Chapter Text
„I already have what I want. Which is knowing that every time your phone rings, you’re gonna ask yourself: Is this the call where you find out that the guy who‘s in here for you is never coming out? Ring, ring, counselor. Ring, ring.”
Harvey got the call on a Thursday afternoon in May, during an important meeting.
At that time, every meeting had been important, because Mike's conviction had swept away the firm's staff as if a giant wave had collapsed on top of them. Jessica, Louis, and he had spent every free minute trying to prevent the clients from being swept away, so they wouldn't drown under the force of the wave.
Nevertheless, contrary to what he had promised Jessica, Harvey had not devoted even half of his time and attention to this rescue.
Nevertheless, Harvey had driven out to Danbury, the prison where Mike had been sentenced to 24 months, nearly every day during that time.
Nevertheless, Harvey no longer turned off his cell phone, not during meetings, not during client meetings, not during meals, not at night. He had taken meticulous care to ensure that the battery was charged and that he had reception at all times.
It had been an unnecessary measure, stinking of desperation, because if the call Frank Gallo had threatened to make had come, it would already have been too late.
But Harvey had convinced himself that he was doing it to remain available for Mike in case he needed anything or had to tell him something.
However, most of the conversations they had had during Mike's first days in prison had been fights.
Harvey didn't hold it against his friend that he was angry with him, reacted defensively, insulted him, and lectured him as if Harvey couldn't do anything right, whether he acted or not, spoke or remained silent.
Mike's anger was directed at the right person.
He was the reason Mike was in prison: not only had he hired him and thus made his fraud possible, but, even worse, he had missed the chance to save Mike from conviction. If he had presented himself as the guilty party in time, Gibbs would have been delighted to impale Harvey's head on a spear and let Mike off with a slap on the wrist.
Then the boy would now be happily married to the woman he loved, perhaps even with the chance to really study law and eventually become a real lawyer, just as his brilliant mind and impeccable character deserved.
But fate, that damn bastard, had once again let Harvey get away with it, burdening someone who was, in the truest sense of the word, more innocent than the overwhelming majority of people Harvey had ever met.
At almost 30, Mike was definitely no longer a child, but Harvey had realized over the years that this made no emotional difference to him: he saw Mike grow older and more experienced, witnessed him wipe the floor with opposing attorneys from renowned law firms, find loopholes in the law from 1879 that probably weren't even familiar to the Supreme Court anymore, or settle cases worth millions, while effortlessly exchanging movie quotes with Harvey, witnessed him learning from his mistakes and making decisions based on his own principles — and even as Harvey noticed all of this, he couldn't help but see, in part, the young, clumsy, confused puppy who, despite his sharp mind, always managed to maneuver himself into the most dire situations.
It didn't matter how smart, competent, or capable Mike was, just as it didn't matter with younger siblings or, at least Harvey thought so, one's own children as they grew older and developed their own personalities: Mike Ross would forever be someone he felt responsible for and someone he wanted to protect.
That's why it had been such a punch in the gut to find Mike injured on his very first visit.
Learning that Frank Gallo was in the same prison as Mike had made Harvey realize immediately that this wouldn't be the last wound Mike would have to endure because of him — again.
Because fate, he hadn't said it clearly enough yet, was a merciless bastard.
Or damn good at making people suffer as cruelly as possible, because Harvey would give up every suit in his closet and every car he had ever driven to take Mike's place and go to prison himself to take on Gallo.
Instead, he had to watch helplessly as someone he cared about, someone he was responsible for, had to pay for his sins — it was such a delicate torture that Harvey would pay respect to it if he respected anything other than himself.
Unfortunately, Gallo had recognized the elegance of this punishment, and his threat at that fence had dug itself into Harvey's mind like a parasite.
That's why he put up with every accusation from Mike, every outburst and every insult: because he deserved them.
And because he was able to read Mike like perhaps only Rachel could.
He couldn't admit to her that he was terribly afraid, because he didn't want to worry her, knowing that their relationship was already fragile enough because he had decided to go to prison.
Of course, Mike didn't say it to Harvey either.
Admittedly, he wore his heart on his sleeve and had a much broader, almost self-destructively open approach to his feelings, but as angry, frustrated, and frightened as he had been due to the threatening situation, he would never have sat down opposite Harvey, looked him in the eye, and said: Harvey, I'm afraid I'm going to die here. I'm afraid I'll never get home.
