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Mike breaks the news to him, he hates that he had to take that call, but Harvey knows Mike is glad he did. Mike wouldn’t have wanted him to be alone when he heard.
He's tired when he walks through the door, ready for an evening of doing nothing. They could get takeout and watch that film Mike has been talking about for weeks. What's it called again?
Harvey freezes, his stomach drops. Mike’s face gives him away before he even opens his mouth, he stands from the couch as Harvey walks into the room, eyes dark, half empty glass of scotch in his hand.
“Mike?” Harvey says, eyes scanning his partner's face for any small detail as to what has happened.
Mike walks towards him and he takes a step back, he doesn’t really know why. Normally he would melt into Mike’s touch, take every moment he can to be close to him, to feel his warmth. But now, he can see it in Mike’s face, he’s trying to find the words he needs to soften the blow of whatever awful news he’s about to deliver, and Harvey can’t take it.
“Mike?” he asks again. “Mike what’s happened, what’s wrong?”
“Harvey,” Mike says softly, it’s too soft. “Harvey, Marcus called. It’s your Mom, she had a heart attack. She died this morning.”
Harvey doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, run or hide. So he just stands there, staring blankly at the wall behind Mike’s head.
He doesn’t know how long he freezes for, it could be seconds or it could be hours. Mike just waits patiently for Harvey to speak again. He doesn’t push, he doesn't pry, Harvey is grateful for that at least.
“I need a drink,” he says at last.
He’s not sure why.
The decanter feels heavy in his hands and it takes him a few attempts to remove the glass stopper. His vision blurs as he tries to pour the amber liquid and it sloshes over his fingers as the stream misses the tumbler.
“Fuck.” Harvey curses as the glass slides from his grip.
He watches it fall, crashing into the floor and shattering on impact.
“Harvey?” He hears Mike say from behind, but his voice isn’t clear, it’s quiet and muffled and Harvey thinks he maybe just imagined it.
His hands are shaking but he picks up another glass, not caring about the last, he’s got plenty of them after all. Mike is still talking behind him but he doesn’t care enough to listen, the pain in his chest is too much to bear. He tries to bring his breathing back under control, but the air around him feels thick and his hands are still shaking, he can’t seem to get them to stop.
He hears Mike say his name again. “I’m not a goddamned child Mike!” he shouts.
The second glass smashes into the floor. This time it wasn’t gravity that made it fall.
The sound cuts through the air like a knife and Harvey realises what he’s done. His head whips round and he sees Mike standing there, calm as ever, shards of glass barely a foot away from him on the floor. Harvey doesn’t understand, why doesn’t Mike look shocked? Why doesn't he look scared? He just threw a glass at his feet, Mike should have flinched, he should have called Harvey out and told him not to let his anger get the better of him, but he doesn’t even look phased.
Harvey looks down, he has another glass in his hand. Funny, he doesn't remember picking this one up. He grips it tight, ready to throw it again, ready to smash them all one after another, again and again until the pains stops or there's nothing left to break.
But then something makes hims stop. He thinks about Mike, about how even now with all of his rage, the man he's hurt so many times is standing across the room from him with nothing but love behind his eyes.
Do you know how lucky you have to be to have someone look at you the way Mike looks at him?
So he stops, he puts down the decanter and he allows himself to breathe.
He bows his head and feels a hand come to rest atop his own. The warmth of Mike’s fingers help to bring the world back into focus again.
“Hey,” Mike says.
Harvey can’t look at him, not now that he’s so close but Mike doesn’t push. He just takes the glass from Harvey’s hand and places it down on the table behind him.
“Why don’t you go take a shower?” Mike suggests. “I’ll clear this up.”
It’s not a command, just a suggestion.
Harvey nods.
He walks past Mike, unable to think about where his feet are taking him. He manoeuvres round the room with muscle memory until he finds himself in front of the shower. His clothes are off, he doesn't remember doing that. He looks behind him and sees them piled in a heap on the floor. That’s new. He reaches in, turns the water on and then steps inside. He doesn't bother to wait for the temperature to settle, he’s not sure he’ll feel it anyway.
The water warms eventually and he lets it fall over him, cascading down his back and onto the marble floor. Mike once told him he likes to shower when he can't get his mind to switch off. He said letting hot water just fall over his face was like giving his brain a wash. Harvey wished that would work for him now, but he thinks maybe some feelings are just too powerful to be simply washed away.
He eventually turns the water off, watching as it pools for a second before joining the current. It flows downwards into the drain, taking the last of the suds with it. If only his thoughts could do the same thing.
