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The Idiot in the Hospital Bed

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"Are you bleeding all over my car? You'd better not be bleeding all over my car," Perry said, which Harry figured was Perry-speak for, 'oh my god, I'm so glad you're okay', which was kind of sweet.

"I'm inside. Your car," he said. "Not, like, on top of it or anything so - "

Perry glared at him. "What were you thinking, Harry?"

What Harry wanted to say was that, well, he'd been thinking that either he'd crack the case all by himself in which event, yay, big celebration, big hug, go Harry! - and then maybe some really gay sex after, or he wouldn't crack the case all by himself, in which event, yay, big rescue, big hug, 'oh my god, I'm so glad you're okay' - and then maybe some really gay sex afer, but more tender-like? Win-win, really.

Not being an idiot, what he actually said, of course, was -

"You're an idiot," Perry said. "Win-win, really?"

"That is, literally, what I was thinking," Harry said. "Great minds, eh?"

Perry stopped the car to glare at him. "One more word out of you, and I swear I'm going to kick you out of the car right here, right now."

"So two more words is all right, then, right?" Harry said. "Or, well, ten. Nine? Fourteen now. This is tricky."

"You had one job," Perry said. "One job, Harry."

"Wait, had?" Harry didn't like the sound of that. Sure, he'd fucked up - but hey, here was Perry, getting him all unfucked, or well, unfucked in the sense of the word that meant that Harry was fine, all right, unharmed, not in the sense that Perry'd never been there, done that and come back for seconds, too, not to brag or anything, and what were they talking about again? "You're firing me?"

Perry sighed and started the car again. Some mixed signals there. "No, Harry, I'm not firing you. I should, but I figure that since I was dumb enough to hire you in the first place, I deserve to suffer."

Harry said nothing. They'd established that he still had a job, that Perry was a big ole marshmallow and that he needed a hospital, pronto. Everything else could wait.

"You're not passing out or anything, are you?" Perry asked. "I swear, if I'm going to have to drag your sorry ass all the way to the ER - Harry?"

"Just resting my eyes," Harry said. He felt a bit woozy, but also really warm and comfortable and safe, because Perry was there and it was all going to be fine. "Wake me when we're there?"

"I hate you," Perry said.

Harry almost replied that aw, love you, too, sugarbear, but he managed to restrain himself, because he knew displays of affection made Perry uncomfortable and he was considerate that way.

"Sugarbear?" Perry said, sounding like he was going somewhere. "Sugarbear?"

 

Hospital, doctors, Perry checking out some hot nurse until Harry reminded him that hey, injured boyfriend right here, yada, yada, yada, fast forward to a couple days later.

"Did you get me a get-well-soon balloon? That is so gay," Harry said. He'd meant so say something much more appreciative, he thought, because Perry had a real thing about showing his true feelings, and Harry felt he ought to encourage these kinds of things, but they had him on some pretty heavy painkillers, so oops.

"I got it for your neighbor. Poor guy's probably going nuts listening to you ramble all day," Perry said, handing the balloon to the guy in the bed next to Harry.

He looked like he was about eighty, but Harry still didn't like the way he looked at Perry, like, give him half a chance, and grandpa'd be all over that ass. Admittedly, it was a great ass, but Harry felt he had a right to feel a bit possessive about it, so.

"Yes, he's gay, but you can't have him. He's mine," he told the guy.

"Pretty sure he's been in a coma for the past twenty days," Perry said, grabbing a chair and sitting down, while the balloon floated towards the ceiling in a way Harry felt someone had probably thought would be visually arresting or a metaphor for life or something. "Lucky guy."

"Seriously, not even a fruits basket? Some flowers?" Harry asked.

"Want a cigarette?" Perry offered, which wasn't much, but Harry figured that, well, beggars, choosers, and anyway, who wanted a fruits basket? He didn't even like fruits - well, apart from Perry, though Harry tried to stay away from that sort of language nowadays and anyway, it wasn't as if he'd been some kind of homophobe before, he just hadn't thought about it much, that was all.

"Sure," he said, and Perry held one out, his fingers almost touching Harry's lips and Harry thought for a moment they were going to have sex - oral, not anal, right then and there; it'd be great, and a little kinky too, like, who hadn't ever dreamt of hospital sex?

"You're sick, you know that?" Perry asked, snatching the cigarette back. "And you're in a hospital. They don't let people smoke here, Harry. It's kind of a rule."

"All right, fine," Harry said, to show he was willing to meet Perry halfway here. "Brought a magazine?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Perry said, making it appear out of his jacket and folding it open. "It's great. Some really interesting articles in here. Gosh. For example, did you know - never mind." He held up the magazine in front of his face and then lowered it to his lap and turned a page.

