Holding on and Dreaming of the Sun

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)

Summary:

Mike is out of prison after 18 months. Harvey is thrilled to have him home, but feeling guilty about the part he played in sending Mike there. Mike begins to lash out in sudden, unpredictable bouts of rage. Harvey allows it to continue, with near tragic results.

Notes:

Written for this Suits 100 prompt:

"Mike is the abusive partner in his romantic and/or sexual relationship.
• Main Pairing / Character Focus: Mike/Harvey or Mike/OC
• Prompter’s Note: No graphic smut, or underage sex. / Rating: any."

I think the smut is non-graphic. I cut to metaphorical waterfalls whenever they did the deed. Apologies to OP if I wasn't tame enough ...

This is pretty much an angst-o-rama. Kindly peruse the tags carefully, and proceed (or not) accordingly.

Mike left prison on a Monday.

Winter wind, brisk and biting, stung Harvey's face, but he refused to retreat to the car.  He'd planted himself in front of the prison gate, in the exact spot where he'd stood when he watched Mike walk away from him, to be swallowed up inside Danbury.

Harvey had dreamed of this moment for eighteen months.  He'd come so close to getting Mike out before the first month ended, and had at least managed to get Frank Gallo moved.  Mike's deal, though, slipped out of reach, and no amount of pleading and threatening had convinced Sean Cahill to change his mind.

Harvey had dreamed of other things during those eighteen months.  Mike, besieged on all sides by enemies, beaten, bleeding.  Dying.  Nightmare images that left Harvey cursing and trembling.  Mike had assured him often enough that it wasn't that bad.  Gallo and his pet guard had left, and Kevin was there with him for most of his remaining time, a stalwart ally.  Still, the nightmares persisted, and Harvey continued to fear for Mike every day he remained inside.

God, he'd missed him.  Missing him had crystallized feelings he had never acknowledged before.  Sometimes he dreamed of a Mike who materialized in his bed like a ghost, yet felt solid and warm and achingly real.  They moved together in the dark, silent except their sighs and moans of pleasure.  Harvey woke from these dreams with empty arms and Mike's name on his lips, yearning after a fading mirage.

The dream that repeated most often originated from a memory.  They'd fought the night before Mike started his sentence.  Harvey had goaded him into it, and it still made him sick to think about it.  His loyal Mike – his friend, and brother, and that something more which was forever out of reach – had turned on Harvey like a cornered animal.  He'd lashed out, shoved and hit Harvey, leaving bruises and smears of blood.  As beatdowns went, it was relatively tame, but it shocked them both into an exhausted truce.  They'd reached the end of their options, and Harvey couldn't convince Mike to budge.

In the dream version, the beating went on longer.  Mike pummeled Harvey's face, and his gut, again and again, and Harvey did nothing to stop him.  His boxer's instinct – to lift his fists and guard his face – had vanished.  He welcomed every punch, relished each bright burst of pain, each ache and throb coaxed out of him by Mike's hard fists.  It felt like penance, and retribution.  It felt like the justice that the court had failed to achieve.

Harvey woke up from those dreams wrung out and damp with sweat, dizzy and unsettled.  Guilt inspired the dream, but no matter how long it lasted, or how many times it repeated, guilt was never assuaged.

Now, he stood in front of the prison, watching keenly as the gate opened, and Mike stepped out – finally, finally – into the crisp, frigid air of freedom. 

Although Mike knew about Rachel's defection, Harvey saw his quick glance past Harvey, towards the car.  The wide smile on Mike's face slipped, and then returned full force as he strode toward Harvey, hand extended. 

Harvey, for his part, remained stuck in place.  The changes in Mike were no surprise.  He'd visited him here nearly every week, and had spoken at his parole hearing, so he was prepared for the close-cropped hair, the wider shoulders and defined muscles, the wariness in his once open gaze, and the frown lines etched into either side of his mouth, even when smiling.  But to see him again in his wedding suit (sans tie), collar open to expose his strong, tanned neck, fabric visibly straining against his larger frame …

Harvey breathed shallowly, in and out, and belatedly remembered to grasp Mike's hand, feeling the strength, and the rough calluses, but mostly the warmth.  Unable to stop himself, Harvey stepped in for a one-armed hug.   Mike froze, but only for a second or two.  Then he released Harvey's hand and returned the hug, dragging Harvey against him.  Harvey went willingly, grabbing onto Mike with something that felt close to desperation.

He tucked his face against Mike's neck, breathing in his scent, picking up notes of cheap prison soap, and musty clothes held in storage too long.  He'd meant the hug as a brotherly gesture, but once he had hold of Mike, he couldn't seem to let go.  Mike didn't object, standing still and patting Harvey’s back.  Suddenly, Harvey was reminded of every awkward hug inflicted upon him by Louis, with himself in the role of Louis.  He made a small noise in the back of his throat, of regret, or perhaps embarrassment, and let Mike go.

"Welcome – " Harvey began, and paused, unsure how to continue.  "… back to the world," he finished weakly.

"Thanks, Harvey."  Mike tipped his face up and shut his eyes, as if trying to catch the warmth of the sun, which was currently obscured by a mass of dark, shifting clouds – as if the air on this side of the gate felt fresher and cleaner.  "Thanks for coming up here to get me."

"Of course, it's the – "  The least I could do.  "It was no problem."  Harvey shifted his feet.  "Want to get out of here?"

"Fuck, yes." 

Even though some of the old sparkle had returned to Mike's eyes, his smile remained muted.  Seeing him like this, Harvey grew momentarily disoriented.  In his mind, the hapless, big-hearted, skinny kid he'd met all those years ago was superimposed briefly over this older, larger, tougher version.  This prison-hardened ex-con, who at that moment looked as if he would never completely trust anyone, or anything, ever again.

"Then let's go."

 

******

 

"You sure you don't want some company?"

They were parked outside of Mike's building.  Rachel had moved out six months ago.  Mike still owned the place, so at least he had somewhere to land after prison.  Harvey had seen to it that the electricity was still turned on, and had arranged to have the cable company switch Mike’s service back on.  He’d also, with Donna’s help, stocked the refrigerator, freezer, and pantry.

Mike stared moodily out the car window, mouth pressed into a thin, tight line.

"Mike?"

Blinking rapidly, as if fighting his way back from somewhere deep in his head, Mike turned to face Harvey.  "What?  Oh.  No.  It's cool.  I just want to get out of these clothes, and then crash for a while."

"I could come back later.  Take you to dinner."

Mike bit his lip, and Harvey's eyes were drawn to his mouth, and those two, subtly prominent front teeth that occasionally lent him an incongruous look of childish innocence, despite everything he'd been through.

"Seriously, man," said Mike, voice hoarse and weary-sounding, "I just want to sleep.  I feel like I haven't slept – really slept – since I left."  He managed a forced smile.  "I'll be in touch in a few days.  We can do dinner then."  The smile brightened a notch.  "As long as you're buying."

"Of course."  The least he could do.  "Don't wait too long, or I'll come looking for you."

Mike nodded, gaze directed downward.  "I know you will."

 

******

 

Harvey didn't have to go looking for Mike.  Two days later, Mike showed up at his door, carrying a gym bag, wearing a tight t-shirt and hoodie, sporting dark, purplish circles under his eyes, and looking like he hadn’t shaved since he got out.  Harvey let him inside without comment, and waited for Mike to speak first.

"I can't sleep."  Mike's bloodshot gaze darted around Harvey's condo, perhaps looking for changes, or perhaps remembering the last time they'd stood here together – or rather, sat dejectedly on the floor together.  "Whenever I close my eyes, and start to drift off, I forget where I am.  The few times I managed any sleep at all, I dreamed I was back inside, and … it wasn't good."

"Sit down," said Harvey, gesturing at the couch.  "Let me get you a drink."

Mike sat, leaning forward with elbows on spread thighs, one knee jittering.  He accepted the glass of scotch Harvey handed him with a terse nod.  "Thanks."

The silence stretched between them.  Mike's unfocused gaze was directed elsewhere, so Harvey took the opportunity to examine him closely.  Besides the dark circles, stress was evident in the deeper frown lines around his mouth, the tightness in his shoulders, and the almost audible buzz of nervous, exhausted energy he gave off.

"Drink," Harvey ordered gently.

Mike took a sip, leaned back, and shut his eyes.  "Fuck," he whispered on a slow exhale, and squinted at his glass.  "Alcohol, I think I missed you most of all."

Harvey's stomach did not drop at that pronouncement.  No, not at all.

 

******

 

Although Harvey treasured his condo – his secluded aerie, high in the sky – from time to time, on the rare occasion when he hosted a guest, he regretted the lack of a second bedroom.   Mike knew the drill, though.  He'd stayed here a few times in the past.  So, when the scotch began to catch up with him, his words slurring, and his eyes drifting closed with increasing frequency, he dragged his gym bag closer and whisked his t-shirt up and off.

If Harvey had chosen that moment to take a drink, he might have executed a classic spit take.  As it was, he nearly choked on his tongue.  He knew Mike had been working out, and his snug t-shirt had accentuated rather than hidden his new, toned physique.  Now, with his upper body on full display, Harvey was treated to a view that could only be described as magnificent.  Art.  A flesh and blood masterpiece.

Mike's naturally lean lines had not been compromised by his new muscle mass.  Despite his broader shoulders, his lightly furred chest tapered to a still-slender waist, with abs that were exquisitely sculpted, catching light and shadow within their contours, and inviting Harvey closer, to lick up and down each valley.

Mike caught him staring, and gave him a long look in return, one eyebrow raised.

"Ah," said Harvey, averting his gaze, and feeling himself blush, something he hadn't done in a long while.

"Sorry," Mike murmured, humor threading his voice.  "Guess I've unlearned the concept of modesty.  I haven't had much privacy in the last year-and-a-half."

"No need to apologize."  Harvey paused, before blurting out, "You look really good."

Mike was rummaging through his bag, and shot Harvey a sideways glance.  "Thanks for noticing," he deadpanned.

Clearing his throat, Harvey stood and collected their glasses, carrying them to the kitchen.  "I'll grab you some sheets and – "  The words stuck in his throat as he turned around to the sight of Mike's naked backside.  He only had a brief, tantalizing glimpse of its sculptural perfection before Mike pulled on a pair of pajama pants.  When Mike turned – suddenly and unsteadily – Harvey was once again caught in the act of blatant ogling.

"Harvey?"  Mike clutched the arm of the couch for balance, and sat heavily.  "It may be the alcohol, but I'm getting some seriously weird energy from you tonight."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Harvey lied.

"I mean, I'm not going to fucking steal your fancy silverware, or your TV, or whatever, if that's what you're worried about."

