A/N: Was going to try and update some of the wips building, but decided to use the day for a fic dump. I am slowly posting some of my LJ fics here on ff. net. So, if you've already read it, sorry and if you haven't – then hopefully you will enjoy.

I wrote this before seeing any episodes of suits (I kinda fell in love with it with fanmade videos and clips alone) so discrepancies may occur (like the fact that I thought Mike would be someone who arrives not only on time, but early too. I know better know. Lol)

I've tried to tidy it up a bit (spelling, grammar etc) but most of my stuff is never beta'd, so there may still be mistakes.

Calls From Crappy Apartments: A Denial Easier Than A Truth

Summary: He expects to get these type of calls from his grandmother's nursing home, not crappy old apartments in areas of questionable nature. But this wasn't his Gram they're talking about, it was Trevor. "Mike?" the voice says, slurring. There's just a hint of worry to the drawn out words. "I think I'm dying."
Characters: Mike, Harvey, mentions of Trevor
Warnings: minor character death, some swearing, mentions of drug use
Rating: T, for some potty mouth
Disclaimer: I do not own Suits or these characters. No infringement intended

He gets the call around 10:00 while he's still at Pearson Hardman. He's working late because Harvey wants the case files he's been working on in his office first thing in the morning. He expects to get these type of calls from his grandmother's nursing home, not crappy old apartments in areas of questionable nature. But this wasn't his Gram they're talking about, it was Trevor.

"Mike?" the voice says, slurring. There's just a hint of worry to the drawn out words. "I think I'm dying."

Pen drops from his fingers. He watches it roll across the desk.

"Trevor?" Mike asks, although he already knows. He's not heard from him in a few months since the last fiasco. As far as he'd known, he'd skipped town. "Where are you?"

Trevor manages to spit out a address. It's staccato and painful to listen to.

"What have you taken?" Mike asks, paperwork already abandoned. He stands abruptly, phone tight against his ear.

The line disconnects harshly and Mike swears as he instantly tries to call back but only gets an endless ringing tone.

He's off then, like lightening across the open office. He ignores the elevator in favour of the stairs, legs taking two, three at a time, body finding it hard to keep up with his stumbling legs. When he gets to his bike, his fingers fumble with the lock until it snaps open and then he's peddling with enough force to keep a small iota of a wind farm going.

He skids to a stop in front of the run-down apartment Trevor is staying at and lets the bike drop to the floor as he rushes in. He looses his helmet somewhere between the opening to Trevor's floor and his door.

"Trevor!" He shouts, banging on the door a few times.

There's no response though and Mike tenses as he throws his right shoulder against the door. It takes a few hits before it finally gives and he half stumbles in as pain spikes down his shoulder and across his back.

"Dammit, Trev," Mike mutters, trying to straighten himself. "You better be okay."

But he's not. Mike can see that straight away.

Trevor's lips are distinctly blue. A needle is still sticking out of his arm.

Mike allows a panicked 'fuck,fuck, fuck' to fall from his lips. But he's there, right by his side only a second later, knee's hitting the floor painfully.

It's pretty obvious what he needs to do really, but he's not thinking clearly and fingers stumble over Trevor until he finally comes to his senses and proceeds to bend over him and breathe into his mouth. In the gaps of compressions he falls into his own litany of a prayer.

"Don't do this Trevor," Mike begs, breaths too fast. A need to babble is building. It's either that or cry. "You can't do this. I need you, man. Please."

He's sure Harvey would disagree. It was hard to explain – sure, he needed Trevor like a hole in the head. But he still needed him. Trevor wasn't there from the beginning, but he was there from the middle, when he needed him and things had changed since then. He knew that, but the middle was still there, in his heart, it was part of him now... and that meant there would still be a part of him raw, vulnerable and exposed. And Trevor had seen him through it. Trevor had been the kid who had stood in front of him and taken the hits, picked him up, dusted him off and grinned everything away. He was also one of the main reasons why Mike was still alive today. Trevor, at the age of fourteen had kicked the shit out of grown man, for him. He'd saved Mike's life. Trevor had been a protector.