He hadn’t expected to feel like this. When his father died he’d felt numb, the void of unanswered questions and unsaid feelings was overwhelming. This time it's the same, but also completely different. At least his dad died knowing Havey loved him. They may not have spent as much time together as they each would have liked, might not have told each other how they felt enough, but at least they both knew the truth.
All those unanswered questions are still here now and they're coming at Harvey so quickly he can hardly breathe. The problem is that this time, he doesn't know all the answers. He’s missed his chance. It’s not as if he didn’t know this day would come eventually, he just thought he’d have more time. He laughs. More time for what exactly? They had years to make amends, years to put the past behind them. It was always the elephant in the room; every birthday, every holiday, every event she’d not been invited to…every time he’d refused to answer the phone.
Would more time have actually made any difference at all?
He’ll never know now.
There’s a knock at the door and Harvey suddenly realises how cold he is. He’s been standing for so long the floor is almost dry. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak, he's not sure he can.
The door opens slowly and Harvey looks up. Mike smiles as he walks towards him. It’s not his usual smile though, there’s something more behind it; concern maybe? No. Understanding.
Mike grabs a towel from the rail and Harvey feels the soft fabric wrap around his shoulders. Mike's hands brush his skin as he wraps him in the cotton and pulls him close. Harvey lets his head drop onto Mike’s shoulder and he takes in the familiar scent of his cologne. It’s warm and safe, and Harvey clings on as if the world will fall from under him if he allows himself to let go.
Mike just holds him, strong and steady, grounding Harvey until he has the strength to stand up tall again.
“Are you hungry?” Mike asks once they pull apart.
“No” is all Harvey can manage to say.
Mike smiles, it’s reassuring. It’s telling Harvey ‘don’t worry, it’s ok. I understand’. He leans forwards and plants a kiss on Harvey’s forehead.
“Come on,” he says. “You’re freezing.”
Mike takes his hand and leads him back into the bedroom. Harvey follows, grateful he doesn’t need to think about where he's going, he trusts Mike to get him to wherever he needs to be.
He takes the clothes from Mike’s hand and dresses himself slowly. It’s just joggers and an old grey tee; comfortable and familiar.
Mike lays down in bed and pulls the sheets down making space for Harvey. He sinks into it gladly, letting the soft fabric envelop him as he finally lays his head down to rest. He lies there for a moment, willing the world to still around him but the weight of the guilt is pulling him down. The questions are still there, swimming and crashing inside his head and he feels as though he might drown.
Mike is by his side, one hand resting on the centre of his chest, the other stroking through his hair. Harvey wonders if Mike can feel how hard his heart is beating, how hard it's working to keep the pumping blood through his veins when all Harvey can think is that it might just stop.
He can’t stay like this, he needs to feel something, something that isn’t guilt or fear or regret…something real. He rolls over and moves towards Mike so he can feel the warmth of his breath as he leans in. He kisses Mike, and then again and again. He pushes closer, willing Mike to open up to him.
Harvey knows what Mike is thinking. He’s thinking Harvey is vulnerable, and he’s hurt, and he’s wondering whether this is really what Harvey needs right now. But Harvey also knows that deep down Mike understands. He’s the only person who ever truly understands.
He's is waiting and waiting, his hands grasping at the fabric of Mike’s shirt as his desperation threatens to consume him until finally Mike lets the kiss go deeper. He pulls Harvey close and their bodies touch. His nerves feel like they’re on fire, his senses heightened by emotion or adrenaline or something else entirely. It feels wrong but it also feels right because how could kissing Mike ever be wrong?
Every touch, every sound consumes him and it almost feels too much. But even still, he needs more. He grabs Mike’s shirt and pulls it off. He tugs at his own, clawing it off his skin as if it was trying to suffocate him. His hands grasp for Mike and he pulls him up so that they are face to face, Mike’s weight pressing down on top of him and he kisses him again. It's urgent and hungry and he loves it and he hates it all at the same time.
But not as much as he hates himself.
His mother is dead, shouldn’t he be grieving? Instead he’s desperately distracting himself from his own selfish feelings of regret and guilt and shame.
He moves his hands down as he jerks his hips forwards aching for any contact he can get, anything which will push away the thoughts in his head. Mike’s lips are on his own again and Harvey lets him take the lead, guiding him though every second as they move in time with one another. He focuses on Mike’s touch, the way their bodies work together, how familiar every inch of his skin feels.
And when he finally collapses down on top of Mike, it suddenly is too much. His body shakes, the damn that has been threatening to break finally does. He can’t hold it in any longer and the tears begin to fall. Mike holds him close, he runs his hand down his back, slowly drawing patterns with his fingers, giving Harvey something to hold on to as he lets himself fall apart.
