Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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It was the first time Mike had been invited to a Specter Litt client’s firm party as a fully licensed lawyer.

Back when he was a brand-new associate and Harvey had taken him to such events to familiarize him with “that part of the job”, which was supposedly just as important as knowing the law, Mike had always felt terribly out of place.

He usually had no trouble striking up conversations with people and wasn't bothered by large crowds, whether at concerts, parties, or festivals, but these events were significantly different:

Obscenely wealthy people in suits and dresses that cost more than some cars, canapés that didn’t deserve to be called food, champagne glasses to hold onto and sip from as politely as possible, while chatting about superficial topics, never laughing too loudly, and trying to charm current and future clients by pretending to be interested in their boring stories about their spoiled children or trivial problems (Really, Porsche didn’t put you on the list for the latest model in its eleven-million-dollar exclusive series, even though you’re a regular customer there? Scandalous, we should definitely figure out if we can hold them liable for that!)

Mike used to believe that his sense of not fitting in had something to do with the fact that he had literally been fake—a fraud, a high school dropout, with no experience whatsoever of life in high society.

Harvey-I-am-a-gift-to-the-world- Specter, on the other hand—how could it be any other way—was as comfortable as a fish in water at these events; with an effortless smile and a tailored suit as if he were posing for the Sexiest Man Alive award, and with just the right amount of wit and charm, Mike had seen him ride across the halls on waves of confidence and success countless times, as if the entire event had been convened solely in his honor.

Mike had envied him just as much as he had admired him.

By now he was a fully licensed attorney himself, was driven to work by a chauffeur, and dressed in suits more expensive than the rent on his first apartment—and yet he still had to fight the overwhelming urge to constantly roll his eyes at most of these events.

Admittedly, he was now well aware of the significance of such events and realized that it was indeed part of the job to keep the wealthy and, correspondingly, self-centered clients happy by accepting these ridiculous invitations, despite knowing next to nothing about these people beyond the sum of their earnings and all their sordid legal secrets; but Mike would likely never be able to convince himself to enjoy this kind of event.

Or stop counting the hours till he could leave without feeling guilty.

Pre-drinking shouldn’t just be a concept for going to a nightclub, but definitely for fundraisers or client parties as well.

Thoughtfully, Mike looked at himself in the mirror as he tied the dark blue tie that matched his fine jacket. He couldn’t help but thinking about Harvey, as he always did when he casually measured the width of his tie with his fingers (Harvey would definitely like this one, or at least wouldn’t give him a disapproving look).

This event would be the first of its kind that they had attended together since Mike had returned to work at the firm.

He remembered the party with Darby during the merger negotiations, the first time he’d attended such an event while wearing uncomfortable shoes and feigning confidence—something that had been easy only because Harvey was there with him, had talked to him about work and included him as if it were perfectly natural.   
That was nothing special in itself, because from day one, Harvey had treated Mike as if he belonged there—at the firm, in the legal profession, by his side—even if Mike had to prove it time and again by working hard.

Prove, it should be noted, not earn.

If anyone had always believed he first had to earn a chance and a better life, it was Mike, not Harvey—wherever he had gotten that conviction from back then.

A lot of time had passed and a lot had happened since that first party.

Mike’s interlude as an investment banker.

On-and-off with Rachel.

Cheating and engagement.

Donna, who had left Harvey to work for Louis because they didn’t want the same things in their personal lives, a rift from which their relationship never fully recovered.

Harvey’s panic attacks.

Mike’s arrest and imprisonment.

Harvey’s relentless fight to get him out.

Gallo.

Rachel, who hadn’t been able to endure it for even six months before moving to Stanford for a fresh start and to devote her free time between classes to her newly discovered passion, the Innocence Project, and helping people.

Ironically, she had told Mike that he had inspired her to take this path and to question her previous life choices, including her career goals.

What was he supposed to say when she had tearfully said goodbye to him in the prison visiting area, and he had been all too aware of the other inmates’ stares to be able to break down as well?

Every smile there equaled a provocation, every sign of weakness an invitation.

With a stony expression and a pat on her hand—which no longer wore his grandmother’s ring—he had assured her that he understood and wished her well, all accompanied by the typical “we’ll always remain friends and stay deeply connected” bullshit.

A day later, he’d been in such a violent fight with Gallo and one of his henchmen that he’d been put in isolation, and he was still wondering how much Harvey had paid whom to keep Mike’s sentence from being extended.

Not that Mike had cared at the time.

Even more ironic, thanks to a deal with Sean Cahill, Harvey had gotten him out of prison shortly afterward, thereby saving Kevin and him from Gallo just in time.

The months after that had put their friendship to a severe test, which had been mostly Mike’s fault, as he knew.

Harvey had practically torn himself apart trying to keep the firm afloat, first with Jessica and then with Louis; at the same time, he’d arranged for Mike’s sentence to be shortened, supported him afterward by paying for Mike’s livelihood, and stood by him whenever Mike had lost one of his new jobs because of his criminal record.

Most of the time, Mike had snapped at him, insisting he needed neither his pity nor his charity, only to show up at Harvey’s door every few days, dead drunk, complaining about his messed-up life, his ex, and the injustice of the world.
At times, he had been suffocated by the silence of his lonely apartment, where he was haunted by nightmares of dark corners, clanging cells, and laughing men from whom he tried to hide so as not to get beaten up again or end up with another scar.

If Rachel hadn’t already left, he would probably have driven her away by then—with his mood swings, his impatience, his restlessness, his inability to endure a quiet room for any length of time.

But Mike had to get over it, so Harvey had to endure it.

He knew he’d been ungrateful and insensitive, especially since Harvey hadn’t just suffered from seeing Mike in that state, but had also blamed himself for it. As a good friend, Mike should have spared him further guilt and pulled himself together, worked it out somehow on his own, or at least behaved less like an asshole, but he’d just been tired of it.

Tired of pretending he wasn’t at the end of his rope, as if prison hadn’t robbed him of a part of himself and as if Rachel hadn’t broken his heart, of all times, just when he desperately needed someone he could rely on.

Not that he could blame her for no longer being able to bear the uncertainty and fear of whether he might not come out of prison alive or completely changed—he had expected just such a scenario, which was why he had postponed the wedding in the first place.

However, it would have been a lie to say he hadn’t hoped that she would truly wait for him; that her love and longing would outweigh the negative emotions.

In vain.

Only three times had she managed to bring herself to visit him in prison, and each time he could see how much effort it had taken her to face him, knowing that this would be her reality for the next two years.     

How could he have claimed to love her, yet at the same breath demanded she endure endless months of loneliness and fear, simply because he had committed a crime?

But how could she have claimed to love him, and yet abandoned him at a time like this?

In the end, the only one who had stayed was Harvey.

Of all people.

Harvey-I-don't-do-caring-Specter.

As if Mike were still the same man—not an angry, broken, bitter ex-convict, but someone who was still worth something—someone who deserved good things to happen to him, and if fate or Mike himself didn’t take care of it, he’d just take matters into his own hands.

Just as Harvey always took everything into his own hands, with a mentality of being able to make things happen simply because he wanted them to.

And he had done it.

Harvey hadn't just prevented Mike from shutting himself off out of sheer defiance and grief; he had kept fighting until Mike had truly become a member of the bar and could once again do what he loved—the only thing that, despite the fraud, had ever felt right.           

Work had helped him considerably to regain a sense of purpose while keeping him busy.
His friend had offered Mike ridiculously generous terms to get him to work with him again, alongside his work in the legal clinic, and this time Mike had agreed.
Harvey might not know it, but it had never been easy for Mike to refuse him any request, even though he had done it increasingly in recent years. Part of him had wanted to distance himself from Harvey to find his own path as a lawyer and as a person.
Another part had simply wanted to prevent Harvey from being forced to save him over and over again—because Mike wanted him to see more than that.

He wanted him to see a man who had his life under control, someone his equal, not the kid who was always getting into trouble.

That was why he’d eventually turned down Harvey’s help, but he hoped his friend knew that it was only because of him that he’d gotten back on his feet time and time again.

Life had beaten Mike down so many times that, after Rachel at the latest, he had been on the verge of simply staying down and accepting what fate had obviously been trying to achieve ever since it had torn his parents away from him in his childhood: that he finally gave up.

Except that Harvey Specter never gave up on anything or anyone, and that obviously included certain people—in this case, Mike Ross.  

All that patience, that stubbornness, that simple refusal to walk away—as everyone else in Mike’s life had a habit of doing—had finally washed away Mike’s resignation just as much as his self-pity. With each passing week, the memories of prison had faded further, just as had the pain of losing Rachel, and he had once again become a man worthy of the name.

Sure, Mike might have needed some time to adjust after all the losses of the past few years, but he had known even during his time in prison—when he’d picked a fight with Harvey on nearly every visit—that he was behaving repulsively. Fear and being overwhelmed were not exactly a recipe for bringing out the best in someone.

After his release, that had changed only slowly, and he doubted that he would have been able to tolerate himself for so long if he were in Harvey’s shoes; how often he had insulted him, ignored his calls, or refused his help, only to suddenly have a change of heart when the mood struck him.

Mike hadn't liked that version of himself, but there was a reason why they said that the right people in your life are the ones who stick around even when you’re at your worst.           

Harvey had stayed.

Just once, Mike had tried to apologize to his friend for that time.

It had been Trevor’s birthday, and of course Mike had remembered the date, even though being reminded of his former best friend was now nothing but bitter and painful. It had suddenly dawned on Mike that, in recent times, he had been a similarly useless, ungrateful friend to Harvey—one who was only dragging him down into the abyss—and the guilt had hit him like a wrecking ball.

At the first opportunity—a dinner at Harvey’s apartment after they’d been poring over case files—Mike couldn’t bear the weight of the thought any longer and began to apologize.
At first, Harvey looked at him completely bewildered, as if Mike were talking about something utterly absurd, until, after not even three sentences, he shook his head and cut him off.

“You don’t have to apologize to me. You’ve had a rough time and the right to lash out.”
“I had no right to treat you like shit.”          
He shrugged. “I was there. And I could take it.”
“Yes, and that’s why I did it.” Because Mike had known that Harvey would take it all and still wouldn't leave. “That doesn’t make it right.”
“I’d say neither of us covered ourselves in glory during that time.”
“That’s not true.”

It was so damn far from the truth, in fact, that Mike wondered if Harvey actually believed it or was just saying it so Mike wouldn’t be so miserable.

Sure, there were times when Harvey had harshly told him to pull himself together and stop feeling sorry for himself.

Sometimes he’d roughly toss fresh clothes or a washcloth in his face when Mike didn’t want to get out of bed.