But somewhere down the line, their roles shifted. Mike matured, Trevor did not. Priorities changed and a distance grew. Mike didn't really need Trevor like that any more but the fear that he might was always there. When Harvey had intervened between him and Trevor, hell, from when he gave him his first opportunity back when he found himself accidently securing an interview, he'd thought he finally might might have another lifeline but he wasn't so sure now, not since the mock trial.


Trevor startles with a slight shudder as some oxygen is suddenly sucked in. His body stills soon after and Mike is relieved to see that, although still not responding, he is now breathing on his own. He uses the opportunity to call for an ambulance before taking up Trevor's hand and squeezing it tight. Trevor does not even twitch in response.


When the paramedics arrive Mike is still clutching at Trevor's hand tightly. One of them starts working on Trevor straight away while the other tries to coax Mike away from him, gently extricating his fingers from around Trevor's hand.

"Did you take any?" the EMT asks. He has kind eyes.

Mike shakes his head, eyes never leaving Trevor's still form, willing him to open his eyes and grin at him before offering his fist to bump.

Mike feels completely lost now, he's not sure where to put his body, not wanting to get in the way. He ends up following them down the stairs and to the waiting ambulance, watching them load their patient into the back of the bus.

"Do you want to meet us there?" one of the EMT's ask. Kind eyes from before.

"I have my bike," he waves in the direction of his discarded bike on the floor. There's a slight drizzle of rain forming and it glistens on the the metal frame.

Kind eyes grow before an arm gently reaches up and falls on his back, "Don't worry, there's room."


Trevor crashes two more times in the ambulance.

The third time is just as they are wheeling him though the ER, away from Mike, and he disappears through some double doors.

Apparently that's the kicker because when the doctor returns around half an hour later there's an unmistakable look on his face. Mike knows that look very well, he got that look a lot when he was kid.

Although the look is obvious, the doctor appears reluctant to tell him anything.

"Are you family?"

Mike stays sitting and simply shakes his head.

"Just tell me," Mike grinds out. "Is he dead?"

"I'm sorry," the doctor offers instead. It's not exactly a confirmation, but it's enough.

Mike closes his eyes, body feeling heavy, and drops his head into his hands.

A hand falls on his shoulder. It's not familiar, comforting or anywhere near welcome.

"Is there someone I can call for you?"

Harvey... Mike instantly thinks but doesn't actually say it. He's sure a call at midnight would be even less reciprocated than an unwelcome hand to the shoulder. Even less so when he realises it's to do with Trevor. They're relationship was strained at best.

Mike shakes his head and pulls away from the hand before standing up.

"It's fine."

It's not fine. It's nowhere near fine. But denial is easier than the truth.


When Mike leaves the hospital it's to full blown rain. His bike is still at Trevor's and he left his wallet at work in his rush to leave, and has no choice but to walk. Pulling his jacket around him, he shudders as the rain sinks into him.

Trevor's gone. Harvey should be happy, but Mike's drowning from the inside out.

He's halfway home before another thought hits him. Jenny.

They've been finished for a while now but she needs to know. He fumbles with his phone and thumbs through the contacts until he finds her name. It's probably shock or something, but his voice is numb, his words harsh, precise and blunt as he leaves a message on her phone.

"Jenny, It's Mike. Trevor shot up. He's dead," a pause and a hesitation. "Sorry."


When Mike arrives at work the next day, he's later than usual. Not very late, but enough for a few of the other associates to arrive before him. Harvey, of course, is already there. He can see him standing near his office, looking out across the cubicles, arms crossed and looking pissed off. Pissed, probably, because the files are not sitting on his desk as requested.

Mike keeps his head down as he makes his way to his cubicle. As he nears his desk he can see that some of the files have been moved. Harvey, of course, keeping an eye on his work and seeing he'd only progressed through three quarters of them. His pen has moved from its discarded spot and now sits neatly in a small pot.

Greg is nearby.

"Ross," He greets with a smug. "Not like you to be here at this time. Getting too much?"

"You wish," he mutters back, picking the pile of folders up and moving them to the side. He feels a twitch in his shoulder.

"In the boss' bad book?" Greg asks suddenly, eyes looking past Mike.

"No, why?" Mike asks suspiciously.

"Heads up," Greg says with a triumphant grin.

Mike's half turning until he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder. The one he used to force Trevor's door open. His vision blinks out for a second until it suddenly clicks back into place and Harvey's face fills the gap.

