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He should have died. By all rights, no one should survive a fire poker to the back of the head twice. It defies all common sense, but someone must have been looking out for him because there he is, lying in a hospital bed while Michaela stands outside freaking out. At first when they got the call, they thought he’d finally succumbed to his wounds, but not only was he still alive, Gabe interrupted the random person who apparently tried to finish the job they started. They don’t know who they are yet, but that’s a problem for later—right now she’s just glad they’re not the ones who tried murdering him last.
She wants to go in there and see him, just to feel his pulse under her hand to prove he’s still there. She wants to run screaming out of the building and drink til she forgets he ever existed. She wants to bash his head in a third time and hope it finally sticks. She wants to tell him she still loves him. She wants to go back to when things weren’t so complicated. She wants to take the first flight out of Philadelphia and wash her hands of him and Annalise and this entire fucking mess. She wants so many things and none of them involve Asher clinging to life in a hospital bed while the entire world crashes down around them. She needs him to wake up or die already; this suspense is unbearable.
Connor and Oliver return from the vending machine and hand her a bottle of water. She stares at it instead of opening it. “You waiting for us or what?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t go in there.”
“Michaela—”
“He’s gonna die!” She composes herself at the stares from those around them before continuing in a whisper. “He’s going to die and it’s our fault. Maybe not directly, but we did this!”
Oliver takes her hand. “First of all, I did this, not ‘we’, second of all, whoever tried to kill him after us is really the one responsible, and third and most important, he’s not dead yet. For all we know he could be just fine in a few weeks. And even if he’s not, if you don’t go in there while you still can, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life and you know it.”
She sighs, bone tired and annoyed that he’s right. “Fine, but if I get the urge to strangle him, I’m counting on you two to hold me back.”
“Ditto,” Connor commiserates. The three friends steel themselves before entering Asher’s room.
She’s not sure how wise it is for him to be lying on his back given how jacked up the back of his head is, but she’s a lawyer not a med student. At any rate, she’s grateful she doesn’t have to see the extent of that damage, only faced with the minor wounds on his stomach (apparently Gabe was able to stop his attacker before she could get too many more blows in). He’s unnaturally still, and if it weren’t for the steady beep of the monitor on the other side of the bed, she would be convinced he didn’t survive after all. Before she knows it, his clammy hand is in hers.
She doesn’t know how long she stands there holding his hand, spiralling through several different emotions in rapid succession. All she knows is after some time the pinging of their phones startles her back into awareness.
“Gabe sent us a video,” Connor informs her. The three of them gather around his phone as he presses play.
It’s Asher. Recorded to Gabe’s phone moments before his attack. He’s saying his goodbyes—he honestly didn’t think he was going to live through the night. He’s telling them why he did it and that they should turn themselves in and it’s all too much to process right now. And then he’s talking directly to her: “And Michaela—oh Michaela… I love you so much. I always will. That’s why I asked you to marry me tonight, not as some stupid way to protect us, but because I love you, so much so that I hoped I could save you from all the bad stuff that’s gonna happen.” Damn it.
What the hell is she supposed to do with that? They’re not even really together anymore, and it’s hard for her to believe he didn’t just say all that to entrap her into confessing. How is she supposed to trust him? She looks over to his body, fighting for life in a hospital bed. Is she really willing to wait until it’s too late to find out?
She goes back over to him and kisses his forehead. In his ear, she whispers “okay fine, I’ll marry you.”
~~~
Plot twist: the person who tried to kill him was the lead investigator on their case, and also one of Xavier’s goons. Which means they need to get Asher out of this hospital yesterday. Thankfully, he’s up and talking, however sluggishly, so Michaela corners the first nurse she finds in the hallway. “Hi, I was wondering when Asher Millstone could be discharged.”
“I’m sorry, you know I can’t share patient information with anyone except family.”
“I’m his fiancée.” The nurse looks at her skeptically. “Ask him if you don’t believe me.”
The nurse calls her bluff. “I will.” Ahhh fuck. She goes into the room and says something to Asher, who looks at her strangely and nods. Well, that won’t be awkward. She returns. “Sorry about that, can never be too careful. Anyway, we’re just waiting on the doctor to sign off after a final evaluation.”
“Great, any idea when that will be? We’re kinda eager to get home.”
“He should be by within the hour. Will you be signing for him? With injuries such as his, we need to release him to the care of a family member for liability purposes.”
“That’s fine, you can release him to me.” The nurse nods in dismissal and goes about her business. She returns to the room, where the guys are drawing up plans for what to do in case his would-be killer shows up to finish the job.
“If she really works for the FBI, she won’t risk coming here now you’re awake, you’d blow her cover.”
“Which is also why she can’t risk not coming.”
“Right, but she didn’t, which means it’s more likely she’ll ambush us once we leave and then tie up any loose ends.”
“Well, we have about an hour to figure it out,” Michaela informs them. “That’s when you should be discharged.” Asher says nothing, just stares at her in a way she can’t think about right now. “What?”
He smiles and looks away. “Nothing.”
~~~
They didn’t end up making it to the ceremony, but they still technically graduated, so they hold a small party for themselves in the kitchen. And by ‘party’ they mean drinking to relieve the debilitating anxiety from their lives falling apart around them. The only reason they’re not in jail right now is because Pollock knows if she makes a move now it blows up the FBI’s entire case. And apparently Annalise is missing, so currently the plan is to wait it out, which feels about as fun as watching Asher wince in pain every time he turns his head.
“Oh my god,” Connor groans, “if you want your bandage changed just say so.”
“Could you?”
“Fine,” he sighs, getting up to grab the first aid kit. “Try not to betray us while I’m gone.”
