HAART

After about two weeks of Michelle staying at Greg’s flat, Mycroft’s breathing had returned to normal. He was still weak and tired, but his laughter no longer caused coughing fits, and deep breaths no longer ached. 

Katie had been so relieved that Mycroft was feeling better, but her relief couldn’t hold a candle to Greg’s.  Since the first day that Mycroft managed to get through dinner without needing to use his inhaler or lay down, Greg could hardly keep his hands off of him. Nothing even sexual about it, just a constant need to be holding Mycroft’s hand, as though it was the only way he could be sure that Mycroft was still there, was healthy, and was going to be okay. 

“You know, if you and I are going to last, I’m going to need there to be much less pneumonia in your future,” Greg murmured into Mycroft’s hair late one night as he cradled the taller man against his chest. “Do you know that you coughed in your sleep? Kept me up. I’m too old for sleepless nights.” 

“At least I had an excuse,” Mycroft grumbled back, “has anyone ever told you that you snore?” Greg cackled, burying his nose in Mycroft’s thinning hair. 

“Someone might have at some point,” Greg admitted. “Tilly had a lot to say about it, honestly.” The two were quiet for a few moments. 

“On his deathbed, Peter looked up at me and told me, mere moments after I confronted him about the death sentence he had seen fit to give me, that I was lucky to have had him even so, because the chance of anyone else choosing to love me was so low.” Greg opened his mouth to insist upon the falsehood of the statement, but Mycroft laid a gentle hand on his chest, soothing him. “Not fishing for sympathy, darling, making a point.” Greg settled and Mycroft continued. “People who are deeply unhappy with themselves have no choice but to make others feel the same way. If you thought the best of yourself, if you recognised that you were a good, handsome, sweet, wonderful man, you would have recognised that your marriage was inequitable, and that you could do better.”

“Yeah?” Greg asked softly, wishing his voice wasn’t so weak.

“Of course,” Mycroft assured him. “Why would a man on his deathbed try to drag down the person trying to walk away from him? Because he didn’t want to die alone. Why would a woman with no interest in committing to her marriage but seeking the ease and reliability of the good man she had married degrade him? Because she needed you to believe you had the best you could get. She was so wrong, my darling. And as a far better person than your lovely ex-wife, I am secure enough to let you know that you are such a catch.” 

“Oh am I?” Greg chuckled, his hands slowly drifting to explore Mycroft’s exposed torso. “Tell me more about that.”

“Fishing for compliments, are we?” Mycroft smirked against Greg’s chest. Greg didn’t respond, choosing instead to simply run his hands through the fine hair covering his partner’s chest. “You, my darling, are everything that a parent looks for in their child’s partner. You are kind, supportive, loyal and goodhearted. Those things alone would make you an exemplary partner, but on top of that you manage to be the most gorgeous individual I have ever laid eyes upon.” 

Greg hummed his approval as he laid a kiss upon the top of his partner’s head. 

“I hope you know that I love you more than I ever believed I had the capacity to love someone.” Greg’s voice was soft and gentle as his breath ghosted over Mycroft’s head. “The day Katie was born I thought I would never love anyone as much as I love that little girl, but you…I love you so much it aches.” 

“You’re so sweet to me, Gregory. I don’t understand why.” Greg gently lifted his partner’s chin so they could look each other in the eye. 

“I’m sweet to you because I love you, Mycroft. That’s why. That’s the reason I do anything. Because I love you so much.” Mycroft smiled, leaning his head against Greg’s chest, letting the sound of Greg’s strong heartbeat lull him to sleep. 

“I love you too,” he whispered as he dozed off.

~~~

“Morning, Michelle!” Greg called brightly as he stopped by his old flat with his arms full of groceries. He was greeted with a hoarse groan from the bedroom, followed by the sound of Michelle dragging herself out of bed.   

“It’s practically dawn, Greg, why are you here?” Michelle was still wrapping her dressing gown around her emancipated form as she emerged from the bedroom. 

“It’s 10, kid, that’s practically noon,” Greg chuckled as Michelle all but poured herself into a kitchen chair, watching bleary eyed as Greg put the groceries away. “You feeling okay?” 

“Yeah, fine,” Michelle assured him, a touch too quickly. “Just stayed at the lab late last night.” Greg nodded, restocking the cabinets, shoving down the uneasiness Michelle’s appearance was inspiring in him. 

“Your dad’s doing well. Give it a couple more days, it should be fine to have you come home.” 

“Oh, so this wasn’t an elaborate plan to convince me to move out?” Michelle’s voice was light, but there was a sort of deep sadness that lingered around the edges of the words. 

“Michelle, sweetheart,” Greg sat down heavily, taking one of Michelle’s impossibly thin hands in his own, “your dad’s not trying to get rid of you. I was the one who decided you should stay here. I just wanted you to stay healthy.” 

“I’m going to die, Greg.” 

“Not until I say you can, kid. You’ve got plenty of life left.”