"Well?" Harvey asks.

"I know, I know," Mike mutters, stepping away from him. "Two hours top."

"You better," Harvey warns him, eyes going up and down Mike before settling on his face. He has a faint look of slight disgust on his face. Obviously Mike doesn't quite reach Harvey's level of acceptance today. "We have a meeting at 11:00, so they better be on my desk

no later than 10:00..." Harvey's voice trails off slowly and Mikes wonders if he's supposed to say something in response or if Harvey has simply lost his train of thoughts. "... and you look like shit today."

"Thanks for the motivation," Mike says sarcastically, offering Harvey a half-hearted thumbs up.

"What's going on?" Harvey asks, his eyes look suspiciously suspicious.

"Nothing," Mike says, turning back to his desk. "Didn't get to sleep until late."

That's a complete lie of course. He didn't get any sleep at all. He'd spent the remainder of the night on his bed staring at the ceiling and ignoring the incessant buzzing of his phone.

"Is that why you're late?"

"I'm not late. I'm on time. I am normally early."


"Why I'm early or why I'm on time?"

Harvey looks exasperated by now and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I didn't have my bike," Mike decides with a half truth to try and wipe the troubled look off Harvey's face, hoping the scent of trouble dissipates with it, "So I had to walk."

Harvey doesn't look satisfied though, because Mike realises downcast, he's now given something else for Harvey to ponder.

"Look Harvey, not that I don't like sitting around having a chit chat," Mike gets in before Harvey can latch onto that bit information, tapping the files with his hand. "But I have to get these done by 10:00, remember? My times your time, right?"

Harvey suddenly smirks and straightens.

"Good boy, you're finally learning," Harvey says to him, stepping away from the cubicle. Turning, he throws over his shoulder, "When I say something needs to be on my desk first thing in the morning, I expect it to be. 10.20 at the latest."

"Yeah, yeah," Mike mutters, relieved that he's misdirected Harvey, but heart still heavy, tight and clenching in his chest. "and I am a reflection of you."


Mike's been at the files for nearly two hours. He probably would have been done after one hour but every now and then he can't help his mind wandering back to Trevor. It's one of those moments, where they creep up and whisper in your ear, every few minutes, 'Trevor's dead'. It leaves him shaking his head and biting down hard. He needs those minutes to will his yammering heart to creep back down from his throat and sit heavily in his chest.

Harvey hasn't once been by to check on him, but he's pretty sure he's sent Donna. It annoys the fuck out him, the least he could do is come by and check on his progress himself, but instead Donna hovers nearby.

Head down, highlighter clasped tightly between tense fingers, he snaps 'Tell Harvey, I'm nearly finished.'

"Harvey wanted to remind you to be done by 10:20."

Harvey can go fuck himself

Fingers tighten further as pain tightens in his knuckles.

His cell phone buzzes quietly against his leg, but Mike can feel the increasing anger to it. There's at least half a dozen missed calls.

Donna shuffles closer and plants a warm hand against his shoulder. It's a nice gesture but wholly unwelcome and he tenses under the touch. He can feel the entire sensation building in him, from his gut to his fingertips. He doesn't want anyone to touch him or show any kind of concern because shit, he's feeling so god-damn fucking angry and Trevor's still fucking dead.

He politely pulls away from her hand.

"Tell Harvey it's only 9.50," Mike tells Donna, head still down, avoiding her stare. He works hard on his voice to not sound as angry as he feels, but still feels the words push hard at the back of his teeth. Epic fail. "They'll be done."

He looks up quickly as Donna steps away. Their eyes catch and he looks away.

"Harvey's right," She tells him, voice quizzical. "You do look like shit. And not the normal puppy fell out of bed the wrong way kind either."

Donna doesn't shift to move and instead folds her arms against her chest. She has a look across her face that looks damn fierce and demanding answers. This isn't unusual for Donna. She'd always been direct with her words but a part of him wondered if Harvey had sent her in search of them.

He's in search for answers himself and is seriously considering letting the words Harvey can go fuck himself to fall from his lips. He's saved from that faux pas, though, when some kind of ruckus draws his attention over her shoulder.

It doesn't immediately sink in, not until the voice rises to volcanic eruptions. It's familiar and a little panic rises within him, toying with his already fluttering heart.