"What?"  Mike's implication, seeming to come out of left field, knocked him back.  Exactly how drunk was he?

"I am," slurred Mike, stretching full length on the couch, "a mere white-collar criminal, I'll have you know.  So, get off your damned high horse."

"Oh, Jesus …"  Harvey rolled his eyes.  "Stay where you are.  I'll be right back."

He collected a set of sheets and a comforter from the hall closet.  When he got back to the living room, Mike was already snoring softly.  Harvey set the folded sheets on the coffee table, and arranged the comforter over Mike. 

Now that there was no chance of being caught out, he took his time and looked his fill.  His gaze raked Mike, from his short hair, to twitching eyelids, to heavy stubble, to parted lips, to bare shoulders, and muscled arms lying slackly on the comforter.  A shiver rippled through Harvey, perhaps triggered by sense memory from all those dreams of Mike sharing his bed.  He rubbed a hand over his face and breathed out slowly.  Maybe in time … but not tonight, or for a while.  Not while Mike was so obviously struggling.

But.  Maybe someday. 

 

******

 

The next morning, Harvey left for work while Mike still slept on his couch.  He placed a brief note on the coffee table, letting Mike know he could stay as long as he wanted, and set his spare key on top of the note.

Mike had kicked off the comforter sometime during the night, and lay sprawled inelegantly on his back, one foot on the floor, the other propped on the armrest, and a palm curled loosely around an obvious bulge in his pajama pants.  As Harvey watched, Mike sighed and began rubbing himself, and then rolled over onto his side, presenting his back to Harvey.  It was clear that he was still touching himself.

"Fuck," whispered Harvey.  He made a hasty exit.

 

******

 

Harvey tried calling Mike during the afternoon, to see if he was still camping out on his couch, and to plan dinner.  Instead of Mike, he got a recording informing him that the number he'd dialed was no longer in service.  He felt like an idiot.  Of course it wasn't in service.  Mike hadn't had a cell phone for eighteen months.  So much had been taken away from him, all because of Harvey and a stupid, selfish impulse he'd had seven years ago. 

After that, he couldn't concentrate on the contract he was reviewing.  Finally, he gave up, and informed Donna he was leaving early.

"How's Mike doing?" she asked, eyeing him shrewdly.

"Still a little shaky.  Hasn't been sleeping well.  He spent last night at my place."

She leaned forward.  "Oh, do tell.  I want all the details."

Beginning to regret having told Donna about his feelings for Mike, Harvey scowled at her.  "Nothing happened.  I got him drunk and he slept on the couch."

"You losing your touch, Specter?"

"Donna …"

"Seriously, though.  Why don't you bring him into the office someday soon?  I think we'd all like to see him."

"I'll pass that along.  And I'm sure he wants the same.  See you tomorrow."

She threw him a casual wave as he pushed away from the ledge and headed toward the elevator.

 

******

 

Mike was dressed, reclining on the couch, watching a movie, and resting a half-full tumbler of scotch on his stomach.  Harvey set the two bags he was carrying on the kitchen counter, making a mental note to replenish his supply of alcohol.

"Hey," greeted Mike.

"Hey."  On his way to the bedroom, Harvey took quick stock of Mike's appearance, trying not to be too obvious about it.  "Have you eaten?" he called through the partially open door.

"Breakfast."

Harvey stripped rapidly out of his suit and changed into jeans and a lightweight pullover.  Back in the living room, he stood with his hands in his back pockets.  "We can go out, or eat in.  Your call."

Mike lifted his glass, eyes never leaving the television.  "I'm drinking my dinner tonight."  He demonstrated by taking a gulp.

How long had Mike been at this?  Not a healthy habit to get into, Harvey decided, and reconsidered his future order of scotch.  He had no desire to get into an argument with Mike, so he only said, "Suit yourself.  I'm going to order Italian.  Enough for two.  You can eat yours whenever you're hungry."

"What are you, my jailer now?"  Another sip.

Harvey tamped down a hot flare of resentment.  "Of course not.  Just trying to be a good host."

"Pfft.  Like you even care." 

"O-o-k-a-a-a-y," Harvey muttered.   It was rapidly becoming clear that arguing with a drunk Mike was not a good idea.

In the kitchen, he made the call for food, and then stared for a few seconds at the purchases he'd made.  Maybe Mike's attitude would improve if he saw what Harvey had bought for him.  He carried both handled bags – one large, and one small – back to the living room.

"I stopped at the store on the way home," he began.

Mike gestured at the television with his drink, spilling scotch down his arm and onto his leg.  "Hey.  Do you mind?  I'm watching this."

"Let's talk for a minute."

Mike huffed angrily and sat up.  "God damn it.  I missed what that guy just said.  I have to replay it."

He reached for the remote, but Harvey snatched it up first.  He paused the movie.

Mike sniffed, shaking his head.  "So fucking typical."

Harvey took a slow breath, exhaled, and repeated.  This was a side of Mike he'd not seen before, at least not to this degree.  Mike apparently possessed reservoirs of anger he had not yet dealt with.  Harvey reminded himself that perhaps Mike had earned the right to display a bit of petulance.  Harvey could take the hits.  He felt certain Mike would get over whatever was eating him once he'd reacclimated to life on the outside.

"I apologize for the interruption," Harvey said smoothly.  "I only wanted to give you something.  It occurred to me today that you would need a new phone."  He held the smaller bag out to Mike, who glared at it.

"Why the fuck would you do that?  I need a job first, to pay for it."

"You'll need the phone to help accomplish that.  Don't worry about the cost.  I added you to my plan."

Instead of the gratitude he'd expected, this only angered Mike further.  He sat up slowly, mouth twisting, eyes dark.  "What the fuck?  What is this?  You think I can't get my own phone?"  He drank down the rest of his scotch, not even seeming to taste it.  "You think I can't handle my shit?"

"I know you can," said Harvey, voice level.  "Can't one friend get another friend a present?"

"Friend," Mike sneered.  "Right.  If you say so."  He lurched to his feet and stumbled toward the kitchen, leaving Harvey staring after him, utterly bewildered.

"I do say so.  I absolutely consider us friends."  Harvey followed Mike.

Mike picked up the empty scotch bottle and scowled at it.  He set it down, jaw working.  "I'm not an idiot, Harvey."

"I never said – "

"And I'm not blind either."

The words he'd been about to speak died in Harvey's throat.  Shit.  He wasn’t ready for this conversation.

"What?" asked Mike.  "Nothing to say for yourself?"

"No.  Not when you're like this."

“I’m not like anything.”  Mike stared stonily at the floor.  And then, abruptly, "I'm going home."

“Not in this condition.  Wait until you sober up.”

“You think you can keep me here?”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Mike’s chin rose pugnaciously.  “Oh, you don’t want me to get hurt?”  He shoved Harvey’s shoulder.  “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”  Another shove, harder this time.

Harvey took a step back, hands out in a warding motion.  “You need to calm down.”

Something hard and bleak entered Mike’s eyes.  “You have no idea what the fuck I need.”  One fist opened and closed convulsively.  “Maybe I need to kick your smug Harvard ass.”

Harvey grew utterly still.  “Is that what you want?”  His heart pounded in his chest.  How had they gotten here? 

Mike’s face contorted in what looked like grief.  “No.  Everything is so fucked up.  There’s nothing left for me.  I fucked it all up.” 

Mike closed his eyes and appeared to struggle for air, chest jerking, nostrils flaring.  Choking gasps squeezed from his throat.  It took a few seconds for Harvey to recognize that Mike was crying, each wrenching sob accompanied by a full-body spasm.  As Harvey registered his own shock, Mike pivoted away from Harvey to grab the kitchen counter, and wept, head down, back heaving. 

Harvey held himself still for a full minute, before stepping forward to lay a wary hand on Mike’s shoulder.  He could feel the coiled tension in him, but when he didn’t lash out, cautious hope filled Harvey that Mike’s anger had subsided, at least for the moment.  “It’s going to be okay,” he soothed.  “I’ll make sure of it.  Whatever you need.  Nothing is too small, or too big.  We’ll figure it out.”  He had an idea of what Mike could do with his life, but this was clearly not the right time to bring it up.

Finally, Mike turned and reached blindly for Harvey, burying his face against his neck and clinging to his shoulders.  Harvey circled his waist with his arms, trying not to enjoy the feel of hard muscles pressed to him, and let him weep against him, keeping up a stream of reassuring murmurs.  An aching tenderness welled up in him.  He meant every word he’d said.  He would do anything to see Mike happy again.

Eventually, the storm of tears passed, and Harvey helped an unsteady Mike back to the couch.  The food arrived, and he coaxed Mike into eating a little of it before he passed out.   Harvey covered him up and frowned down at him, still troubled by Mike’s erratic emotions.  He’d been all over the map tonight.

Mike hadn’t had a drink for eighteen months.  His tolerance for the stuff must be low.  That had to be why it hit him so hard.  That, coupled with whatever psychological problems were triggered by prison and reentry.  Counseling might be the answer.  Harvey would have to pay for it.  He could easily afford it, but after witnessing Mike’s reaction to the cell phone, Harvey suspected he would be resistant to further financial help.  On the other hand, he might prove more reasonable after he’d sobered up.

Harvey’s gaze travelled to the second, larger bag that he’d brought home with him.  This was a new laptop, top of the line.  Yeah, maybe he would wait a few days before he showed that to Mike.

It was too early for bed, so he fussed around in the kitchen, cleaning up and putting dishes away.  He grabbed his own laptop and worked for a couple of hours, sitting across from Mike, glancing his way from time to time to check that he was okay. 

The feel of Mike in his arms, of his hot tears bathing his neck, his strong fingers digging into his shoulders, remained in the back of his mind, despite his attempts to concentrate on work.  He could have used a drink himself.  He had a couple more bottles of scotch left from the last case he’d ordered.  Thankfully, Mike had not executed a thorough enough search to find them.  He’d leave them where they were for now, he decided.  His condo had witnessed enough drunken foolishness for one night.

 

******

 

The next morning, Friday, Harvey showered and dressed for work, and went to the kitchen start the coffee maker.  Turning around, he discovered that Mike had approached silently and slid onto one of the stools on the other side of the breakfast bar.  His short hair stuck out in disorderly tufts, and his eyes squinted, as if the light pained him.  His stubble was working its way towards becoming a halfway decent beard.

“Good morning,” said Harvey.

“If you say so.”  One side of Mike’s mouth pulled down.  He looked both unhappy and embarrassed.  “I’m not entirely clear,” he began in a scratchy voice, “exactly what happened last night.  But I’m feeling like maybe I need to apologize.”

“Not necessary.”  Harvey reached into a cupboard for two mugs and set them on the counter.

