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For the first time in six years, Harvey’s tradition was broken. Jessica had seemed sympathetic, almost pitying, when she’d mentioned the anniversary was fast approaching, and that it just so happened to fall on the same day as his trial date. Normally, he’d pass up the trial, give it to Louis, or let Mike take the lead. But this one was big; his chance to get back on the horse, to prove to Jessica, and that prick Darby, that he was still the best. What better way than going up against a former opponent in a grudge match that was about nothing more than bruised egos and forty million dollars in embezzled funds? He wasn’t handing this one over to Louis, although he would need financial help since he hated the numbers, and Mike was nowhere near ready to head this thing on his own, even if he’d practically got down on hand and knee to beg Harvey for another chance. No, this was his case, his trial, his imminent victory. So he had refused his annual day off, the one day a year, and buried himself in prep work, ignoring Donna’s worried glances and Jessica’s attempts to empathize. He was a grown man, work came first, just as it always had and always would.
His father would understand.
It fell like dead weight on a Thursday.
Harvey awoke to his alarm, alone in a condo that felt too big. The sky was clear, far too sunny for a day meant to be spent in mourning. But suing Mother Nature was a bit above his pay grade. And his father was probably enjoying it. Coffee was bland and scalding on his tongue. He’d deny the two or three shots of whiskey he had with his toast. It just felt like one of those days that began and ended with alcohol; Donna had probably confiscated his office supply the night before, or that morning. Not that he’d get plastered at work, he wasn’t a child, but the temptation was worse than the action, so it was probably for the best. He’d thank her later, if he remembered. Buy her flowers or a new dress or dinner or something. He called the liquor shop he visited each year, asked them to send a bottle to the grounds keeper as usual, apologized for not being there in person; they said they’d miss him. He tried not to smile at the thought of being missed, even if it was just by a clerk at a liquor shop many miles away.
His suit didn’t fit right, the vest too snug around his ribs, collar suffocating no matter how loose he made it. It didn’t matter what knot he tried, and he tried them all, his tie seemed crooked. His fingers fought with it, aching at the joints, until finally he gave up, resigning to let Donna fix it when he arrived at the office. His things were thankfully where he had left them, briefcase by the front door, keys and wallet with his phone, in case he’d lost himself the night before and found himself unable to function at the early hours in which he started his day. Ray was waiting for him as he always was, but declined the CD he offered.
“My turn this time, Harvey,” he said with a fond smile, pulling the door open for him. He was too tired to argue, taking his coffee and returning the smile as best he could before sliding into his seat. Ray Charles sang him to the office, his own Ray offering up a few tricky questions to keep Harvey’s thoughts on the present, instead of what he should be doing but wasn’t. He only missed one, but he blamed that on the near accident he witnessed outside as they pulled through a busy intersection.
Mike was already at work when he arrived, his rickety bike chained to its usual post. Donna was at her desk, fingers dancing across her keyboard like she had to conquer the world before lunch and then find a way to invade Russia before her day was done. Her eyes followed him into her office and he counted, one, two, three, four, before she stepped in after him and closed the door. He noted, with only a little bitterness, that his liquor cart was in fact empty. Fresh coffee and pristine, never used teacups, sat in its place.
“You didn’t need to,” He said.
“I know.”
She turned him around and set about fixing his tie, quick and practiced fingers undoing his shaky work and knotting it with easy perfection. She fixed his collar, her nails tickling his neck in a gentle touch, flattened out the shoulders of his jacket, adjusted his lapels, even went so far as to tug his vest back into place before she deemed him finished and ready for his day. Or so he thought. The customary silence between them, when he refused to acknowledge a problem and she was trying not to shove it in his face, was replaced by her arms winding around his shoulders, pulling him in for a tight hug.
“Donna,” he said in as harsh a voice as he could muster, which, wrapped up in her familiar arms, wasn’t harsh at all.
“Shut up, you baby,” she said in reply and held him tighter, one hand resting on the scruff of his neck, warm and calm and grounding. His eyes scanned the hallway outside his office. No one was there, no one waiting to mock or scold or outright laugh at him hugging his secretary. It was pretty early by the standards of most partners, so what harm was there in it? He slid his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck, letting her warmth soak into him, settling the frantic pace of his heart.
“You’re going to be ok,” Donna said, like it was a fact. He tried to pretend he didn’t like the feeling of her fingers scratching lightly at the hairs on his neck, a soft petting that made him sigh.
“Course I am,” he replied, voice rough.
“Atta boy, boss.” He could hear her smile.
He pulled away and took a slow breath, letting it fill his lungs, his vest still tight around his ribs, and let it out as Donna held his hands. He’d deny this, if anyone asked, but he was grateful for at least a moment of grounding before hell broke loose.
"Thanks,” he said and she nodded.
“Let me know if you need anything, ok?” He nodded and she kissed his cheek, before returning to her desk, leaving his office feeling too empty and too bright for the first time since he’d earned it. He stood in the center a moment, not sure what to do with himself. He had several hours before the trial; he’d read and reread the notes as many times as he could before he’d fallen asleep the night before. All he needed was one last run through of the strategy with Mike and maybe, if he was as paranoid as Donna said he was, one last check of the financials with Louis. So he sat himself down, pulled out his notes, and began to read, though the words were meaningless and his office was still too big and too empty and too quiet.
Thirty minutes later, that was rectified by Mike lingering in the doorway, files in hand.
“I’m not going to throw things at you, just get in here for shit’s sake,” Harvey said, looking up with an exasperated sigh. Mike had been unreasonably, well fairly reasonably, skittish since their last fight, the one about Mike more or less ruining everything by outing his secret to Rachel and lord knows what else he’d done wrong. Harvey was beginning to lose track at this rate, not that his own track record was any better. Mike had taken that verbal abuse like he knew he deserved it, no quips, no snark, no harsh words shot back, just watery eyes and slow nods of acceptance. Harvey had felt like the worst kind of tyrant afterwards and found himself calling Donna to ask how he should fix it. He hadn’t managed to yet, other than cornering Mike in the file room and handing him the files for the trial, making it as clear as he could that he needed him, even if he was angry at his stupid life choices.
“I have the last few things you wanted,” Mike said, avoiding Harvey’s eyes and offering the files from a distance, like he feared Harvey striking him.
“Come here,” Harvey said, as gently as he could with his heart lodged in his throat. He forced it down as Mike slowly came to his side and held out the folder. “Grab a coffee; you look like you need it.”