But Harvey had seen it; in Mike's tense shoulders, in the way he seemed to constantly suppress the urge to look behind him, even in the visiting room, heard it in his sharp words and how little it took for him to start raising his voice.
Harvey had never made a secret of not having a particularly complex emotional life, and the jokes about his heart not taking up much space in his chest were usually more serious than many people wanted to admit.
But seeing Mike like that, his wide, blue eyes not filled with worry or overwhelm, but with genuine fear... that made his heart ache.
With every conversation and every meeting, every attempt to make it better for Mike and every failure, destroying his hopes, more splinters were added that torn him apart from within.
Harvey had spent decades forging his mask in fire, casting his armor from iron, and raising his walls to indestructible heights to remain untouchable, invincible; and then this confused, brilliant kid with his suitcase full of weed had stumbled into his interview and through his wall, tearing down Harvey's mask and perforating his armor with a sincerity and persistence like drilling holes in a wall to let sunlight into a room.
But feelings weren't light and warmth, they were invisible weakness, disguised as something every idealistic fool convinced himself wasn't the case.
All of them were wrong.
Harvey's feelings for Mike, ironically, because it was Mike who had encouraged him to be more empathetic right from the start, were the ultimate proof: Mike was his weak spot.
And Gallo sensed this weakness like a shark sensing a single drop of blood in the endless ocean.
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Ring.
Ring.
That was exactly how long it took Harvey to grab his cell phone and give his client an apologetic look, ignoring his sulky expression completely.
//You have a call from Danbury State Prison.//
Thump-thump.
As small and unused as Harvey's heart usually felt in his chest, at that moment it had beaten twice at once.
//Do you want to...?//
“Yes, I'll accept the cost,” the words escaped from his mouth.
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––
His heart, greedy traitor, had immediately charged him for the extra effort by skipping two beats.
Harvey couldn't remember exactly what words the warden had used to deliver the news.
Client. Incident. Unfortunately. Unknown attacker. Stabbing weapon.
Harvey had only thought that the warden obviously knew his reputation and had called him personally for that reason. He probably hoped Harvey would spare him, but it didn't work that way.
Harvey Specter didn't work that way.
The conversation had lasted less than two minutes.
He couldn't remember how he had ended the meeting and arrived at the prison — looking back, he believed he had simply turned around without saying a word, accompanied by a long whistling sound in his ears and the jackhammer in his chest that made it difficult for him to breathe and had wrapped his whole world in cotton wool.
During the drive, he had obviously managed to get to his car and give the driver the address, but his vision had narrowed to a bare minimum, so he probably wouldn't have even noticed if they had driven to another state.
At the edge of his consciousness, the part that wasn't numb but was operating on autopilot and concerned with survival, he realized that he must have had another panic attack at that moment.
He had only missed it because he had focused the waves of adrenaline on getting to Mike as quickly as possible.
This time, he had to admit to his messed-up psyche, he could at least acknowledge the trigger for this episode as appropriate.
Once he arrived at the prison, he was able to breathe again and be himself, if you could call it that when you deliberately headed toward something that would tear you apart.
He was taken straight to the prison infirmary. The area was specially guarded, located in a different part of the building from the cells and common rooms for prisoners, and largely windowless.
He had expected to yell at someone, complain, even threaten violence, because he had mentally rehearsed this walk since Gallo's threat.
That was part of the preparation; going through all the scenarios mentally, especially the worst ones. Perhaps Harvey had also wanted to punish himself a little.
To his own surprise, however, he remained silent the entire way, paying no attention to any of the guards, the doctors and nurses in the infirmary, the clinically sterile environment, and certainly not to the warden's wordy explanations until they reached the bed where Mike lay.
A doctor with long, red-brown hair and similar eye color was waiting for them there.
There was a bed next to it and a curtain, but it was drawn because there was no one else in the small, windowless room. Since it wasn't a prison for felons, Harvey couldn't imagine that the beds were often filled to capacity.
“My name is Holly Shore, I'm the doctor in charge,” she introduced herself to Harvey, and he only looked at her because he was afraid to look at Mike, who was obviously unconscious but alive.
He could hear it, even though the steady beeping of the heart monitor wasn't ringing in his ears, but in his chest, both comforting and nerve-wracking.
“Are you family?”
Harvey wanted to say yes.
He was too young to be Mike's father, but he could easily pass for an older brother. Besides, it was the truth, whether it was written in their DNA or not.