“Still.  If I was an ass … Was I an ass?”

Harvey considered how best to answer him.  “You were … animated.”

“Translation: shit-faced?”

“Translation: drunk and emotional.”

Mike’s gaze dropped.  Was he remembering his crying fit?  He rubbed a hand over his face.  “I said some truly awful things to you, didn’t I?”

“Water under the bridge.” 

They lapsed into silence, listening to coffee trickle through the filter and into the carafe.  When it was finished, Harvey poured them each a cup. 

After taking several sips, Mike heaved a sigh, which turned into a groan.  He set his mug on the counter and rested his forehead in one hand.  “I do appreciate you.  You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“And … and I know you’re my friend.  You’ve always tried to do right by me, even when I was behaving like an idiot.  I’ll always be grateful.”

Harvey smiled across the counter at him, feeling the dark clouds of the previous night shred and disappear.  “There’s no need for that.  You know what I always say.  Loyalty – ”

“Is a two-way street,” Mike finished for him.  His smile was melancholy – but at least he was smiling.

Harvey stared thoughtfully at Mike, and then set his own mug down and pushed away from the counter.  “Hang on a second.” 

Harvey strode to his bedroom, grabbed the cell phone from where he had left it on his dresser, and returned to the kitchen, standing across the counter from Mike.  “In case you don’t remember my first attempt at giving this to you, it’s a phone.  I hope you’ll reconsider your initial resistance to accepting it.”

Mike’s eyebrows raised, and something flashed in his eyes, perhaps a remembrance of last night.  This was all but confirmed when a faint blush colored his cheeks.

“You didn’t need to,” he said.

Suppressing a sigh, Harvey said, “I don’t want to fight with you about this.  Take the phone for now.  Please.  You can always switch it over to your own plan when you get more settled in.  Consider it one less complication you need to deal with this week.”

Mike pursed his lips.  “Okay.”  He reached for the bag.  “This is me being gracious.”  Unexpectedly, his smile widened.  “It better not be some piece of shit, though.”

It wasn’t a piece of shit.  It was the latest iPhone, the most expensive they sold.  Harvey stood watching Mike as he fiddled with the phone, downloading apps, setting up preferences, checking out the bells and whistles. 

Suddenly, Harvey shook himself, remembering the time.  “I should get going.  By the way, Donna and Benjamin have been asking after you.  I can wait a few minutes if you want to change your clothes and ride in with me.”  And maybe take a shower.

As if he’d read Harvey’s mind, Mike lifted the front of his t-shirt, took a sniff, and pulled a face.  “If you’ll let me hop in the shower real quick, I’ll take the ride, but I have another stop to make first.  I have until the end of this week – today, according to my trusty new phone – to check in with my parole officer.  Good thing I’m not sweating alcohol or anything.”  Another grimace.  “He’s close to your building.  I could come by after.”

“Good.  You can call me when you’re on your way, so I can let security know to let you up.”

 

******

 

Mike’s return to Specter & Litt was greeted with hugs, and exclamations, and repeated back pats.  Donna, Louis, Gretchen, and Benjamin gathered in Harvey’s office, asking questions, and repeating how glad they were to see him.  Mike soaked up all the attention, wry and charming as Harvey remembered.  He could tell he was tired, though.  From the way his brow wrinkled, and his eyes squinted every so often, Harvey suspected he was fighting a headache. 

When Mike began to fidget, and everyone seemed to have run out of things to say, Harvey called the impromptu love-fest to a halt.

“Not to be the demanding managing partner or anything,” he said, “but before our billables tank too much, we should probably get back to work.  I’ll make sure you all have Mike’s new number.”  He glanced at Mike for confirmation, and received a shrug and a nod in return.

Goodbyes were said.  Promises of future dinners were extended, and the small group, what was left of the original firm, filed out, leaving Mike and Harvey alone.

“They were nicer than I expected,” Mike commented, provoking an eyebrow raise from Harvey.

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know.”  Mike walked to the window and stared moodily down at the city.  “Maybe because I destroyed their firm, and put all their jobs in jeopardy.”

“Did any of them look to be in jeopardy just now?  Did even one of them give any indication that they blamed you?”

Mike didn’t say anything, but Harvey saw his chest expand and contract as he let out a soundless sigh. 

Harvey decided to change the subject.  “How was your meeting with your parole officer?”

“Not bad.  I’ll survive.  It’s only for six months.  And my PO seems okay.  Except …”  Mike laughed without humor.  “He has an unmistakable smell of the penal about him.”

“Ooh.  Sounds delicious.”  Harvey winced.  Had he really just said that?

Mike was giving him a funny look.  “Anyway ...”

Harvey cleared his throat, trying to pretend that hadn’t just happened.  “Will I see be seeing you tonight?”

“I don’t know.  I should probably go home and use some of that food you left me, before it goes bad.”

“I still owe you a dinner.”

Mike seemed to be thinking too hard about the simple question.  Finally, though, he nodded once.  “Okay, sure.  Why not?  Could you pick me up at my place?”

“Absolutely.  See you around six.”

 

******

 

As the hostess seated them, Harvey wondered if he would be forced to lecture Mike tonight about overindulging in alcohol.  When Mike asked for water only, Harvey realized how on edge he’d been at the prospect of a confrontation.  Mike’s order seemed to confirm that the past two nights had been an aberration, and not something more concerning.  The tightly held tension in Harvey’s shoulders and belly eased.  He ordered a glass of wine for himself, all the while keeping his gaze on Mike’s face.  Mike was studying the menu, and didn’t react at all.  Harvey let out a slow, relieved breath.

They each ordered, and settled in to wait for their food.  Harvey debated and rejected half a dozen conversation starters before asking, in as neutral a tone as he could manage, “So, have you given any thought to your future?”  He’d given a great deal of thought to Mike’s future, but needed to work his way around to it cautiously, so as not to raise Mike’s hackles.

Instead of growing defensive, Mike smiled easily, if a touch sheepishly, from across the table.  “Funny you should ask.  Something kind of unexpected happened this afternoon.  I never told you this, but while I was in prison, I wrote back and forth a few times with Father Sam.”

That surprised Harvey, but he only smiled and nodded encouragingly. 

“The last time I heard from him, he said to get in touch when I got out.  I called him this afternoon and … well, long story short, I have a job.”  His eyes shone with a happiness Harvey had feared he’d never see in them again.

It wasn’t easy, but Harvey kept the smile plastered on his face.  “That’s great.  Why didn’t you say something sooner?  What’s the job?”

Mike held his hands out, as if pushing down the good news.  “It’s … I’m not going to get too excited about it, because it’s only temporary to begin with, until Christmas break.  But it’s a teaching position at the parish middle school.  U.S. History.  The regular teacher had to take an unplanned leave of absence.  I start Monday morning.”

“Wow.”  Harvey found himself at a loss for words.

Mike’s bright smile slipped a little.  “What?  It’s a good thing, Harvey.  I’m happy.”

“No, I get that.  I’m happy for you.”

A dense moment of silence fell between them.  Mike sighed.  “Just say whatever it is you want to say.”

Harvey’s wine arrived, and he took a quick sip.  “Okay.  Look, if teaching is what you want to do, I say go for it.  I think you’d be a fantastic teacher, and those kids would be lucky to have you.”

“But?”

“But what if you had another option?”

Mike shifted in his chair and glanced at Harvey’s wine, as if wishing he’d ordered a glass too.  “I’m listening.”

The stubborn set of Mike’s jaw told Harvey all he needed to know about Mike’s likely response.  Here they were, though, he'd already brought it up, so he forged ahead.  “I want to offer you a job at my firm.”

Mike’s eyes widened.  “As what?”  His face contorted minutely, as if in pain.  “A paralegal?”

“No.  As a consultant.  Doing the same work you did before, but with a different title to make it all legal.  Same salary, adjusted for inflation, and a generous signing bonus.”

“That’s …”  Mike’s downward gaze grew unfocused.  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he appeared to swallow painfully.  When his blue eyes lifted to meet Harvey’s, they looked troubled.  “God, that’s just like you.  No small ball for Harvey Specter.  Always swinging for the fences, and the consequences be damned.”  He shook his head.  Before Harvey could respond, he continued, “I appreciate the offer.  I do.  But I just spent eighteen months in prison for doing that job.”

“We’d do it differently this time.  No crossing of lines.  Nothing illegal.”

“You’re asking me to risk my freedom on a technicality.”

“It’s not a technicality.  It’s an accurate reading and interpretation of the law.”

“And what if some judge doesn’t see it that way?  What if Gibbs gets wind of it and decides to embark on Vendetta, the Sequel?”

“Mike, that’s not going to happen.”

“You know, there was a time when I could be swayed by your line of bullshit.”  Mike held up a hand, halting Harvey’s objection.  “I’m not saying that to wound you.  It’s what makes you such a great closer.  But I can’t let myself get caught up in all of that again.”

“All of what?”

The waiter arrived with their dinners, so they both stayed quiet while he set plates on the table and asked if they needed anything else. 

When he was gone, Harvey repeated his question.  “All of what, Mike?”

Mike regarded him seriously.  “Hope.  Caring.  Believing that anything I do will ever make a difference in the world.”

With those words, Mike had just given Harvey the opening he needed.  He waited a few moments before jumping on it, before going in for the metaphorical kill.  When he did, he kept his tone gentle.  “If that’s how you feel, then I hate to break it to you, but teaching is definitely not for you.”

Instead of arguing the point, Mike picked up his knife and fork, and sawed a piece off his steak.  When he had chewed, and swallowed, he finally answered, “Maybe not.  It’s all I have right now, so I’ll give it a shot, do my best, and see where it leads.”  His blue eyes seemed to pierce into Harvey.  “Could you please just be happy for me?  For just a little while?  Until, you know, everything goes to shit again?”

Harvey didn’t want to argue with him anymore.  Clearly, Mike needed Harvey's support more right now than he needed to have his life solved.  “Yeah.  I can do that.  I’m sorry I pushed you.”

They completed their meal in near silence.

 

******

 

Harvey assumed Mike would want to be taken home after dinner.  Instead, he asked if he could spend the night with Harvey again.

Harvey shot a glance at him as they pulled away from the curb.  “Of course.  Do you need to pick anything up on the way?”

“Nah.  I left my bag at your place.” 

So he would have to go back?   Harvey hardly dared to hope.

Twenty minutes later, back home, he was beginning to doubt his read of Mike’s intentions.  Mike paced restlessly while Harvey sorted through his mail, considering their options.  It was too early for bed.  And it was Friday night. 

“You want to do something tonight?” Harvey asked.

Mike ceased his pacing to stare at Harvey from across the living room.  “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.  Catch a movie.  Hit up a club for some music.”