“No I’m-”
“Mike.” God, his voice sounded almost pleading. Mike gave him a funny look but nodded and went to make himself a coffee. He brought one back for Harvey too, setting it by his hand with a worried smile. “Thanks.”
“Is that enough for us to kick his ass?” Mike asked and Harvey was pleased to hear a bit of his old self in between the words.
Harvey scanned the words and found himself nodding, slowly, as he took it all in, Mike had found enough final evidence to not only ensure their victory, but force their opponent so far down into the hole he’d dug himself that there was no way he’d crawl out any time soon.
“More than enough,” he said. “We’ll wipe the courthouse floor with him until it shines.”
Mike’s smile was genuine, bright, and a balm for Harvey’s current state of bitterness. “Awesome. I could use some good old fashioned ass kicking this morning.”
“Rough night?”
“Rough month.”
“Amen to that.”
The look he got from Mike was a mix of fondness and confusion. “Says the guy who’s been chewing my ass out?”
“Hey, Jessica hasn’t exactly been my benevolent overlord lately, encase you’ve forgotten.”
Mike nodded. “Well this will get you back in her graces.” Harvey snorted. “It will. She just needs to see you’re, you know, you still and not that asshole that was-”
“Watch it.”
“Well you were.”
“Oh and you were just a perfect angel by comparison.” Harvey reclined in his chair and leveled Mike with an unimpressed look. His coffee wasn’t as bland this time, Mike still knew how he liked it, even though it’d been a good month or two since they’d had coffee together. Of course he remembered, the kid remembered everything except his own head.
“No. No I wasn’t.” He gave Harvey a sad smile and looked away, eyes focused on his cup. “Surprised you didn’t go for the ‘pot and kettle’ joke.”
“Too predictable. And I’m not in the mood for cliché jokes.”
“Right.” Mike didn’t ask, bless him, and finished his coffee in one quick swallow, Harvey’s eyes noting the movement of the muscles in his throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the slight flush of his skin. “Anything else you need for this or are we set?”
“We’re good for now. Get started on the Winston paperwork. Once we finish in court we need to steamroll them before they see it coming. I’ll come grab you when it’s time to go.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Harvey tried not to hear the faint Russian accent Mike tried to tease into his words. He did allow himself to smile though, lips curling at the corners and he knew Mike would see. Once he’d left the intercom decided to share its thoughts.
“I’m glad you’re being nice to the puppy again,” Donna mused.
“I need him.”
“And he needs you.”
There was a weight to her words, things not being said suddenly airing out in the open room.
He needs you.
He wants you around.
He’s sorry.
I need you.
It will be better.
Jessica still cares.
It’s not your fault.
I forgive you.
He forgives you.
And there something involving an “L” word that Harvey pretended wasn’t set in the finality of her statement. It was everything Harvey had been trying to ignore from the moment things had gone downhill. They were silent for a heartbeat or two, before Donna decided to begin the shit storm that would be his day.
“How irritated would you be if I told you Scotty wanted to see you?” She asked.
He hoped the exaggerated groan was enough of an answer.
“Gotcha. I’ll tell her you’re busy.” There was too much pleasure in her voice, but Harvey couldn’t deny that he enjoyed it at least a little.
“She won’t listen.”
“Then I’ll scare her off like I always do.”
“Is she on the list of people who hate me?”
“Not really. I don’t think. I don’t know. Last time we talked it was ‘I love him but he won’t love me’.” Donna’s voice got all whiny on the last syllable of the deliberately stretched ‘me’. “But then you said she hated you because of the whole job thing, which you fixed, so we’re probably back to the ‘you don’t love her’ page.”
“Am I a bad person for that?”
“You’re a bad person for running away from it.”
“Ouch,” he muttered. “Cause I totally didn’t need my heart today, thanks.”
“You don’t. You don’t need your humanity either. I’ll just hold onto both of those until you’ve made this so called opposition cry.” She told him flatly. “Now stop worrying about love, or lack thereof, and get ready to kick ass. We can paint each other’s nails and talk about feelings later.”
If Harvey Specter were grateful for anything in his life, it was the red haired, fiery, often times terrifying beauty that was his Donna.
“Yes, Ma’am.” He said, looking up in time to catch her eye and the wink she sent him.
Yeah, he thought, things were going to be alright.
And at first, they were. He found Louis in his office, where he should be, managed to ask for his help without being a douchebag, a fact Donna was quite proud of and promised him a cookie for, and got the financials all in order. Louis wasn’t smug, didn’t pester him more so than usual. It was actually, and Harvey would add this to his list of daily denials, kind of nice. It was like being associates again, trading bad puns and jabs back and forth. Louis even surprised him with a very well played impersonation of President Lex Luthor, which was something Harvey didn’t even know Louis knew about.
“You mean to tell me you read superman comics?” Harvey asked as he gathered up the documents spread out on Louis’s coffee table.
“Well, who hasn’t? Considering he’s been reigning douchebag since the thirties?” Louis replied with a shrug.
“Reigning douchebag?” Harvey repeated.
“Goodie two-shoed boy scout with a power complex.” Louis said flatly and Harvey laughed. “What?”
“I can’t even be disappointed you don’t like Superman; that was the greatest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”
“You aren’t the only closet geek here Harvey, get over yourself,” Louis said getting up and straightening his suit. “You going to go make the opponent cry?”
“Why is everyone fixated on me making people cry?”
“Because you’re good at it. And it’s funny as hell.” He paused. “And it’s been a while since you, or I for that matter, have made someone cry.”
Harvey spared him a smile. “Off to the bullpen?”
“Oh yeah, there’s this really obnoxious little twerp who thinks he’s hot shit. I think I can knock him down a few pegs.”
“You make him cry, I’ll buy you a drink when I get back,” Harvey offered, getting to his feet and straightening his jacket.
Louis stared at him, surprised. “R-really?”
Shit, that wasn’t his normal behavior. “I... Well yeah, why not?” Harvey tried to pass it off as anything but a friendly gesture. “Be a good laugh and I’m going to need a drink or ten when this day is over.”
He couldn’t stomach the genuine happiness on Louis’ face. “You’re on. I’ll make that kid cry so hard he’ll drown.” And he was off to the bullpen, leaving Harvey groaning in his wake.