Donna seems to notice his stricken distraction and turns to look over her shoulder.

"Someone you know?" she asks as she turns to look at Mike again.

Mike can't answer though, because suddenly his and Jenny's eyes connect over the cubicles. She has a fierce look on her face, one that rivals Donna and would probably win hands down.

Shit, shit, shit, shit...

Jenny extricates herself from the poor receptionist's hand and strides purposely forward. Any hope for a quiet reunion and a reminiscent chat about Trevor is dashed when she starts to wield her phone around in the air in front of her. She's only halfway across the open office but Mike can already see the redness to her face and the sudden tears that spill out of her eyes and slide down her face.

Mike stands suddenly with force, the chair he had been occupying sliding away and clattering into the wall of the cubicle. He sees a few associates raise their heads, intrigued.

He wants to go to Jenny, to hold her and comfort her, but he can't bring himself to and ends up staring as stricken as before, mouth half open with frozen words.

Donna seems as nervous as he's shit scared at how this is going to be played out. She looks nervously up and away towards Harvey's office. This wasn't how he wanted it, not for the entire law firm to be keyed in to how fucked up his life had been. Harvey knew, of course, but that didn't mean Mike wanted him to know that he was still lingering in it, unable to shake it off. Harvey had always thought Trevor had been bad news anyway.

Mike's strangled 'Jenny...' is smothered by the tremendous force of her voice and the emotions feeding it.

"You bastard," Jenny roars at him.

It's enough for the rest of the associates head's to rise, twitching and bobbing away as heads peer above cubicles, like little entertained meerkats.

"One message?" she stops short of the cubicle, waving the phone in front of his face. "I tried to call you back, several times. How could you do that to me?"

He loses track of what she's saying, her voice building like an increasing pendulum along with the building pressure within his chest, and he's sure she's managed to garble the same sentence several times over. He wants to grab at his own ears and crash to the floor. Hell, if it meant everyone would leave him alone, he'd even crawl under the desk.

The words are tumbling around in his head, mingling with flashes of the night before...

Trevor's blue lips

Needles sticking out of arms

Shuddering breaths

Crashing machine's and flat lines

And cold hands clasped in his shaking ones...

"You can't do this. I need you, man. Please."

… "Jenny, It's Mike. Trevor shot up. He's dead. Sorry."

Jenny's current words bring him crashing back to the present. He sucks in a shuddering breath and looks around him blearily as filmy tears blind him. Wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve he realises that they have a building audience. Louis' not just there, but Jessica too. Her arms are folded across her chest and she's scrutinising the building drama with hard and unimpressed eyes.

More panic sets in and he feels his heart spread out, fluttering wildly and filling the space where his lungs should be. It rises up his throat too. He doesn't know when they got there but he couldn't have lost that much time because Harvey's only just arriving, movements quick and urgent but not quite running. What little breath he had escapes him even more as the tears that had been building threaten to fall.

Oh, god. He felt like puking.



..."You can't do this. I need you, man. Please."

"Nine words? That's all you can give me?" Jenny is asking. Tears are openly rising and falling but her voice has fallen and she wipes frustratingly at her face with her hand. Yesterday's mascara smears with it. "That's right, I counted them. Didn't take a genius. I thought I meant more than that?"

The disappointment in her voice makes Mike wrench his stare from Harvey back to Jenny.

"Jenny, please..." he says, finding his voice, croaky and pathetic sounding. He reaches for her arm over the cubicle wall.

He's not prepared for the sudden frigid flinch she gives him as she takes a step back.

"Please..." he asks again fully aware that his voice is very close to pleading and hysterical. "You don't understand..."

..."You can't do this. I need you, man. Please."

Mike's lost Trevor and is pretty close to losing Jenny. He's not quite sure he's ever had Harvey. He can't put all of his shit on his Gram.

He wont have anyone left.

"Understand this-" Jenny spits out at him. He's never heard her speak with such venom before and a building despair rises within him. "I don't want to hear it."

She takes another step away before bumping shoulders with Jessica. Harvey uses the opportunity to step into the available space near Donna. He gives Mike a look – Mike's not as good as reading people as Harvey but part of him thinks – hopes – it's concern and not disappointment. It's the same look he had on his face when he confronted him all those months ago when Trevor first reappeared on the scene.