“Again, I am so sorry—”
“Oliver, I swear to god, if you apologize one more time—”
Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on what’s on the other side), the doorbell rings before they can get into it again. Oliver gets up to grab the door. When they’re alone, Asher turns to face Michaela. “‘Fiancée’, huh?”
She bangs her forehead against the table. “Can we please forget that ever happened?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Yeah, well. I just said that to get you out of there.”
“Oh." His smile falls and he looks away. "Right, no, that makes sense.”
The silence is unbearable. Asher knows they watched the confessional, knows she heard what he said to her. He put himself out there, and his heart is entirely in her hands. She doesn’t have it in her to hurt him anymore.
“Okay, fine, I wasn’t just saying it. I… look I’m not saying no. I’m saying, ask me again when our lives aren’t crumbling around us. I just, I cannot think about this right now.”
“Understood.”
Connor and Oliver both return then, with a first aid kit and a stack of pizzas respectively. “So,” Oliver jokes, “planning the wedding?”
“God damn it.”
“Yeah, we’re absolutely not letting you live that down.”
~~~
It all happened so fast she hasn’t really even had time to process how it all went down. But all that matters is they’re all alive and they’re all safe. (Well, as safe as they can be.) They literally got away with murder, somehow. It’s over.
True to form, at the bar when they’re all celebrating their victory, Asher gets down on one knee and proposes properly. She says yes.
~~~
This isn’t the wedding of Michaela’s dreams.
First of all, for the longest time she thought she was marrying Aiden and all the money that came with him. Accordingly, her dream wedding had an exclusive guest list, the finest caterers in the country, and of course the $20K bespoke Vera Wang (she still gets a little twinge of grief when she thinks of how it was soiled, but it was so worth it). This wedding has maybe 15 people in attendance, at City Hall no less, and her dress still doesn’t fit right even after being adjusted twice.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way.
She walks down the aisle arm in arm with Solomon, not because she needs him to “give her away” but because she wouldn’t let him pay for the wedding and this was the compromise they settled on. He kisses her cheek and sits down when she reaches the front, where their officiant, best man, and maid of honor (i.e. Oliver, Connor, and Laurel) are waiting for her and her soon-to-be husband is staring at her in awe.
The whole ceremony is a blur, so many thoughts racing and the moment passing by so fast, and honestly she just wants to skip to the part where she spends the rest of her life with the amazing man before her that should have run for the hills years ago but is still here despite everything. Asher’s already crying before they’ve even started the vows, but she manages to keep it together until she finally says “I do.”
And now they’re Mr. and Mrs. Asher and Michaela Pratt.
The reception is relatively tame because of the strict two drink maximum, but it was great to let loose and hang out with everyone now that their lives have started drifting in different directions. They no longer live together in the house; it’s just Asher and Michaela now, on their own while Michaela clerks for a prominent judge and Asher embraces his true calling as a househusband. They leave for their honeymoon tomorrow, but until then it’s their first night as a married couple, and Michaela intends to make good use of it.
“I’m just saying,” Asher continues. “If anyone’s the wife here, it’s me.”
“I can work with that,” Michaela purrs. And if Asher gets pegged that night, that’s no one else’s business and protected by spousal privilege.
~~~
Asher looks at him expectantly with growing concern as the words refuse to come out. Damn it, he practiced this! He’s a bad bitch and he can handle something simple like coming out. Besides, this is Asher, his husband, who not only loves him unconditionally but is very pro-queer. That doesn’t make saying it out loud to someone else for the first time any less terrifying.
“Babe,” Asher prompts, “you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I just don’t know how to tell you this.”
“Is it about… y’know, The Stuff?”
The Stuff, AKA their code for the worst three years of their lives. “No,” he confirms with a sigh matched by Asher’s relief. “It’s about me.”
“Okayyy…”
Here goes. “I’m trans. I’m a guy.”
“Oh! Huh. Okay.”
He waits but that seems to be the extent of Asher’s reaction. “‘Okay’? That’s it?”
“Uhh… I love you and thank you for telling me?” Asher squirms under his disbelieving stare. “I’m proud of you? Dude, I don’t know what you’re fishing for here. Should I hug you? I’m gonna hug you.”
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t need the hug, but after a couple seconds he nudges him off to continue the conversation. “Seriously? How are you not freaked out by this?”
“Well, first of all you seem to be freaking out enough for the both of us, and second of all it would explain some things…”
He barks out an incredulous laugh. “Like what?”
“Like the number of gay guys you’ve hit on, for starters.”
“I…huh.” His horrible gaydar does make more sense now—it’s actually functioning perfectly. He still gets defensive about it out of habit. “Well, what about you, Mr. ‘gays are awesome, I wish I was gay’?”
Asher looks at him in shocked confusion, then excitement. “Oh holy shit, you’re right: I have a husband! Hmm, I guess I just hadn’t found the right guy yet.” He gasps. “I had a gay wedding! Well, bi, I guess, but—”
“Okay, stop, you are way too excited about this.”
“Right, sorry, this is your moment. So what should I call you?”
“Uh, you should call me Babe,” he challenges, a point Asher concedes. “I haven’t decided on a name yet, but you’re the only person I’m telling so far so it doesn’t matter just yet.”
“Honestly, that’s the shocking part of this, you’re the most decisive person I know.” Asher, apparently having decided the crisis is over, is already resuming his attention to dinner cooking on the stove. “So I shouldn’t text Connor and Oliver bragging about how much hotter my husband is than theirs?”
He rolls his eyes. “Not yet. This is all pretty new for me.”
“Fair enough. Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you told me, and obviously I still love you. So can you please stop looking like you're about to swallow cyanide and taste this?”
He has more important things to do with his mouth right now, like kissing his absolutely amazing husband.