Very rarely, Harvey had lost his patience and yelled back when they had argued.

Once he’d caught Mike on the balcony with a joint, snatched it from his mouth, and crushed it in his hand while it was still burning, before tossing it aside and calling Mike a disgrace to his parents and his grandmother.
Mike had tried to punch him, but Harvey had blocked the blow with ease.
A brief, furious scuffle.
Somehow it had ended with him sobbing into Harvey’s shoulder for five minutes like a distraught four-year-old, because drugs obviously weren’t fun anymore once you were at rock bottom.

Another time, his friend had smashed a beer bottle in a fit of rage when he’d had to pick Mike up from a bar, completely wasted, cursing and ranting.

Still, he’d done it.

More than once.

Mike suppressed a bitter smile. “I was the problem.”

It took a lot of effort for him to resist saying “am.”

“You never were a problem, Mike. And if you were, then you were mine, and therefore my responsibility to take care of.”

The warmth that blossomed in Mike’s chest at these words, like a field of sunflowers, almost made him forget his guilt. Almost.

“Still. I feel guilty that you had to go through that.”
That remark drew a faint smile from him. “I’ve been there.”

Now it was Mike’s turn to grimace. He would never be able to convince Harvey that the two situations weren’t comparable; he didn’t force Mike to take the job, nor had he transferred Gallo to Danbury.
He had never intentionally hurt Mike or tried to push him away because he simply hadn’t been able to handle his affection the way Mike had done so exemplary for weeks on end.

“Okay, so can we make a deal? No more guilt, from either of us. A fresh start. In keeping with our history, with a clause that allows for guilt over new mistakes, of course.” 

Harvey reacted with striking restraint to the joke and remained silent for a moment; he obviously had to search his heart to see if he was capable of sincerely accepting this offer.

If he was able to let go of the guilt over Mike’s imprisonment and consider it settled.

Resolutely, Mike raised his hand—a challenge, of course, but just as much a plea: If you forgive yourself, I will too.

And even if not for himself, in the end, Harvey had taken Mike’s hand.

To a new beginning.

Glancing at his watch, Mike buttoned his suit jacket, checked to make sure he had everything he needed and left his apartment.

He waited down on the street, where a limousine pulled up a few minutes later.

“Nice tie,” Harvey greeted him with his usual smug grin from the seat next to him, as soon as he got in.
The past few years of tension and deprivation (Mike tried not to feel addressed, but knew he had contributed to both) had left their mark, adding a few more wrinkles to his face and robbing him of some of his carefree ease, but in the tight-fitting black suit with the burgundy tie, he was still ridiculously attractive. Probably because he still worked out consistently and used skincare products worth more than half the value of Mike’s entire apartment.
“Don’t even get started.“ Being stuck at this party for the next few hours would be bad enough even without starting the evening with an insult.
“Why? Can’t I be genuine and compliment you on your choice of clothes?”
“That would be a first.”
“It’s pretty much the first time it hasn’t come off the rack at a discount store.”

Mike didn’t dignify that with a response, instead staring stubbornly out the window, mainly because he could feel his face growing hotter since Harvey had smiled at him with such sincere appreciation.

Yep, that was the other thing that had changed.

Mike had no idea when exactly it had happened.

Without him noticing, his feelings toward Harvey had always gradually shifted in intensity and nuance the more time they had spent together; admiration, gratitude, respect, the desire to please, friendship, closeness, loyalty bordering on self-sacrifice, brotherly affection, interspersed with plenty of frustration, rivalry, arguments, and fights—and then there had been that one morning, entirely unremarkable in itself.

Mike woke up with a dry mouth and a slight throbbing behind his forehead, finding himself on Harvey’s couch, with a blanket over him and fresh coffee on the counter.
They had celebrated Mike’s admission to the Bar with quite a bit of alcohol—first with everyone at the firm and then continuing at Harvey’s place, with even better whiskey, half-heartedly watching “Runaway Jury” and mocking the lawyers shown on the screen until Mike had obviously fallen asleep.
This had happened to him so often in recent months that it had almost become a habit—sometimes on the couch, sometimes in Harvey’s guest room.

No big deal.

Still half-asleep and with a foggy mind, Mike shuffled first to the bathroom and then to the kitchen, drawn by the comforting aroma of coffee. Despite his age, Harvey seemed to handle a hangover more easily, as he had apparently already headed off to work, but had left Mike a message.

Take the day off today—the last time before I make you work hard for your money again, Mr. Lawyer. I never doubted that you eventually would be exactly where you always wanted to be. You deserve it. Be proud of yourself, Mike.

Which was pretty much the same as saying that Harvey was proud of him, even if he probably wouldn’t have been comfortable leaving written evidence of such a declaration.
No caring and all.

With a tender smile, Mike read the message again and—BAM—suddenly became aware of his rapidly fluttering heart.

Wait—what the hell?

That had never happened before.

Warmth and affection and trust, yes, but no heart pounding.

No deep, heartfelt smile at the mere thought of how Harvey had gently tucked him in, made him coffee, and written the note as he left the apartment so Mike could find it when he woke up.

All of those were the acts of a damn good friend, but Mike’s reaction to them wasn’t.

Fuck.

The heart pounding that followed had been more due to the panic washing over him.

He was definitely too old for self-denial on a grand scale, but also no longer young enough to suddenly question his sexuality and romantic habits like a confused teenager. Sure, everyone had experimented a little in college and he’d been no exception, and although he could certainly appreciate a male body as attractive and enjoy it during sex, he’d never fallen in love with a man.

Not even close.

Not because he had consciously decided to do so, but simply because it had just always been like that, that only women had stirred deeper feelings within him.

Apparently, there was a first time for everything, and of course it had to happen now, just as he was finally getting his life back on track—with Harvey, his best friend, the only person he wouldn’t risk driving away for anything in the universe.

The world really did keep finding new, inventive ways to screw him over.

Fuck!

Since that realization (and he was quite proud of having reacted with hysterical laughter instead of tears), he’d spent a lot of time wondering whether he’d always been secretly a little bit into Harvey, with those feelings then getting buried under his love for Rachel and now simply resurfacing more intensely, or whether it was all because of everything Harvey had done for him.

Whatever label Mike might use to describe their relationship, there was no question that he had never felt so cared for, protected, and loved by anyone as he did by Harvey.

Maybe it wasn’t about gender at all, and certainly not about strict boundaries between romantic and platonic love.
Maybe it was simply that, ever since their first meeting, his soul had told him that he and Harvey were connected—and since Harvey, too, had changed, had become more open with his feelings, and had actually allowed himself to be vulnerable, Mike’s heart had simply taken the next, logical step as a response to all the time, affection, patience, and effort that Harvey had tirelessly given him for nearly a year after Danbury.

Not that the knowledge that he loved Harvey as more than just a friend or brother would change anything.

Mike had been willing to go through fire and water for him before, and he had no interest in destroying their relationship—which was finally back on solid ground—by making romantic advances toward him, knowing full well how he would respond.

Harvey supposedly had already had his experiences with men; according to him, especially if they had been attractive and challenging enough, so if he had been interested in Mike in that way, Mike would surely have noticed it over the past few years. Not to mention that, despite all his emotional progress, Harvey still had a problem with long-term relationships—but if he had ever dated anyone for more than one night, it had only been women.
Perhaps because that was more compatible with the image Harvey had always presented to the world; even in this century, it was still a beautiful woman that belonged on the arm of a rich, influential man to complete him.

After the drama with Donna and Paula, however—at least according to Mike’s observations over the past three months—Harvey had taken the issue of relationships off the table for the time being.
Mike couldn’t blame him.
Thanks to Rachel, he’d been single for quite some time and, in many ways, more unsatisfied than ever before. His newly discovered feelings for his best friend certainly didn’t help him open up to anyone new, but for the moment, Mike could live with that just fine.

As for Harvey, Mike couldn’t tell whether he was enjoying his self-imposed celibacy or still suffering from heartbreak—which, annoyingly, caused a strange rumbling in Mike’s stomach either way.
He didn’t even flirt with the waitresses anymore when they ate out (which was a blessing for Mike’s peace of mind, since jealousy had apparently become a regular at their table thanks to his latest whim), so Mike was actually curious to see if Harvey would put his charisma to the test today and charm half the women at the party.

“I thought you’d be in a better mood,” Harvey said, distracting him from his repetitive thoughts about friendship, love, and calculating the amount of alcohol he could safely consume as a distraction before embarrassing Harvey—or himself— “as a highly paid junior partner at a top firm, with a real degree...”
Mike gave a crooked grin. “Strictly speaking, I still don’t have a degree; I’m just a member of the Bar.”
“Good point,” Harvey conceded. “Still, there’s no reason you shouldn’t walk in there with confidence, Mike. They’ll just see what I see.”
“Finally, a tie that isn’t too skinny?”
“That, and above all, that you belong here.”

The conviction in Harvey’s voice caused a warm shiver to run through Mike’s gut, prompting him to glance up at Harvey’s face. He saw the same determination in those brown eyes, which glimmered softly in the dim light of the car like dark caramel.           

Yep, he definitely hadn’t thought that much about how handsome Harvey was before.

A very distracting side effect of these new feelings.

Had he already mentioned that he was screwed?

“Thanks,” he replied in a modest tone, his voice betraying not a hint of his inner turmoil. “I really appreciate that. But you know full well that I’m still an ex-convict sentenced for fraud. So, I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to take me to this event.”
“I had the choice between you and Louis, so...”
“Louis is off with Sheila, so you didn’t have any choice at all.”
“Exactly. Cremser is one of the first major clients we were able to land after Jessica left.” His facial expression gave nothing away, but Mike could tell from his toneless voice how much he missed his mentor.

To save Mike’s license, Jessica had lost hers in New York—yet another thing Mike had somehow cost Harvey.

But then again, they had a deal.

The only thing Mike was still allowed to feel guilty about were his new, lewd thoughts regarding his friend.

And about that he felt quite a lot, but as long as he didn’t act differently toward Harvey, continued to be simply a good friend to him—or rather, a decent friend at all—he wasn’t doing any harm.

Except to himself, perhaps, but that was a recurring theme in his life.

In his opinion, though, it had worked perfectly over the past few weeks.  

As long as he simply kept consistently ignoring the ever-growing hole of heat and longing in his stomach and, whenever they interacted intimately, suppressed the urge to grab Harvey’s hand or kiss his stupid, arrogant grin.

Yep, he was doing great.

(So screwed.)

“Cremser helped us plug a big financial hole back then—you don’t turn down an invitation like that. Besides, you need to get out more, Mike; all you do is spend time at the firm or clinic.”
“How nice of you to worry about my social life.”