Mike ignores it though because he wants – needs – Jenny to get what he means. He can't get around the cubicle fast enough so opts for vaulting over the cubicle wall. He lands clumsily – uncoordinated and a slight stumble – and he feels Harvey move forward as a hand braces him against his arm. He shakes it off and stumbles forward, his hand reaching and tugging at her arm.

"Jenny, you don't understand. Please let me explain."

She whirls on him, faces inches apart, and for a second he thinks she is going to slap him. He welcomes it.

"Don't!" she barks at him, wrenching her arm from his fingertips. "I don't want to hear it."

She turns again, quietly excusing herself and apologising for the disturbance and then, as though as an after thought, she stops suddenly. Hope rises within him and then cruelly crashes.

"Don't call me."

The anger from before has all but dissipated leaving him exhausted. He feels numb and detached, loose limbed and shaking.

He watches her stride out of the office.

"You don't understand."

It's so soft and he's not sure he even said it aloud until Harvey moves in closer and encircles his hand around Mike's elbow. He leans in close and says low, quiet, and reassuring "My office."

There's no anger in the two words and he looks up, trying to blink away the sting to his eyes as he feels a tremble spread out across him, lingering in his lip. He doesn't want Harvey to see that, so sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth.

He catches a look between Harvey and Jessica before Jessica unfolds her arms and nods at Harvey.

Let me deal with this.

Jessica straightens and eyes everyone around her.

"Get back to work, people," she says firmly, turning and staring at Louis who in turn is staring at Mike. "And that means you too, Louis."

Mike feels Harvey tug at his arm, one hand firmly at his elbow while the other hovers nearby until it finally settles on his back and gently pushes him, with no force at all, in the direction he wants Mike to go.

You don't understand...


Mike's sat on Harvey's couch, head buried in hands.

Harvey's leant against his own desk, watching Mike.

"Why didn't you call me?"

Mike doesn't move from his position and shrugs instead.


Mike rubs his eyes with the palm of his hands, "I thought you wouldn't want to know."

"You thought?" Harvey says incredulously, rolling his eyes. Mike's pale and trembling and looks too small for the couch. "Seriously Mike, you know that's not-"

"I THOUGHT YOU'D BE PLEASED-" Mike interjects loudly, roughly pulling his hands away from his face. His eyes are red, his cheeks flushing with the sudden flare of anger, as his bottom lip trembles with suppressed force. "You wanted him gone, right?"

Harvey's lost for words, stilled into a side-swiped oblivion. He pushes away from the desk and takes a few steps closer to Mike until his feet stall halfway. Donna appears on the other side of the door, obviously alerted to more drama by the raise of his associate's voice, and looks ready to tear the door down, hinge by hinge.

He shakes his head at her and waves her off. She gives a frown back at him and mouths 'Be nice.'

He turns his attention back the the younger man sat in front of him. Mike's pushed his face back into his hands, his body seemingly hunched in on himself, wound tight. The trembling seems to have increased too.

"Mike..." Harvey says, more quietly, breathless, words stumbling over themselves. "I... Trevor... he, he wasn't my favourite person, I admit that. But, I'd never wish this on him." He pauses, hopes the words sound genuine and filter in. "Or you."

Mike doesn't respond to his declaration, so Harvey steps closer and tentatively drops his hand on his shoulder. He flinches so violently that Harvey steps back immediately, ripping his hand away just as fast and holds them out in front of him in what he hopes is a placating and non-threatening manner.

"Easy, Rookie."

Mike's face looks a little bit wild, chest rising and falling in small bursts of panting. He's lost the little bit of flush to his cheeks and looks too pale again.

"What happened to your shoulder?"

"Nothing." Mike says, too quickly.

"That wasn't nothing," Harvey points out firmly. "Tell me."

"Shoulder met door, several times." Mike says thinly, back to wound and tense, words gritting through teeth. Harvey raises his eyebrows and Mike seems to sag a little and admits wearily - "I had to force Trevor's door open."