Stop being nice to people, he told himself, that isn’t your thing. That’s Mike’s thing. Mike is the nice one; Mike is the one everyone adores because of his puppy dog eyes and heart that’s too big for his chest cavity. Sometimes he wished he could exchange the heavy, constant weight on his shoulders for Mike’s honest, too-big heart, but he’d never make the boy suffer like that, not even for a little while. He deserved more. Sometimes Harvey wondered if Mike deserved more than what he could give him. No he didn’t wonder, he knew. Mike, he reasoned with himself as he made the slow walk back to his office, deserved more than verbal abuse, neglect and less than five hours of sleep a week. Even if he was a fuck up, he was an endearing fuck up.
More importantly, he was Harvey’s endearing fuck up.
Something caught his eye when he entered his office, halting the mental tangent about Mike and whether a care bear should be named after him. It was in his peripheral vision, something only half seen, but it made his heart stop. He froze by his desk, afraid to turn and see what was there, or worse, what wasn’t. Because either there was a man standing by the windows, dressed in a faded, patched sport coat and jeans, with thinning blonde hair, or there wasn’t and he was losing his mind.
He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and looked up.
His office was empty.
“Donna?” he called.
“Yeah?”
“Did you let anyone into my office?”
She turned around at her desk and frowned. “No, why would you-”
“Nothing, it’s nothing.” He shook his head and waved it off.
“Harvey?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, heavy voiced and forceful. Donna didn’t press the issue, other than giving him a worried glance as she turned her attention back to world domination.
Harvey took a slow breath and went to his collection, shifting through the records until he found one that would ease his nerves. Or at least, he hoped it would. The sax and guitar hummed through the room as he settled down behind his desk and tried to breathe. He had an hour until they needed to leave for trial, he could keep it together until then. He closed his eyes and let the music distract him, his fingers tracing imaginary patterns on his thigh. He could do this. He’d done it the day his father had needed him most, he could do it again today.
Harvey had never been good at accepting he had a problem. Not as a child, not as a teenager, not as a twenty-something with nothing to lose and not now, as a god with a corner office and everything to lose. If you let people know you had a problem, they pressed until it hurt, until you were bleeding at their feet and begging for help. It had happened time and time again until finally Harvey had realized how disgusting people really were. He didn’t need them; not really, he was good at being alone.
Ok, no he wasn’t.
But he was an incredibly gifted faker.
A brilliant faker. He could mask his insecurities and childish fears behind a shark toothed smile and no one would be in any way wiser. Donna could see through his bullshit, but their unspoken agreement meant that she didn’t call him on it and he didn’t try to bullshit her in return. Jessica had never had to see through it, she opened her mouth and his bullshit wasn’t important. She made him better, made him try harder. He didn’t have to fake it in front of her, she’d know if he did and she’d make him fix it.
Scotty had called him a con man once, before storming out on him, after one of their many failed, pathetic attempts at love. A con man, incapable of being true, being honest, not lying through his teeth about what went on in his head. She’d hit him, actually, right across the jaw when he’d tried to cut her off at the door. He wasn’t sure which hurt more; the bruise on his jaw or the crack in his pride. And maybe she did have a point, maybe he was more of a con artist than Mike was, but it worked. It suited him, it kept him afloat, and it worked. No one got in, which meant no one hurt him when they left. Simple strategy of cutting off the problem, the infection, at the source.
So what if a little grief tried to show? Harvey Specter didn’t do grief.
What he did do was waltz into the courtroom like he owned it and put on a show worthy of Billy Flynn, and win before the opposition even realized he’d made a move.
And as the record ended and another shadow of a ghost caught his eye, that’s exactly what he intended to do.
*
Mike was staring at him.
“What?”
They were sitting outside the courthouse sharing their customary victory hotdogs from the cart on the corner. Well, Harvey was enjoying his, Mike was too busy staring at him open mouth like a little guppy to take part.
“Mike if there is something wrong with my face, I’d appreciate it if you just-”
“You made him cry.”
Harvey blinked. “I... yes?”
“You made a fifty two year old lawyer with over thirty years of experience, cry in open court.” Mike’s voice was breathless, slow and drawn out, like he was trying to make sure Harvey heard every syllable that fell from his lips as clearly as possible.
“Yes?” Harvey offered, a little concerned Mike had stopped breathing.
“He cried! Like actual tears!”
“I was there Mike I-”
“Do you have any idea how fucking cool that is?” Mike’s excited shout scared a few pigeons and a frazzled group of jury members.
Harvey stared at him in honest disbelief, mouth full of food, half a hotdog forgotten in his hand as Mike beamed at him, buzzing with awe and excitement. Mike hadn’t said so much as “good job” since, well, before the end of the Hardman incident. Harvey hadn’t seen that look of pure joy and awe in months. His mouth went dry, his skin felt hot, and it was all he could do not to stare back at Mike with the same open mouth, pathetic, guppy expression.
“I-” he began, but Mike cut him off.
“You’re back, Harvey! You’re back and Jessica is going to flip when she hears. The good flip, not the “I ought to beat your ass for this” flip,” he added quickly. “Well she might do that too, but your billables, Harvey think about how much they just shot up! And your reputation? Solid as it was before the shitstorm hit.”
“My reputation was fine thank you.”
“No it wasn’t.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Not really.”
“I will push you into traffic.”
The laugh he got in return was like fine champagne, bubbling in his chest. “God I missed you.” He shook his head. “I missed this.”
“I didn’t go anywhere,” Harvey said with a roll of his eyes, managing to swallow his mouthful of food and the emotional knot forcing its way up his throat.
Mike’s eyes saddened. “Yeah, you did. It’s ok, I did to.”
“And where did you go?”
“Douchebag alley.”
Harvey almost choked on his food. “You did not just butcher Harry Potter so you’d feel better about yourself.”
“It was a weak attempt I’ll admit.” Mike glanced at him, with a sheepish smile.
“It was an awful attempt. Now eat your hot dog or fork it over.” Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Making people cry takes a lot of energy.”
Whether their fingers lingered as Mike passed him his untouched food, Harvey wouldn’t say.
“So what’s the plan, then, boss?” Mike asked as Harvey polished off the second hot dog. “I got almost all the Winston paperwork finished before we left so I can start filing on your order and we’ll steamroll the bastards.” he chuckled, but Harvey didn’t reply. “Harvey?”
Harvey’s eyes were fixed on the crowd across the square, face pale, lips a thin tight line. He’d seen it again, another phantom: fair blonde hair, thin under an old yankees cap, patched elbows on a sport coat that didn’t fit, and old, wise blue eyes that were fixed on him. A saxophone case sat at his feet. He was smiling, lips moving in a slow wordles rhythm as he sang a song Harvey could no longer hear.
“Harvey?”
He couldn’t breathe. Harvey felt like he was drowning, his chest seizing up, hands growing clammy.