There was at least as much irony in Mike’s voice as there was gel in Harvey’s hair.

(And it looked fantastic. Damn it all to hell.)

“Well, Nathan and Oliver aren’t supposed to spoil you.”

Mike had actually expected a joke about the fact that 90% of his social life consisted of Harvey, because when they weren’t working together, they at least saw each other at the office, and they often met up for a drink, a meal, or a movie at Harvey’s place, where Mike still spent a lot of time.
Not because the memory of prison still haunted him, not because his apartment felt empty now that Rachel and her things were gone, but because being around Harvey did him good.
He didn’t have to explain why he sometimes showed up at his door unannounced—sometimes with food from some restaurant, sometimes with a six-pack of beer, sometimes with nothing but empty hands and the desire to escape the loneliness of his apartment.

Even if they’d argued fiercely just moments before—about cases, about Mike’s overtime at the legal clinic, about a client—Harvey never slammed the door in his face.

They didn’t always talk, they didn’t necessarily get along, but he never turned him down.

Seriously, how could he not have fallen in love with the guy?

Perhaps his heart had done it out of self-defense, no longer knowing what to do with all that affection and feeling of being accepted and understood so unconditionally.
All the more important, then, that Mike met other people so he could continue to credibly pretend not to only think about the man beside him—as he did first thing when he woke up and last thing before he went to sleep.

(Totally, hopelessly, completely scr...!)

“What’s wrong with Nathan and Oliver? Or are you jealous?” Mike asked teasingly, earning himself a roll of the eyes.
“Surely not. I’ve got bets running on how long it’ll take before Nathan can’t stand your questionable work ethic anymore and kicks you out. Again.”
“You’ve never been able to fire me for good; I always come back.”

It was meant to be another joke, but Harvey’s playful expression turned serious.

“I know. Lucky for me.”

In the past, Harvey would never have missed the opportunity to take another dig, but as Mike noticed once again: his friend was just as much a different man from when they first met as Mike himself was.

So he savored the sincerity in Harvey’s words instead of teasing him about it.

The car slowed down, which probably meant they had reached their destination.

When Mike got out, he was met by fresh sea air, still warmed by the sun that had stood high in the sky all day but was now slowly retreating toward the horizon. It would still be mild enough to wear just a shirt, but Mike knew that Harvey would have skinned him alive if he’d dared to show up like that for a client meeting.
“Why are we at the harbor?” he wondered as Harvey stepped up beside him and pointed toward an idyllic, clearly private dock.
A huge, brightly lit yacht was anchored there. Mike estimated it to be at least 30 meters long, and judging by the music and the jumble of chatting, laughing voices, it was already well attended.
“Cremser’s party is on a yacht?” Mike realized, staring at Harvey, who nodded with a grin, clearly very pleased with his surprise.
“He builds the engines for these things; of course he owns one. Once all the guests are here, we’ll head out a bit to see the city at night. Don’t worry, just a few meters from the shore so we don’t violate any noise regulations. In case you’re prone to seasickness.”
“I’m not. And even if he gets in trouble, he’s got his lawyers right there with him,” Mike said, walking with Harvey toward the dock to take the jeltty eading to the yacht.

The image of walking across a plank came to mind involuntarily.

“You have no reason to be nervous, Mike,” Harvey said then, as if reading Mike’s mind once again. “You belong here. You did before, but now no one can deny it anymore. You’ve earned it.”

Mike didn’t answer but just smiled to himself.

He still didn’t quite believe it, or couldn’t shake the strange feeling that this party was simply not a good idea, but now he was here and would get it over with his head held high.

It was enough for him that Harvey thought he belonged here, by his side.

And in the privacy of his thoughts, he was allowed to take as much pleasure in that as he wanted.

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Chapter Text

“You have no reason to be nervous, Mike,” Harvey said then, as if reading Mike’s mind once again. “You belong here. You did before, but now no one can deny it anymore. You’ve earned it.”

Mike didn’t answer but just smiled to himself.

He still didn’t quite believe it, or couldn’t shake the strange feeling that this party was simply not a good idea, but now he was here and would get it over with his head held high.

It was enough for him that Harvey thought he belonged here, by his side.

And in the privacy of his thoughts, he was allowed to take as much pleasure in that as he wanted.

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The first hour of the party went better than Mike had expected, even though his hopes for a yacht party were spectacularly dashed.     

Once all of the roughly one hundred guests had arrived, they set sail, but in fact only about 98 feet from the dock—enough to get a little deeper into the water and catch a glimpse of the city’s glittering lights, but not enough to really enjoy the sea.
On the other hand, the water around them was too dark for it to make much sense to head out into the open sea anyway, because beyond the yacht’s lights—and then again within the illuminated area of the shore—everything appeared almost pitch-black, as if the sea could swallow them up at any moment, never to let them go.

Mike would still have expected them to use the ship to party outdoors—why else would anyone choose such a venue for a party?—but Cremser had reserved only the yacht’s interior for the guests: in the ship’s belly, they were greeted by a magnificently shimmering décor of the finest rosewood and glossy amaranth. Elegant fairy lights stretched above their heads and along the well-stocked bar with its own bartender, bathing everything—from the opulent buffet to the champagne tower reaching up to the ceiling—in a discreet golden glow.

Subtle music drifted from invisible speakers, weaving its way through the clinking glasses and murmur of conversation, much like the waiters distributing elaborately decorated canapés, collecting empty plates or serving those guests who had chosen to sit in the alcoves rather than stand at the tall tables draped in white linens.
Beautiful people in flowing fabrics and adorned with glittering jewelry mingled through the spacious room, gathered in small groups, scattered again, and sat down together in new constellations to discuss the same topics.    

Laughter bubbled up like condensation from the chilled bottles, and amid all the nodding and forced smiles, Mike even managed to engage in a few somewhat interesting conversations.

Regardless, he felt the potential of a yacht party was wasted if everyone stayed exclusively in the lower deck. Must be some rich-people-thing.           

For the first ten minutes, Harvey and he had stayed together, before Harvey mingled with the crowd, a wolfish grin on his face, and advised Mike to do the same.
As the firm’s name partner, Harvey naturally had to make himself much more visible and shake a lot of hands in order to court existing clients—especially Cremser—and perhaps win over new ones in the process.

Mike didn’t hold it against him, but followed his example and even made the bold attempt to flirt with some of the women.      

He had definitely gotten rusty in that department since his long-term relationship with Rachel, and he had to admit to himself that he could no longer rely, as he had in the past, solely on a meaningful glance out of his blue eyes and a daring smile.
The past few years had robbed him of his youthful charm; his features had become more angular, his eyes more sunken, his forehead more prominent—which probably had something to do with the fact that his hair was already preparing to recede at some point. At least he had gained muscle since his early days at the firm, as exercise had been one of the few leisure activities available in prison, and later Harvey had frequently urged him to work out so he wouldn’t just loiter around during periods of unemployment. However, when compared directly to his friend, Mike looked considerably older, even though Harvey had already passed 40.

What an unfair world.

Objectively speaking, Mike might still be an attractive man, and he was comfortable with his appearance and physique, but whenever he thought of Harvey—who could surely still wrap a twenty-year-old around his finger with ease—regret followed him like overpriced aftershave.

If only he’d fallen for him sooner, back when he was still young and hot enough to have even the slightest chance of landing a womanizer like Harvey.

Wait, what?

Rewind.

Mike blinked, realizing that his plan to distract himself from his endless mental loops about Harvey by focusing on a pretty woman’s full lips and promising hips had been clearly rejected by his mind; perhaps due to a procedural error or some clause in the fine print that Mike missed in this whole cliché “in love with the best friend” scenario.

Truth be told, he hadn’t been listening to the pretty blonde in her tight, rose-colored dress for nearly five minutes, so he politely excused himself at the next opportunity, heading for the bar, and discreetly kept an eye out for Harvey.
Maybe an hour would be enough to fulfill his obligation here, although Mike assumed it wasn't possible to just disappear whenever the mood struck, unless someone was waiting in a boat near the yacht to take the passengers back to the dock one by one. In the end, he’d maybe have to stay until the party finally wrapped up sometime in the early hours of the morning.

Swallowing a frustrated sigh, Mike ordered a double vodka and decided to mingle with the crowd some more; after all, he was representing Specter Litt as a junior partner, and what better way to show Harvey his gratitude than by casually landing the next big client right here?

At the very least, he owed it to him and Louis to make a good impression and pretend to be having fun. After all, it was entirely his own fault that he’d been having such a hard time enjoying himself lately, but with the right attitude, he could surely force himself to do so.

Confidently, he finished his drink, had another poured so he’d something to hold, and slipped back into the crowd. Apart from Harvey and him, other employees from their firm were here, and Mike nodded to them whenever he recognized someone. Maybe his efforts would even be rewarded in the end, and he’d run into Katrina, with whom he could surely have a great time gossiping about some of the outfits or hobbies on display here. Otherwise, Mike refrained from passing judgment on such things, especially given his career path, but he had indeed been talking earlier to a gentleman who collected antique glasses.

Glas-ses.        

From that point on, the conversation had pretty much died down on its own.

After another half hour, during which Mike had forced so many smiles that his jaw ached, he was at least rewarded by finally spotting Harvey: He had found Arnold Cremser, who was standing with his wife Margot, another couple, and two men Mike’s age, among whom he recognized Dean Warren, a newly minted real estate mogul, as well as Boris Ryner, who had made a fortune during the pandemic by manufacturing cheap face masks and then reselling at a high price. Due to the poor quality of the masks, he’d had a few legal disputes with retailers, but it had never gone to trial.

Mike had never met him in person and yet couldn’t stand him.

Hopefully Harvey wasn’t trying to win him over as a client, because this guy literally reeked of money—the kind of money Mike, at least, wanted nothing to do with.    

He decided to join Harvey anyway, because even though he was smiling as usual, it was possible that he, too, was hoping for a way out of his current conversation.

And even if not, they always made a convincing team, working better together than alone.

The group was standing around one of the tables, some with drinks in hand, in a corner behind the champagne tower, so that Mike could see them clearly but wasn’t yet visible himself, even though he was standing barely three steps away.

“You’re so charming, Harvey,” the young woman in the group was just saying, “I never would have thought you were a lawyer. They’re usually a bit more…”
“Don’t be shy,” Harvey replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a winning smile that visibly made Margot’s knees go weak.         

Mike wasn’t the tiniest bit jealous of her or any other chick who got to share that kind of flirting with Harvey and openly smile back—or even blush—without making a fool of herself.

The soft growl just slipped out of him by accident.