He cries and cries until he doesn’t even know what he’s crying for.
The tears stop but neither man moves, Mike just holds onto Harvey a little tighter. They lie there for minutes, or maybe hours, until Harvey feels Mike’s lips press against his hair and he slips sideways, letting his head come to rest on Mike’s chest. Their legs stay tangled together and Harvey lays his hand across Mike’s stomach, finding Mike’s hand with his own.
He tries to focus on breathing, tries to concentrate on the feeling of Mike next to him. He can feel his heart beating, his chest rising and falling as he fills his lungs with air. Harvey leans into his embrace, willing himself to be as close as he can. He thinks about Mike, about how much they’ve been through and about how different his life would have been without the man next to him in it. The beautiful, wonderful man who is nothing but kind and gentle, and who drives him mad but also keeps him sane. And he nearly cries again.
The room is almost silent and Harvey wonders for a second if Mike has fallen asleep. The only sounds are coming from their own breathing and the faint hum of traffic that feels like it’s miles below.
He’s not sure in the end what makes him say it. The question that’s been on the tip of his tongue since Mike broke the news hours ago.
“Is it my fault?” Harvey says it so softly he thinks maybe Mike didn’t hear at all, maybe he doesn’t need to. “Is it my fault that she died thinking that I hate her?”
He can’t see Mike’s face but he feels him tense beneath him.
“No Harvey,” Mike whispers into his hair. “No it isn’t.”
“Okay,” he replies.
He thinks there might be more to say. He thinks Mike might be wrong. But for now that’s enough.
He wakes up feeling different. The pain of yesterday still lingers but now his mind isn’t racing, instead he just feels numb. In some ways it's worse.
The bed is empty and he finds Mike in the kitchen. He’s sitting on one of the stools drinking coffee and reading his book.
“Hey,” Mike says when he hears Harvey come in.
“Hey,” Harvey smiles back.
He realises he’s just stopped in the doorway when Mike stands up and walks towards him. He takes his hand and guides him over to the table. “Coffee?” Mike asks.
Harvey nods. He doesn't understand why he feels so empty, he just wishes his mind would allow itself to focus again.
“What time is it?” he asks Mike. He doesn’t know how long he slept. He can barely remember what time he came home last night.
“Just after 10,” Mike replies.
Harvey takes the mug from Mike gladly, allowing the warmth to heat his hands.
“I thought you could do with the rest,” Mike adds when Harvey doesn't reply.
“Yeah, thanks,” Harvey nods as he smiles over the rim of the mug.
He hopes it looks genuine but he’s already thinking about what’s to come. He knows what today will bring, and he knows it won’t be easy. He needs to phone Marcus, he should apologise for not taking his call the day before. He’d been in a meeting, it hadn’t seemed important. How was he to know he was calling to deliver that particular piece of news? But then that had meant Mike had to take it. His selfishness had meant not only Mike had had to hear the news from Marcus, but he also had to be the one to tell Harvey.
“I’m sorry,” he says before he can stop himself.
Why does he always make the wrong choices?
Mike reaches out and takes hold of his hand. “It’s ok,” he says softly. “There's nothing to apologise for.”
Harvey’s eyes soften, he doesn’t deserve Mike, he never has. “I love you,” he says.
“I love you too,” Mike squeezes his hand and Harvey allows himself to believe it, just for a moment.
They finish their coffee in silence and Mike makes him toast. He’s not hungry but he knows the disappointed look Mike will get in his eyes if he doesn’t at least try. So he does, he eats one slice and most of the other before he pushes the plate away. He can’t stomach any more.
Harvey reaches for his phone, there’s no point in putting it off any longer, and there it is, right in the centre of the screen ‘Marcus Specter - 3 missed calls’ it’s like it’s taunting him, reminding him that he’s an awful brother and an even worse son.
“Harvey?” Marcus says when the call connects.
“Marcus, I-” he has to stop himself. He doesn’t actually know what he wants to say.
In the end it doesn’t matter because Marcus talks. He talks about their Mom, about what happened the day before, and then finally about the thing Harvey has been dreading the most. Marcus asks him if he wants to speak at the funeral, Harvey says no. Even now he can’t think of anything positive to say.
“But you’ll be there?”
“I don’t know.”
He’s not going, he decided that last night. It would feel disingenuous, everyone there would be grieving and he isn't grieving, not really. How can you grieve someone you’ve already grieved? He lost the woman who was his mother long ago. He mourned her then, he doesn't need to do it again now.
