Fic: Trouble is My Business, Perry/ Harry
Title: Trouble is My Business
Pairing: Perry/ Harry
Rating/ Warnings: h/c, PG-13 maybe.
Words: 1,412
It was bad this time. It wasn’t as bad as a cut off finger, and there wasn’t that much blood, but Harry was holding his right arm close to his body, curling his shoulder at an angle that did not seem entirely healthy and keeping his left hand on his right elbow as if not trusting the arm on its own.
Perry was tending to the cut above Harry’s left brow, frowning when it did not close immediately. He was trying to remember whether they still had butterfly bandages, as they usually did the trick. Why did he even have to think about whether there were butterfly bandages left? Normally, you did not run out of these things. You bought a box because you needed a single one, you used exactly that single one, and then you left the rest in their the box and stuffed the whole thing into your medicine cabinet in the bathroom to forget about it and maybe remembered it a few years later. If you were lucky. You should not run through those things unless you’re an Emergency Room, which Perry certainly was not.
He looked at Harry, the pale scar in the middle of his forehead from his last encounter with an aluminium baseball bat that gave Harry three stitches and a concussion. The scar was faded now and almost thin enough to ignore.
Perry decided that he hated this. Not patching him up, but having to patch him up.
And the shoulder, that was something he would not touch anyway, so he breathed in and out to regain his composure. And in and out again. It did not help, and Perry bristled, knowing full well that he did it and hating it, all at the same time. He tried to think of the ocean and to breathe deeply once more before deciding that the ocean could go fuck itself. After all, Harry almost drowned that one time, so it was. not. helping. Perry should have never have agreed to let Harry on a boat, which is something Harry was not allowed to do any more anyway. Perry did not want to get any more grey hairs over this. It was bad enough that he suspected the one at his temple to be Harry's fault. Which it probably was, considering the rather uneventful life he had before Harry, when there were more parties than trips to the Emergency Rooms and decidedly less band aids.
“Get up, you idiot,” Perry hissed. “We’re going to the hospital.”
Harry hated hospitals. He had once talked Perry into not taking him there, looking miserable and lost, too pale and somehow scared, and Perry had had finally agreed because he had not been able to stand Harry’s whining any more. At least that was what he had told Harry and he was not changing his story.
That had been the one time when Harry had been covered in small cuts and scratches from the incident with the hedge and the dog, which had been weird but only mildly painful. It had been safe to patch him up, rub iodine into the cuts while Harry cussed and hissed and generally flailed, and then Perry had sent him to bed, not feeling bad for one second of it.
This shoulder thing wasn’t safe. Perry decided that Harry was unlucky. Maybe he had been born under a bad star or something. He needed to look it up, he thought and then shook his head. He was not going to look up Harry’s fucking sign to see whether his idiot friend was getting into all that trouble because the stars aligned in a freak way when he was born and somehow turned him into the human equivalent of broken mirrors and black cats crossing from the left.
Perry had not been aware he was holding his breath until Harry stood up and Perry took a quick step to wrap his arm around Harry’s middle. Harry slumped a little, but did not protest, so Perry did not leave his side until they were in Perry’s car. The ride was quiet, Perry did not even grumble at Harry and did not tell him to not bleed onto the upholstery.
Truth was, Perry hated hospitals as well. He hated the waiting area, the smell, the lights. No one ever looked healthy under those lights, not even the doctors or nurses (who either looked tired or asleep on their feet or like death warmed over; Perry wondered how they still could be nice, which they were.). It was like the light brushed away their normal selves, and left this... scrubbed down worried version of yourself, with a slightly sickly greenish complexion. He rubbed his hand over his face, combing through his hair with his fingers. He wondered if he looked a bit like the man opposite him, the one who came in with his wife and was now playing with his wedding ring. Perry hated that he noticed all this and tried to read a magazine, Home and Gardens for fuck's sake, just to forget about the look Harry had had on his face when the nurse took him to be examined.
He tried to read about bathrooms, grey marble, black marble, fucking white marble to go with Italian sandstone, so he would not have to think about Harry sitting on some bed, holding his arm like that. Probably scared shitless because his shoulder needed to get popped in again. They better gave him painkillers. Lots of them.
Perry stood up and went to the nurse.
“I need to go see my friend,” he said.