"You can't - this qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment. I have rights," Harry said.

"Sure you do, Harry," Perry said, trying to look completely engrossed.

"You're holding it upside down. Ha! Made you look."

"No, it didn't. But nice try."

 

Fast forward to another couple of days later (isn't narrative time great?) where -

"Really? They sell balloons in the hospital shop with nothing but the word 'dumbass' on them? That's messed up. I mean, seriously."

"Hey, if the shoe fits - " Perry said.

"If the shoe fits, congratulations, you know your own shoe size."

Perry sighed, but his face was doing that thing where Harry could tell Perry was almost smiling. Harry thought it'd been a pretty good one himself. Not 'quit your dayjob, become a comedian' sort of good, maybe but hey. "The doctor said you should take it easy for the next couple of days. So you probably shouldn't talk too much."

"It's the painkillers," Harry said. "They make me, you know. Chatty. A real chatty Cathy."

"Harry, you're not on any painkillers." Perry held up a small bottle of pills. "Think it'd help if you were?"

Harry held out his hand. Sure, he didn't feel too bad now only that was probably just because Perry was there, acting all concerned and smothering him with affection. Sooner or later, Perry'd go back to work, and then where would Harry be? In pain, that was where. "Gimme."

"Sorry." Perry made the bottle disappear into one of the pockets of his jacket. "Says right there on the label to keep them away from kids. Which, if we're going by mental age and IQ, means you're shit out of luck."

"Gimme," Harry repeated. "They're mine, I want them, and you're a meanie."

"A meanie? Wow. That really hurts my feelings, Harry." Perry snorted and then cuffed the back of his head. "You're drugged out of your mind right now, idiot. So I'm going to take you home and try not to murder you, and then when you get better, we're going to have a talk."

"A sex talk?" Harry asked. He didn't think he needed a sex talk. Going by Perry's enthusiasm, he was doing pretty much all right in the sex department. Maybe a little too well? Was that a thing?

"A 'let's try not to get killed or severely injured again in the future' talk," Perry said.

"You know, it's kind of cute that you worried so much," Harry said. "Because I wasn't. Worried. At all. They nabbed me, I told myself, 'don't worry, Perry's going to be there, it's all going to be fine'. And it was. So there, point proven, case closed. You're welcome."

Perry groaned. "Hary, I swear, if you don't shut up right now, I'm going to - "

"Impaired judgmental person over here!" Harry said, though he sort of, kind of wanted to tell Perry that sure, if Perry wanted to pull over, they could make out for a bit or something, maybe some heavy petting and a hand job.

"Impaired judgmental?" Perry asked. "That's not - Jesus."

"You never know, he could be wearing a disguise," Harry said. "But yeah. Probably not." He gave the guy a friendly wave even so, because you could never know, that was the point, wasn't it? Or so Harry vaguely remembered someone telling him sometime.

 

"But, seriously, did I already say thank you for saving my life?" Harry asked, some indeterminate amount of time later, when he was pretty sure the painkillers had worn off leaving him more or less in control of his own mouth again, inasfar as possible, because sometimes Perry gave him a look and then these words just seemed to come spilling out through no fault of his own. "Because thank you for saving my life."

Perry sighed. "Do we have to talk about this during sex?"

"Well, no. I just wanted to, you know, put that out there. Also, I think the painkillers are beginning to wear off. I thought you might like to know."

"So are you going to be less or more annoying from here on out?" Perry asked, doing something that - yeah, that was definitely the stuff. Who needed painkillers, anyway? Not a tough guy like Harry, that was who. Wasn't who? Grammar: always so confusing.

"What would you like me to be?" Harry asked. "Because hey, you saved my life, so, you know. I guess that means I owe you one."

"How about you shut up for a while? Does that sound doable?" Perry asked, still doing that thing, so Harry figured it was more of the same old: grumpy and grouchy on the outside, but deep down where it counted, all gooey and goopy. Harry liked that about Perry. No clinginess, no neediness, just 'shut up and let me blow your mind' with romantic roadside stake-out picnics and heroic rescues on the side.

"Hey, you want to put something in my mouth, you know where to find it," Harry said, which maybe wasn't, like, super romantic or anything, but at least it got the message across.

"If you ever get kidnapped again, I swear I'm gonna kill you myself," Perry said, and Harry wanted to point out that hey, Perry'd have to find him first, and once he'd found Harry, he might as well throw in a rescue, and after that, well, why waste a good thing?

He didn't say anything like that out loud though, on account of having his mouth full, and his mother had raised him better than to talk when that happened.