“Boring? Stuffy? Well, I don’t buy into labels like that. The law isn’t a tedious game of chess; it can just as easily be an exciting round of poker if the right man holds the cards.”

Against his will, Mike felt a broad grin spread across his face; that swagger was part of Harvey’s charm and belonged to him just as much as the expensive ties and the sparkling cufflinks.

“I’ve been very satisfied with Harvey’s firm so far,” Cremser assured him with a smile.
“I can highly recommend them. The work is solid, and I’ve had surprisingly intelligent conversations with his lovely secretary. Don’t worry, honey, not as lovely as you, though,” he said quickly to Margot before smiling at Harvey. “Donna, right? Did you happen to bring her along?”

Mike paused abruptly and watched from the edge of the tower as Harvey’s grip on his glass tightened imperceptibly.

“No, Donna couldn’t make it. Besides, she hasn’t worked for me in quite some time. Even before you came to us, Arnold. At that time, she was just helping me out every now and then.”
“Oh no. Well, that’s a shame. Was she fired, perhaps?”
“No, not at all. She transferred to work for a colleague. She...we felt her talents were better suited there. But my new secretary, Gretchen, will surely impress you with the same quick wit and charm, I’m certain of it.”      

To outsiders, Harvey’s slip of the tongue might have seemed insignificant, but Mike could almost see that his friend’s smile looked much more forced than it had just a minute ago. Donna’s move to Louis—even though she and Harvey were now on somewhat better terms—was still something that weighed on him.        

It made Mike stay alert where he was, because sometimes, if someone mentioned Donna’s resignation to Harvey without warning...

“So you came alone?” Margot asked, whereupon the tension in Harvey’s shoulders eased a little; he even smiled, as if someone had spoken to a proud father about his son.  
Seeing this, Mike was overcome by a tender feeling of affection (not that he’d want to cast Harvey in the role of his father, urgh, but he wasn’t picky as long as he could be the object of Harvey’s affection).

“No, with my colleague, Mike Ross.”          

Just as Mike was about to finally join the group— ready to give Harvey a spectacular moment of perfect timing—he noticed Warren and Ryner exchanging long glances, while the other couple frowned, looking rather confused at best.

Once again, Mike stopped dead in his tracks.           

“Mike Ross,” Ryner repeated slowly, staring into his whiskey glass as if counting the ice cubes inside. “That’s the fraud isn’t it?”
“Was,” Harvey said harshly, much harsher than was appropriate for potential clients at such an occasion, and Mike was sure he wasn’t the only one who noticed. “He’s now officially licensed as a lawyer and does excellent work.”
“After he served time in prison,” Ryner insisted, grinning in a way that was meant to look like an apology, though it only served to conceal his all-too-obvious schadenfreude. “Seriously, Harvey, between us…why on earth did you hire someone like that again? It’s like putting the guy who robbed your bank behind the cash register later on.”
“Boris has a point. Fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice…” the oldest man in the group chimed in.      
“Aside from his shady character. Aren’t you ever afraid he’ll steal your clients or run off to the Bahamas with your money?”
“Oh, come on, Dean, these days people do that through Liechtenstein, not the Bahamas.”

The two men laughed lewdly, while Mike clenched his teeth and struggled to suppress the rising nausea.

By now, he was so used to these kinds of comments that he would respond with a weary smile and a witty or evasive remark, depending on his mood at the time, and then smoothly change the subject.           
As much as the prejudice and mockery never let him forget who he had always been, what he had done, and what he had lost, he could not get upset about something that, bottom line, was the truth: He had committed crimes since his youth; he had stolen, lied, and cheated, and in the end, he had been convicted for it.

Gone were the days when he had loudly and angrily complained about the injustice of not being able to shake the stigma, even after serving his sentence.

The thing Mike had truly never considered, however, amid all his revelry in his own disgrace, was that Harvey was being confronted with it all because he had rehired him.

That was exactly why Mike had turned down the consulting position at the very beginning: to avoid bringing more misfortune to Harvey and the firm—misfortune that clung to him like dirt that had eaten too deep into the grooves of his soles to ever be scraped out again. But since he’d been officially licensed and doing legitimate work, he’d naively assumed that kind of accusation was off the table.

Apparently, the world hadn’t yet beaten every last shred of naivety out of him.

Just as Mike was about to sneak away, because his presence would make it impossible for Harvey to talk his way out of the stain of his existence, Harvey set his glass down on the table; not a direct slam, but loud enough that Mike could hear it clink from where he stood.

“I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop talking about things you have no fucking clue about,” Harvey said with a half-smile that held no trace of amusement, accompanied by a piercing glare usually reserved for opposing attorneys like Tanner. “And I’m not referring to money laundering. You obviously know more than enough about that.”    

The looks he received for those words ranged from surprised horror to mild indignation.

“Harvey,” Cremser said, clearing his throat hurriedly, making a blatant attempt to smooth things over. “No need to get rude.”  
“I didn’t start it, Arnold.”
“Yes, I just mean...Boris and Dean certainly don’t doubt your integrity.”
“This isn’t about my integrity, but my colleague’s,” Harvey retorted indignantly, burying one hand in his trouser pocket. “That’s why I’m happy to answer your questions: No, the thought never crossed my mind, because I’ve never met anyone more brilliant, honest, or trustworthy than Mike Ross. I would entrust him with any of my clients, my firm, and my life without hesitation.”
“Aren’t you exaggerating a little?” Ryner asked, rolling his eyes slightly after he seemed to have recovered from the initial shock of being reprimanded like that.
“Not at all. None of the lawyers from Harvard or the other elite universities can keep up with what Mike accomplishes. I should know; I see it every day. That’s why I didn’t hesitate for a second to hire him back as soon as he was licensed.”
“But all those lies,” Margot whispered sheepishly, as if she didn’t want to upset Harvey but couldn’t keep quiet either. “Weren’t you worried about his criminal record? I mean…your loyalty does you great credit; I find it impressive…”

Mike felt much the same way, though he also sensed a whole range of other emotions raging inside him, which, among other things, caused him to grin to himself like an idiot.         

Of course Mike knew that Harvey was loyal to him—he was his best friend, after all—but it was different to feel it this way—to hear Harvey talk about him to others, as openly as he probably wouldn’t be with Mike, for the sake of appearances.

“What’s the big deal?” Harvey asked Margot, sounding slightly more friendly. “Our legal system provides for penalties to correct past mistakes, and that’s exactly what Mike did. He served his sentence and was admitted to the Bar. I wouldn’t be worth a dime as your husband’s lawyer if I didn’t believe in second chances, would I?”
“A wise word,” Cremser said, raising his glass with a grin, and his wife smiled too.
“Who knows what kind of fraud he committed to become a member of the Bar,” Ryner muttered, as if Cremser’s encouragement were a personal affront to the shitstorm he had intended to unleash.           

Finally, Mike stepped out from behind the tower and casually slipped to Harvey’s side.

Harvey shifted slightly to make room for him even before he saw Mike, as if his body had recognized him before his eyes did.        

“To be precise, a committee had to vote unanimously to admit me to the Bar,” Mike explained, ignoring the looks of consternation and awkward embarrassment his appearance had elicited. “But I’m very persuasive. After all, I managed to convince everyone that I was a real lawyer before.”          
Margot and the other couple laughed nervously as Mike shook Cremser’s hand.
“Mike Ross, as you’ve probably already guessed.”
“Yes…we…yes, welcome. Your boss speaks very highly of you.”          
“He never lets me hear that,” Mike replied casually, as if he didn’t notice the tense atmosphere around him, which had grown so chilly that it was surprising the drinks hadn’t frozen in their glasses.

Only Harvey’s eyes rested on him warmly, as Mike could sense without having to look at him.

It would have been easy to slip away unnoticed and pretend he’d never overheard that conversation, but Mike didn’t want Harvey to have to fight his battles for him—and if he did, he wanted to fight alongside him, just like in the courtroom.    

“By the way, I’m very open about my time in prison,” Mike said, turning to Warren and Ryner with a watchful gaze. “It may sound unusual, but there are some advantages to having gone through that kind of experience firsthand.”   
“Oh yeah, sure, prison is a place for some unique experiences,” Ryner sneered maliciously, causing Warren to spit champagne out of his flute.

Harvey’s body next to him stiffened so abruptly and noticeably—even though only their shoulders were touching—that Mike almost flinched. 

He resisted the urge to take Harvey’s hand in his, because that would clearly cross the boundaries of their friendship. Yet he had no selfish interest in this impulse (well, maybe marginally, hey, sue him), but wanted first and foremost to prevent Harvey from overturning the table and punching one or both men in the face.

Sometimes Harvey tended toward extremes when he wanted to protect someone.

“Oh yeah, it leads to all kinds of new connections,” Mike continued, unfazed, since he’d heard that kind of tasteless joke at least 432 times over the past few months. “It brings a different kind of credibility in certain circles when we’re looking for information to exonerate our clients. It helps us think creatively and solve problems that no other lawyer has been able to solve so far.”
While Ryner narrowed his eyes disapprovingly, Warren seemed convinced by Mike’s argument, even against his will.
“There’s something to that…your background is undoubtedly unique, and what lawyer has that kind of network to fall back on?”
“Many of my cellmates were very rich and influential people,” Mike agreed, taking a sip from his glass with exaggerated nonchalance.      
“Real estate agents, tech billionaires, wholesalers...everyone makes mistakes at some point, especially when so much money is at stake. At our firm, we help ensure that such things don’t happen in the first place and that fate doesn’t befall any of our clients.”    

Mike would never promote illegal activities or how to get away with them, but if people like Ryner wanted to interpret it that way because they themselves were prone to such things, he couldn’t care less.

All that mattered to him was that the firm and Harvey weren’t dragged through the mud, certainly not because of him.

“You seem to be making the most of your second chance,” Margot said conciliatorily, giving Mike a sincere smile. “That’s nice—everyone always says such terrible things about prisons. It’s good to see that nothing bad happened to you.”  

Again, Mike felt Harvey shift beside him, his elbow brushing lightly against him, but he held Margot’s gaze.

It did no good to think about the beatings, the nervousness when the lights went out at night and he could never be sure if Gallo would try again to get into his cell to finish him off.
The times he’d had to spend in the infirmary because he’d blocked Gallo’s knife with his hand, or because he’d dislocated his shoulder or bruised a rib yet again.

As Harvey had said, all that was in the past.

Even if it would always remain a part of him.

“It wasn’t a prison for violent criminals, and it certainly wasn’t anything like what you see on TV,” Mike agreed, continuing to smile bravely. “Like here: This is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of seeing the inside of a yacht, and it’s completely different from what I imagined.”
“Do you like it?” Cremser asked proudly, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. “We named her Marianne, after our daughter. Beautiful, isn’t she?”           
“Absolutely. You have excellent taste. But I already knew that, considering your choice of lawyers.”