“His lawyer,” the warden interjected. “You can surely confirm what I assured Mr. Specter—that Mr. Ross is going to make a full recovery.”
Harvey ignored the man and stared into the doctor’s friendly face.
She must have been about Mike's age and appeared to be at least as idealistic as he was, but that didn't make him make the mistake of questioning her competence.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“Will he?” Harvey asked, his voice rough from not having used it in so long.
The seconds until the doctor answered him seemed to stretch into an eternity, during which his heartbeat became the loudest sound in the room.
Thump.
Thump.
Shore nodded. “Yes, he's not in critical condition anymore.”
Not anymore.
Thumpthump.
“He had a dislocated shoulder and a few bruises, so we were able to take care of that right away. The stabbing wounds were the bigger problem.”
Wounds.
Plural.
Harvey breathed.
In.
“Cuts on his thigh and near his collarbone, they're superficial. The stab wound was on his left side, and it was quite deep. We had to operate to stop the internal bleeding and stitch up the wound. Luckily, the knife just missed his kidney, otherwise we'd be having a different conversation right now."
Shore didn't sugarcoat anything, which Harvey appreciated as he breathed.
Breathe.
He had to exhale.
Out.
“He lost a lot of blood, so he'll be getting some from us, along with an IV and something to help him sleep. I recommend that he stay here for at least a week for observation, so he can rest and keep the wound clean.”
In.
The warden left the decision to the doctor, and Harvey nodded mechanically.
Out.
“We'll take good care of him,” Shore promised, as if to comfort him, before returning to her work and silence fell over the steady beeping.
The warden cleared his throat.
“Well, that's settled then. I'll leave you two alone for a moment, as long as you need, then Tom will take you back to...”
Harvey's gaze shot up and pierced through the older gentleman like a knife through butter.
“I'm staying.”
The finality of his tone made the warden roll his shoulders as if he had been punched in the neck.
“Mr. Specter... actually, we're not allowed to have visitors here at all, it's against the rules. And even if we were, we have visiting hours...”
His words died away under Harvey's piercing gaze, which made it clear that he would only leave the room if he was carried out by force.
“Fine, because you're his lawyer, we can make an exception in this particular case.”
“You can,” Harvey agreed, taking a step toward the man and still staring at him as if he had a weapon in his hand.
He was skilled at this: intimidating someone with a glance and the power of his tone, without even having to raise his voice, acting as if he owned the place from the moment he set foot on the property.
“And you'd better think very carefully about the consequences if you don't make an exception for me, Mr. Grant.”
The warden grimaced. “If you're implying...”
“I'm not implying, I'm stating. Only this once.” Harvey paused to let the words sink in.
“Here's what's going to happen: I'm going to stay, but if I decide to leave, I'll come back whenever I choose. When I'm not here, there will be a security guard who hasn't been bought off by Frank Gallo."
“We have no evidence that...”
Harvey raised his hand so abruptly and close to Grant's face that he flinched.
He couldn't argue about something he knew as surely as his own name.
“If you can't do that, I'll pay for private security. I don't care how it fits with the rules or what else you have to do to keep him safe, but if Mike gets so much as a cough while he's resting, I promise—not imply—that you'll need the next bed in here.”
Grant clenched his teeth so hard it almost drowned out the heart monitor, which was a talkative witness to their conversation.
"There's no reason to treat me like an enemy, Mr. Specter. I sincerely regret that this happened, but it can't be helped when you put criminals together. And then all these deals you're trying to make..."
“Mike may have been convicted, but he's not a criminal,” Harvey said sharply, turning away because he had nothing more to say, but also because he wasn't sure how long he could play the intimidating, untouched lawyer before the tightness in his throat made further words impossible.
“If you're really sorry, then do what I said. Now excuse me.”
It sounded like the command it was.
Grant didn't reply, but turned on his heel and left the room.
Harvey had stepped to the edge of the bed, bringing Mike's left hand into view.
He was wearing a plain gray cotton shirt that only reached his forearms. The IV line was on the other side, but Harvey could see red streaks and blue discoloration on Mike's pale skin.
The marks were shaped like fingers.
Harvey stood there for a few seconds, not daring to move a muscle or even finally look up. He delayed the inevitable, as if somewhere inside himself he had the strength to bear the sight if he just listened to himself long enough.
Then he remembered that he was not worthy of the mercy of further delay and forced himself to look up abruptly.
