Author's Note: So I was thinking about Jessica's questioning of Harvey during the trial run through, and the line that really stuck with me was "What kind of damage was done to you?" (I'm paraphrasing, I think.) That combined with Tanner's line about Harvey's mom from the beginning of the episode, and then the whole Harvey's Dad is dead thing. Really, the last few episodes have just been repeatedly kicking him in the gut.

I decided to also. I also kick Mike around, so, yeah...

This story is pretty different than my usual dialogue heavy style, and it's also written in present tense, when I usually use past so I apologize in advance for weird tense issues. I hope you like it?

The first time Mike does it, Harvey acts like it's no big deal. It isn't, really. They're in the back of the town car, and there is the obvious, unspoken rule that what happens in the town cars stays there, but they're on the way back to the office. So when Mike leans a touch too far to the left and brushes his shoulder against Harvey, Harvey just sort of eyes him and Mike shifts away.

Of course, later when they're on the couch in Harvey's condo watching a truly terrible movie about some "adorkable" girls meddling mother and Mike is looking shifty, Harvey knows what he's done. So he internally rolls his eyes and drapes an arm over Mike's shoulders. Mike makes a noise that might be called a contented huff and scooches closer.

The thing is, it doesn't bother Harvey. Not even the littlest bit. In fact he's more than the littlest bit smug that Mike is so goddamn eager to be next to him all the time. However, (and with Harvey, Mike thinks, there is almost always a 'however') there is a time and a place.

The office is not the time, nor the place.

So when Mike is standing beside Harvey's desk chair, the one with Harvey in it, pointing at some clause or other and his free hand comes to rest on the back of Harvey's neck, Harvey does the only thing there is to do. He stiffens and shrugs it off. Okay, so maybe Mike had been looking a little dour all day, and sure he had worked hard to find the one line his blunt nailed pointer finger was jabbing so enthusiastically at, but Harvey knows Mike. And Harvey knows that Mike knows that the office is not the time or the place.

Besides, Harvey deigns to spend the night at Mike's apartment a few days later, so Mike should know that everything's fine.

Mike knows everything's fine. So when Harvey blows him off a week later, everything is still fine.

Can I come over?

Usually, they would just leave the office together if it was going to be one of those nights. Harvey had disappeared early, so Mike had gone home. Mike knows everything's fine, but he's still a little dejected.

Sorry, busy.

Mike doesn't bother to reply.

Tomorrow. Comes through half an hour later, and his spirits lift slightly.

Except tomorrow comes, and Harvey's gone early again, and Donna won't tell him anything.

The text he gets at 10 p.m. is supposed to be reassuring, but it's not.

Emergency with a client, nothing you need to be concerned about. I'll see you in the morning.

Yes. Mike will see Harvey in the morning. At the office. Which is not the time, or the place.

And when had Harvey started taking client meetings without him again?

Harvey knows he could explain to Mike what's going on with Malcolm Meyers, that it was perfectly legal and would put Mike's mind at ease. But Malcolm's always been a little strange about new people. (The first and only time Malcolm had been convinced to come to the office, Louis had decided to ignore Harvey's directive to ignore Malcolm. He'd earned himself a solid judo hip throw for an attempted handshake.) There's no need to subject Mike to bodily harm and rile an important client all in one go, and there's no need to explain that to Mike, because actually Harvey is pretty goddamn sure he doesn't need to tell Mike everything. Mike is a grown man who understands that work is work, and everything outside of work is... everything else. Besides. He doesn't want to.

And then all of a sudden Louis is calling an all hands on deck for a case Harvey doesn't care about, but Mike is part of the crew, unfortunately. It's been nearly two weeks since Mike dawdled an appropriate distance behind Harvey out of the office, and even Donna's fed up with Harvey's increasingly superior attitude. The one Donna knows he only dusts off and puts on when he hasn't gotten laid in what he considers to be far too long.

"Why don't you just call him later?" Donna hisses at Harvey, who is standing next to her desk briefcase in hand, glowering at his cell phone. Because he knows Mike is stuck in the library with everyone else ranked below Senior Partner. Because he knows that he could get Mike out of it, but he won't. Because he knows Mike will answer if he calls, and that Mike will get a dressing down from Louis for his efforts. A look that tells Donna on Harvey has considered and dismissed the option her suggestion, well, suggests, passes over Harvey's features.

"It's not like that," he informs her finally, all the while telling himself he didn't have to inform her of anything at all. It could be worse. He could have denied that it was like anything at all. Besides, he doesn't call Mike. Once they're out of the office, Mike contacts him.

Donna mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like "It could be, you jerk."

"I heard that."

"You were meant to."

Harvey goes home. Mike is at the office 'til one a.m. every night for the next week. Every night for the week after that, Mike is too tired by the time nine p.m. rolls around to do anything but drag himself back to his apartment and catch up on sleep.