This remark drew laughter from the group, and Mike knew he had successfully navigated the treacherous waters—if only he hadn’t noticed at that very moment that Harvey was far too quiet beside him.    

While Cremser enthusiastically rattled off details about his yacht, Mike cast a cautious sideways glance at Harvey and felt his heart sink.      

Harvey’s face had turned ashen within minutes. Beads of sweat were visible on his temples, and the way he began to loosen his collar with his hand told Mike he was having trouble breathing.

Shit.

Harvey was having a panic attack.

Right here, of all places, surrounded by all these people and in front of the host.         

Mike’s gaze darted to the table and then around the room, but none of the waiters were carrying anything on their trays that looked like water.

Shit!

So far, Mike had only been there once when Harvey had suffered such an attack in public, and he’d been terrified, fearing it was a heart attack. Despite Harvey’s precarious condition, he’d managed to verbally wipe the floor with Jack Soloff, but shortly afterward he’d literally collapsed into the leather chair, witnessed only by Mike and in a place where he felt comfortable and had been able to calm down at his own pace.

None of that applied here.     

Sometimes, he had seen Harvey after these attacks, which had been inevitable given how closely they worked together and how much time Mike had spent at his apartment for a while. Most of the time, however, Harvey probably hid the episodes skillfully so that Mike wouldn’t know anything about them to this day if he hadn’t happened to witness them a few times.

Like that one evening a few months ago.

Harvey had once again picked Mike up from a bar, completely stoned and drunk, and hauled him to his guest room.

“Goddamn it, Mike, how much longer are you going to keep throwing your life away like this?” he snapped at Mike as he sank down onto the edge of the bed.
Mike could only manage a weary smile. “What life?”  
When Harvey had to help him get out of his shoes and jacket, he shoved him aside, uncoordinated, because his body was too intoxicated to obey him. “Get lost. Why did you even come?” His words tumbled out thick and slurred, but apparently it was enough for Harvey to understand him.

It was his thing, always understanding him, even against his will.

Great Harvey-fucking-perfect-Specter.         

“Someone’s got to do it if you’re too incapable of looking after yourself!”        

In fact, Mike hadn't even called Harvey—why would he?      

Another tirade? More pity?

Screw that.

He’d been flirting with a pretty brunette—stunning light-brown eyes and thick lashes—but apparently he’d been so drunk that in the end, the girl wasn’t turned on by, but worried about him. So when he thought she was taking his phone to enter her number, she had instead called his emergency contact and summoned Harvey to the bar, worried that he wouldn’t be able to get home safely on his own.

Women really were annoyingly responsible.

Women and Harvey Specter.

“Do you actually realize how dangerous it is to be completely wasted and hanging around in some seedy dive at night?!” Harvey roughly helped him up by his jeans’ belt, but Mike just grunted and flopped onto his back. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in his street clothes.
“It’s like I’m dealing with a child, for God’s sake. I’m not just talking about some muggers, you could walk into a car and get run over—don’t you care at all?!”
“I don’t. And neither do you.”

Harvey’s movements stopped abruptly.

“What did you just say to me?”        
“That’s how it is. You’re only doing all…all this because you feel guilty that I went to prison for you.”
“Sure, because I’ve only been doing anything for you since then. Seriously, you weren’t such an asshole when you were high back then.” Gruffly, Harvey tossed Mike’s wallet and cell phone onto the nightstand.
“Whatever. Seriously, Harvey, don’t answer next time. Let a car do the…all the dirty work. Like with my parents. Then at least I’d be done with it.”

Of course, Mike hadn’t really meant it that way.            

He couldn’t even remember the exact words anymore (or at least hoped he hadn’t been that repulsive), just fragments of the conversation, Harvey’s furious expression, which had completely derailed before Mike had simply closed his eyes.         

In any case, he wasn't really no longer interested in life; he was just high and dramatic and sad and wallowing in self-pity, and yes, unable to make a reasonable effort at self-preservation lately, but deep down he knew that this was just another phase, like the ones he'd had so many times in his life.    

And of course he knew that Harvey was helping him because they were friends, that Harvey would of course pick up the phone again and come get him; and because Mike hadn’t entirely given up yet, he would usually call himself next time, as he had done so often in recent months.

He just hadn’t felt like explaining all of this to Harvey (at that moment or any other) in such detail.            

Perhaps the asshole in him had wanted to hurt Harvey a little, too, since he had had to take care of him again, because Mike had caused him worry again; after all, that’s exactly how people react when they don’t feel worthy of a loved one’s affection—they punish them for loving them.


And wasn't Mike a fucking genius at punishing Harvey for caring?

Anyway, Harvey gave up on getting him changed, covered him up without a word, and finally turned off the light.

Mike’s plan to simply pass out was thwarted by his thirst, so a short while later he laboriously rolled out of bed again to get a glass of water from the kitchen.
As he passed Harvey’s bedroom on the way back—the door was open—he noticed there was a light on, but there was no sign of Harvey.
Mike heard noises coming from the locked bathroom and was about to shuffle back to his bed when he suddenly caught the agonized sounds of someone throwing up in convulsive spasms, punctuated by staccato gasps for air. Not even the distance and the closed door could muffle the rattling of his lungs, the violent jolts as if Harvey’s breath were fighting its way in and out of his mouth.

After a brief moment of confusion (had Harvey gotten drunk too, but so quickly, so violently? No way), it clicked in Mike’s weary mind as he realized the other possible cause of these symptoms—and he sobered up so rapidly and so brutally that he almost felt dizzy.     

Guilt and shame throbbed through his gut painfully hot as he stood there silently listening, because he didn’t want to embarrass his friend by just bursting into the bathroom. It would be a farce anyway to offer his support at that moment. Mike waited with a heavy heart until the attack subsided and he heard long, exhausted breaths.

After that night, Mike had stopped drinking himself into a stupor at bars and had completely gotten rid of his remaining supply of weed.

He had also read everything the internet had to offer during his four-hour search about panic attacks, their triggers, and ways to help people cope with them.      
First and most important: Space. Getting away from people. Especially assholes like Ryner.

He was just thinking about how he could best excuse himself and Harvey without drawing attention to it when Harvey spoke up; his voice sounded thinner and more halting than usual, but if one didn't listen closely, the illusion that everything was perfectly fine held up.

“Your yacht is truly a gem, Arnold. If I ever...get one, I’ll ask you for advice. But now I have to excuse myself...important call.”
Harvey didn’t wait for Cremser’s reply, but turned away, and Mike was unable to make eye contact again with those glassy, frantic eyes.
“Working at a party, come on, really,” Ryner snorted, and Mike felt the urge to first pour the contents of his glass over him and then throw the glass itself at his head.

And Harvey’s.

Or a whole trayful.

“Our clients have priority over any pleasure,” Mike said coolly, suppressing the urge to run after Harvey with sheer willpower.
He knew his friend had his own strategies for dealing with these attacks and didn’t want to be seen during them, so he could pretend that this part of his life was just a minor inconvenience, like a sneeze. There wasn’t much support one could offer in those moments anyway; just offering words of encouragement, being there, breathing with him.           

Rationally speaking, Mike was aware of this, but he felt as though Harvey really did need him this time: an ally with whom he could stop pretending, someone in front of whom he could fall apart with a clear conscience, just as Mike had been able to do all this time.

“Maybe he was also embarrassed by how he acted over a few jokes,” Ryner taunted, and now Mike’s feigned patience was no longer enough to keep the forced smile on his face.

He slammed his glass down on the table next to Harvey’s with a loud clink.

“Harvey is loyal and keeps his word—to his friends, his colleagues, and, of course, his clients, who value him precisely for that,” Mike said firmly, nodding toward Cremser. “That’s why your trust in him and the firm is entirely justified. Anyone who thinks otherwise is as ignorant as they are wrong, but I’d rather not waste your time or mine trying to convince you of the contrary. If you’ll excuse me. Arnold, Margot.” 

He said goodbye to the couple with a smile, ignored Ryner’s disapproving snort, and turned around. He deliberately walked slowly at first so as not to appear as if he were fleeing, suppressing the almost overwhelming impulse to run his way through the crowd. Instead, he pushed and squeezed his way through, apologizing as he hurried toward the restrooms. He assumed Harvey had retreated there, since it was quieter and more secluded, but after checking all the available stalls, there was no sign of his friend.

Mike frowned with concern. 

Where would Harvey go if there was no office, no undisturbed space here?        

Fresh air.

No matter how well the ventilation worked down here, all those talking, breathing bodies had caused the temperature inside the ship to rise, making the air feel correspondingly heavy. So Mike turned around and headed for the staircase to the upper deck, having to reorient himself twice because this yacht had more doors than he’d expected.

Finally, he climbed the last few steps and felt the mild night air greet him. Waves lapped gently against the ship, illuminated in the distance by the city lights and those of the yacht itself, though the latter came only from a few dimly glowing lanterns.         

At first glance, the deck seemed deserted; somewhere above him, presumably in the crew quarters or one deck higher, he heard soft voices mingled with the scent of smoke. Perhaps guests who had sneaked up here to share a secretly, illegally acquired Cuban cigar.

Harvey was still nowhere to be seen.

Mike followed his instinct and started walking anyway; he didn’t dare call out to his friend yet, afraid of unnecessarily drawing attention to himself—the very thing he’d been so desperate to avoid. He’d barely taken five steps when he heard the muffled sound of heavy, much too rapid breathing.
He immediately picked up his pace toward the bow, and finally the outline of a person came into the beam of the few lamps. The person was leaning far over the railing and clinging to it so desperately as if it were the only thing keeping them upright.           

To Mike, the rattling, almost desperate breaths suddenly sounded like lashes of a whip cracking across the deck and leaving welts across his heart.

“Harvey,” he said cautiously, slowing his pace so as not to startle him or make him feel as though he’d been caught.

He simply wanted to be there for him.

Instead of reacting to him, Harvey shifted his weight and seemed to reach out with his left hand, as if searching for the right angle for his body that would allow his lungs to finally take in oxygen, but his hand missed its mark.      

Before Mike’s mind had time to process what his eyes were seeing, Harvey’s arm reached out into thin air; his body, already leaning far over the railing, lost its balance and fell forward—and suddenly the deck was empty, leaving Mike alone with the dim light and the sudden, final silence.

Chapter Text

Instead of reacting to him, Harvey shifted his weight and seemed to reach out with his left hand, as if searching for the right angle for his body that would allow his lungs to finally take in oxygen, but his hand missed its mark.