“Pick up women?”  The question was posed bluntly, while Mike peered intently at Harvey, as if searching for some tell-tale expression or facial tic.

“Is that what you want?”  Harvey supposed it made sense.  Eighteen months was a long time to go with only your hand for relief.  And Rachel was long gone.  Ignoring the sick feeling in his gut, he added, “If it is, I know a few places.  I can play your wingman for the evening.”

Mike strolled closer, all long, lean, rangy nonchalance, stopping across the breakfast bar from Harvey.  Harvey had spent enough time by now reading Mike’s body language that he could see how tightly wound he was.  Which was understandable.  Probably jitters at the thought of getting back on the horse, dating-wise.  Or casual pickup-wise. 

But, “No,” said Mike.  “I don’t want a wingman.”

“Okay.”  Harvey tried not to show the prick of irritation he felt.  If Mike didn’t want to spend the night, why had Harvey driven him back here?  He certainly couldn’t be intending to bring his potential hookup to Harvey's place, could he?  Harvey frowned.  Could he?  He pictured himself walking out in the morning to find Mike and some random women, twined together on his couch, with his living room stinking of sex. 

So caught up was he in this unsettling train of thought, that he didn’t notice Mike moving closer to him until he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.  He looked up, blinking in confusion.

Their faces were perhaps six inches apart.  Mike's gaze dropped to Harvey's mouth, and his pupils dilated.  As his face began a slow lean forward, Harvey's hand came up to rest on the side of Mike's neck.  Mike's pulse raced beneath his fingertips.  Harvey wasn't certain if he meant to push Mike away, or drag him closer.  He remained utterly still, waiting to see what happened next.

Mike expelled a breath, a sharp, harsh sound.  He pressed his closed mouth to Harvey's, and held.  Harvey counted to three before Mike moved away.  He eyed Harvey, brow furrowed, and licked his lips, evaluating the kiss. 

"Should I stop?" asked Mike.  The look on his face told Harvey that he wasn't sure which answer he wanted to hear.

Harvey felt no such ambivalence.  Preferring action over talk, he returned Mike's kiss, soft and gentle.  Mike's mouth remained firmly closed, so Harvey licked delicately at the seam of them, not prolonging the contact, tonguing him once, and again, and again.  Mike didn't protest, but did not participate either.  He seemed to be suspended, teetering right at the edge of decision.

Finally, Mike's mouth softened, opening just enough for Harvey to slip his tongue inside.  He grasped the sides of Mike's head and kissed him thoroughly, striving to communicate everything he felt for Mike.  A few seconds in, Mike kissed him back, sliding his tongue along Harvey's, clutching his shoulders, and pressing against him.  When Harvey felt the unmistakable nudge of Mike's hardening cock against his thigh, he broke off the kiss to study Mike's face.

"How far are we taking this?" he asked.

Mike's chin came up, as if responding to a challenge.  "How far is your bedroom from here?"

Harvey had zero objections to continuing, he just needed to be sure that Mike was one hundred percent on board.  "This is what you want?"

"Yes."

"No doubts?"

Mike's reply was to go in for another kiss, taking control this time, shoving Harvey's back against the counter and thrusting a knee between his legs.  He kissed Harvey breathless, making him go hard in a matter of seconds.  Unused to being overpowered like this, Harvey's heart thudded with both alarm and arousal.  He let Mike have things his way.  He deserved this much.  He'd earned it.

Mike nipped Harvey's lower lip hard enough to make it throb, and whispered against his mouth, "Do I seem like I have any doubts?"

Harvey shook his head.

"Then take me to bed," said Mike.  "Show me what’s behind all those filthy looks you’ve been giving me.”

 

******

 

Harvey spent the rest of the night showing Mike all the ways he wanted him.  Then Mike spent the rest of the weekend demonstrating what he had learned.  By Monday morning, Harvey was wrung out, sated, and sore all over, inside and out.  He lay on his side, watching Mike sleep, memorizing his face like this, utterly calm and relaxed, free from worry and anger. 

As he watched, the alarm on his phone went off.  Mike’s brow furrowed, and his mouth pulled down in a frown.  He cracked one eye open, saw Harvey staring at him, and smiled sleepily.  “Hey.”

Harvey shut off the alarm and settled back on the bed, facing Mike.  “Time to get up.  It’s a big day for you.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”  Mike threw his arms over his head and performed a full-body stretch, accompanied by a huge yawn.  When he finished, he relaxed against the pillow and grinned at Harvey.  “This weekend was great, by the way.”

“No argument here.”

Mike’s expression grew serious.  “I wish we had figured this all out sooner.”

“Figured what out?”  Harvey thought he knew what Mike meant, but wanted to hear him say it out loud.

Mike rolled onto his side and grabbed Harvey’s hip.  “This.  What it would be like between us.  We wasted a lot of time.”

Harvey shifted closer, loving the feel of Mike’s sleek, muscled body, and scarcely believing that he was allowed to do this now, to touch him anywhere he pleased.  “Maybe.  I sort of hate to say it, but it took you going to prison for me to finally realized how I felt.”

Mike stiffened slightly at this, but didn’t reply.  He pushed Harvey onto his back and lay on top of him, kissing his neck and reaching between them for Harvey’s cock.

“Wait,” Harvey protested feebly, breathlessly, “we don’t have time for this.”

“Let’s make time.”  Mike started kissing down Harvey’s chest.”

“You don’t want to be late on your first day of school, do you?”

“Screw school,” Mike muttered against Harvey’s skin.

Harvey might have argued further, but a few seconds later his brain short-circuited as Mike proved again what an excellent student he was.

 

******

 

Mike wasn’t late, but it was a near thing.  Harvey insisted that he and Ray drive Mike to school, and they arrived with five minutes to spare. Safely hidden behind tinted windows, Harvey kissed him goodbye and wished him luck.  He watched Mike walk into the building with a mixture of pride, and regret that Mike had chosen this over working for him.  It was Mike’s decision though, which he had more than earned the right to make. 

Harvey spent the day with half his mind on Mike, wondering how his day was going.  He decided that either way – if it went well, or if it went badly – a dinner out would be a fitting end to the day.  He texted Mike, suggesting a restaurant, and Mike replied that he would meet him there.

Harvey arrived early, and so had the opportunity to watch Mike enter, walking towards him in his cheap shirt and tie, grinning so widely that Harvey felt his heart give a little flip inside his chest.

“I’m guessing,” he said, as Mike sat down across from him, “that things went well?”

“That is the understatement of the year.  I had those little turds in the palm of my hand.  At first, it was total mayhem in the classroom.  Music blaring, students yelling, fully three card games in progress.  One of them may have actually been picking his teeth with a hunting knife, but it was all so confused that I can’t be sure.  Anyway, I shouted over them, introduced myself, and gave them the straight talk.  I mean, I went full Stand and Deliver on their asses, all, ‘You’re like a blind man, in a dark room, looking for a cat that isn’t there!’  And, ‘We’re gonna need a lot of Kleenexes – there’s gonna be a lot of bloodshed.’  And, ‘You only see the turn; you don’t see the road ahead.’  And, best of all ‘Tough guys don’t do math.  Tough guys fry chicken for a living.’”

Harvey couldn’t help laughing at Mike’s bad Edward James Olmos impersonation.  “I thought you were teaching history.”

“You’re missing the point.  I tamed those savages, and I earned their respect.  They may have actually learned something today, about history, and life, and – ”

He broke off as the waiter arrived with their menus.  By the time they’d ordered, Mike's elation had ramped down, but he still looked pleased with himself and his day.

“I’m glad,” said Harvey.  “All I want is for you to be happy.  You do know that, right?”

“I know.”  He smiled across the table at Harvey.  “I have a good feeling about this.  I think I can make a difference in their lives.”

Observing Mike’s certainty, Harvey believed him.  This wasn’t what Harvey had hoped for Mike, but maybe Mike was right.  Maybe he’d be better off staying as far as possible from the world that had caused his life to crash and burn.

Their drinks arrived – both had ordered a beer – and Harvey raised his.  “To new beginnings.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

 

******

 

When Harvey got home Tuesday night a little after seven, Mike wasn’t there.  Disappointing, but not alarming.  Perhaps Mike had decided to spend a night at his own place.  Working for a living, no matter how much you enjoyed your job, could be exhausting at times.  He thought back to last night, and how they had parted this morning, and couldn’t pinpoint anything that might have upset Mike.  The sex had been as energetic as ever, and Harvey had the pleasantly sore ass to prove it. 

After fixing himself a drink, he checked his phone again.  No calls or texts from Mike.  He hesitated to disturb him, but he found he craved the sound of his voice.  He dialed, and waited.  On the fifth ring, Mike answered.

“Harvey Specter,” Mike drawled, words slurring.  “How are you this fine, fine evening?”

“Mike?  Are you all right?”

“Stupendous.  And you?  Destroyed any innocent lives lately?”

Premonitory dread gripped Harvey, tightening his shoulders and making his stomach begin a slow, rolling churn.  “None that I know of.  What are you up to?”

A harsh laugh.  “Oh, just this.”

Harvey heard a loud crash over the phone.  “Mike, what’s going on?”

“And this.  And this.”

Three more crashes.  It sounded as if Mike was destroying his plates and glasses.  Then came an even louder sound, like a chair going through a window.

“Mike?  Mike!  Are you still there?”

“Ow.  I’m here.  Where else would I be?”  Crash. 

“What happened?  Talk to me, damn it.”

“What happened?  Okay.  Let me tell you.  I walked into to my first class of the day, and what did I see?  Pictures of me.  Photocopies.  Everywhere.  Of my mug shot.  And the newspaper article that told the whole story.  And those little fuckers were laughing at me.”  Mike’s voice cracked.

Anger filled Harvey on Mike’s behalf.  Anger and sick disbelief.  “I’m sorry.  Just give them some time, though.  They’ll see you for who you really are.  And maybe this is a teachable moment for them.”

Again, that harsh, ugly laugh.  “Teachable?  Right.  Not by me, though.  Father Sam fired my ass.  Said some of the parents insisted.”  He sniffed, and Harvey heard the delicate clink of ice cubes.  “Like I’d infect them or something.  Like they’re such fucking little angels.”

No further crashes sounded in the background, and Harvey dared to hope that Mike had calmed down.  “I’m coming over,” he said.

“Don’t bother.  Just leave me alone.”

Harvey started to argue, but Mike had already hung up.”

 

*****

 

Harvey knocked again, using more force.  No sounds came from inside Mike’s apartment.  He hesitated, and then fitted the spare key into the lock and opened the door.  Shock momentarily stopped his breath. 

