#could have done without max's words today because it was already achey and max breaking the company line

[blamemma]

what a privilege it is, that my two favourite guys, are each others favourite guys.

[planetsam]

I apologize if this is too vague, but would you mind writing some Malex that is nice to Michael (especially on Alex's part)? The Michael negativity is starting to get to me today. If not, that's okay. Thank you, I'm happy to see you back.

“The good news is it’s a clean break.”

“Fucking wonderful,” Michael spits back.

The fact that Kyle’s managed to sneak him into the hospital to do this is a miracle. It definitely fast tracks him for sainthood. More than he is already. Michael vows he’ll put in a good word if Kyle just helps him die already so he can stop feeling the deep achey agony in his leg. He shrinks back when Kyle approaches with a syringe.

“I have to set your leg,” Kyle says, “I’m not doing it without taking the edge off.”

Considering all the Kyle has done, Michael is almost surprised that this is the hill he’s willing to die on. But between that, the night they’ve had and the agony in his leg, he’s reluctantly willing to give consent.

“Guess you gotta draw the line somewhere,” Michael mutters, trying to ease himself back with minimal jostling.

“Michael—Michael!”

He pushes himself up as Alex hobbles in. Michael has no idea how he’s standing. Then again, knowing Alex, it’s probably some combination of spite, determination and sheer willpower. There’s still blood faintly on his chin and it snakes down to decorate the collar of his shirt. The pain in his leg is making his heart pound but the memory of Alex and the mist makes it so much worse. Dimly he can hear shouting but he’s also back there, wiping blood from Alex’s chin and screaming for help.

Alex grips his hand. Michael can’t make out what he’s saying but he can focus on the sound of Alex’s voice. His free hand fists itself in Alex’s shirt. Alex grips his other shoulder to steady him. He’s been high enough to know that Kyle’s stuck him and the drugs are making their way through his system. Michael knows the pain can be numbed but the loss of control makes him whimper. Alex’s fingers tighten on him and under any other circumstance he’d be embarrassed but at the moment he can’t find it in him.

“3, 2–“

The world goes sick with the sound of his bone coming together. He thinks he yells. He definitely tries to fight off Kyle but he’s got no powers. Kyle and Alex have never had powers so they know exactly what to do. He doesn’t manage to get to his leg or hurt anyone, he just winds up curled against Alex’s chest. There’s worse places to be, if not for the adrenaline coursing through him. There’s more fogginess which means more drugs. He shakes his head and Alex says something affirmative. As he’s eased back he sees Kyle wrapping his leg.

“You’re ok?” He mumbles to Alex.

“I’m fine,” Alex says. Michael tries to look down towards Kyle for confirmation and Alex blocks his view, “Michael I’m fine.”

“Liar,” Michael mumbles.

Alex rolls his eyes. Michael figures he must not be close to dying if Alex is rolling his eyes at him. Just drugged. After an undetermined amount of time Alex helps him sit up. Michael stares down at the plaster that encases his leg. For a moment he flexes his fingers and remembers them wrapped in bandages. A cast would have been good, his leg hurts a hell of a lot less.

“Do they cast fingers?” He wonders.

“Not usually,” Kyle says, “can he use your crutches? The less equipment I steal the better.”

“Yeah of course,” Alex says.

“Good, I’ll get you sorted out and we’ll get Michael out of here before anyone asks.”

When he wakes up he’s in a car. It’s an oddly helpless feeling. He worries for a moment that Alex is driving but when he looks over Alex is sitting next to him, looking equally like he doesn’t want to be there. His leg aches but it’s still manageable so he closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the glass and drifts off again.

“Michael.”

He wakes up and realizes he’s sitting in a wheelchair. He doesn’t remember getting out of the car. Alex is standing in front of him. It takes him a moment to look around and realize that they are in Alex’s house and they are alone. It doesn’t take a genius to see that Alex is pissed off. Or maybe it does with the drugs in his system. But displeasure is written all over his face and it is directly at him. Michael cocks his head, he still feels foggy enough that the usual gut punch of anger and hurt that comes with disappointing Alex is far away. It’s been a long night and he’ll take what hr can.

“What’d I do?”

Alex shakes his head and steps forward.

“I’m going to help you clean up,” he says.