Before Mike’s mind had time to process what his eyes were seeing, Harvey’s arm reached out into thin air; his body, already leaning far over the railing, lost its balance and fell forward—and suddenly the deck was empty, leaving Mike alone with the dim light and the sudden, final silence.

⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

By now, Harvey could sense the panic attacks coming before they reached their peak.

Sometimes, with a little quiet time and some deep breaths, he was able to calm himself down enough to prevent things from getting too bad in the first place, but despite all this time, he still hadn't found a surefire way to do it within seconds and regardless of the circumstances.

Perhaps it simply didn’t exist, as much as he hated to admit it.

Ever since Donna had left him professionally, though they had at least found a sort of friendly basis again, his attacks had become increasingly rare.

For a while, he had even thought he could accurately identify the trigger, which would have made avoidance easier, but his uncooperative psyche had proven him wrong several times already.

Since Harvey’s otherwise proven tactics—intimidation, denial, ignoring—had failed when it came to his treacherous subconscious, he frustratedly accepted that he could not prevent the attacks, but only deal with them as adequately as possible.

At a major event like Cremser’s, he had so far been spared them, though he hadn’t attended such celebrations in quite some time. The firm had been in too dire a state to host fundraisers or lavish parties, whereas privately he had had his hands full with his therapy and Mike.

That was probably why he had been reckless enough not to even consider that something like this could happen to him on a yacht full of influential, important people—the very last place where a lawyer, who was supposed to be the epitome of self-confidence, competence, and strength, was allowed to hyperventilate and collapse in front of everyone.

Feeling Mike by his side gave him enough strength to leave the conversation with a reasonably plausible excuse, knowing that Mike would take care of damage control.

Harvey's head was pounding, drowning out the sounds of the people around him as he pushed past bodies and tables in a daze.

Slow, deliberate steps so as not to knock anything over.

Don't look at anyone.

Breathe.

His heartbeat thundered so painfully in his ears it felt as if a marching band were parading through them.

Too many people, too cramped, too stuffy.

No air.

Keep breathing.

At the edge of his blurred vision, he spotted an open bottle of water on the buffet table. With trembling hands, he poured himself a glass, not even knowing if it had already been used.

It didn’t matter.

Breathe.

Drink.

Swallow.

Breathe.

The cold water helped him loosen his tie and unbutton a button.

Less tightness, but still too much.

More air, but not enough.

He left the glass behind and kept walking.

Air.

He needed air.

Fortunately, Harvey’s feet kept him moving automatically, because in those moments, when every bodily function one otherwise took for granted was beating down on him rapidly and loudly—heartbeat, breathing, pulse, swallowing—he could no longer think.

In the furthest corner of his consciousness, a couple of disjointed fragments of thought flashed by, accompanying his hurried steps.

 Mike?—stupid, inefficient physical reaction—you’re not going to die, calm down—Mike…—fresh air, then you’ll feel better—breathe deeper—Mike has noticed—I can’t breathe any deeper—you’re a grown man, damn it—no, Mike hasn’t noticed, but even if he has—door, deck, have to get to the deck, get some air, fire my therapist again—Mike will calm Cremser down, Mike will have my back—stop shaking already, you pathetic... – Reputation? Firm? Doesn’t matter, Mike can handle it – I can’t…I can’t…I can’t – breathe – survive – I can count on Mike, Mike is clever, Mike is here, it would be easier if Mike were here, no, not here, he shouldn’t see me like this...

At last, Harvey had not only found the stairs but also managed to climb them, even though he felt as if he had climbed a mountain.          
The fresh air hit his sweaty face, and he breathed it deeply into his lungs, though it did not help much, because the oxygen still refused to enter his body. Standing as upright as possible—not wanting anyone up here to see him and think he was staggering around drunk—Harvey moved further away from the staircase in case other guests wanted to step out onto the deck.

Fortunately, however, he seemed to be alone at the moment.

His legs were shaking alarmingly, and he eventually reached for the railing next to him and held on tight. Playing it safe, he leaned over, because his stomach was rebelling and he certainly didn’t intend to throw up on the deck of this expensive yacht.

Appearances mattered.

Yet he couldn’t decide on the spot which would be worse: being taken for a drunkard who’d gotten so wasted at a client’s party that he was about to vomit, or for someone with panic attacks.

Luckily, his body contented itself with gagging slightly and gasping for breath, sparing him the unsavory process of vomiting.

His hands felt stiff and cramped as he blinked the sweat from his eyes, trying to pull his overstimulated nerves out of panic mode and force them back to calm through sheer willpower.

Modest success.

“Harvey?”

The voice sounded familiar.

It promised safety.

Harvey wanted to turn toward it, but his vision was still blurry; dizziness threatened to overwhelm his body, which was still screaming for oxygen as if Harvey were deliberately withholding it, even though there was a hell of a lot of it all around him!

Maybe if he arched his back more, stretched his neck further—sometimes that helped, sometimes...

He had loosened his cramped fingers on one hand and was about to brace himself again when the vertigo intensified with the movement and briefly robbed him of his sight.

Emptiness.

His sweaty hand slipped past the railing, and suddenly gravity simply pulled his already bent-over body forward, and he fell.

For a moment, he felt weightless and light; then his body crashed hard onto the water's surface—and suddenly everything was wet, dark, and final, though his collapsing lungs finally filled—not with oxygen, but with water.

Some part of his consciousness grasped what was happening: falling, sea, underwater, swimming, holding your breath, drowning, dying, Mike, but the larger part welcomed the feeling of no longer having to gasp for air and embraced the darkness that took his mind in.

⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

Mike’s mind, usually so sharp and quick, completely refused to do anything at first. Like a computer that had been flooded with too many commands, it crashed and froze, and so did his body.

One moment Harvey was there; the next, he was gone.

The loud splash of something hitting the water brought Mike back to reality and snapped his brain out of panic mode.

Not something, Harvey.

“HARVEY!” Mike dashed to the railing, his eyes darting frantically as he looked down at the water, but he might just as well have been staring into a deep abyss.

It was too dark!

The light on deck didn’t reach down to the sea, and the scattered lamps on the shore or the pier were too far away for the brightness to extend this far. Mike’s heart was pounding against his chest, hard and fast, forcing him to breathe through his mouth, as if his lungs had no room left to work.

So much water, so much darkness—where was Harvey?!

“Harvey?! Fuck!” Panic flooded him like a burst dam, so he began to move while still trying to figure out what he was even supposed to do next.

He unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it carelessly onto the deck.
Logic told Mike he should call for help, alert the crew, get someone’s attention, then find a life ring, but he had no time—he didn’t have minutes, not  even seconds, because with every one of them, Harvey would sink deeper into the infinity of the ocean, and by the time someone came along to turn on a spotlight and scan the surface, it would be too late.

Or was it already too late?

The horror that washed over him as he imagined this almost made his knees buckle, but Mike choked down the sour taste of fear and shook his head.

It was just him; he had to act, no one else, right now.

Mike and Harvey, alone against the rest of the world.

He would jump and find Harvey, somehow...he didn’t know how.

Harvey would surely know how; Harvey always knew a way out—how could Mike fail, of all times, when his friend needed him?!

Between the daze and just as Mike was about to jump into the water headlong with no plan, he felt his cell phone in his pants pocket.
Frantically, he was about to throw it on deck so that it wouldn’t slow him down while swimming, when he realized it was waterproof. Just last week, Harvey and he had had a long discussion about the pros and cons of waterproof smartphones, when Harvey had given him the latest iPhone as a gift for his promotion—as if that hadn’t been weeks ago.

And suddenly, Mike had an idea.

Something he had read in a crime novel while in prison.

Crazy, desperate, but the only option he had left.

With a few trembling movements, he tapped the necessary buttons on the smartphone and held it tightly in his hand before jumping headfirst off the deck.

Thanks to the sun, which had been shining on the sea all day, the water wasn’t as cold as Mike had feared, but cold enough to briefly send an unpleasant shiver through his body.His clothes immediately felt heavy against his skin and pulled at him, but he stayed underwater and opened his eyes wide, despite the salt that made them burn instantly.

Complete darkness surrounded him. He might just as well have kept his eyes closed.

He dove deeper and spun around and around, searching, pleading.

‘Please, please, work... please, please!’

He read a lot in his life and knew how water affected light, how it scattered and absorbed it, knew what a crazy plan this was, but Mike Ross had always lived on the edge, taking risks, and most of the time he’d fallen flat on his face—but this one time, it was more important than ever before, it was about what he loved most in life, and that’s why it had to work, it had to...

That’s when he saw it.

While his own cell phone was still glowing and dialing Harvey’s number, Mike suddenly saw a faint but unmistakable glimmer in the darkness of the water to his right. It was pale, barely discernible, as if hidden behind fabric, sinking, but there.

The only light in the impenetrable darkness surrounding him.

Without a second thought, Mike let go of his phone; if the sea demanded a toll, let it take this, but not his best friend, not the only person who had never given up on him, not the man he loved.

Powerful strokes propelled Mike toward the light, increasingly faster, more determined, as he ignored his protesting muscles and burning lungs.

Survival instinct, fine and all, but he was either coming up with Harvey or not at all.

Non-negotiable.

He goes, I go, right?

Finally, he could make out the contours of the other body, the edges of his clothing, his pale skin standing out against it, and he reached out desperately until his fingertips caught hold of a piece of Harvey’s suit.

Got you!

It was a small thing, still a far cry from safety or relief, yet Mike’s heart leaped with euphoria all the way up to his throat, almost forcing the air trapped there out of his lungs.            
Instead, he pressed his lips together, clumsily wrapped his arms around Harvey’s chest, and kept him from sinking any further. At the same time, he kicked hard. Years of cycling had strengthened his legs, and Mike was infinitely grateful for that; while the weightlessness of the water helped, he still needed both arms most of the time to hold Harvey’s body close to his own.
He wasn't getting any help from his friend, and Mike refused to think about why not; he just kept swimming upward as fast as he could until his lungs were screaming so desperately for oxygen that he thought they were about to explode.

But he couldn’t give up, not this time.

Harvey’s life depended on him holding on, on him fighting.

So he fought.

A few feet never felt as endless as they did in those seconds it took Mike to finally break the surface with his head.

The first breath was deep and desperate, followed by more frantic ones, during which he was already adjusting his arm and leaning to the side to keep Harvey’s head above water as well.

“Har…Harvey?” Mike gasped breathlessly, shaking his head to clear the water from his eyes and the wet hair from his forehead.

Harvey didn’t respond, and the fleeting relief left Mike just as quickly as blood leaves a body with a fresh gunshot wound.