No.
It wasn’t real.
He knew it wasn’t real.
His father was waiting for him upstate. Not on a dirty New York street corner with his old sax at his side. His old sax was in Harvey’s closet. He hadn’t touched it in years out of fear.
“Harvey, you ok?” Mike’s hand curled around his wrist and the reverie was broken.
“What?” He said quickly, looking away from the other side of the square, where his father had been. A young musician stood in his place now, strumming an old six string and speaking words Harvey couldn’t hear. Mike’s fingers tightened, digging into the skin of his wrist and he gnawed on his lip the way he always did when he was worried or thinking too much or both. “I’m fine.”
He could feel Mike’s eyes on him, quickly working their way through his weakened, bullshit facade until he found the truth. It wasn’t hard for him, Mike remembered everything, and he knew Harvey better than Harvey did at times, or so Donna told him. He didn’t fight against the hold of his wrist, simply took a deep, steadying breath and got to his feet. Mike’s hand held tight until Harvey was standing and a heartbeat passed. Then he let go and got to his feet.
“Let’s go steamroll these bastards,” Harvey said with a grin, trying not to taste the bitterness in his throat.
Mike simply nodded and followed silently in his shadow, just like he always did.
*
Jessica wasn’t fond of the whole steamrolling idea.
“You made him cry.”
Harvey groaned and sank into a chair. “I thought making the opposition cry was a good thing? You’ve made judges cry, remember?”
“When I made the judge cry, it was out of empathy for my client. Not because I brutally destroyed them.”
“You make me sound like a horrible person you know that?”
“Sometimes you are a horrible person.”
“Hello pot-”
“Don’t even,” she warned and Harvey shut up. She held his gaze with a furious scowl but as the seconds ticked by he could see her start to soften.
“I did win though,” he offered. “And he only cried because... I don’t actually know why he cried...”
“He cried because you were a dick, called him on his bullshit, and that hadn’t happened in about 17 years.” Jessica replied with a weak smile. “He’s also a wuss.”
“So I’m not a horrible person?”
“You are.” But her smile was growing just a little bit fond.
“So why am I in trouble?” Harvey asked, trying to relax. “Other than the laundry list of reasons you so readily remind me of.”
“Darby wanted to know I could discipline you.”
“I am so not touching that one.”
She laughed. “Good, because then you’d be in trouble.” She sat down behind her desk and sighed, “Louis is going to be in a tizzy about the increase in billables.” She paused. “And... You and the boy did a good job, all things considered.”
“We always do, you just don’t trust us.”
“You’ve given me reason not to.”
“And now I’m giving you reason to trust us.” Harvey rubbed his temples. He could hear a saxophone. “You think I’m going to fuck you over Jessica? Me? Of all people?” She just raised her eyebrows. “I plead insanity for... well you know.”
“The insanity plea almost never works and you know it.”
“I was wrong,” he forced out, to Jessica’s surprise. “Are we done? Because I’m not finished humiliating these wusses.”
“Harvey-”
“No, don’t Harvey me. Either be angry with me or don’t, but don’t get that... pitying tone.” He got up and straightened his vest. “I can’t deal with that today Jessica.”
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Harvey.”
He just shook his head and took his leave, glad that she didn’t follow or shout for him to come back. Jessica knew when he wasn’t on his game, she knew it now, knew his mind was playing tricks and his heart was racing and his palms were sweating but she knew what to do and that was let him work. He turned towards his office, hoping Mike would be sitting on the sofa ready to get this case wrapped up with a pretty “go fuck yourself” bow.
Instead, Donna caught him by Louis’ office.
“Don’t.” She said.
“Why?”
“Just don’t.”
“That’s not an answer,” he said, shoulders slumping just enough for her eyes to note the movement and her brow to furrow. “Why can’t I-”
“Harvey?” A head of long brunette curls appeared in his doorway.
“Scotty.” His voice felt foreign in his own mouth, harsh on his tongue.
She looked from him to Donna and back. “Can we talk?”
Donna turned to face her, shoulders tense, ready to send her packing, but Harvey’s hands fell on her shoulders and she froze, taking a quick breath before stalking back to her desk. Once she was gone, Harvey led Scotty back to his office.
“What do we have to talk about?” he asked. He could still hear the saxophone, but his record player was still.
“Us.” She sounded so helpful it made him nauseous.
He leaned against his desk. “I thought we’d covered everything. Starting with how I’m a horrible person and ending with how you no longer want anything to do with me.”
“I never said that Harvey-”
“You did. Just before you threw a shoe at my head.”
She sighed. “I didn’t get to... Thank you. For going to Darby like you did.”
“You would have done the same for me,” he said. They both knew it was half a lie. He moved behind his desk and sat down, heart aching when he saw Mike had already dropped off the needed paperwork. God the boy was perfect some days. He needed to thank him, properly. And where the hell was the saxophone coming from?
“That’s it?”
He looked up at Scotty. “That’s what?”
“All our history and you leave it at that?” she snapped.
“Not today, Scotty, just-”
“It’s always not today. Why can’t we try again?” She asked. “Try it again and do it right?”
Why didn’t they? He enjoyed being around Scotty, well, not as much as he used to. She had changed. He had changed. It wasn’t playful banter and great sex anymore it was bitter rivalry and manipulative sex to distract from underhanded tactics brought back from the courtroom. That wasn’t love. That was hell, a special level of hell his immaturity and fear had created. And that alone wasn’t even it. He didn’t want to repeat mistakes. He didn’t want the same fights, the same comebacks, and the same bored looks.
“Because this isn’t Harvard,” he said softly. “This isn’t Harvard, Scotty and we aren’t kids anymore.”
She stared at him. “Excuse- We aren’t kids? You feel old? That’s why you-”
He stood. “We are old, Scottie. Hate to break it to you, but you're not 22 anymore and I’m not 24. This?” he gestured between them, “was meant for kids with nothing to lose. And I have put everything I hold dear on the line. I have risked everything, for Jessica, for Donna, for this firm, and for you.” Don’t say Mike, he pleaded with himself, whatever you do don’t say Mike. “And if this means we don’t speak again, then I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not prince charming or whatever it is you want me to be.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
There. That there. The attempt to goad him into a verbal sparring match that would end with them sprawled across his bed. It was a textbook manoeuvre and he fell for it every damn time, willingly even.
But something in him, a cold chill in his bones, the bitter taste in his throat, the twitch in his anxious fingers, said no.