“No, what’d I do,” Michael says, belatedly trying to go for the chair with his powers before remembering that’s a non starter, “come on.”

“You’re not in a place to have this conversation,” Alex says.

“Counterpoint: I can’t run away,” he says motioning to his sorry state, “or wheel away,” Alex’s brow furrows, “come on, what’d I do?” Alex says nothing, “silent treatment,” Michael says, “that’s new.”

“You’re an asshole,” Alex scolds. Michael grins, “it’s been a long night, can I please help you clean up so I can go shower?”

Michael shrugs and nods. Alex helps him out of his shirts and wipes him down with a cloth. Michael wishes he was aware enough to enjoy the feeling, but then he remembers Alex is upset.

“Is this because I saved your life?” He asks, “is it because I built a bomb that could blow up your family? Or the other one that could blow up my species?” Alex gives no response, “is it because you got kidnapped because of me?”

“No,” Alex says.

“Then why?” Michael asks, twisting around. Alex glares, “is this because I left you in the room?”

Bingo.

Alex’s glare darkens and Michael knows he hit the nail on the head even before Alex puts the cloth back in the bowl and stands up so he’s taller than him. Michaels just numb enough to have a passing enjoyment of the view.

“I am capable of taking care of myself,” Alex snaps, “just because I got kidnapped—“

“That’s not it—“

“And they confiscated my leg, that doesn’t mean I’m an invalid,” Alex finishes loudly.

Michael is stunned. But then he realizes he shouldn’t be. Of course that’s the thing that would piss Alex off. Not anything that has to do with the fact that everyone who wishes his family harm has picked up on Michael’s feelings. He’s oddly disappointed. He’s gonna have to tell old Greg he was wrong.

“That’s what this is about?” Michael asks.

“What else would it be about?” Alex demands.

“I dunno, anything else that’s happened in the past few days? Anything else I did? Anything anyone said?”

Alex looks away and then comes forward to help him out of his jeans. Michael pushes his hips back as much as he can and shakes his head. Annoyance flashes in Alex’s eyes but he respects it and straightens up. Michael knows he wants to shower and that Alex is probably really fucking good at compartmentalizing, but for him everything is blending together.

“Look I’m sorry,” Michael says, “not for leaving you there, I stand by that, but for making you feel like you couldn’t help.”

“I didn’t want to be left there,” Alex says, “it didn’t do any good anyway.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Michael snaps, “it’s pretty obvious.”

“If you had let me help maybe things would have been different. Instead of wasting time—“

“Keeping you safe isn’t a waste of time!”

“I can take care care of myself,” Alex points out, “don’t say you know that,” he adds when Michael opens his mouth, “you think you can protect me and you make these decisions—“ his brows draw together, “it doesn’t protect me. It hurts us,” Michael inhales sharply, “and if I meant as much to you as everyone seems to think you would know that by now.”

“That’s not fair,” Michael croaks, realizing too late that this isn’t a good idea.

“Neither is what you did,” Alex shoots back.

“Yeah, but—“ Michael fumbles, trying to string the right words together. Max was the poet, not him, “that’s all I can do,” he says finally. Alex raises his eyebrows but he keeps his mouth shut. Michael wishes his mouth wasn’t so dry, “I got nothing else,” he says.

“That’s not true,” Alex retorts.

“Yeah it is,” Michael replies with a dry laugh, “I’m not even good at it, but I got nothing else.”

The past few months have made that clear. Max, Isobel—anyone they care about is hurting. Hell he almost killed everyone anyway. He’s managed to keep everyone at an arms length for so long, he didn’t realize how many people wormed their way in until he couldn’t protect any of them. It hurts like hell. But it’s his own private hurt. He doesn’t want anyone pulling it from him, he deserves to feel this way. Laying it out to Alex like this is more uncomfortable than the itch he can feel pricking at his toes. He tries to focus on that and not on Alex’s response. He isn’t expecting Alex’s hand to settle on his shoulder.

“Maybe you should let the people you’re trying to protect help,” he says.