Mike's face was so pale that it only stood out from the pillow because dark shadows hung under his eyes like craters after a meteorite strike. Harvey had seen them grow darker and deeper with each visit, unable to do anything about it.
Even though he was asleep, his expressions seemed tense, as if his subconscious was fighting against the sedation so that he would not be defenseless against any dangers.
Harvey swallowed hard and slowly moved his eyes further down; not hurriedly, fleetingly, to get it over with, but meticulously, to magnify the wound within himself, because he knew he deserved it much more than the kid lying in bed in front of him.
The circular neckline of the shirt revealed welts on his neck that could be mistaken for scratches, but Harvey knew from his training that they were caused by being held too tightly. A cut ran across his left collarbone, partially hidden by a bandage and partially by the shirt collar.
Beep.
Beep.
The heart monitor mockingly accompanied Harvey's eyes as they wandered to Mike's right arm, which was also covered in bruises.
This was where the IV had been inserted and connected to supply him with blood and nutrients.
All the needles in Mike made him feel sick, but his gaze continued to wander.
Mike's body from the waist down was hidden under the blanket, making him look frighteningly young and lost in the large bed. This impression was reinforced by the cable that protruded from under the blanket on the right, connecting Mike's body to the heart monitor that had been following Harvey's pitiful inspection the whole time.
At least it was doing its job.
Harvey paused for a moment, staring at a spot somewhere above Mike's left side, until he decided to raise his hand.
Beep.
Beep.
The beeping warned him that what he was doing here was intrusive, that it was none of his business, but Harvey felt an insurmountable urge to endure his punishment to the end, without skipping a beat, if he wanted to have even the slightest hope of ever forgiving himself.
So he ignored the monitor and lifted the blanket just enough to see Mike's body underneath.
The shirt was loose, but you could still clearly see the bulge of the bandage underneath, where Gallo must have driven the knife into Mike's body.
The wound was not visible, presumably there was no blood, just a sterile, snow-white bandage under the shirt, but the thick padding told Harvey enough about the severity of the wound.
He carefully covered Mike again, even feeling an irrational urge to wrap the blankets around him up to his neck, as if that would miraculously keep any future threat away from him.
Harvey's other hand wandered to his own face and covered it for quite a while; he pressed his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose, then pressed against his closed eyelids until he saw strange white shapes and took several shaky breaths, stopping himself from simply smashing the beeping witness to his weakness against the nearest wall.
Beep.
Beep.
‘You can kiss my...‘
“Mister Specter?”
Harvey lowered his hand and looked toward the door.
Shore was standing there, carrying a chair into the room with both hands.
“I hear you're staying with us for a while. I thought you might not want to be standing up all the time.”
Harvey would have done so, because there was indeed no seating in the room, consistent with the fact that there were usually no visitors here.
“Thank you,” he said flatly, taking the chair from the doctor and placing it on Mike’s left side of the bed. There was too much equipment, too many cables and tubes hanging on the other side.
“You're welcome.” Shore gave him a sympathetic look. “He was briefly conscious after the anesthesia, but I wanted him to sleep, so I gave him a sedative. I think it could take two to three hours for him to wake up.”
“That's fine.”
Harvey would wait longer if necessary.
He would waited as long as it would take.
“I see. We have a coffee machine and a small kitchen down the hall. There's at least some fruit, a microwave, a refrigerator...things like that.”
“I don't need anything.”
She didn't comment on his answer, and if she was bothered by his lack of conversation, she didn't let it show. She nodded again and finally left him alone, closing the door behind her, which had been wide open, just enough so that it remained slightly crack open.
Presumably, all the doors to the patients' rooms had security locks and were not allowed to be closed, so Harvey appreciated her gesture.
As soon as he saw the doctor disappear into the corridor through the glass pane in the upper part of the door, Harvey slumped down in his chair as if chains had been wrapped around his neck and were pulling him toward the floor.
He hunched his back and placed his elbows on his knees, his hands folded as if in prayer at the level of his mouth, with his index fingers in front of his lips.
He waited like this.
During the first hour, Harvey didn't bother to take off his coat or unbutton his jacket, even though it was uncomfortable on his shoulders the whole time.
He didn't read any messages or answer any emails; he just sat there staring ahead, sometimes at Mike, sometimes through him, without blinking.
Sometimes he followed the lines on the monitor and tried to remember what the different lines stood for. In between, he counted how many seconds passed between each beep—about twice—and pictured the horror if that sound were to suddenly stop.