The living room and kitchen were trashed.  Broken glass and shards of plates and bowls littered the floor.  A bookcase had been knocked over, spilling books in a crazy jumble around it.  The antique china hutch, which Harvey knew had belonged to Mike’s grandmother, had a spider-webbed hole in the front display glass.  From across the room, he spotted drops of red, scattered down the front of the hutch and onto the floor.

Where was Mike?  Harvey’s gaze travelled to the bedroom door, which stood partially ajar.  Buzzsaw snores filtered through the opening.

Taking a steadying breath, Harvey picked his way across the room, avoiding the hazardous debris, and pushed open the bedroom door.  He found Mike face down in bed, on top of the covers, still dressed in his work clothes, except for the tie, which he’d removed and wrapped messily around one hand.

Edging closer, Harvey observed that the tie had been used to staunch the blood coagulating on his knuckles.  One of the crashes he’d heard over the phone, he surmised, had been Mike putting his fist through the display glass of the china hutch.

His chest ached as a rush of emotion overwhelmed him – exasperation, annoyance, pity, sadness, worry, and crushing weariness.  The least admirable part of him wanted to turn around and leave Mike here to clean up his own mess.  Mike deserved better from him, though.  He’d suffered a huge disappointment today, and what probably felt like utter humiliation.  Of course he'd gotten drunk.  Harvey might have done the same, under similar circumstances.  Deserting him now was out of the question.

The first thing he did was locate a first aid kit.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he unwound the tie and tossed it aside, gently cleaned Mike’s knuckles with disinfectant, and wrapped them in gauze.  He went to the kitchen and found a package of frozen vegetables in the freezer to help with the swelling which was sure to follow.  Mike slept through it all, his only reaction being a twitch, and a pained whimper when the disinfectant stung his cuts.

Once he'd taken care of Mike, Harvey took off his own jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves, and set about cleaning up the living room and kitchen.  He swept up the broken dishes, filling most of a trash bag, and carried the bag out to the garbage.  After getting the bookshelf upright, he replaced all the books.  Finally, he screwed the top back onto the nearly empty bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter, and put it in the back of the cupboard, after which he went to the bedroom to check on Mike.

While Harvey had been in the other room, Mike had woken up.  He’d dislodged the bag of vegetables, and was sitting on the edge of the bed, scowling.  When he spotted Harvey, the scowl darkened.  “What’re you doing here?” he rasped.

Harvey’s insides tightened at the raw anger in Mike’s voice.  “I came over to check on you.  I was worried.”

“Oh.  You came over to check on me.”  Mike pushed up from the bed and lurched toward Harvey, one finger pointing at him.  “Bullshit.  You wanted a front row seat."

"Excuse me?"

"You wanted to see me to fail.  Again.  Admit it.  It gets you off.”

Harvey went momentarily speechless at the accusation.  “That’s not true.”

Mike poked Harvey's shoulder with his finger.  “Lawyer is just another word for liar, and you’re the best of the best at it.”  He gave Harvey a rough, two-handed shove, and walked past him, through the living room to the kitchen, not appearing to notice that Harvey had cleaned up the disaster he'd created.  He halted abruptly, glaring at the kitchen counter.  “Where’s the bottle?”

Harvey followed him, stopping a safe distance away.  “Don’t you think,” he asked carefully, “that you’ve had enough?”

He expected Mike to object, but Mike’s scotch-soaked brain had moved on to other grievances.  “It was you, wasn’t it?” 

“I’m sorry?  I don’t follow.”

“You betrayed me.”

“No.  You’re wrong.”

“You,” Mike bit out, and took the two steps it took to reach Harvey.  He slammed his palms against his chest, sending him stumbling backwards.  “You sent those pictures to Father Sam.”

Harvey stutter-stepped away, trying to stay out of reach.  "I absolutely did not."

“You wanted me to fail.  You … you always want to control me, but you know what?”

Bumping up against the couch, Harvey stopped, unable to retreat further.  “Come on, Mike, this is stupid.”

“Well, fuck you, bitch.” 

Mike’s eyes shone with what looked to Harvey in that moment like a kind of insanity.  Temporary insanity.  Scotch-fueled insanity.  He realized there was no point arguing with him, or trying to hold a rational conversation.  Mike was too far gone.

“You know what?” he said.  “We can talk about this tomorrow.” 

Harvey glanced around for his jacket, spotted it on a chair, and turned to take a step toward it.  He shouldn’t have taken his eyes off Mike.  Bright pain exploded in his cheek, as Mike blindsided him with a fist.  Harvey started to turn back, and another fist caught him square in the gut.  He doubled over, clutching his stomach.  Mike kneed his chin, and Harvey bit his tongue, tasting blood.  One hand went to his mouth, and he held the other out, warding Mike off, wordlessly entreating him to stop. 

“Don’t,” he managed to get out past his bitten tongue. 

“Don’t,” Mike parroted in the same stifled voice, mocking him. 

He advanced on Harvey, who performed a clumsy sideways shuffle to get around to the other side of the couch.  His wallet was in his jacket, and he needed it to get home.  He rapidly calculated the distance to the chair he had draped it over, and the front door.  “Mike,” he warned, “do not make me do something I don’t want to do.”

Mike didn’t bother to respond.  He charged forward, more quickly than Harvey had guessed him capable in his current condition.  Prison must have taught him a few things about fighting, because before Harvey could defend himself, Mike shoved him back powerfully with a lowered shoulder, and rushed in to knock his feet out from under him with the sweep of his leg.  Harvey landed heavily on his back.  His head bounced once on the hardwood floor, leaving him momentarily stunned, and then Mike was kicking him, in the ribs, in the arm, in the head, all the while cursing and calling Harvey an impressive array of vile names.

Thoughts sluggish, not believing what was happening, still Harvey dredged up enough irony to thank his own foresight in cleaning the sharp pieces off the floor, and to be grateful for Mike’s bare feet.  Mike had gained considerable strength since the last time they'd tangled.  The kicks hurt, but wouldn’t cause serious damage.  He finally managed to roll over and cover his head with his arms.  At the same time, Mike ran out of steam.  He gave Harvey one last painful kick to the hip, and stumbled backwards. 

A few seconds later, Harvey heard him in the bathroom, vomiting loudly.  Lying completely still, he became conscious of his own noisy breathing.  He lowered his arms and slowly, painfully, sat up.

“Fuck,” he muttered, taking stock of the damage he’d sustained.  He could feel one cheek swelling already.  He’d probably have a black eye.  His ribs ached, but it didn’t feel as if anything had been cracked, or broken.  Carefully, he touched the back of his head, finding it tender, with the beginning of a bump, but without any blood. 

Despite the myriad physical hurts, the main thing he felt was numb.  He couldn’t believe that Mike had turned on him like that – and for nothing … for an ugly notion which had taken root in his mind and had blossomed into full-fledged paranoia.

Harvey replayed the last ten minutes, trying to figure out what he’d said or done to set Mike off.  Mike had just had a shitty day, he decided, and the alcohol hadn’t helped.  Tomorrow, there would have to be a serious discussion between them.  Mike had to be made to understand that Harvey could not be his punching bag whenever life set him back on his heels.  For now, though, his main instinct was retreat.  He just wanted to get the hell out of here and go home. 

Harvey struggled to his feet, groaning, and shrugged into his jacket.  The noises in the bathroom had ceased.  Harvey cast a wary look in that direction, and hesitated, debating.  Letting out a slow breath, he edged toward the bathroom and peered in.  Mike had passed out on the floor.  Grimacing, Harvey reached past him and flushed the toilet.  He hated to leave Mike on the floor like that, but if he tried to get him to the bed, he might wake up.  And then ….

Harvey shut his eyes, as an unfamiliar sensation of panic gripped him.  No.  Mike could survive a few hours on the floor.  Maybe it would teach him something about overindulging. 

Harvey didn’t want to acknowledge the real reason for leaving him there, did not want to give a name to the ugly, oily thing that had crawled into his gut and taken up residence.

He knew what it was, though.  It was fear.

He was afraid of Mike.

 

******

 

Reaction set in during the cab ride home.  Harvey relived each hit, each kick, picturing them in slow motion, seeing once again the unhinged look on Mike's face. 

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, in and out, through the coalescing panic attack.  His heart seemed to shake the walls of his chest, and thunder in his ears.  His lungs contracted, causing him to fight for each breath.  He realized he was shaking, and sweating through his shirt.  Rubbing his forehead on his arm, he accidentally caught the curious eye of the cab driver in the rearview mirror.

"I'm fine," he managed to get out, sounding almost normal.

Thankfully, they had reached his place by then.  The cab stopped at the curb in front of his building, and Harvey fumbled in his wallet, thrusting bills at the cabbie, including a ridiculously large tip.  When the cab pulled away, Harvey stood unmoving on the sidewalk, sucking in chilly winter air, letting it cool his sweat and clear his mind.  When the cold began seeping inside him, and he began to shiver in earnest, he gave up and went inside.

The first things he did when he was safely inside his condo, was pour himself a stiff drink, grab an ice pack, and turn on soft jazz.  Sitting in his chair, ice pressed to his cheek, he sipped slowly, gaze unfocused, and reviewed every interaction he'd had with Mike since he got out of prison.

Should he have seen this coming?  There had been signs, he could now acknowledge, but instead of heeding them, he'd shrugged them off.  He could blame it on the alcohol – and certainly, large amounts of scotch did seem to trigger Mike's rage – but even sober, he'd begun to see a particular … he struggled to find the right word … a particular disregard for Harvey's feelings.  He thought back to last night, in bed, when Mike had shown a side to himself Harvey had not suspected existed.  He'd been a little bit rough at first, and perhaps selfish as well.  They'd both gotten what they needed, though, and Harvey fell asleep satisfied to have Mike beside him.

In the middle of the night, Mike climbed on top of Harvey, still half-asleep, and used him again, silencing him with a hard hand over his mouth when he'd murmured a drowsy complaint.  After he'd finished with him, he pulled out and fell back asleep, leaving Harvey wide awake and aching, with the sick realization that Mike hadn't used a condom.

I should have said something, he berated himself now.  I should have asserted myself, made my feelings known.  But he hadn't, because … he didn't know why.

No, that wasn't true.  He knew why.  His debt to Mike remained unpaid.  If Mike wouldn't let him buy him things, or give him a job, or throw money at him, the debt would need to be repaid in other ways. 

Harvey stared sightlessly at the far wall.  Is this the deal he'd made with himself, without even realizing it? 

He'd let Mike get away with things in the past week he'd never allowed from anyone else, ever.  And he still wasn't sure he could bring himself to confront Mike about his behavior.  Sober, Mike remained the funny, kind-hearted man Harvey had known from before prison.  He couldn't face that man and inform him that his behavior was unacceptable.  Could he?