Now that Harvey's been in tuned to Mike's new catastrophe, there's a million and one things that Harvey wants to launch into but he clamps down on them and concentrates on the immediate concern. Shoulder. He's not sure he can fully deal or comprehend with the possible scenarios that might fall out of Mike's mouth. I'm dealing again. I'm using again. I've moved on from pot and shooting up instead... He's not even sure what the consequences might be. He'd only known him for five minutes before he'd considered firing him the last time he got high. Since then the kid has grown on him, slipped in and immersed himself in his life. Fucked it up and put a tilt to it. It was life, but not as he'd known it. And in that time, in return, he'd had glimpses of the life Mike had had. Small flashes of jubilation and vulnerability that made the prospect of cutting someone out of your life a whole lot harder.

"Have you had it checked out?" Harvey asked, already knowing the answer.

"It's okay." Mike says flatly.

"It's not." Harvey counters back and takes all of one step closer to Mike.

"I SAID IT'S FUCKING OKAY." Mike shouts back, standing abruptly. Harvey stills and bites his lip. Mike's obviously finding it difficult to conquer his emotions and genuinely seems surprised by his outburst. His eyes widen and hands raise, fingers splayed out and his voice tilts dangerously into desperation. "I'm sorry. I'm just … a little bit wound up. And freaked. A lot."

Freaked or not, the kid rambles in any situation.

"It's okay." Harvey says, quietly. He's not sure it is though.

"Didn't I just say that?" Mike says, tilting his head. He looks tired, exhausted even, and drops heavily back into the couch. Hand's rise again and cup his face. "It's not though."

Harvey chances a step closer. When Mike doesn't react, he drops down next to him on the couch.

"Mike," Harvey says, trying to choose the right words but knowing with regret in his heart that it would never sound right. "Did you... you know... with Trevor?"

Mike's head shoots up from his hands and swivels to look at Harvey. The kid looks hurt. He doesn't need any words to know now.

"What?" Mike asks, one octave higher than he'd probably intended. He even moves an inch or so closer to Harvey, damp and clammy hand catching his too-expensive-to-be-clutched-by-damp-and-clammy-hands-suit. He falls into a familiar ramble, words tinged with panic and a need for understanding. "No, Harvey – I swear. I didn't even know he was back until last night. He called me. Told me he was dying. I was here." Mike's voice is trembling and his eyes are swimming again. Not just from tears but something that Harvey's only really seen in desperate clients and defendants' in the dock. He dealt with it before, but never with Mike. He wants to tell Mike to shut up. To stop. He's heard enough. Had enough reassurance. But he doesn't because he wants to hear it too. He wants to hear every detail, because as bad as he feels that someone died, he's somewhat satisfied that Trevor is finally gone (although he'd never admit it to Mike) because even in death he's still fucking Mike over, and he needs a god-damn reason to have this feeling raging inside him. "When I got there he was dead. Blue, needle in the arm. I brought him back. Guess it wasn't enough."

Mike's appears to have lost his train of thought, along with Harvey, because he's stuck on how traumatic this must have been for Mike – this wasn't just a Trevor's dead scenario. This was a Trevor-fucking-medical-nightmare and it's all on me-Dead scenario. Fact.

"Seriously," Mike says suddenly, tightening his fingers around Harvey's arm. Harvey blinks down at the hand and then back up at Mike whose looking at him with a desperate hope plastered across his face. "You got to believe me, Harvey."

Harvey clears his throat and reaches out with his free hand and plants it firmly across Mike's arm. He gives it a quick squeeze and a reassuring nod of his head. He flashes him a small smile.

"I believe you."

Mike lets out a relieved and shaky sigh and lets Harvey extricate his fingers from around his sleeve.

Harvey still wants to know something though. The kid had been desperate for that Jenny girl to get something. Maybe it was everything Mike had just rambled on about, but Harvey had a sick feeling that it wasn't. Whatever it was, it had been enough to shut Mike down.

"Before..." Harvey asks quietly. "You said 'you don't understand'"

Mike stiffens then and wraps his arms around his waist.

"Understand what, kid?"

Mike lets out small laugh, bitter and abrupt. It twists in Harvey's gut. "It doesn't matter."

It does. Harvey can see that and he wants to be clued in. Three simple words can do a lot for a man's concern.

"Mike..." Harvey tries again.

"My bike," Mike says quickly, standing fast. Harvey stays sitting and looks at him in confusion. He's sure that the topics are not linked.

"Your bike?"

"I left my bike." Mike says, attempting to head past Harvey. Harvey raises and catches Mike's wrist in his hand. "I left my bike."