“Harvey? Hey…hang in there…I’ll get you to shore…”

The yacht lay closer behind him than the shore, but Mike doubted he had the strength to stay there long enough to call for help until someone noticed them and pulled them out of the water, so he took Harvey in a lifeguard’s grip, swimming backward to keep at least Harvey’s head above water, and moved toward the shore. He reached it faster than he’d expected, and the water helped him carry Harvey’s weight most of the way until he finally felt solid ground beneath his feet.
His breathing was still rapid, his lungs were burning, but Mike blocked it all out, completely focused on the goal of getting his friend to safety. Roughly crashing his back into a sandbar, he now slid both arms under Harvey’s armpits and pulled him ashore as fast as his wobbly limbs would allow.
A footpath was nearby, leading to a more distant pier, so there were streetlights that provided Mike with just enough light to get a proper look at his friend for the first time:

Harvey’s usually meticulously styled hair hung limply down, his wet clothes clinging to his body like a second skin, while his face looked alarmingly pale, especially in contrast to his bluish-tinged lips.

“Harvey? Harvey, damn it, say something!” Exhausted, Mike dropped to his knees beside him and removed the already loose tie around Harvey’s neck. The top buttons of his dress shirt were already undone as well, no doubt by Harvey, who had tried to relieve himself during the attack.

Acting roughly due to panic, Mike began shaking his friend and was about to try again when it suddenly dawned on him that it was too quiet.            

Quiet because one sound was missing: breathing.

Harvey wasn’t breathing.

Mike felt as if he were back in the water, cut off from all the sounds, smells, and sights of the world around him.

Harvey wasn’t breathing.

He had been too late.

Too late.

Too late.

Harvey was...

NO!

He simply cut off the thought and bent down frantically.

Firmly, he pressed his ear against Harvey’s chest, yet his own heart was pounding too hard for him to hear anything, so he placed two fingers on Harvey’s throat. It took every ounce of Mike’s strength to ignore the cold that was mercilessly seeping from Harvey’s skin into his own body; instead, he sent silent, desperate prayers heavenward that his fingers would finally find something.

“Please don’t…please don’t be dead, you can’t…”

Mike wanted to shout the words out loud, wanted to scream at Harvey, but his voice kept breaking and finally faded into a whimpering whisper that was drowned out by the gentle lapping of the waves. Trembling, Mike’s fingers traced Harvey’s carotid artery, and he narrowed his eyes to focus on the pulse he was searching for.

Thump.

There!

There it was!

A beat!

Thump.

Another one.

Weak, but unmistakable.

A noise escaped Mike’s throat that sounded like a sob, but he couldn’t afford to relax yet, because Harvey still wasn’t breathing.

Mike cursed the fact that his last first-aid course had been far too long ago, but at least his photographic memory could provide him with the information from the brochure he’d read back then, even though his mind was still in a state of chaos, like a massive pileup on the highway:

5 breaths.

30 chest compressions.

2 breaths.

Repeat steps two and three.

Ignoring his still-racing heart, Mike leaned forward, adjusted Harvey’s head, and pinched his nose shut before sealing his lips to Harvey’s and blowing air into his mouth.

What a cynical twist of fate that he had imagined kissing Harvey so often in the past few weeks, fantasizing about how their lips would feel against each other, and now he felt nothing but emptiness in his head, panic in his body, and pain—not physical, but everywhere nonetheless:

Every part of him that could feel ached, as if the impending loss were already greedily reaching out its claws to tear him to pieces from the inside out.

Another person he loved and lost.

His parents.

Grammy.

Jenny.

Tess.

Trevor.

Rachel.

And now...

“No, no, NO, for God’s sake!” Mike cried out in despair as he clasped both hands over Harvey’s chest and pressed down.

One, two, three, four...

Not again.

Life wasn’t going to take everything away from him again, not this time!

...ten, eleven, twelve...

Mike had gotten his act together by now; he was doing good, had paid for his mistakes, and had done everything to earn forgiveness. He was no longer a fraud but had set out on the right path. A good lawyer, colleague, friend.

He had the right to be happy, and for that he needed Harvey.          

It was okay that they weren't a couple and never would be, that he could never be as intimate with Harvey as he wished, but Mike needed him to exist.           

Needed him the way a moon needs a planet to orbit—for grounding, stability, safety.         

This one time, he wouldn’t simply accept that loss and loneliness formed the ever-recurring cycle of his existence, like the seasons.

...seventeen, eighteen, nineteen...

Supposedly, the universe—or God, or whoever was pulling the strings—only ever burdened people with as much as they could bear, but this, Mike knew, would break him. He would never recover from it—not in a year, not in ten years, never again.

Impossible.

He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

He couldn’t lose him.

If he lost Harvey, life was lost to him.

...twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five...

Dismissed.

“You’re usually stubborn as hell and always want to have the last word, so don’t you dare just disappear now! You promised, Harvey!” Mike blurted out in despair. He knew he shouldn't waste his energy on pointless whining, but he couldn't help himself. Pain forced the words out of his mouth, out of his soul. “You promised that you’d always come when I asked—I’m asking...I'm begging you! Harvey, please!”

...twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty...!

Again, Mike leaned down toward him, about to press their lips together, when Harvey suddenly flinched.

Mike jerked back a little, just in time, as Harvey leaned to the side and coughed up a gush of water.            
“Thank God!” Mike blurted out—or maybe he just thought it; impossible to say.

Immediately, he placed a hand on Harvey’s shoulder to steady him, while Harvey tried to breathe somehow in time with his coughing.

“Hey, take it easy, everything’s fine...breathe, Harvey, through your nose...calm down...” Mike wondered if Harvey could even hear him, given how loudly his heartbeat was thudding through the night, but Harvey probably wasn’t able to listen properly anyway.       
Mike kept talking nonetheless, gently holding Harvey’s shoulders as he coughed, gasped, and snatched for air, whispering soothing platitudes to him and patting his back.

It might have helped him more than it did Harvey, but as painful as it must be for Harvey to rid his body of the water he’d inhaled, Mike welcomed every cough and gasp, for it carried life within it.

Harvey was alive.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!     

That was all that mattered.    

Now the world was allowed to keep turning.

At least Mike’s world would.

Chapter Text

Mike kept talking nonetheless, gently holding Harvey’s shoulders as he coughed, gasped, and snatched for air, whispering soothing platitudes to him and patting his back.

It might have helped him more than it did Harvey, but as painful as it must be for Harvey to rid his body of the water he’d inhaled, Mike welcomed every cough and gasp, for it carried life within it.

Harvey was alive.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!     


That was all that mattered.    

Now the world was allowed to keep turning.

At least Mike’s world could.

⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

It took nearly five minutes for Harvey to steady himself enough to catch his breath and sit up next to Mike.

Mike would have liked to help him, but Harvey gave him a dismissive nod, so Mike waited patiently until his friend sat up on his own, legs slightly apart, feet planted firmly in the damp earth, and elbows resting on his bent knees.

It took an enormous effort for Mike not to throw his arms around Harvey’s neck in relief and hug him tightly, but aside from the fact that Harvey couldn’t stand hugs, he was surely grateful for some space to breathe right now. Furthermore, Mike, his hands trembling slightly with tension—something he only now noticed—couldn’t guarantee that he’d stick to a hug and not simply kiss Harvey passionately.

Considering how close he’d come to losing him, he should really have found enough guts in his spineless body to confess to Harvey that he was hopelessly in love with him, that he didn’t want to keep it unsaid any longer, and that he owed it to himself to finally let his heart—which had just nearly been brutally ripped out of him—speak the truth.

He didn’t.

In doing so, he broke the rules of every clichéd love story, but in real life, no credits rolled after 90 minutes, and the promised, everlasting happy ending was left to the black screen.

If he ambushed Harvey with such a confession without a second thought, in a fit of panic because his soul looked like it had been hit by a tsunami, he could probably drown their friendship right here in the sea. It would just be about making himself feel better; right now, however, it was about his friend and his well-being.

“Everything okay?” Mike asked, causing Harvey to shoot him a look that could at best be described as tired.
A more accurate description would be a mix of exhaustion and confusion, and something Mike couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Yeah…” he managed after a moment in a hoarse voice, cleared his throat, and started again. “I’m just…what happened?”
Mike lowered the hand he’d been resting on Harvey’s shoulder, which he’d been using to either gently squeeze or stroke it.
“What do you remember?”

Harvey clearly felt uncomfortable at this question, for he frowned and rubbed his chest. Mike had ripped two of the buttons off during his pressure massage, so the shirt hung quite loosely over Harvey’s upper body, and he made an effort not to stare, for he truly had other things on his mind than his utterly misplaced feelings.

(He would soon resend the memo regarding the restraining order to his heart—or rather, his body. Expedited proceedings.)

“I had a panic attack during the party,” Harvey replied flatly, though shame still oozed from his words. “I went on deck to get some fresh air...then I slipped and fell into the water.” He shrugged and cast a questioning glance at Mike. “You obviously fished me out.”
“…yes,” Mike replied, swallowing hard, because Harvey made it sound so harmless, as if he’d simply dropped a file that Mike had kindly picked up for him. “We should...I lost my phone in the water. You should call an ambulance so we can go to the hospital.”
“Why? Did you get hurt?”

Mike stared at him as if he hadn’t brought his wits back with him out of the water.        

Especially since Harvey was genuinely giving him a concerned look.

When Harvey noticed his stunned expression and realized what was going on, he raised an eyebrow—a move that would have made even Mr. Spock green with envy—and shook his head.

“I don’t need a hospital, I’m okay. My throat hurts and I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus, but other than that, everything’s fine.”
“Fine?!” Mike repeated, not intending for his voice to take on such a shrill tone, but it happened all on its own. “Harvey, you were unconscious. You swallowed water. You were...”

Mike didn’t know how to finish that sentence without sounding hysterical or yelling at his friend, but he had to do something along those lines to avoid losing his mind.

“Mike, it’s okay, really. Calm down.”
“I’m supposed to calm down?!”
“You really should,” Harvey agreed, his voice still hoarse, as if it had been scraped across sandpaper. “Because you’re getting louder and louder. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Stop asking me that, damn it!” Mike snapped, and now he could clearly feel the overwhelm turning into anger. “You were unconscious! You almost drowned and I had to...I had to...”
“I know,” Harvey cut him off, not gruffly, but almost gently, though without looking Mike in the face. “I box; I know what bruised ribs feel like, and that obviously doesn’t come from a two-meter fall into the water.”

