Chapter Text
Mike has, for all intents and purposes, trained himself out of expecting anything at all when he comes to Harvey's place for any reason. So it is, of course, a shock when he comes over to drop off the files for their most recent defamation suit (as per Harvey request, as relayed to Mike via Donna) and Harvey opens the door with blood all over his white button up.
Mike can't do anything but stare at him for a few moments, eyes darting between the starkness of the blood on Harvey's shirt and the deep cut right above his eyebrow, still oozing. There's a slowly forming bruise on his opposite cheek, redness already beginning to fade into blue as his blood cells lose oxygen. Harvey, to his credit, manages to look unimpressed as Mike gawks at him, gaze lingering on his undone tie before he rolls his eyes and disappears back into his home. Mike scrambles after him, mind still going too fast to formulate exactly what he wants to say.
Are you okay? Does it hurt? Can I help you? How do I help you?
Who hurt you? Tell me, so I can hurt them twice as badly.
He takes a deep breath, exhaling as slowly and as quietly as he can. If he doesn't act objectively, Harvey won't tell him what happened, and he won't be allowed to help. Steeling his nerves, Mike shakes out his shoulders before rounding the corner that opens up into the Harvey's living space. His eyes briefly dart to the first-aid kit on the island, its own shade of red equally as stark against the neutral colors of the kitchen, and there's a metaphor there that Mike's too frazzled to place. Harvey is behind the island itself, rifling through the kit and pulling out things every so often.
Shoving a hand into his bag, he thumbs through the folders in it before sliding out the one Harvey requested, clearing his throat as he holds it up. Harvey looks up at him, eyes darting from his face to the folders before grunting in acknowledgement and indicating to the counter with a tilt of his head. Mike places it on the marble with a nod before stepping back and nervously fidgeting with his hands, still watching his boss closely.
It doesn't take long for Harvey to sigh in frustration, yanking his hands out of the kit and shoving one through his ungelled hair- something else Mike had missed, too startled by the blood. Without looking, he beckons Mike over with his hand, and Mike scurries over, always helpless to Harvey's whims.
"Did you need something?" the blond asks, careful with his wording lest Harvey kick him out before he can even attempt to help. For a few moments, it's like Harvey hasn't heard him, still staring at the kit in agitation. It takes Mike gently nudging his arm for him to look away, a mixture of pain and confusion swirling in his eyes when he sees Mike.
"Hmm? Fuck, sorry." Harvey's hand comes up to press at the eyebrow that isn't injured. "I have a concussion. Everything's kind of hazy, I guess." He glances back at the kit, "I was… trying to read a brief when the cut opened again."
Mike nods in understanding, though a quick scan of the room doesn't show any files anywhere. "I figured as much- about the concussion, I mean. Go sit down, I'll find the stuff for your eyebrow."
Harvey nods once without complaint- a true sign that he isn't feeling very well, and trudges over to the couch before all but collapsing on it, head tilted all the way back against the back. Mike smiles to himself in amusement as he rifles through the kit and pulls out everything he needs.
As he's walking over to the couch, he notices that the warm lighting of Harvey's condo is indeed dimmer than usual, to the point where the light is more of a hindrance than a help for his own unconcussed state. There is, however, just enough that the darkness of the blood is still visible against Harvey's skin, so Mike decides he can make do.
His boss's eyes are closed as Mike rounds the couch, coming to stand next to Harvey. He nudges the older's knee with his own and gets a grunt for his troubles.
"Room started spinning when I sat down." He mumbles. "The headache is allevi- Alle- it hurts less when I tilt my head back."
Mike bites down another smile and hums in understanding. At a quick glance, Harvey's head is tilted too far back to be able to comfortably clean the cut if he's sitting next to him, and standing between his legs feels too… intimate. So Mike heaves out a semi-exasperated sigh as he places the supplies next to Harvey's head before walking back around the couch to stand just behind Harvey's head, hovering over his face.
He offers his brightest grin to him when Harvey cracks one eye open to look at him, and his boss shakes his head minutely before closing it again (though Mike still sees the wince ripple across his features after he does). Taking the gesture as permission, Mike picks up an antiseptic wipe before running it across Harvey's cheek first, cleaning away the blood that'd dripped down from his eyebrow.