"Your shoulder?" Harvey points out. Mike doesn't try and move out from Harvey's grip.

"Is fine," Mike counters back before taking a step away. Harvey tightens his grip gently, just enough to stall Mike's movement and steps into the available gap."It's just bad bruising, Harvey. I need my bike."

Harvey lets go of the offending appendage and walks away, opening the door to his office and stepping out, knowing Mike's still standing there like a fish out of water. Donna's head snaps up from her desk and zeroes in on Mike immediately before she turns her head towards Harvey with a questionable frown across her face.

"So lets go get it." Harvey throws over his shoulder before returning Donna's frown with a roll of the eyes. "Donna, cancel my appointments for the-"

"Already done." Donna replies.

Harvey smiles at her – thanks and reassurance – and she nods at him silently. The air, however is filled with concern and curiosity. She shifts her head back to Mike and stares at him.

Mike stops by her desk and lets her reach out across it to squeeze his hand tightly before letting it go. He drops his hand down by his side and pushes both deep inside the pockets of his pants. Harvey grimaces – suit pockets were never meant for that type of abuse.

He's tempted to take Mike by the god-awful skinny tie he insists on wearing and drag his (also) skinny backside out by it, but instead he clicks his finger and tips his head.

"Go on," Donna murmurs at him, nodding in Harvey's direction, when he hesitates.

When Harvey looks back over his shoulder for a second time, Mike's there trailing behind him, looking lost. Harvey shakes his head. He doesn't know how the kid does it.


Harvey looks around him in disgust. He had thought Mike's place had been a shit hole, but Trevor's choice of abode raised a new level of vulgarity.

The small strip of concrete that was probably meant to be a pavement was littered with garbage. And shit. Quite literally... well most probably.

Harvey gingerly made his way closer to the small building that had housed Trevor's apartment, the car and Ray left only a few meter's behind. Mike was in front of him this time but came to a sudden stop while Harvey was in the middle of side stepping what actually looked like drug paraphernalia.

"My bike's gone." Mike says as way of explanation. There was a little bit of surprise to the voice.

Seriously, the kid had left his unchained (and if that truly mattered) metal contraption in the middle of crime city central, what did he expect?

He's about to tell Mike something along the same lines when Mike suddenly takes off into the building and Harvey has no choice but to take a direct route through the thinned out junk across the ground in $600 shoes to try and keep up with him. It's made even worse because it's still damp from the rain and some of it evilly tries to clamp itself to the underside of his shoe. He manages to release it by the door, scraping it against the frame.

Mike comes to a stand-still outside an apartment. The door is still open and there's police tape across it. Mike's staring in to it, probably not seeing anything and lost in the images from the night before. He's found his helmet on the way and clutches it to his chest with grasping fingers. It seems that Z-list criminals who loot crime scenes agree with Harvey's opinions of Mike's choice of head ware.

'Says the guy with a helmet.'

"Mike?" Harvey says quietly. "There's nothing we can do here."

Mike startles at Harvey's voice and nods, stepping away from the door and heads back towards the exit. Harvey attempts to squeeze Mike's good shoulder as he passes, but he pulls away and disappears through the exit.

Harvey follows him out. He's still got the helmet, loose in one hand, as he moves off to the left and leans against the grimy wall.

"They took my bike," Mike says sullenly. His voice catches and cracks slightly. Harvey's sure that it has a completely different meaning. "They took my bike, Harvey."

Mike slides down the wall and sits against it. The area he has chosen is thankfully clean of junk. It's shiny with dampness though and that normally goes against Harvey Specter's rules of where to sit. Despite this, and probably because Mike sounds so defeated and his voice actually might have broken when he said his name, he chooses to uncomfortably fold his legs and slide down with him. An awkward arm comes up and sits around Mike's shoulder.

"I know, kid. I know."


A/N2: Okay, I know that there's many issues unresolved here. And absolutely no closure. But fear not, Because Harvey Specter is the best closer in the city and he just does not do non-closure. So there's a sequel, of sorts, (this is now started and will be included in the fic dump).

# Also, I realise Harvey hasn't actually dealt with the shoulder (my bad). Just picture Mike going back to work in a sling and Harvey (un)naturally going easy on him ;D