What then?  Would he allow himself to become that person?  The one who, months or years later, people were asking, why would you stay?  Why did you allow that to happen?

Too many questions, and no answers.  He scowled at his glass, took a long drink, and felt the alcohol burn down his throat and into his belly like acid.

 

******

 

Harvey didn't see Mike again until Friday.  During the intervening days, he reached for his phone dozens of times, but fought the urge to call.  His reasons were … complicated.

He knew that if Mike asked him to, he would forgive him.  At the same time, he fought against his anger towards Mike.  He didn't feel he had a right to that anger.  The ledger was still weighted heavily towards Mike.  Harvey owed him.

He recognized this for the stupidity it was, which is why he kept reaching for the phone, even though he couldn't make himself complete the call. 

Complicating this first stupidity, was his stupid reluctance to let Mike to see the ugly black eye he'd given Harvey, because he wished to spare Mike the guilt he would undoubtedly feel over hitting Harvey.

The longer they stayed away from one another, the longer all the tangled, illogical threads which connected them could remain ignored and hidden in the dark.  This state of uneasy suspension lasted until Harvey opened his door Friday night and found Mike inside, waiting for him.

 

******

 

"You never called," Mike greeted him, voice clipped and angry.  He'd risen from the couch, and stood leaning against the back of it, arms crossed. 

Harvey might have admired the flexing muscles visible below the edges of Mike's t-shirt, but memory of the strength lying dormant within those muscles caused his stomach to give an unpleasant lurch.  He paused on the threshold, with the closed door behind him, unconsciously measuring the distance between himself and Mike, the angle to the kitchen and the hallway, remembering Mike's quickness, even while drunk, and calculating how long it would take to dart past him and slam shut the door to the bedroom.  When he realized what he was doing, he gave his head an impatient shake.

"No," he finally answered.  "I didn't.  I've had a busy week." 

Mike scowled, and Harvey's heart rate picked up.  He glanced around for the telltale bottle or glass, and saw neither.  Mike's gaze appeared clear and lucid enough.

"Aren't you even curious about my week?" asked Mike.

Harvey breathed out slowly and pushed away from the door, heading to the kitchen.  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled while he was turned away from Mike.  "Okay.  How was your week?"

Mike followed him, standing in the opening to the kitchen, cutting off Harvey's escape.  "Well, let's see."  Heavy sarcasm.  "Pretty fucking shitty, actually.  Father Sam fired me, which you would know if you'd bothered to call."

Startled, Harvey peered closely at Mike.  Did he truly not remember Tuesday night?  "I'm sorry," he said carefully.

Mike seemed not to have heard him, and was returning Harvey's scrutiny every bit as closely.  "What the hell happened to your face?"

People had been asking him that question all week.  He'd made up half a dozen different stories:  he'd gotten nailed in the boxing ring, he'd tripped while on his morning run, he had a door slammed in his face by some unnamed person.  The only one who called him on his bullshit was Donna.  She'd given him a flat, unblinking stare, until he wanted to tell her the truth, but couldn't, and was filled with a hot, paralyzing shame such as he'd never felt before.

Now, he balked again at the truth.  "It's nothing," he muttered, turning away and reaching for the scotch.

"Nothing?  Give me the guy's name, and I'll take care of him for you."

There was a time when Harvey would have laughed aloud at such an offer coming from Mike.  Tonight, he wasn't laughing.  He poured himself a shot, downed it in one gulp, and poured another.  Fortified, he leaned against the counter, facing Mike squarely.

"You really don't remember."  It was more statement than question.

"You gonna offer me a drink?"

Harvey rubbed his temple and considered the question.  "I'm not sure I should."

A look of surprised hurt on Mike's face.  "Wow," was all he said, turning and pacing back to the living room.

Harvey held back a frustrated groan, and trailed after him.  "If you want a drink, I'm not going to stop you.  It's just – "

And here they were.  He could choose to tell Mike the truth, or keep pretending nothing was wrong.  Harvey experienced a weird moment of disconnect, of wishing he weren't smack in the middle of it, and that he could move forward a week, or a month, or a year, to coolly evaluate his best move.  That was not possible.  He was forced to act with his stomach doing back-flips, and his thoughts buzzing and flickering like a malfunctioning fluorescent light.

This state, this nervous unraveling, was so unlike his normal self, so wholly foreign to him, that the recognition of it shocked him into momentary stillness. 

"What?"  Mike glared at him, and repeated, "What?  It's just what, Harvey?"

Moving as if in a dream, Harvey set his drink on the counter, walked slowly to his chair, and sank into it.  He gestured at the couch.  "Have seat.  We need to talk."

Looking annoyed, Mike sat.  "Is this the part where you try to convince me to come work for you?"  His frowned deepened.  "Hold up.  Is that why I lost my job?"

Shit.  Here we go again.   "No, and no."

"Right.  Because this is exactly the sort of manipulative shit I watched you pull for five-plus years."  Mike leaned forward, head canted to one side, jaw working with anger.  "Why didn't I see it sooner?  Classic Harvey."

"Mike, what do you remember about Tuesday night?"

This sudden shift appeared to derail Mike’s rising anger.  "Tuesday?  Not much.  I got home after being fired, got drunk, and passed out.  So?"

"You asked me who gave me this black eye."

"Again, so?"

"So, it was you."

Mike gaped at him, suspended in disbelief.  His gaze darted away, and Harvey could see the moment when realization hit.  He went utterly still for several seconds.  When his eyes met Harvey’s again, they were so full of agonized remorse that Harvey almost regretted forcing him to remember what he’d done.  Then Mike was up and moving toward Harvey so fast that, despite his best efforts, he flinched badly.

Mike knelt in front of him, hands on Harvey’s thighs, breathing raggedly.  His words were low and urgent.  “I am so sorry, Harvey.  I never meant – I don’t even remember – tell me everything.  How else did I hurt you?  Show me.”

Without waiting for a reply, his hands went to Harvey’s throat.  He held himself rigid as Mike unknotted his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled the tails from his trousers.  His big hands – as gentle now as they had been hard and punishing Tuesday night – spread the edges of the shirt apart and examined his chest and stomach.  Ugly bruises still colored his flesh.  Mike traced his fingertips over each one, soft and tender, pausing whenever Harvey winced, or let out an involuntary gasp.

“Are there more?” asked Mike in a small voice, forehead furrowed.

Harvey swallowed, and forced the words out.  “My back.  Legs.  Right arm.”

“God.”  Mike collapsed across Harvey’s knees, holding tight, pressing kisses against his trousers.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  You must hate me.  Th-that wasn’t me.”  He lifted his head, revealing liquid blue eyes.  “It wasn’t me.  I would never … not to you.”  He sniffed.  “I’ll stop drinking.  I swear.  Never again.  Just … don’t send me away.  Don’t give up on me.”

Tears pricked Harvey’s eyes.  How could he be expected to defend against such an affecting, heartfelt apology?  He laid his hands on Mike, cradling his head.  “No.  Never.  I’ll never give up on you, sweetheart.”

They stayed that way for a long while, clinging to one another for comfort.  Finally, Mike raised his head again.  “Take me to bed?” he whispered.

Harvey hesitated, surprised to realize that for once, he had no desire for sex with Mike.  That didn't mean he had to deny Mike his pleasure, he reasoned.  The thought made him uncomfortable, although he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why that was.

Mike seemed oblivious to Harvey's ambivalence.  He already had Harvey’s shirt undone, and now he started on his pants, unfastening and unzipping them, and slipping a hand inside to fondle him.

Harvey caught his wrist, halting him.  "Wait."

"Don't you want me?"

His denial was immediate and reflexive.  "Of course I do.  Just … the bed would be more comfortable."

Mike's wounded expression communicated his doubt.

Wordlessly, Harvey stood, helped Mike to his feet, and led him to the bedroom

 

******

 

"Have you considered selling your apartment?  It's probably appreciated in value significantly.  You could live off the proceeds while you continue your job search." 

It was Saturday morning, and Mike had made them waffles for breakfast.  Harvey hadn't slept well, and was feeling out of sorts.  Mike had given off heat like a furnace sleeping next to him, and had insisted on keeping Harvey close, wrapping his arms and legs around him and not letting go.

Harvey shifted on his stool, trying to get comfortable.  He cut off a small piece of his waffle, dragged it through butter and syrup, and poked it into his mouth, forcing himself to chew and swallow despite the sick feeling in his stomach that wouldn't go away.

"Maybe," said Mike distractedly.  He was playing a game on his phone, barely glancing at Harvey when he spoke. 

"And you can always work for me.  In any capacity.  Name the job, and you've got it."

Mike swiped, and tapped, scowling fiercely.  "Sounds a lot like pity to me."

"Well."  This was obviously a sore spot for Mike, so Harvey backtracked.  "I only want you to keep in mind that you do have options."

A snort from Mike. 

Harvey released a long, silent breath, trying and failing to dissolve the buildup of tension inside him.  "Change of subject.  What do you want to do today?"

Swipe.  Tap.  Scowl.   "You."

"Excuse me?"

Mike eyed him over the top of his phone.  "I want to stay in bed and fuck you all day."

"Oh."  Why wasn't he more thrilled by this suggestion? 

"What's the matter?  You tired of me already?"

"No."  Harvey spoke forcefully, trying to sound offended.

"You never even came last night.  Don't think I didn't notice."

"I was just worn out from work." 

"Not to mention, you're not getting any younger."

"I'm not exactly geriatric."  He'd never had performance problems in the past, but decided not to share that with Mike.

"Hm.  If you say so."

Silence stretched between them, punctuated by the frenetic sound-effects produced by Mike's game.

"Tell you what," Harvey finally said, "we can go back to bed for a while, but we'll have to switch it up a little."

"Why is that?"

"I'm sore."

Mike favored him with a direct look, one eyebrow raised.  "Harvey Specter admitting to a weakness?  Tell me more."

Harvey gave an annoyed huff.  "You went at me pretty hard last night."

A small smile played around Mike's mouth.  "You're hard to resist.  I never would have guessed how much I enjoy having you on your knees."

With an effort, Harvey swallowed down his angry retort.  "How about a compromise then?  You can still have me on knees."

Mike's eyes darkened.  He set his phone down and slowly looked Harvey up and down.  "You mean –"

"I mean, come back to bed and let me blow you to within an inch of your life."

"That's … compromise … good.  Sounds excellent … good and … and ... excellent."

"Forgot how to form a complete sentence already?  Wait until I'm done with you."

 

******

 

As the weekend progressed, it felt to Harvey as if something was falling apart, that the foundations of his relationship with Mike were crumbling.  Mike didn’t seem to recognize it, and Harvey couldn’t bring himself to speak his fears aloud.