“Sorry, Dana,” he said. “I have some growing up to do. It’s time you do the same.”
He didn’t touch her, didn’t offer a comforting hand in hers, or a light kiss goodbye. Step one of treating an infection, cauterize the wound, cut it off at the source, and don’t be gentle. The silence was painful, a heavy weight added to the burden already on his shoulders. She stared at him, wide eyed and disbelieving, her mouth opening and closing with an attempted argument but he’d been where she was before. Words wouldn’t come.
“Harvey the pup needs you,” Donna chirped from the intercom.
And for the second time that day, Harvey thanked his lucky star for her.
“Duty calls,” he said. He passed Scotty, moving across his office with assured ease, halting only when he reached the door and saw the figure by the window, smiling at him.
It’s not there.
Don’t turn around.
It isn’t there.
Keep walking.
“Harvey,” Donna’s hand grabbed for his when he reached her desk. “I’m proud of you.”
Oh god he was going to puke. He was actually going to puke at work. He hadn’t puked at work since he’d been an associate. Jessica still laughed at him about it.
He’d made one woman cry, another woman proud, one still hated his guts, there was a figure in his peripheral vision that wouldn’t go away and where the flying fuck was the saxophone coming from?
Oh and apparently the Puppy needed his attention.
It was like the floor beneath his feet had turned to ice. It was cracking, threatening to swallow him whole. Each comfortable little piece of his life was out of place, askew, ugly, and unwanted. He didn’t know what to do about Scotty. He didn’t know how to make it up to Jessica. He didn’t know what to do about Mike and the warm tingling in his nerves whenever those clever blue eyes fell on him. He didn’t know what to do. The sudden swell of sheer panic that flooded his senses, shook him from head to toe, blindsided him. This didn’t happen, he was fine, he was always fine, but no, not this time.
He was scared.
“Excuse me,” he said in a tight voice, yanking his hand out of Donna’s grasp and high tailing it for the partner’s bathroom before he passed out or puked on the carpet or, god forbid, started to cry. He locked the door behind him and gripped the sink counter, trying to breathe.
He was fine. He was ok. Nothing was wrong what could possibly be wrong? It was a fucking Thursday not the apocalypse. There was no phone call, no panicked voices, no belated visit to the morgue with Donna clutching his arm until he couldn’t feel his fingertips. There was no funeral to plan or family to call or houses to clean out, it was over, it was done, it was-
He looked up and his father stared back at him. He was ten years old with a worn out glove clutched to his chest as his father taught him to pitch. He was thirteen and terrified of girls and how was he supposed to talk to them? And there was his father laughing his wheezy, tired laugh. 16 and he was staring at his father with more pain in his heart than he’d ever known and no way to say it.
His father stared back at him and the deafening silence of a child’s loneliness settled in around him.
Come back, he begged.
Come back and fix this.
Please.
I’ll be better.
Come back.
“Harvey?” the door opened with a soft creak, Louis poking his head in.
“I locked the damn door for a reason,” Harvey barked.
“Jessica broke all the locks months ago, remember?” Louis asked, his voice steady and very unlike the Louis Harvey was used to. “Too many people sucking face in here?”
“Right...” Harvey tried to breathe, his chest tight and aching and something had wedged itself right in the middle of his sternum, pain shooting through his ribs and lungs. He wiped his face and righted himself, attempting to look professional while Louis just looked on.
“You want to-”
“No.”
Louis nodded. “Okay.”
Silence.
“Sorry,” Harvey offered.
“Don’t be.” Louis shrugged. “Life’s shit. I get it.”
“Do you?” Harvey didn’t believe him. Louis probably just thought it was left over bullshit from Jessica ripping him multiple new ones and Hardman existing and sure, yeah, he could pass it off as stress if he had to.
The look Louis gave him was sobering. “I was at the funeral, Harvey.”
Harvey stared at him. “You-”
“Yeah. You weren’t really yourself so I stayed out of the way.”
“You-”
“Donna, Jessica, a few others and I. We were all there.”
He remembered Donna and Jessica. They had sat with him at the mass, holding his hands, joining him in numb silence. He didn’t remember Louis, or anyone else really, other than them and his brother, who’d been white as a ghost and later had clung to him in the back room of the church and sobbed.
Louis sighed and dug in his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to Harvey. “Here, tears don’t suit you. And Donna’s going to come charging in here soon.”
Harvey laughed weakly and wiped the tears he hadn’t noticed off his face. “Thanks.”
“It’s ok to miss him.”
“Not when it gets in the way.”
“You aren’t Superman, Harvey.” Louis said firmly. “No one expects you to be.”
“Not even you?” He joked.
“Hell, I can’t stand the bastard. And you make a better Lois Lane anyway.”
A smile spread across Harvey’s face, his panic subsiding. “I’ll take that as the compliment I hope it is.” He paused. “Does that make Donna Superman?”
Louis giggled. “I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d probably like him better if she were.”
They shared a laugh at the thought of Donna running around as Superman. Harvey leaned against the counter, Louis doing the same next to him, taking back his handkerchief and tucking it away. The silence that followed should have been awkward but it wasn’t.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Louis said finally. “This is your shit, handle it however you see fit.” he cleared his throat. “But you’ve got a couple morons here willing to help. Consider taking them up on it.” He put a hand on the broad span of Harvey’s back, warm and steady through the woollen fabric of Harvey’s coat. “All us freaks have is each other.”
It took him a moment- “Oh my god you just Abe Sapien’d me.”
Louis laughed. “Go find Donna before she has a breakdown.”
“I get to be Red.” Harvey said, patting Louis’ shoulder.
“Fine with me, your temper is his mirror image.”
“Again, taking it as a compliment.”
“Well at least your ego is intact.” Louis said, waving him off. “Go. Go to thine fair maiden. And please God, don’t tell her I just called her that.” Harvey just raised an eyebrow in question and Louis groaned. “Wait till I’m out of the line of fire first.”
“Nope.”
Donna was waiting a few feet from the bathroom door, buzzing with agitation. Harvey expected a verbal assault, demands for an explanation. Instead, she scanned his face, sighed, and handed him a little silver flask.
“What’s this?”
She scowled at him and waved the flask, indicating that he should take it for face her wrath. So he did, took a quick swig and sighed at the burn of scotch against his throat. When he handed it back to her, she did the same, which made him smile.
“I thought booze was off limits today?” he asked, voice rougher than he’d like it to be.
“You look like death,” was all she said before stalking back to her desk.
Funny, he felt like it too.
Jessica waiting for him in his office wasn’t helping either. Nor was the chill under his skin.