"So, are you ever going to tell me what happened, or should I just file this away into the "This never happened" cabinet in my mind?" Mike asks, trying for casual and knowing he falls just short, if Harvey's faintly amused snort is anything to go off of, delayed as it is. He gives Harvey time to formulate his response, moving on to cleaning blood away from the cut itself, murmuring apologies when the cloth brushed against the wound briefly.
"Boxing." Harvey mutters after a few minutes, just as Mike is ripping open a third wipe. "Didn't block in time." He cracks an eye open again, nose scrunching as his pupils absorb the little light around them. "Accident."
He says it like a reassurance, and Mike takes it as one, feeling the tenseness that'd built up between his shoulders relax. He nods once, making sure Harvey can see it before redirecting his attention back to the cut above his eye.
"This is going to sting." He says quietly, and watches Harvey's body tense up instinctively, even as he hums in acknowledgement. To his credit, he manages to tamp down his flinch when the wipe first touches the cut at the edge closest to his nose bridge, and keeps quiet all the way up until Mike reaches the worst of it, hissing quietly at the touch.
"Fucking shit," Harvey curses, jerking his head away from Mike's hand. "Be a little gentler, rookie."
"Sorry," Mike murmurs back, "It's not on purpose." I would never hurt you on purpose.
Harvey huffs, but it's not annoyed. "I know, kid." He says, quieter, and Mike knows he understands. "I know.
Mike leaves it at that, dabbing away the last of the blood around his cut before placing the wipe on the little pile he's made and picking up a bandage. As he's meticulously peeling one corner of the paper layer protecting the adhesive away, he remembers something he learned about their creation a long time ago.
"Did you know," He says, positioning the gauze over the middle of the cut and holding it there gently as he slowly applies one half of the square bandage, "that the modern adhesive bandage was created because a man loved his injury-prone wife so much?"
Harvey gives a soft hum in response, eyes still closed, so Mike continues as he applies the other side of the bandage to his skin. "Yeah, she would often injure herself while cooking, so he used adhesive from his own company and some cotton from a cotton buyer and bam!" He smoothes his thumb over the bandage once he's finished, secretly proud of himself for getting the sticky parts to sit on Harvey's skin with minimal wrinkling. "He wanted to make her something that she could apply without help, since there wasn't anything similar at the time."
There's no immediate response from Harvey, so Mike takes his silence as his cue to start cleaning up the mess, tossing bloodied wipes and bandage packaging away in the trash under Harvey's sink. It's as he's making his last trip to the trash, a stray piece of packaging clenched in his palm that Harvey mumbles something too quietly for him to hear. Mike does an about face and steps closer to him, leaning down just a little.
"What was that?"
"I said that I understand him."
Mike looks down at Harvey with a skeptical expression, not really caring that Harvey can't see him. "How so?"
He watches as Harvey's eyes open, the brownof his irises still a little clouded from his concussion. He squints against the low light again, but still holds Mike's gaze.
"I would create something entirely new if it meant your life would be easier too."
The sincerity of his words throws Mike off entirely, and he's left staring down at his still slightly-out-of-it boss with his jaw slack. Harvey's eyes slip closed after a moment, and before long Mike hears his breathing begin to even out, like he'd been waiting to say that before falling asleep. Mike stares at him for a few moments longer, unabashedly taking the chance to slowly memorize the details of Harvey's face for the millionth time. In a burst of bravery, he steps a little closer before leaning down and pressing a featherlight kiss to the top of the bandage, just like his grandmother used to when she wrapped up his scrapes as a kid.
"Feel better soon," He murmurs, "I won't be able to pick up your slack forever."
When he pulls back, he notices Harvey's face is less pinched, having smoothed out into something a little more relaxed. Smiling to himself, Mike passes by the trash can one more time to throw away the final piece of evidence that this ever happened before slipping out the door, locking it behind him with the key he keeps forgetting to give back, only ever used in situations like this.
Oh well, he thinks as he rides the elevator down to the lobby, Just another reason to come back another day.