Sometimes he stared at the IV drip, which spit out fluid like a poorly closed faucet, without a hint of hesitation.
Two devices, like two conscientious soldiers, provided for and monitored Mike, thereby accomplishing so much more than Harvey had since Mike's first cursed day here.
At least the two of them were reliable.
One would assume that this would be the perfect opportunity for well-organized thoughts, logical considerations about next steps, a thorough assessment of the situation, similar to a case where the goal was to anticipate the opponent's plans and devise an appropriate strategy.
However, Harvey's mind was like a blank screen onto which colors were randomly thrown with each passing minute, blending into one another, occasionally forming a clear line, but then sinking back into chaos and blurring until the screen was redrawn and everything started all over again.
In the second hour, Harvey used the bathroom opposite Mike's bed, splashing water on his face for so long that he wondered if he was trying to drown himself, and when he returned, he took off his coat and hung it over the chair.
His cell Phone was vibrating in his pocket.
Although he was pretty sure he wasn't allowed to make phone calls here, he answered it when he sat back down.
//Harvey. You finally picked up.// Jessica sounded angry, though she carefully concealed it under the natural authority in her voice. //It's already evening. I've called you three times.//
“I didn't notice.” Neither the advancing hour nor the calls. He had probably felt the vibration in between, but it hadn't seemed important enough to him to move.
//Where the hell are you? Marius Becker has left me a pretty angry message.//
“I see.”
He couldn't care less.
//Oh yes. He says you received a phone call during your meeting and then just left without saying a word. He waited for you for half an hour.//
“He'll survive.”
He's not in critical condition anymore.
Harvey brushed off his goose bumps.
//But our firm might not if we lose Becker and his consulting firm. Where did you disappear to so urgently?//
“To Danbury. Gallo attacked Mike and seriously injured him. He's in the infirmary because he had to have surgery.” Harvey had no energy to talk his way out of it and saw no reason not to lay his cards on the table.
Silence.
//How is he?//
Jessica sounded calm, collected, with a hint of warmth in her voice, while Harvey filtered as much emotion out of his voice as he could.
“The doctor says he'll be fine. He's not awake yet.”
//I see. Now I get it.//
“If you really do that, you'll understand why I'm taking the rest of the week off. I'll write to Donna right away so she can reschedule all my appointments.”
//Harvey...// Jessica began warningly, but less sharply than at the beginning of the conversation.
“Don't.”
//No, I will. I understand that you're worried and want to be there for him, but if Mike needs to sleep and rest, you're not going to be any help to him anyway.//
“If I had been there for him, he wouldn't have ended up here in the first place,” Harvey said, not bitterly, not full of self-loathing, but with an expression of resignation that it was the plain truth.
//That's nonsense. Mike's in prison, where you can't prevent bad things from happening. It's unfair, but it's the reality he chose. It's also reality that we need you here. I need you."//
“And you know I would do anything for you and the firm,” Harvey replied, who at that moment would usually feel a strong sense of duty, but that fuse had burned out with the call this afternoon.“I've been trying to do that the whole time, just like I've been trying to protect Mike in here or get him out, and this is the result. You can't play for two teams at the same time; sometimes you have to make a choice. If you want to fire me for insubordination, put the termination letter on my desk and I'll sign it for you next week.”
Harvey wouldn't deceive Jessica or string her along, but neither could he continue to be torn between two responsibilities, both of which were important and undeniably his, but one of which carried so much more weight that he should have made this decision before a steady beeping had to remind him.
Once again, there was silence on the line for quite a while.
“I'm sorry,” Harvey said quietly, ignoring the tightness in his chest.
It wasn't easy for him to let down two of the people who meant the most to him in the world on the same day, but the universe seemed to take sadistic pleasure in putting him in this position.
//It's okay, Harvey.//
“Is it?” Although Harvey stood by his decision, it didn't feel right.
//Yes. I understand that you have to set priorities that you can live with. If I were faced with that choice when it came to you, I'd likely give the world and the firm the middle finger too.//
That remark wasn't enough to make Harvey smile, but at least it made the corners of his mouth twitch.
“Thanks, Jessica.”
//Thank me if Louis and I manage to keep a firm in business long enough for you to walk into next week. Let me know if you need anything. And give Mike my best wishes for a quick recovery.//
“All right,” he said, though his voice sounded dangerously weak.
Luckily for him, Jessica hung up, and Harvey could return to the silence, to the lines, Mike's steady breathing, the steady dripping, and the beeping.
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