“You could have handed over the case,” she said before he could utter a word. “I told you Louis could handle it. Your pup could have handled it, and you wouldn’t be having a break down here in the goddamned office.”
“I’m not having a-”
“Lie to me again, please; you’re so good at it.”
Harvey knew nothing he said would actually be taken into consideration, so he settled for a scowl. Jessica just scowled right back, unimpressed.
“Go home, Harvey.”
“No.”
“You have time. I’m sure you could catch a train-” He shook his head. “You could actually, Donna checked. There’s one leaving in thirty minutes.” He shook his head again. “And why not?”
Why? Well because he... Harvey paused. He didn’t have a reason for not leaving now. Not really. They had won the trial. Mike was maybe an hour away from finishing the needed paperwork. The next step wouldn’t come to pass for another few days. Donna had probably cleared the last few hours of his afternoon when he’d sprinted for the bathroom. Scotty was gone. What was stopping him from going home, opening a bottle, and drinking the ghosts away? Or finding someone to satisfy the need for physical comfort, mindless animalistic tendencies that meant nothing and never left scars?
Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement, the slow swaying of a man caught up in his own thoughts. His throat tightened and he clenched his hands into fists to keep his reaction in check. A coil began to tighten around his heart, the cold steel digging into it, cutting off blood flow, his lungs heavy under his ribs. The fear that had consumed him in the bathroom was returning, a soft voice, harsh and lined with age and drink and song, murmuring at the edges of his consciousness.
“Well?” Jessica asked again, sculpted eyebrow arched high on her forehead.
“I can’t.” That voice would follow him home. It would fill the empty spaces of his condo, echo off the walls and he’d drown in it. He’d drown alone and that terrified him. “I can’t, Jessica.”
Concern filled her eyes. She stood and stepped towards him, heels giving her that extra cherished inch or two of height, and stared him down. He could see her trying to find the crack, to find whatever was out of place in him. She shouldn’t have had to look so long, everything was out of place. His entire being was ugly, wrong, fractured from head to toe. He felt jagged, clammy, sick of his own voice. Sick of his hands and eyes and bated breath. Sick of how he was oblivious to everything that was important. Sick of how he was always too late.
And she could see it. Of course she could.
“Fine,” she said gently. “Fine. But pull it together.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
He hadn’t called her ma’am in years, not even in jest. She made to touch him, nothing more than a gentle hand on his arm, but stopped herself. A nod, a glance to Donna, and she was leaving, taking whatever was keeping Harvey upright with her. He collapsed into a chair and let out a ragged breath, covering his face with his hands, fighting to keep breathing as his lungs tightened and tightened and tightened some more until he felt lightheaded.
No. No, he was fine. He was fine.
Pull it together, Specter.
He ran on autopilot until nine p.m., ignoring anything in his peripheral, anything that moved in his vacant office, anything that sounded like a sax or muttered words. Donna and Jessica both let him be, let him feign his way through an impromptu meeting with a panicked client and charm his way through a conference call with Darby, who felt the need to check in with him to see he was behaving. God if that didn’t force him back into his normal facade of arrogance, nothing would have.
Nine thirty p.m. and Donna was packing her things. She usually left around five, unless he asked her to stay, but Harvey knew her well enough to know she’d planned to stay as late as needed. He was standing at his shelves of records, scanning them for something to fill the silence. But everything made his stomach churn, everything had a memory and the last thing he needed was more memories flooding his system.
“Careful, big guy. Don’t give yourself an aneurysm,” Donna said, coming to join him.
He rolled his eyes. “You pick something then.”
She smiled, an intimate little curl of her lips, and skimmed through the records until she found one she liked, a soft sound of approval accompanying her quick fingers. She hid the cover from Harvey and went to put it on the record player. “There.”
The guitar riff sounded like something from the seventies as Stevie Wonder starting humming through the speaker. It was upbeat, happy, and it shot through him, the way some music just did without any effort at all.
“Sign, sealed delivered-” Donna cooed along.
“I’m yours.” She smiled at him when he offered up the end of the line. Her fingers toyed with the volume dial, cranking it just a little louder. And she was pulling Harvey into her arms, not an embrace, nothing he couldn’t easily step out of, and led him in a cheesy little dance, ignoring his scolding look. Her right hand held his, her left resting on the back of his neck, warm and steady as they swayed and two stepped and twisted around his office. It was a blissful distraction, from the silence and the need for physical comfort, the kind sex didn’t give. For a moment, a blessed moment, things were normal. It was just another Thursday and they were just celebrating. They had nothing to hide from, not while Stevie serenaded them and Harvey sang along under his breath.
Donna missed a step in her stilettos and toppled onto the sofa, Harvey laughing as she swore and tried to kick off the shoes as the song ended and the next one picked up.
“Oh it’s my song,” She cried, jumping back up and giving a dramatic twirl as “Isn’t she lovely” and it’s peppy tune filled the office. She had danced to it with her Dad more time than she could count, or so she had told Harvey. They had danced to it at the Christmas party a few years back, her parents visiting as a surprise and Donna smiling brighter than Harvey had ever seen when her Dad pulled her onto the dance floor.
“Isn't she wonderful? Isn't she precious?” Harvey sang quietly as Donna laughed and pulled him back into the dance. “Isn't she pretty? Truly the angel's best. Boy, I'm so happy, we have been heaven blessed-”
“Dad sings it better,” She teased and he smiled. He certainly hoped her father sang it better.
They had moved onto “For Once in my Life”, both of them singing out of key, breathless and flushed, when Mike appeared at the door. He watched them, wide-eyed and grinning, as they danced, as if the office was empty and no one was there to see. Most of the office had gone home already, but they moved with such utter abandon that Mike was almost jealous of it. Harvey was laughing, his jacket and vest cast aside on the sofa, next to Donna’s shoes. The laugh lines around his eyes were creased and pulled tight, eyes watery from laughter, hair just slightly out of place. He was beautiful, full of life and power and- oh Harvey had spotted him.
“Mike?” he asked, voice raw.
“I can’t believe you two are having a party without me,” he said, stepping into the office and closing the door behind him. “I’m hurt.”
“It’s her fault,” Harvey said quickly, pointing at Donna, who scoffed and slapped at his hand. Harvey just giggled. He felt high, his chest loose, limbs light and the weight no longer resting on his shoulders. Mike was staring at him and he knew how ridiculous he must look, dancing like a fool in his office with his secretary. It was ridiculous. But he couldn’t see the ghost in the corner of his eye, couldn’t hear the murmured tones, or count the list of regrets. He was wrapped in music and Donna and Mike and it was a high he hadn’t known he needed. He didn’t know what to say though. He just stared back and hoped Mike wouldn’t laugh at him.