For a moment, Mike worried he’d done something wrong during CPR—massaged too hard, applied too much pressure—but Harvey didn’t look like he’d broken a rib that was now piercing his lung and puncturing it like popped bubble wrap.

Still, the possibility alone sent a wave of panic through his body.

Just as he was about to explain to Harvey that this was another reason to get checked out by a doctor, Harvey’s shoulders slumped slightly.

“I’m sorry.”

Mike forgot his lecture about doctors and hospitals.

“What? What are you sorry for?”
“For forcing you to do this. I shouldn’t have put you in the position of having to rescue me; that was…it was stupid.”

Mike could have thought of many words for what he’d just heard—stupid would probably be among them—but others seemed more important to him at that moment.

“It’s not like you did it on purpose,” Mike replied, dumbfounded. “It was an accident, and luckily I happened to be there and saw you fell.”

Otherwise...

Mike didn’t finish the thought.

Harvey shrugged uncomfortably. “It still shouldn’t have happened. Did you have Cremser and the rest covered?”
“Screw them. And stop changing the subject!”
“Mike...”
“WHAT?!” Mike snapped, wiping his damp pants. Fortunately, the night was mild, so they weren’t freezing despite their wet clothes, but the fabric felt clammy against his skin. Similarly unpleasant was the feeling of his still-dripping hair, which was stuck to his forehead, just like Harvey's.

It was an unusual, even interesting sight, but Mike didn't have the mental capacity to focus on it because he was too busy picking apart the bullshit Harvey was just spouting at him.

“Do you think I give a shit right now about what Warren or Ryner were thinking about why you left?! Or about me?! That’s completely irrelevant!”
“An hour ago, that was the only reason we even went to this party.”
“And now it’s meaningless,” Mike said firmly.
Ever since prison, at the very latest, he’d stopped making compromises when it came to priorities, and clients, money, or reputation were currently very low on his list of concerns.
“Now: Are you going to give me your phone so I can call an ambulance, or do I have to wrestle you for it?”
“I’m weakened, but I’m sure I could still pin you to the ground, so you better not try.”

Heat crept across Mike’s face.

Another inappropriate image.

Sometimes he almost believed Harvey was doing it on purpose, but fortunately, anger remained by far the dominant emotion in his soul, right next to worry.

“Harvey...”
“Mike.” Harvey’s voice was stern, yet tinged with an unusually soft, almost pleading tone. “I’m really feeling fine, considering the circumstances. Can we…just sit here for a moment and forget about the hospital? You know what emergency rooms look like at this time of night. I’ll go see a doctor first thing tomorrow morning and get a check-up—or later, if I start feeling any worse, agreed?”

Actually, Mike strongly disagreed, but he understood that Harvey was extremely uncomfortable about the whole situation; Mike knew from personal experience how reluctant he would be to make a fuss in such a scenario if he believed he had been injured because of his own stupidity or fault.

Not that this applied here, but Harvey believed it—that was the crux of the matter.

“Fine,” Mike agreed through gritted teeth. “But as soon as you cough or have trouble breathing or feel pain…there’s this thing called secondary drowning, which means we really have to go immediately…”
“Got it, Dr. House.”

Mike snorted indignantly and rested his arms on his bent knees.

For a while, they actually just sat next to each other in silence, their shoulders touching slightly, and Mike gradually allowed the previous tension to leave him. Sometimes his gaze drifted to Cremser’s yacht, which was still peacefully moored there, seemingly unfazed by having two fewer guests on board. Presumably, no one would even notice their disappearance. However, that was the least of his concerns at the moment.

It was the silence.

Because it wasn't the pleasant silence that usually reigned between them, but the kind they’d often experienced after Mike’s release: a heavy, guilt-laden silence, filled with unspoken reproaches and unvoiced apologies.

By now, Mike could read a great deal from Harvey’s silence.

“When you helped me all those months after Danbury,” Mike began cautiously, “you never blamed me for putting you in that position. And you said I shouldn’t apologize for it.”
“That was different; as you well know.”
“True, you can’t control this. It’s not your fault.”

Mike avoided the word illness, because he knew how much Harvey despised it and refused to acknowledge his mental state as a medical problem.        
Although, on a cognitive level, he probably did—that’s why he’d sought help and gone into therapy—but emotionally, he probably still partly believed he could fight these attacks with sheer willpower if he were stronger or tried harder.
Society's stigma, that mental health issues were taken less seriously and often dismissed as exaggerations, as something that could be easily overcome if people just pulled themselves together, did little to help change Harvey's attitude on the matter, of course.

He huffed in displeasure. “Debatable.”
“And why, pray tell?”
“I didn’t waste a single thought on the possibility that something like this could happen to me at a party; it was reckless.”
“Nonsense,” Mike dismissed. “You can’t just never go to a social event like that again. Besides, you couldn’t have anticipated that Cremser would ask about Donna.”

A scenario like that hadn’t been foreseeable.

Frowning, Harvey turned his head.

“Donna?” he repeated, and when Mike looked back at him in confusion, Harvey glanced away for a moment as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground. His eyes drifted back to the water as he coughed briefly.
“It…wasn’t because of the question about Donna.”

Mike's confusion deepened, and his mind automatically replayed the conversation in his head, right up to the moment when he had noticed Harvey stiffen beside him for the first time.
Right; that hadn't happened when Cremser asked about Donna, but when Mike was already standing next to Harvey.          

When...

“Oh yeah, sure, prison is a place for some unique experiences.“

Mike flinched slightly as the conversation played out in his head, right up to the moment when Harvey had practically jumped out of his skin.

“…everyone always says such terrible things about prisons. It’s good to see that nothing bad happened to you.”     

Oh.

“Oh,” Mike said profoundly, studying Harvey from the side while the latter persistently avoided his gaze. “I thought…you were just mad.” He had noticed Harvey’s reactions, though initially misinterpreted them.
“I was mad. But my brain…the stupid comments from those guys shouldn’t have gotten under my skin like that,” Harvey grumbled, dissatisfied.
“True,” Mike said, unable to stop his voice from becoming exceptionally tender. He resisted the urge to place his hand on top of his friend’s.

Constantly fighting the urge to touch Harvey—in a way that was too intimate for two friends, too intimate for someone like Harvey—was truly turning into torture at the moment.

“Because that time is long behind me and I’m doing fine. Mostly thanks to you. You don’t have to be afraid of losing me over this anymore.”
“I know that,” Harvey said firmly, but once again there was an unusual hint of insecurity in his voice. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you were there and went through it.”
“So? Bad things happen outside of prison, too,” Mike said, shrugging nonchalantly. “See Exhibit A.”

Harvey shot him a crooked smile and then rubbed the bridge of his nose quite vigorously, as if trying to massage away a particularly unpleasant thought.

“Are you in pain?” Mike asked, immediately alarmed.
“Hm? No, I’m fine. I just had to think about the fact that you...the idea that you...that we...”
“We what?”

Harvey’s tongue ran over his lips, as if it needed to prepare them to produce words.

“Did you also...did we kiss?”

Now it was Mike’s eyebrows’ turn to shoot up, though his heart had apparently gotten the memo this time too, because it shot up his throat before Mike could swallow it back into place.

“You mean…no? I mean, yeah, I gave you mouth-to-mouth, but that doesn’t count as a kiss, Harvey.”
“Our lips were pressed together, so what was it, then?”
“My attempt to blow air into your uncooperative lungs!”
“Not a particularly helpful choice of words, Mike.”

Again, heat shot up Mike’s face, as if a stubborn rash were spreading there.

“I just mean...believe me, it wasn’t anything like...it wasn’t a kiss.”

“And yet, somehow, it was. Of all people...” Harvey bit his lip hard and buried his head in his hand, shaking it.

Of all people?

Wow.

“You’re totally overreacting, you know that? Being resuscitated by a guy doesn’t suddenly make you gay or anything—relax,” Mike snorted, trying not to sound hurt, because someone who’d nearly drowned probably had the right to be insensitive.

In the end, Mike felt so relieved that Harvey was okay that he figured he should probably forgive him for tearing his heart out so mercilessly.

“I had no idea that the thought of being ‘kissed’ by me was worse for you than drowning,” Mike continued snidely, as if his mouth had decided to ignore the resolution he’d just made out of sheer defiance.

Was Harvey this embarrassed because Mike was a man, or his friend, or simply Mike?

Since Harvey supposedly had no problem being sexually involved with men, it had to be one of the other two reasons, and neither of them helped put Mike’s mind at ease.

“But if it disgusts you that much, you can always tell the doctor that a pretty, busty waitress revived you. And for the record...”

To be honest, Mike didn’t have an ending for that sentence.

It would probably have been something mean, insulting, or untrue—about how repulsive Mike himself would find the idea of kissing Harvey—and perhaps it would have led to stupid jokes about his age or sexual harassment of employees, during which Mike could have pretended his heart wasn’t aching from hurt and grief.

It didn’t come to that, however, because Harvey’s head jerked toward him with his eyes drilling into him even in the dim light.

“That’s ridiculous,” he protested, clearly flustered. “Nothing about you would ever disgust me, Mike, especially not after you saved my life.”

Although that emphatic Nothing sounded very reassuring to Mike, it wasn’t enough to make him forget the dismissive look on Harvey’s face just a moment ago.

Sure, Mike had never counted on any romantic prospects with him—at most, he’d allowed himself some naive daydreams about it—but seeing that rejection flash so unchecked across Harvey’s face was like a stake through his heart.

“Then why are you acting like you’re mad at me because of it?” Mike asked, confused and with less patience than he probably ought to have had given the circumstances.

However, his nerves were shot; the previous panic and adrenaline were leaving his body faster than the excess seawater dripping from him, giving way to a lingering exhaustion and a hint of frustration at Harvey’s behavior.
Of course, Mike didn’t expect an outpouring of gratitude for saving his life, since he would do it again anytime without being asked, but he had absolutely no energy left to let Harvey make him feel guilty now, as if he’d practically harassed his friend.

After all, Mike had been struggling for months to avoid exactly that kind of intrusiveness.

Exasperated, Harvey grimaced.

“I’m not mad at you at all!”
“Then disgusted! Of all people, that’s what you just said! And why are you raising your voice then?! Seriously, Harvey, you scared the shit out of me and I was totally...and after everything we’ve been through together, does it really bother you that I…”
“That’s not what’s bothering me, damn it!” Harvey snapped, clearly irritated.
“Why are you lying to me now?!”
“I’m not lying, you idiot!”    
“Yes, you are! You just said…”        
“No, I didn’t! It’s not about the who, it’s about the how!” 
“What the fuck are you talking about?!”      
“That this simply wasn't how I'd imagined our first kiss!”

Whoa, whoa, whoa, WHAT?!