“Jesus Harvey do you even…”
Do you even care at all? Do you care that our Mother, the woman who raised you, is dead? He knows that’s what Marcus wants to say. And does he care? He doesn’t know.
“I’m sorry Marcus, I can’t”
“Harvey-” Marcus tries again.
“Marcus please,” Harvey whispers, he can’t do this, not today. “Just, don’t…please.”
“Okay…okay.”
The call disconnects.
Harvey sighs, he wants to scream, he wants to throw his phone across the room and watch it smash into a hundred tiny pieces. He wants to run and hide and never think about his family again. He balls his fists and leans down against the counter. Breathe, he just needs to remember to breathe.
“Do you think I should go?”
“To the funeral?” Mike replies from behind.
Harvey nods.
“I think...” Mike walks towards Harvey, he wraps his hands around Harvey's waist and plants a kiss on his shoulder. “That sadly, that is a decision only you can make.”
“I’m just so angry Mike.”
Harvey turns in Mike's arms, he settles down against the counter and lets his eyes rest on Mike’s face. He’s angry at her, angry at himself, angry at the world for dealing him this hand.
“I know, “Mike whispers. “And you have every right to be.”
He lifts a hand to Harvey’s jaw and runs his thumb across his cheek and Harvey almost believes him.
“And I know it feels wrong,” Mike continues. “But in the end it might help. You could ask the questions you want to ask, let yourself move on.”
Harvey knows he is right, knows he might regret more if he doesn’t than if he does. But right now he can’t face it.
“You don’t need to decide now,” Mike says as if he’s read his mind.
Harvey nods.
“Come on,” Mike takes his hand and Harvey lets him lead him away from the kitchen.
Whatever he decides, he’s got a whole week to get through first.
*****
They’re standing at the back. Not where you would expect a son to be at his mothers funeral, but this is better for Harvey.
He watches Marcus step up to the lectern. His baby brother in the suit he’s only seen him in a handful of times.
Marcus talks, his voice catching on the tears which are threatening to spill. Harvey tries his best to listen, he really does, but the woman Marcus is describing isn’t the same woman Harvey knows. He doesn't recognise the caring wife or the doting grandmother, he's never seen that side of her.
The priest talks again and then someone else, a friend Harvey presumes, but eventually the crowd dissipates, leaving Harvey and Mike alone in their seats. Everyone is meeting at Marcus’ house for the wake, but Harvey needs to hang back and Mike is right by his side.
They approach the graveside and for the first time Harvey can get a good look at everything; the flowers, lilies of course, and there’s a photo of her in the middle, standing proudly where the casket sat just a few moments ago. She looks the same, beautiful and happy, but still, Harvey barely recognises her.
“I’ll give you some space” Mike whispers behind him.
He squeezes Harvey’s hand gently and steps back, Harvey’s not sure how far.
“Hey Mom” Harvey whispers, his own voice cracking as he tries to work out what he wants to say.
“I wasn’t going to come, you know. But someone persuaded me.” Harvey glances over to where Mike is standing, head down, maybe thirty feet away. “He’s called Mike by the way. But I guess you’d know that already if we…”
He let his voice trail off, he told himself he wouldn't get angry again, not today. So he waits, embracing the silence until he's ready to try again.
“Why did you do it?” He asks.
Why did you cheat on Dad? Why did you ask me to lie? Why did you try to pretend it was all my fault?
All the questions he’s had for years, all the things he’s asked before. These are the easy ones though, he knows what the answers would be; people cheat, people lie, everyone tries to deflect blame, it’s self preservation. So that just leaves one more.
“Why did you choose everyone else over me?”
It comes out softer than he intended, barely even a whisper, but it’s enough. A single tear runs down his face and he swipes it away with his hand.
“I realise now that there's been this cloud of guilt hanging over me for too long, and I think I learned to live with it when instead I could have been moving on. For years I blamed myself for everything that happened, I pushed people away again and again and all it did was make me more and more angry...I'm tired of being angry Mom." He pauses, taking a moment to settle himself. "I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you for what you did, but I do know I’m ready to forgive myself for letting it consume me. I’m sorry if that’s not what you would have wanted to hear, but it’s everything I’ve got for now.”
Harvey takes his hand and runs it over the top of the frame, he gives it one final gentle tap, he’s ready.
“Bye Mom”
He turns to leave. Soon there’ll be a headstone resting in this spot. Perhaps he’ll visit, perhaps he won’t.
He walks away, meeting Mike’s gaze as he takes hold of his hand and they walk across the grass together.
It isn’t closure, but it’s something close.