He didn’t laugh. He beamed and shed his jacket, tossing it onto the couch with Harvey’s. “Cutting in,” He said quickly, reaching for Donna before Harvey could process his movement. Donna just laughed and let him spin her around, leaving Harvey to drop onto the couch to catch his breath.
Watching them dance made him smile, the way Mike was eager to impress and please, the way Donna humored him and tried her best not to laugh at his lanky limbs and awkward steps. He noted the way Mike looked to him for approval, after dipping Donna with care or spinning her away with an outstretched arm only to reel her back in. Mike couldn’t dance, not really, it was all a mess of awkward limbs but he was so joyful it didn’t seem to matter. He looked so young, his face flushed with color, his eyes bright. Harvey wanted to reach out and touch him, feel the heat rolling off his skin, feel the fluttering pulse in his throat and the vibrations of his laughter humming through his chest. He wanted to hold him and soak in his youth and his vibrance and just cling to the fact that he was here, that he was real.
“Okay, boys,” Donna said after another song, breathless and red faced. “I am going home, to my bed, where you both won’t be able to embarrass me further.”
“Killjoy!” Mike called after her as she grabbed her things and vanished from sight, leaving them in the office, Mike doubled over as he tried to breathe and Harvey tried not to laugh at him.
“Well then,” Mike said when he straightened. “Now that the babysitter is gone.” He reached behind him and produced the flask Donna had shoved into Harvey’s hands earlier.
“Where did you-”
“Nicked it from her purse on my way in. You two were so busy getting down-”
“Don’t say that again.”
“Getting jiggy wit-”
“Or that.”
“Footlose?” Mike’s voice seemed to beg.
“Fine.”
“Getting footloose, I was able to grab it without her noticing.” He giggled and offered it to Harvey. “You looked like you needed it earlier.”
“Thanks,” Harvey reached for it, but with a wild grin, Mike stepped out of reach. “Mike.”
“Dance with me.” the boy challenged.
“No.”
“Oh come on, we both danced with Donna it’s only right.” He popped open the flask and took a swig, cringing at the taste. “God that’s strong.” The record kept spinning, the tunes softer now, not as hectic and upbeat.
“Just give me the flask.”
Mike waved it in front of him and stepped out of reach again and again until finally Harvey rose from the couch to chase him. The kid was fast, quick on his feet as he darted around the office and easily out of Harvey’s grasp. “Come on old-”
“Finish that sentence and I will strangle you with your stupid tie,” Harvey growled, taking one last swipe at Mike’s hands. Mike backed into Harvey’s desk and Harvey had him cornered, pinning him there with his hips as he snatched the flash from his hands and took a sip. It was almost full, the scotch a pleasant fire on his throat, burning warmth back through his body.
“Where were you hiding this?” He asked, frowning before taking another sip.
“Tucked it in the back of my slacks. Donna was too busy to notice.”
“Clever boy.”
Mike took the flask without asking. “Why thank you, old-”
“Don’t.”
Mike giggled and leaned into Harvey. “This is good.”
“It’s expensive, of course it is.”
“No I meant...” He swallowed thickly, as if he realized exactly what he had meant. “This.” he poked Harvey’s chest and looked away. “Us not... You know...”
Words. God, Harvey was starting to hate words and how jumbled they got and how nothing ever seemed to make sense. As the music faded, the song ending and the volume soft, he could hear the distant murmurings again, feel the chill start to work its way back into his bones. He took the flask and knocked back several shots before reaching around Mike and tucking it in the back of his slacks, effectively cutting off whatever he was saying.
“Come on,” he said, pulling Mike away from the desk. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to sit in silence and try to put his problems into words. He had ignored Jessica’s suggestion of therapy for a reason. He could handle it, he just needed a distraction. And what better distraction than having someone you adored in your-
Adored?
Harvey felt his throat tighten as he nudged Mike to the middle of the office and turned up the volume on the machine.
He adored him?
He adored Mike and his screw ups? Mike and his inability to listen, to not get attached, to be cruel when the situation called for it? He adored him?
Mike smiled at him, fond and warm, as Harvey stepped back within his reach. “What song did you pick?”
“It’s sort of on its own really,” Harvey muttered as the record crooned a soft melody, the tinkling of a piano sending the faintest chills across his skin.
It was a slow song, Stevie Wonder singing softly about someone special, someone who made him smile, made him stronger. Mike fit perfectly against Harvey, not questioning the ethics of slow dancing with his boss in his office. He hadn’t had enough to drink to pass it off as drunk behaviour, though Harvey would give him that out if he needed it. His body was warm against his, thin and light under Harvey’s hands. He took Mike’s left hand in his, guided his right to his shoulder, and led them in a slow almost waltz across the carpeted floor.
“You’re a good dancer,” Mike commented.
“You could use some lessons,” Harvey replied.
“At least I’m not standing on your shoes.”
“Do that and I’ll-” But Mike was smiling at him and the words died in Harvey’s throat as his associate sighed and rested his head against Harvey’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice. Harvey didn’t need to ask what for. “I... I screwed up.”
“We both did.” He tried to keep his voice from sounding just as small.
“Yeah, we did,” Mike pressed his face into Harvey’s shirt. “You think Jessica is ever going to let us off the hook?”
“Eventually. I mean how mad could she possibly be?”
“Famous last words.”
Harvey chuckled and spun Mike away, carefully reeling him back in and tucking him into his arms. “I’ll drag you down with me then.”
“No need to drag.” He looked up and caught Harvey’s confused frown. “What? He goes I go, remember when that was your sermon? Instead of betrayal and everything sucks and the British are coming?”
“Are you sure that was me? Sounds more like Louis.”
Mike laughed into his shirt. “Come on, no more pinning it on Louis. You were a jerk, and I... forgive you,” he said after a pause.
“Is this where you apologize for-”
“Let’s not talk about how I ruined everything and will never live it down and,” he groaned. “The only reason Rachel hasn’t killed me is she’s afraid of you.” Harvey held him tighter. “Let’s not talk about that.”
“Ok.”