It’s a lot nicer than what Michael is bracing for but it still feels like a cut. A sharp, surgical one but one not the less. Alex is right, of course. And infuriatingly he’s right in a way that isn’t something Michael can call him a jerk for. He’s right in that quiet way that makes Michael’s stomach flip flop even worse. He’s had enough of needles for the past few days but he kind of wishes Kyle was back here to stick him with one so he could drift off instead of feeling the words settle over him.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, “lets get this over with,” he says abruptly, reaching for his belt. He tells himself he’s imagining that Alex’s fingers tighten on his shoulder, try to hold on, before they let go so he can help him, “you probably wanna shower.”

“I’m guessing you do too,” Alex says, helping him wriggle out of his jeans.

“You gonna get me out of this?” He asks, perking up. Alex would have a way to get him out of the cast, “I’m down.”

“No,” Alex says and undoes the breaks for the chair.

Michael finds himself in Alex’s bathroom with his head tipped back over the sink. The last time they did anything like this was after he was injured last time. When he couldn’t get his hand wet. It’s an odd thing to wind up back there. Of course Alex’s bathroom is beautifully equipped for it. Michael hums as Alex pushes his fingers through his hair and scalp.

“You having leg problems?” Michael asks.

“No,” Alex says, “why?”  Micheal waves his hand around and Alex makes a soft sound that’s nearly a laugh, “I don’t shower with it on,” he says, “I got everything done here when I was still healing, sometimes it was more comfortable off,” he pauses, “now it just seems good to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” Michael asks.

“Prepared for you breaking your leg,” Alex replies, turning off the water and helping him sit up.

“Touché,” Michael mutters, taking the towel Alex hold out to him, “so you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex says.

He helps Michael change into clean clothes and Michael feels both a lot better and a lot worse. Better emotionally, physically he’s starting to get sore and his leg is achey. But it’s better than when his leg was broken and out of place. Alex wheels him out of the bathroom.

“Hang on,” Michael says, “can I—can I wait here? Just to make sure you get out okay?”

It feels like a dumb request and given everything they said earlier, Michael expects him to say no. Alex turns away and Michael tries not to kick himself. He’s down to one working foot and he’s still managed to stick it in his mouth. But Alex comes back with a phone in his hand and offers it to him.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me but if it does, you aren’t going to be able to lift me,” he points out. He gathers clean clothes for himself, “I’ll be out in a bit.”

He goes into the bathroom and Michael listens to the sound of him undressing. He tries not to feel too much like a perv as he hears the various pieces of metal hit the ground and the hiss of the vacuum on Alex’s prosthetic releasing. The sound of water starts up. A moment later the low sound of Alex’s voice hits his ears. He’s singing. It makes Michael smile because Alex doesn’t seem like he sings anymore. Even if it’s the shower instead of the packed arena’s he definitely belongs in and he can’t make out any of the words, Michael still can wonder at it.

Alex comes out and looks surprised Michael’s managed to stay awake. He wheels Michael back into the living room and quietly makes up the bed. Michael doesn’t try to initiate any conversation, he wants the sound of Alex’s singing to be in his ears for as long as it can be. It’s strange to think a few hours ago he was throwing himself on top of Alex to protect him and a few hours before that he was throwing himself on top of him because he was so glad he was alive. Now he leans on him as Alex helps get him onto the bed. Alex locks the wheelchair and grabs his old crutches, putting them besides it.

“Just in case,” he says.

“Thanks,” Michael says, “for everything,” he adds.

“Thanks for saving my life,” Alex tells him.

“You would’ve been fine,” Michael points out. Alex smiles sharply.

“I know,” he says, “but thanks all the same.”

Michael nods. It’s hard to sit there as Alex stands, both of them still wet and clean but with the weight of what’s happened staining them. Michael isn’t sure if it’s a good or a bad thing. He’s not sure that’s actually entirely up to him this time. All his decisions before have been shit. Maybe it’s time to not just make them on his own, not when it comes to this.

“Hey save the sentimental stuff for when you sign my cast,” he tells Alex. That gets him a much softer smile, “that’s what you do with these things, right? Get people to sign them?”

“I’ll sign it in the morning,” Alex says, “get some rest.”

“You too,” Michael says. Alex moves into his room, “hey, uh, Alex can you—“ Alex claps twice and the room plunges into darkness, “damn,” Michael mutters, “thank you!”

“Goodnight Michael.”