his eyes, he was able to see.

The first thing Mike saw was the ceiling, tiled with white squares placed flush against each other except where two rectangular lights broke the ranks: one directly above Mike's head; the other illuminating the path in front of the door open to his room, long fluorescent bulbs buzzing with electricity. He blinked against the stale light. It didn't pierce him quite as fiercely as before but it was still a little too bright for his liking.

A long window was set in the wall to his right. Mike turned his head slightly to inspect this next. He could see sunlight peeking through the edges of the closed blinds. Judging by its brightness, Mike estimated it to be late morning.

Morning already? He had to go to work. He was going to be late again and Harvey was not going to be pleased.

He was about to push himself out of bed when his attention shifted to the metal box near his head and his eyes dropped down from the window to examine it. The machine beeped softly with Mike's heartbeat. He could see the glowing numbers that announced his heart rate. It was normal. Below that was his temperature. It was a little high but not enough to be considered dangerous or even threatening.

He followed the wires connecting him to the machine to his chest where he found he was in a hospital gown in a hospital bed, a thin blanket pulled down to his stomach so that he could clearly see several wires slithering under his gown to stick to his chest and the clamp that trapped one finger.

Oh. He wasn't at home. He was in the hospital. Because he had had a heat stroke at work. Well, at least now he didn't have to worry about getting the "if I had wanted someone to show up late to work, I would have hired the White Rabbit" speech from Harvey.

His eyes traveled over to his left arm where he saw a needle imbedded in his flesh. The image made his stomach churn (he never did like needles) and he quickly looked away. To distract himself from the sight, he decided to follow the IV drip to its source to see what was being distributed into his body.

He never made it. Something else distracted him.

On his left was a man.

He sat in a chair set close to Mike's bedside. He wore a white dress shirt that looked like it desperately needed to be ironed and had most likely been worn for longer than a day. A vest was taut over the dress shirt, contrasting strikingly against the white fabric. Mike briefly thought the vest was an unnecessary addition to the outfit but determined it actually fit the look on this man.

A jacket was draped over the back of the chair the man sat in, a thick black tie arranged neatly atop it.

His hair looked like it had once been sleeked back with perfection at one time but now it was mussed as if the man had pushed his hand through it one too many times.

What Mike couldn't see was the man's face. Because he was currently sleeping, hunched over on the bed near Mike's side with his head pillowed on folded arms. One arm extended under the other to cover Mike's hand with his own, fingers limply entwined with Mike's.

It was a familiar weight.

Mike stared at the sleeping man at his side, idly aware that his hearing had recovered to normality so that he could hear the distant footsteps of movement outside his room. He focused on the man's leveled breathing. It was a pleasant sound.

Mike opened his mouth. He didn't want to break the quiet that cocooned them; didn't want to break the spell that stopped time and separated him and this man from the rest of the world, but he wanted to see the man's face, see a smile; hear him speak. It felt like it had been a lifetime since the last time he had.