HAART

Mycroft’s rumbling cough continued to worsen over the next few days. He was exhausted and cranky, but Greg’s dedication showed no sign of wavering. Every morning he brought Mycroft a cup of tea and his medication, sitting with him and rubbing his back when swallowing the increasingly large pills triggered coughing fits. 

Greg had plenty of leave saved up at work and was happy to use it to care for Mycroft. Mycroft fervently opposed this plan, as he could take care of himself perfectly fine, thank you very much, but he found himself appreciating the company as Anthea steadfastly refused to allow him to get any work done from his sickbed. 

Greg kept the cup on Mycroft’s nightstand full of tea, read to him when he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open, and planted kisses across his sweaty brow, pretending that he could gauge his fever that way. It was a comfort for Greg, being able to support and care for Mycroft, especially knowing as he did that Mycroft was loath to allow anyone to see him weak. 

It was only in the darkest hours of the night that Mycroft would allow himself to break down. As the coughs shook his thin frame he would lay in Greg’s arms, weak and scared and too tired to hide it any longer. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes in those moments, his shaking voice gasping out terrified exclamations of pain. 

“The day we brought Katie home,” Greg whispered one night, desperate for anything to distract Mycroft from his pain, “she was so small. Comically small. And I was so nervous. There was basically nothing to her. I was concerned that if I picked her up wrong she would disintegrate. They don’t send you home with a manual or anything, just hand you this tiny little creature and say good luck!”  Mycroft quietly chuckled. 

“There’s no manual when you adopt either, they’re just bigger at that point,” he replied hoarsely. 

“I can’t imagine that Michelle was ever anywhere close to being considered big,” Greg chuckled. “What was she like as a little one? Always so cheery?”

“Always,” Mycroft murmured fondly. “When I first met her, she was only a few months old at that point, she pitched herself towards me until Peter gave up trying to hold her back and just asked me if I’d like to hold her. As soon as I was holding her she smiled and I don’t think she’s stopped since.” 

“No moody teenage years for her?”

“Oh, she had her moments. Fought like a drunken badger when I told her she couldn’t bring along her friends when there were credible threats against my life and we had to go into hiding for a couple of weeks.” 

“Is that the kind of thing that happens to you often?” Greg asked with an incredulous scoff. 

“At least once a decade,” Mycroft shrugged. “Less so recently, my name doesn’t appear publicly much anymore. I’m more suited to the shadows.” 

“So all that minor position in the British government shite really is shite?” Greg beamed as Mycroft snickered guiltily. “I always knew, but it’s nice to have you admit it. What other secrets are you too sick to properly defend, huh? You have a secret tattoo?”

“You have seen me naked on a number of occasions, I think you would have been hard pressed to miss a tattoo.” 

“True,” Greg conceded, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “I refuse to believe that you don’t have anything else to hide though. I’ll find it.” 

“I had two secrets, you’ve become privy to both of them.”

“HIV and Michelle.” 

“Those are the two.” 

“I wouldn’t change Michelle for the world, but as for the other…” Greg took a slow breath, his face buried in Mycroft’s thinning hair. “I wish it was just a tattoo.” 

“You can’t change the past. And I wouldn’t, even if I could. I don’t know which unfortunate event led to you. I wouldn’t risk losing you.” 

~~~

Katie curled up on the plush rug in her room, Dr. Honeydew and Beaker skittering around in front of her. The rats were smart enough to know that something was up in the house, and they had been very vocal about their disapproval. It had taken a lot of treats to convince them that while she was certainly not their mum, she was an appropriate substitute for the time being. 

Katie missed Michelle with every fibre of her being. She knew that Michelle was still in London, the underground could ferry her to Brixton on a moment’s notice, but she felt so far away. Michelle had become such a part of Katie’s day to day in the 6 or so months that they had lived together. 

The rats squeaked morosely beside her as Katie’s tears ran salty tracks down her cheeks. At least it was just for a little while. Michelle would come back. She had to. 

~~~

Alone in Greg’s old flat, Michelle meticulously poured over her pages and pages of research, searching with manic intensity for the information that would save her life. It had to be there, somewhere. She must have missed it, overlooked it, that one critical number that finally made everything else fall into place. It was burning her up inside, clawing at her chest with feral determination, that absolute certainty that she had the answer, she just needed to find it. 

Of course, Michelle hadn’t taken a moment to consider that perhaps the burning under her skin was her sky-rocketing fever, and the clawing in her chest was the pneumonia settling in her lungs.