He was running out of ways to avoid Mike’s advances.  Saturday night, he feigned exhaustion, and went to bed early, but even pretending to be asleep, complete with realistic snores, did not deter Mike from climbing on top of him and using him roughly.

By Monday morning, he was desperate to get away from Mike.  It made him sick to realize this, but this was the place at which they’d arrived.  He gave Mike a perfunctory peck on the cheek and fled.

Halfway through the morning, Donna entered his office, closed the door, and leaned against it with her arms crossed.  She stared at him for long moments, before finally asking, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been short with me, with Louis, with your clients.  If you keep scowling like that, your face will freeze that way.  And you look as if you slept all of five minutes this weekend.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.  Okay, maybe I didn’t sleep so great, and I’m a little out of sorts.  I’m sure you’ve seen me worse before.”

“Sure, for the past two years, when you were consumed with worry about Mike.  The difference is, he’s out now.  Lighten up a little.”

He massaged his temples, reminding himself that Donna was not the source of his bad mood.  Neither was Louis, or the clients he’d snapped at today.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll try to keep my problems to myself.”

She hmph’d.  “There was a time when you shared your problems with me.  Maybe I can help you.  As you well know, it’s sort of what I do.”

He considered it – for about half a second.  How could he explain that all his dreams had come true, with Mike in his home, and in his bed, but his desire for him had apparently disappeared, and he lived in a state of constant raw nerves, anticipating the next blow-up?  How far would Mike take it, the next time some imagined slight took hold in his brain?

He forced himself to relax, to unclench his jaw, and set his pen on the desk before he snapped it in two.  “It’s nothing,” he lied.  “I’ve been thinking about asking my doctor for something to help me sleep.  I’ll feel more myself after a full eight hours.”

She did not look convinced.  “Is Mike still staying with you?”

“Yes.”

“Ah ha.”

“No, ‘ah ha’.  Don’t read anything into it.”

“If you’re still pining for him, why don’t you make the first move?  All he can do is turn you down.”

Harvey stared determinedly down at his desktop, refusing to make eye contact.  Predictably, Donna interpreted his stubborn silence correctly.

“Oh.”

“There’s no ‘oh’ either,” he practically shouted at her.  “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“There’s a problem between you and Mike.”

He shook his head, and kept shaking it.  “Oh, no you don’t.  Not today, Satan.”  He grabbed for his cold coffee, taking a long drink, hoping to prevent her from getting an accurate read of his face.

“Is he not taking to the butt stuff as well as you’d hoped?”

Harvey choked on the coffee he’d just swallowed.  “That’s … that’s none of your goddamned business!”

“Ooh, I’m getting warm, I can feel it.”

The brief starting contest that followed only angered him further.  He stood abruptly.  “I’m going to lunch.”

“It’s only ten-thirty.”

He didn’t bother answering, just strode past her, and headed for the elevators.

 

******

 

Harvey and Mike made it through the week with only a few minor disagreements.  Harvey managed to de-escalate tensions each time, preventing the fights from spinning out of control, and congratulating himself on his mediation skills.  In truth, these “skills” consisted mainly of him allowing Mike to binge Netflix while Harvey kept his mouth shut. 

Anything, he’d discovered, could set Mike off, even the most innocuous of comments or observations.  Harvey would mistakenly believe they were in the middle of a normal, harmless conversation, and the next instant, Mike would be raging at him that he didn’t have the right to pass judgment on whatever character currently filled the television screen.  Harvey ceased commenting.  Silence was safer.

The weekend arrived.  Mike seemed more relaxed than he had been all week.  Perhaps this was because Harvey wouldn’t be leaving him at home all day while he went to work.  They made love Saturday morning, slow and sleepy.  Mike was gentle, for once, and Harvey responded accordingly. 

It was going to be okay, he told himself as he made coffee, and watched Mike fix them bowls of cereal.  They’d gotten past the bumps, and the awkwardness of adjusting to one another.

He took Mike to the gym with him, convinced him to accept the gift of several new outfits which fit Mike better than his old clothes, and treated him to an expensive dinner.  By the time they got home from their day and night out, both were more than a little tipsy.

“Hey,” said Harvey as they cuddled together on the couch.  “I almost forgot.”  He disentangled himself and sat up.

Laughing, Mike wrapped his arms around Harvey’s middle, and dragged him back down.  “Where do you think you’re going?”  He unzipped Harvey’s pants and thrust his hand inside, fondling him roughly.  “I’m gonna fuck you until you scream,” he whispered in Harvey’s ear.

Harvey squirmed, trying to break free.  “Which I’m totally in favor of.”

“So, stop fighting.”

“I’m not – there’s something I wanted to show you.  After that, I’m all yours.”

Mike let out an exaggerated sigh, but let him go.  Harvey went down the hallway to the bedroom, hunted around in the closet, and retrieved the laptop he’d bought for Mike.  Back in the living room, he went to his knees in front of the couch, and set the bag on Mike’s stomach.

Frowning, Mike sat slowly.  He peered inside the bag.  “What the actual fuck … ?”

Having studied and catalogued all of Mike’s warning signs for the past week or more, even slightly drunk, Harvey recognized the furrowed brow, tight shoulders, and pulled down mouth which signaled trouble.  “It’s not a big deal.  I figured you could use an upgrade.  Consider it a welcome home gift.”

Mike pulled the slim box out of the bag and stared at it.  “How much money is it going to take?”

“I’m not sure what – ”

“How much, before you soothe your guilt?” 

“Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”  Harvey’s denial was automatic.  Mike wasn’t wrong, though. 

Watching Mike’s eyes darken, and his mouth twist, Harvey rose to his feet and took a careful step back. 

Mike opened the box and pulled out the laptop, glaring down at it as if it had caused him some grievous hurt.  “Payment for services rendered?” he sneered

This was such a ridiculous reading of what was supposed to be a simple gift, that Harvey forgot himself.  “Jesus, Mike, don’t be an idiot.”

Mike stood up, hugging the laptop to his chest.  “And now I’m an idiot.”  He spoke the words mildly enough. 

Harvey knew better by now than to be fooled by his tone.  Striving to appear casual, he maneuvered around the coffee table and put it and his chair between himself and Mike.  “No.  You’re not an idiot.  If you don’t want the gift, I completely understand.”

“Do you?  You think you understand anything about me, or my life?”  He advanced on Harvey, expression murderous.

“Maybe not.”  Harvey sized up his options.  Which was closer, the front door, or the bedroom?  It didn’t matter, because Mike’s quickness ruled out either path of escape.  “I’ll return the damned thing tomorrow, if you’re so set on turning down the gesture.”

“It’s not the gesture, Harvey.  It’s you.”

“Me?”  Attempting to make sense of Mike’s statement, Harvey could only stare helplessly back at him.

“Yes!  Goddamn it, Harvey.  Why do you insist on being such an asshole?  Why – ”  He brandished the laptop in Harvey’s direction.  “Why do you insist on pissing me off like this?”

Harvey swallowed painfully and closed his eyes.  He had no fight left in him, and no desire to play conciliator anymore.  He was tired.  So fucking tired.  He heard what sounded like the front door being unlocked, and opened his eyes in confusion.

Quick movement, inches from him.  Pain exploded in the side of his head.  He fell to the floor, dazed, writhing.  He touched his forehead, and his hand came away bloody.  Someone spoke Mike’s name, voice sharp and shocked.  Donna, his scrambled brain supplied.  A sneakered foot caught him in the ribs, and he groaned.  Something – the laptop? – smashed the back of his head.  A scream.  Shouting. 

He passed out.

 

******

 

“No,” Harvey repeated to Donna from his gurney in a curtained alcove of the ER.  “I’m not pressing charges.  Not against Mike.”

“He could have killed you.  If I hadn’t walked in when I did –”

“But he didn’t.”  He squinted at her, having trouble focusing through the throbbing in his skull.  "Why were you even at my place?"

"I just stopped in for a visit.  When nobody answered, and I heard yelling, I let myself in."

He wanted to scold her for her all too obvious meddling, but could hardly fault her timing.

“It was Mike, wasn’t it?" asked Donna.  "All of it.  Your black eye.  All those times you couldn’t sit right, or winced every time you moved.”

“I’m not discussing this.”

“He’s an abuser.”

Harvey scowled at hearing the word spoken aloud, and refused to acknowledge it.  “He’s going through a difficult time.”

“He assaulted you.”

Harvey wished she would go away.  He also wished the doctor would give him something to mute the pain in his head, and in his cracked rib.  “Do I have to remind you that he’s on probation?  If I press charges, they’ll send him straight back to prison.”

That shut her up for half a minute.  “Fine.  But he needs to move back to his own apartment.”

He debated how much he was willing to admit.  Finally, he blurted, “I love him.”  Those three simple words shouldn’t have filled him with such shame, but they did.

“Oh, Harvey, I know.  But it doesn’t matter.  You’ve started down a path with him that cannot end well.”

He pressed his lips together and refused to look at her.

“You know I’m right.”  She sighed.  “Okay, how about this?  Imagine our roles are reversed.  I’m lying in the emergency room after being beaten for the … how many times is it?  It doesn’t matter.  If it was me, what would you say?  What advice would you give me?”

“Before or after I killed the guy?”  Harvey touched the gauze taped to his forehead, and grimaced.  He considered Donna's argument, and the pounding in his skull intensified as he was forced to admit she was right.  “Shit.  Point taken.  If it was you, I’d advise you to get as far away from him as possible and never look back.  I’m not you, though.  I’m a guy.  I can handle myself.”

An inelegant snort from Donna.  “You mean like you handled your way into a concussion and a cracked rib?”

And what was there to say to that?  “I should have my man card revoked,” he muttered.

“Oh, stop it.  If you try to tell me that being a man exempts you from behaving like a clueless, lovesick idiot, I'll hit you myself.”

“Thanks, Donna,” said Harvey, voice drenched in sarcasm.  “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

“Look, I know it won’t be easy.  You care about him.  You feel guilty about what happened to him.  But Mike’s like a loaded gun right now.  It doesn't matter how much you love him when the bullet leaves the chamber.”  She frowned thoughtfully.  “Have you suggested that he get some help?  Maybe see a therapist?”

“I considered it.”  He smiled bleakly.  “I didn’t want to start another fight.”  His own words damned him, driving home his cowardice.  He saw it all now, so clearly, how foolish he'd been, and sighed explosively, coming to a decision.  “Where is Mike right now?”

“I left him in the waiting room with a large cup of black coffee.”

“Is he … Has he sobered up?”

“Well, he hasn’t tried to beat anyone up recently, besides you, so I’d say he’s fairly sober.”

“I want to see him.”