They lapsed into silence as they swayed and two stepped and held each other tighter. Harvey closed his eyes and pressed his face into Mike’s hair, because nothing could make this more incriminating than it already was. Ok, they weren’t naked, so there were a few good things that could make it worse. But he needed this, needed someone close, someone to hold, so he didn’t have to listen to the voices and the regrets and everything he could have done and should have done. They danced and danced, sharing sips from the flask as they went, letting everything else fade into the background of unimportance. It was better than with Donna, Harvey realized. The way Mike clung to him, the way his heart raced in his chest and his breath hit Harvey’s neck was better. Harvey felt himself slipping into a pleasant numbness, his chest aching with a content warmth.
“I’m not angry with you,” he said into Mike’s hair. He felt him shift and knew he was listening. “I don’t think I could ever really be angry with you for long.”
“Could have fooled me,” came the muffled reply.
“You deserved some of it.”
“I did.” It was pained and regretful and it made Harvey’s stomach clench. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Mike’s temple, feeling him freeze in his grasp.
“I’ll stop being a jerk,” Harvey told him.
“N-not all the way. If you’re nice to me too much they’ll think you’ve had a stroke.” Mike’s body started to relax, his face hidden in Harvey’s shoulder.
“I knew you were a glutton for punishment, pup.” Harvey smiled and Mike shivered.
“Only for you.”
Silence consumed them, the record player slowing to a stop as they still swayed in each other’s arms.
“This is weird,” Mike said weakly.
“It is.”
But neither of them moved, other than Harvey reaching for the flask that was tucked back in Mike’s slacks. Mike’s eyes followed the muscles in his throat, the way his lips closed around the mouth of the flask. He could feel his gaze, hot and focused, his skin prickling at the sensation.
“You...” Mike began, taking the flask Harvey offered, still tucked under his other arm. He drank and started again. “You were supposed to take off today.” Harvey made a noncommittal noise. “Don’t lie to me about it. Eidetic memory, remember?” he giggled at his own words. “Why did you stay behind?”
“I couldn’t leave you.” He winced when he realized how sentimental it sounded. “I mean I couldn’t-”
Mike pulled back and frowned at him. “You’ve left me on my own before. why was this-”
“I needed to fix this.”
“Harvey-”
“It was my fault and I needed to fix it. Everything else could wait.” He tried not to think about how he’d let his father down again, just like the day he’d died. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t held him the way a good son would have. He’d done the same today, stayed with the firm, with Mike, hid from his demons just like every other day of the year. “He’d understand.”
He prayed he would. He prayed there’d be some forgiveness in there somewhere, too.
Mike’s hand touched his jaw, coaxed him into meeting Mike’s gaze. It was sharp and focused, his bright eyes fixed on Harvey’s, intent on nothing but him.
“Why didn’t you say something?” he asked softly.
“What?”
“Why didn’t you...” Mike sighed. “You could have told me. I already knew but if you’d said something maybe I could have-”
Harvey shook his head, even though the arm around Mike’s waist pulled him closer. “I’m fine.”
When he met Mike’s eyes again, the kid smiled. “You can’t lie to me.”
Mike held his gaze until Harvey felt something break. Something in his chest shifted and he felt his shoulders slump with a burden he felt slowly slip away. His legs were unsteady, Mike holding tightly to him to keep him upright. He couldn’t lie to him. He tried, time and again, but his lies fell weak on Mike’s ears, and on his own, and he knew that Mike had found each fracture in his being without any effort at all.
“I keep s-seeing him,” Harvey gasped out. “I thought I was going crazy.”
“I thought Grammy was in the kitchen two nights ago,” Mike said, rubbing at Harvey’s back.
“What’d you do?”
“Hid in my bedroom. Skipped dinner and everything. I couldn’t face her.” He shrugged. “I’ll have to someday.”
Harvey swallowed thickly. “I... I thought visiting was enough you know? Pay respects, say you're sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Harvey,” Mike said, pressing his face into Harvey’s neck.
“You weren’t there you don’t-”
Mike pulled back and cupped Harvey’s face in his hands. “You were doing your job. You were living. You were thriving. You tell me your father wouldn’t have been overjoyed at the fact his son was king of the world and I’ll prove you wrong.”
The air seemed thin as Harvey tried to breathe. “I should have been there.”
“You’d regret something even if you had been.” Mike pressed their foreheads together. “Take it from someone who has plenty of experience. There’s no right way to face the end.” He pulled Harvey closer and hushed the broken sound that left him. “Your dad’s proud of you. He’s got to be.”
“I could be better. I should be better,” Harvey said, lips moving against Mike’s neck.
“And you will be. That’s the whole point of life, numbnuts.”
A spluttering laugh left him. “Numbnuts?” Harvey asked, pulling back.
“Your ridiculous insecurities warranted the use of a silly nickname,” Mike said with a shrug and a smile.
Harvey nodded, his thumb rubbing at the back of Mike’s hand. He hadn’t realized he was still holding it, but it was grounding, kept him out of his head and steady on his feet.
“Does it ever get easier?” He asked.
Mike’s eye grew sad. “Nope. Never. You’ll be eighty and still feel like shit about this. You’ll always miss him. You’ll always be scared.” He looked away. “You’ll always hate yourself a little bit, even though that’s irrational. But it gets easier to manage. It just never goes away.”
“How do you manage it?”
“I had Grammy,” the kid’s voice hitched. “And now I guess... Well, I’ve got you.”
“Me?”
Mike nodded. “We can be lonely and miserable and completely nuts together.” There was a note of fear wrapped up in the sincerity of his tone, like he was afraid Harvey would reject him after all that, all they’d been through. His eyes scanned Harvey’s face frantically, looking for some sort of clue as to what he was thinking. “If... If you’ll have me. Or whatever, you know.”
Harvey held his gaze. “Completely nuts?”
“Completely.”
The office was silent, save for their breathing, and for the first time that day, the ghosts were absent. The saxophone wasn’t playing, the murmuring voices had left him, the figure no longer lurked in the windows. All the existed was Mike’s hand in his, the drumming of his pulse, the sharp intake of breath, the flush of his cheeks. That was real, nothing else.
Harvey nodded and pressed his forehead against Mike’s. “Okay.”
Mike blinked. “Okay?”
“Okay.” he wound his arms back around Mike for emphasis.
That delirious smile spread across Mike’s face. “Okay.”
He sighed, eyes closed, letting the air leave his lungs and the world around him settled. Mike’s lips pressed against his and he could feel the ghosts leaving, the phantoms taking leave of him, taking pity on him for the night. He knew they’d be back, some in the morning, some in a week, and some, like the saxophone, not until the worst days. But wrapped in Mike’s world, he felt sturdy, felt himself.
He felt at home.