She looked at him.
“He will be back in a minute, Sir.”
“No, you don't understand. I need to see him now. I get to pay his bill, so I will decide on what kind of treatment he gets, and I want him to get proper treatment, and proper medication. And all the painkillers he needs not to faint when you do something to his shoulder, because that just has to hurt. A lot. So, I need to see my friend.”
She looked at him, unimpressed.
“Well,” she said, “There he is.”
Harry was standing in the hallway a few steps away, his right arm in a sling, clutching his prescription in his left hand.
“Oh,” Perry said. “Thank you.”
Because even when he rambled, and that was stress related rambling, mind you, he remembered his manners. He walked over to Harry and ushered him down the hall, to the pharmacy to get his prescription filled. And then out to the car.
“For how long have you been standing there?”
Harry grinned.
“I didn't know you cared so much,” Harry finally said when he was buckled in.
“Let's just get you home and out of harm's way for a while, hm, chief?”
Perry decided to maybe even make dinner if Harry behaved. Which he would, drowsy as he was, and currently shaking the orange vial of painkillers, and then looking at Perry and passing the pills to his right hand so he could reach over with his left to pat Perry's leg.
“Thanks,” he whispered and Perry nodded, pretending to watch the traffic and not be as grateful.
He helped Harry out of the car and all the way into the condo and onto the couch, untying his sneakers and biting off the remark about shoe choices and formal shoe wear. He brought Harry another pillow, so his shoulder would be better supported, and a glass of water, in case he needed another round of painkillers. Harry looked a little teary when Perry came back from the kitchen with sandwiches.
“You say something weird and drug induced, and I'll kick you out,” Perry warned.
“Thanks,” Harry mumbled again. “With the... and the thing you said at the hospital.”
“Shut up, idiot,” Perry said.
He sat down next to Harry on the couch, switching on the tv, and Harry fussed and turned until he sat snuck next to Perry. He gave a little sigh Perry pretended not to hear, and relaxed further. Perry could feel him settle, Harry's weight resting heavily against his side, and when Perry breathed out now, he breathed out all the way, without thinking of the fucking ocean or green meadows or any of this shit. Just Harry, solid and safe, by his side.
Pairing: Perry/ Harry
Rating/ Warnings: h/c, PG-13 maybe.
Words: 1,412
It was bad this time. It wasn’t as bad as a cut off finger, and there wasn’t that much blood, but Harry was holding his right arm close to his body, curling his shoulder at an angle that did not seem entirely healthy and keeping his left hand on his right elbow as if not trusting the arm on its own.
Perry was tending to the cut above Harry’s left brow, frowning when it did not close immediately. He was trying to remember whether they still had butterfly bandages, as they usually did the trick. Why did he even have to think about whether there were butterfly bandages left? Normally, you did not run out of these things. You bought a box because you needed a single one, you used exactly that single one, and then you left the rest in their the box and stuffed the whole thing into your medicine cabinet in the bathroom to forget about it and maybe remembered it a few years later. If you were lucky. You should not run through those things unless you’re an Emergency Room, which Perry certainly was not.
He looked at Harry, the pale scar in the middle of his forehead from his last encounter with an aluminium baseball bat that gave Harry three stitches and a concussion. The scar was faded now and almost thin enough to ignore.
Perry decided that he hated this. Not patching him up, but having to patch him up.
And the shoulder, that was something he would not touch anyway, so he breathed in and out to regain his composure. And in and out again. It did not help, and Perry bristled, knowing full well that he did it and hating it, all at the same time. He tried to think of the ocean and to breathe deeply once more before deciding that the ocean could go fuck itself. After all, Harry almost drowned that one time, so it was. not. helping. Perry should have never have agreed to let Harry on a boat, which is something Harry was not allowed to do any more anyway. Perry did not want to get any more grey hairs over this. It was bad enough that he suspected the one at his temple to be Harry's fault. Which it probably was, considering the rather uneventful life he had before Harry, when there were more parties than trips to the Emergency Rooms and decidedly less band aids.
“Get up, you idiot,” Perry hissed. “We’re going to the hospital.”
Harry hated hospitals. He had once talked Perry into not taking him there, looking miserable and lost, too pale and somehow scared, and Perry had had finally agreed because he had not been able to stand Harry’s whining any more. At least that was what he had told Harry and he was not changing his story.
