Isolation

Remember

"Morning, Peter," Mike greeted him from the kitchen. Peter rubbed his eyes and smiled a little.

"Morning," he said through a yawn, glancing at the clock.

"You're up early," Peter noted. It was 5:45, early even for Mike.

"So are you," Mike challenged with a slight shrug. Suddenly, he sighed and looked down. "Yeah, I couldn't sleep much last night."

Peter frowned.

"Something bothering you?"

Mike shrugged again and turned away, now looking through the cabinets to see what there was to eat. Peter sat down at the table, wondering about what might've kept him awake.

"I was thinking about starting breakfast," He said, poking his head in cabinet after cabinet. "Do you want anything in particular?"

"No, thanks," Peter shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

That was a lie. He hated lying and was very hungry but knew that it was better if Mike didn't cook anymore. On one of his first nights back from the hospital, Mike was trying to make dinner. But he quickly became frustrated with himself when he realized he couldn't focus or concentrate on it, no matter how hard he tried. Micky was the one who had found him, curled in a ball in the corner. Shattered glass and uncooked food were everywhere. They never told him about it, and like most things those first few days, they pretended it didn't even happen. But every chance they could, they tried to keep Mike out of the kitchen and out of the driver's seat.

Mike shrugged and filled a pot with water, ready to make himself some coffee. He turned around only to realize there was already a pot brewing. He frowned at it, feeling disoriented and confused. The pot slipped from his hands, and it broke when it hit the floor, glass and water spreading all across the kitchen floor. Peter squeaked at the sound and quickly became worried.

"Are you okay?"

Mike didn't take his eyes off the pot, staring at it intensely.

"Michael?"

Peter stood and began to make his way toward the man. Carefully trying to avoid the broken glass and water on the ground. As gently as he could, he placed his hand on Mike's shoulder, which still caused him to jump.

"Don't do that!"

"Sorry," Peter said sadly. "Are you okay?"

Mike turned around and looked at him for a long moment, deep in concentration.

"Are you okay?" Peter tried again, now a little frightened.

"I'm fine." He nodded and wiped his hands on his pants.

"Okay." Peter let out a sigh and led Mike out of the kitchen, trying to maneuver through the mess. They sat at the table and didn't speak, didn't need to, for about five minutes.

When the coffee was finally ready, Mike stood to pour it but was almost instantly pushed back down by Peter.

"Peter?" He asked, confused.

"I can get the coffee."

"So can I." He frowned and slowly stood. Once again, Peter pushed him back down into his seat. This time with a little more force. Mike was stunned by the impact and looked up, shocked but amused. Peter's face dropped.

"Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I just..."

Mike let out a laugh.

"It's fine, really."

Peter smiled.

"Right, the coffee. Yes." He bounced up and had almost forgotten about the glass on the floor before he yelped in pain.

"Peter?!" Mike jumped up and quickly went into protective mode. He rushed over to Peter, who was now crouching down on the floor, clutching his foot.

"Can I see?" He asked softly.

"Looks like you just cut yourself." He said, examining it. "It doesn't look like you got anything in there, but it's bleeding pretty bad."

Peter nodded and sniffled.

"Thank you."

"Hang on," Mike said. "I'm going to get you some bandages for your foot. Wait here."

He stood and began walking out of the kitchen.

"Mike, be careful!" Peter cried out. Mike turned to look at him, frowning in confusion, waiting for an explanation. Peter pointed at the ground, still covered with glass and water. Mike's eyes went wide like he was seeing it for the first time. He didn't say anything.

"Um, Mike?" He looked back at Peter, who smiled sadly.

"Bandages," He reminded him. Mike was about to ask "what for" before his eyes landed back on Peter's bloody foot.

"Peter, are you okay?" He took another step forward, but Peter silently urged him not to come closer.

"I'm fine," tears filled in his eyes. This was getting nowhere, hopeless.

"Bandages." He repeated again, more sternly this time. As if this was going to be the one that Mike remembered.

"Bandages?" He asked with a slight frown from concentration.

Peter nodded. Was it working?

"Bandages."

Mike frowned again and looked down. He didn't understand. He turned back to Peter, and he tried to say something but didn't know the words.

"Michael?"

"Peter? Can I get you anything?"

"Bandages, please."

He nodded this time, like he understood, and walked out. Peter lit up. His hope was restored as he watched Mike open the closet and pull out the first aid kit. He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the cabinet, relieved. Peter snapped out of it by the sound of another crash. He opened his eyes to find the first aid kit on the ground and Mike staring at him, eyes wide with horror and concern.

"Peter," he said quietly, advancing toward him. "Are you hurt? What happened?"