“Harvey …”

“Don’t look so worried.  Mike’s always thoroughly repentant after he’s drawn blood.”

 

******

 

Harvey let Mike talk, let him make all the apologies he’d heard before, waiting until he’d wound down before he responded.

“We need to take a break.”

Startled blue eyes stared back at him.  “No.  Harvey, I promise it won’t happen again.  I’m not that guy, I’m just …”  He trailed off uncertainly, perhaps finally facing the truth, that he was that guy.

Harvey held out a folded slip of paper.  “This is the number of my therapist.  Dr. Agard.  She’s first-rate.”  He spoke over Mike, who had started to object.  “These are my terms.  Take them, or get the hell out of my life.  Go see Dr. Agard.  Let me pay.  Stop drinking.  Get your shit together, and your head on straight.  Stay away from me for at least a month.”

Mike gaped at him.  “Are you serious right now?  I went to prison for you, you ungrateful prick.”

Roiling nausea joined Harvey's headache.  “I’m plenty grateful, and you know it.  Why else would I have put up with all your crap for the past two weeks?  My mistake was not to call you on it on day one.”  The briefest of pauses.  “I love you, Mike.”

“Bullshit.”

“I do.  I wasn’t planning to tell you like this, under these circumstances, but there it is.  I love you, which is the only reason I’m not following Donna’s advice and pressing charges for assault.”

“Donna suggested that?”  This seemed to upset him more than anything else.

“Yes.  She had a front row seat to your latest blow-up, and to hear her tell it, it wasn’t pretty.”

Mike shot to his feet.  “My god.  You two.  You always close ranks when it comes down to it, don’t you?  Well, this time, you can go fuck yourself.  Or fuck her.  That’s what you want, isn’t it?  Congratulations, because, you and me?  We’re done.”  Instead of making the dramatic exit his words seemed to call for, Mike stood next to Harvey’s gurney, glaring down at him.

Hand trembling, Harvey set the slip with Dr. Agard's phone number on the table next to him.  He closed his eyes, unable to bear the bright lights, or Mike’s angry face, for another second.  “Get out.  Please.  If you can meet my terms, come see me in a month, and … we'll see.  Better yet, call first.  Whatever happens, I wish you good luck, and a happy life.”

“Your saintly martyrdom overwhelms me,” Mike scoffed, but even with his eyes closed, Harvey could hear the incipient tears clogging Mike’s throat. 

He waited, temples throbbing in perfect rhythm with his pounding heart.  There was no door for Mike to slam on the way out, but the curtains gave a ghostly swish.  When Harvey dared to open his eyes again, he was gone.  He'd taken the slip of paper with him.

 

******

 

It was early Spring before Harvey saw Mike again.

He knew that Mike had gone to see Dr. Agard, because he began receiving her monthly bills.  He wondered how his sessions were going, and worried about … everything, basically.  Was Mike still drinking?  Had he found a job?  Had he found someone else to share his bed?  Had he forgiven Harvey yet?

On his worst days, he was convinced that nothing could salvage their relationship, and that they wouldn’t even be able to work back to the solid friendship which had developed before Mike’s arrest. 

In some ways, this time apart felt worse than Mike’s eighteen-month prison sentence.  Back then, at least Harvey had been able to see him every week.  And at least Harvey hadn’t admitted his feelings, and in the next breath dynamited their relationship.

Donna didn’t waste her energy on gloating.  She’d been one hundred percent correct, however, and while Harvey was grateful to her for making him face the truth, part of him resented her for depriving him of Mike.  Which was stupid, but then, what about this whole situation wasn't?

His concussion healed, and his rib mended.  His emotions and his pride were another story.  He was getting too old for this shit, he decided.  Maybe it was better to remain single and alone than risk his heart again.

 

******

 

When Donna appeared in his office doorway with a funny look on her face, and seconds later Mike edged around her to stand in front of Harvey’s desk, his mind went completely blank.  He didn’t know what to say, what to think, how to act.  He was too surprised to remember to be afraid.  He could only stare at Mike … and keep staring, because goddamn it, he looked better than ever.

“Harvey?” said Donna.  “You want me to stick around?”

“No.  And you can close the door on your way out.”  Whether she chose to eavesdrop via the intercom, was no concern of his.  In fact, he sort of hoped she would.  He returned his attention to Mike, and gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk.  “Have a seat.”

Mike sat, appearing as nervous as Harvey had ever seen him.  Afternoon sunshine streamed through the window, capturing Mike in a soft pool of light which accentuated his crisply short hair, tanned and smooth-shaven cheeks, pale blue eyes, and solemn mouth.  He’d slimmed down a little, but remained fit and well-muscled.  He wore what Harvey recognized as one of his old, pre-prison suits.  He looked … incredible.

Harvey swallowed past the dryness in his mouth.  “Three months,” he said.  “I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”

“Same.”  Mike laced his hands together.  “I spent most of the first month hating you.”  He managed a wry smile.  “I imagine it was the same for you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I could never hate you.”

Mike shook his head, staring down at his twined hands.  “Saint Harvey.”  There was no bitterness in his voice.  If anything, he sounded admiring.

Harvey had to laugh.  “Saint?  Hardly.  Not even close.”

“Well.”  Mike looked away, squinting in the bright sunlight, and then looked back again.  “You were right about Dr. Agard.  She says hello, by the way.”

Harvey nodded in acknowledgement.  “How many sessions did it take before you stopped loathing her?”

“I know, right?  She takes no prisoners.  And probably at least four sessions.”  His mouth twisted, giving him a rueful appearance.  “She insisted on three times a week, the first month.  Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.”

Mike tugged his earlobe, rubbed his forehead, and then set his palms on his thighs, as if ultra-conscious of all his nervous tics.  “I suppose … I mean, I can see you’re wondering if I’m, you know, cured.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.  But, yes.  Basically.”

“I have some work to do yet.  I’m less angry every day, I can tell you that.  I haven’t had a drink since the day you kicked me out of your hospital room.  And … I came to see you today for two reasons.  No, scratch that.  Three reasons.”

Harvey arched one eyebrow, but remained silent.

“Ah.  Okay.  So, first reason.  I want to offer you my heartfelt, sincere apology.  I’d say I was being a passive aggressive asshole, but more accurately, I was being aggressive aggressive.  I’ve come to the painful realization that I knew exactly what I was doing, drunk or not.”

“Which was?”

“Which was punishing you.  The, uh, the lashing out was partly drunken bullshit, but also partly – mostly – me manufacturing reasons to be angry at you, to justify hurting you.”

None of this was news to Harvey.  He had worked this all out for himself weeks earlier.  He gave a short nod to indicate that he understood.  “Okay.  Apology accepted, but future bullshit will not be tolerated.”

“I know.”

“Good.  Reason number two?”

Mike’s chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath, and slowly released it.  “If it’s still available, I’d like to accept your job offer.”

Harvey sat back in his chair, more than a little surprised at this.  “What made you change your mind?”

“Eight thousand rejections, give or take.  I need a fucking job.”

“Hm.”  Harvey scrutinized Mike across the expanse of his desk.  “Are we talking about the consultant position, or something different?”

“Yes.  To both.  Either.”

“Yeah … no.  I don’t think so.”

Mike’s mouth fell open in shock, and his eyes took on a wounded look.  “Oh.  I thought …”

“You thought you’d jump into the only thing available, out of desperation.  Honestly, I thought I wanted you here, working by my side again, but after what happened, I’m afraid you’d be more distraction than help.”

“Harvey – ”

“Even so, in spite of everything, one thing hasn’t changed.  I want you to be happy.”  Mike did not look at all happy in that moment.  “Here’s what I’m proposing.  Take some more time.  Really think about what you want to do with your life.  When you’ve figured it out, permit me to foot the bill for whatever education or training is required.  If it turns out to be law school, so much the better.  But if you decide to spend your life rescuing pygmy goats, or planting trees, or even teaching, I’ll be cheering you on.  Always.  Whether you want me to or not.”

Mike cleared his throat and husked, “Of course I do.  Which I guess brings me to reason number three.  In case there is any doubt, I do love you.”  He bit his lip.  “I hope we can continue where we left off.  Eventually.  If you ever start to trust me again.”

Harvey’s heart gave a painful twinge.  Mike had hit the nail squarely on the head.  The problem was trust, and he didn't know yet if that was something that could ever be completely repaired.  “Maybe.  Not now.  It may take a while.”

“Understood.”  Mike leaned his head over his knees and scrubbed his hands through his close-cropped hair.  “Okay.  I'll do what you've asked, and take some time to figure out the big picture.  But I was serious about needing a job.  Even part-time would help me out.  Would you possibly consider … I mean, I don’t suppose you have an opening in your mail room?”

Harvey tallied the pros and cons in his head.  He still held residual anger at Mike's treatment of him, but he'd meant what he said about wanting Mike happy.  And he found that he couldn't look into Mike's hopeful, pleading eyes and tell him no.  So, ignoring his own misgivings, he said, “As a matter of fact, I seem to remember something just opening up.”

Mike’s smile was more blinding than the sunlight.  “Thank you.  And as for the rest of it – as for us – I promise I'll do better.  I know my promises probably aren't worth much to you right now.  I'll back way the fuck off, and leave it up to you to make the first move.  If you ever do.  I hope you do, but I totally understand if you want to take things slow.”

“I think that would be wise.”

“One more thing.”  Mike looked uncomfortable again.  “I want your promise that if I ever hit you in anger again – not that I ever will – I want you to hit me right back, twice as hard.”

“An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.”

A few seconds of dense silence.  “Now he’s quoting Gandhi.  And here I thought you limited yourself to movies.”

“Um, hello?  Eight Oscars?  Ben Kingsley?”  Harvey gave a humorless laugh.  "Seriously though, I refuse to let you put that on me.  If it ever comes to it, you need to know that I'll put up more of a fight than I did three months ago."  He let that sink in for a few seconds before adding, "But it had better never come to it.  You're out of chances and do-overs.  Touch me again in anger, and you're gone.  We're done.  You got that?"

"Got it."

"I can’t promise anything right now, but if we do manage to reach a place where trust is restored, from that point forward, we'll zero out both sides of the ledger, yours and mine.  Then we'll set the ledger on fire and flush the ashes, so it's just you and me.  Right here.  Back at square one."

Mike nodded his understanding, seemingly unable to get any words out.  His eyes were wet, but they were beautiful, reflecting the sun, promising the eventual return of Summer.

 

-The End.

Notes:

Thanks for reading!

I had a real struggle figuring out how to end this. Should Harvey have cut Mike out of his life for good? Maybe in real life, but this is Mike! And Harvey! So I left things somewhat ambiguous. Feel free to yell at me. It won't be anything I haven't already heard from myself.