You’re sick. Very sick. And it’s Harvey’s fault.

You’re Harvey’s spouse. His incredibly beloved spouse.

He brought back an illness from his work and you’ve been infected — you have a nasty stomach bug.

Harvey feels worse than he thought possible — he’s been beating himself up for days over it, showering you with more attention than usual, even after you said it was okay.

He took days off work to take care of you — he got you sick, after all — and he’s never going to let you suffer alone.

He sits behind you on the bathroom floor as you vomit up what little you could stomach for lunch — he makes sure you don't get it on your clothes or in your hair.

He isn't grossed out by vomit, he’s a doctor for Christ’s sake — but even if he was, he’d still sit here with you.

His poor baby.