That had been the one time when Harry had been covered in small cuts and scratches from the incident with the hedge and the dog, which had been weird but only mildly painful. It had been safe to patch him up, rub iodine into the cuts while Harry cussed and hissed and generally flailed, and then Perry had sent him to bed, not feeling bad for one second of it.
This shoulder thing wasn’t safe. Perry decided that Harry was unlucky. Maybe he had been born under a bad star or something. He needed to look it up, he thought and then shook his head. He was not going to look up Harry’s fucking sign to see whether his idiot friend was getting into all that trouble because the stars aligned in a freak way when he was born and somehow turned him into the human equivalent of broken mirrors and black cats crossing from the left.
Perry had not been aware he was holding his breath until Harry stood up and Perry took a quick step to wrap his arm around Harry’s middle. Harry slumped a little, but did not protest, so Perry did not leave his side until they were in Perry’s car. The ride was quiet, Perry did not even grumble at Harry and did not tell him to not bleed onto the upholstery.
Truth was, Perry hated hospitals as well. He hated the waiting area, the smell, the lights. No one ever looked healthy under those lights, not even the doctors or nurses (who either looked tired or asleep on their feet or like death warmed over; Perry wondered how they still could be nice, which they were.). It was like the light brushed away their normal selves, and left this... scrubbed down worried version of yourself, with a slightly sickly greenish complexion. He rubbed his hand over his face, combing through his hair with his fingers. He wondered if he looked a bit like the man opposite him, the one who came in with his wife and was now playing with his wedding ring. Perry hated that he noticed all this and tried to read a magazine, Home and Gardens for fuck's sake, just to forget about the look Harry had had on his face when the nurse took him to be examined.
He tried to read about bathrooms, grey marble, black marble, fucking white marble to go with Italian sandstone, so he would not have to think about Harry sitting on some bed, holding his arm like that. Probably scared shitless because his shoulder needed to get popped in again. They better gave him painkillers. Lots of them.
Perry stood up and went to the nurse.
“I need to go see my friend,” he said.
She looked at him.
“He will be back in a minute, Sir.”
“No, you don't understand. I need to see him now. I get to pay his bill, so I will decide on what kind of treatment he gets, and I want him to get proper treatment, and proper medication. And all the painkillers he needs not to faint when you do something to his shoulder, because that just has to hurt. A lot. So, I need to see my friend.”
She looked at him, unimpressed.
“Well,” she said, “There he is.”
Harry was standing in the hallway a few steps away, his right arm in a sling, clutching his prescription in his left hand.
“Oh,” Perry said. “Thank you.”
Because even when he rambled, and that was stress related rambling, mind you, he remembered his manners. He walked over to Harry and ushered him down the hall, to the pharmacy to get his prescription filled. And then out to the car.
“For how long have you been standing there?”
Harry grinned.
“I didn't know you cared so much,” Harry finally said when he was buckled in.
“Let's just get you home and out of harm's way for a while, hm, chief?”
Perry decided to maybe even make dinner if Harry behaved. Which he would, drowsy as he was, and currently shaking the orange vial of painkillers, and then looking at Perry and passing the pills to his right hand so he could reach over with his left to pat Perry's leg.
“Thanks,” he whispered and Perry nodded, pretending to watch the traffic and not be as grateful.
He helped Harry out of the car and all the way into the condo and onto the couch, untying his sneakers and biting off the remark about shoe choices and formal shoe wear. He brought Harry another pillow, so his shoulder would be better supported, and a glass of water, in case he needed another round of painkillers. Harry looked a little teary when Perry came back from the kitchen with sandwiches.
“You say something weird and drug induced, and I'll kick you out,” Perry warned.
“Thanks,” Harry mumbled again. “With the... and the thing you said at the hospital.”
“Shut up, idiot,” Perry said.
He sat down next to Harry on the couch, switching on the tv, and Harry fussed and turned until he sat snuck next to Perry. He gave a little sigh Perry pretended not to hear, and relaxed further. Perry could feel him settle, Harry's weight resting heavily against his side, and when Perry breathed out now, he breathed out all the way, without thinking of the fucking ocean or green meadows or any of this shit. Just Harry, solid and safe, by his side.