Harvey is starting to get annoyed, because Mike is his. So on the following Monday morning when Mike flounces into Harvey's office full of what he thinks is witty repartee and a bright look in his cerulean eyes, Harvey makes a decision. At promptly 6 p.m. he strolls past Mike's desk in the bullpen, waving his hand in a way that says, emphatically, "You will follow me. Right now."

And Harvey leads Mike out of the office and into the town car. Because Mike is his, and Harvey can do things like that. Because this is what it's like, and Harvey doesn't have to explain that to anybody. Not to Mike, and especially not himself. He enjoys not having to explain it to himself, because rationalization is exhausting.

Mike knows he doesn't have to follow Harvey. He knows not a word would've been said about it later. Mike knows lots of things, like the exact depth of Mariana's Trench, exactly how many millimeters it is from Cape Canaveral to Mars, and exactly how many minutes it's been since the last time he left Harvey's apartment.

Mike also knows there are times and places he's not allowed to need anything. Mike knows that Harvey doesn't need him. Not outside of work, anyway, and it'd be like pulling a thread from the weave of one of Harvey's suits to get him to admit he needed Mike at work either.

It's nice to know that Harvey wants him, though, even if it's only sometimes. So he grabs his bag and heads for the elevators, trailing Harvey's retreating back.

For a while everything goes back to normal for Harvey, and he is something that could perhaps be described as pleased. He is trouncing frivolous lawsuits, and winning legitimate ones, and Mike isn't working so hard he can't follow Harvey out of the office on a regular basis. So Harvey doesn't think anything of it when he nudges Mike's clinging arm off his chest at midnight. Mike makes a quiet sound, and his lips shuffle across the back of Harvey's neck.

"Mike," Harvey grunts, "Quit it. I'm tired." Because who can be expected to sleep with the solid weight and heat of another human being wrapped so tightly around them, even somebody as lean as Mike? Harvey's not a cuddler. Mike knows this. It's one of the many, many things Mike knows. Harvey's not throwing him out, or anything. Mike gets up and leaves anyway. Harvey's too tired to wonder about it.

Somewhere along the line, Harvey did start inviting Mike over. Really inviting, with text messages and everything. Sometimes he missed the warm, lithe form in bed beside him.

Busy tonight?

Yeah.

Harvey couldn't fault Mike, exactly. In fact he should be a little bit proud. Mike answered the question asked without lying or revealing any additional information. Mike is allowed to be busy. Harvey doesn't need to know what he's up to every second of every day. He thinks for a while about what reply he could send, but nothing that didn't sound contrived comes to him, and he goes to bed instead.

The next day Mike looks funny. He shuffles around the office sans his usual exuberance. Harvey entertains the idea that his associate is sick for all of about ten seconds. Still, it takes him until lunch at the hot dog cart to realize that the look on Mike's face is guilt, and that ties a knot in stomach. He should have read it earlier. He should already know why Mike looks guilty. He doesn't, though, and Mike isn't forthcoming. The kid nibbles at his hot dog instead, actively avoiding looking Harvey in the eye. The knot tightens. Harvey throws his hot dog away and goes back inside without saying anything.

Mike doesn't know why he feels guilty. He didn't do anything wrong. Harvey's not his boyfriend. He does, though, and he's not going to tell Harvey why. Mike's dealt with guilt before. He can ride it out.

Except he can't, because it doesn't go away. It gets worse. It gets worse when Harvey stops beckoning him out of his cubicle. It gets worse when Mike realizes that Harvey knows, and it's not because Mike told him. It gets worse when Mike thinks it can't possibly get any worse until it occurs to him that he lied to Harvey. He didn't know he lied when he did it, and he knows so many things, how did he not know that? But he did lie, because a lie of omission is still a lie.

And Harvey doesn't like fraud. That's no secret. (And Mike tries really hard not to think about what that kind of statement says about what Harvey really thinks about him and their whole ridiculous situation.)

Harvey has also stopped texting him at ungodly hours. Mike doesn't care, he'll go over anyway. He has the passcode for the elevator.

Mike realizes maybe he should've realized the night Harvey had given it to him that he was maybe, a little bit, Harvey's boyfriend. But it's hard to think of oneself as Harvey's boyfriend when Harvey would chuckle humorlessly at such a label, and then say nothing more about it. Ever.

Mike knows they don't talk about what it's like, but they're going to talk about this. Harvey doesn't text him, but he goes over anyway. He'll wait, if he has to.

Harvey shouldn't be surprised when the elevator dings softly and he turns his head to see Mike through the glass. He shouldn't be surprised, but he is, and Harvey hates surprises.

"What are you doing here?" Harvey asks as Mike steps into his condo and what Harvey is really saying is "I should have changed the keycode."

"Were we dating?" Mike replies bluntly, "Because if we were I didn't know."

"I wouldn't call it that." Why is Harvey having this conversation? He should be calling security.

"Then what the actual fuck is going on, Harvey?"

"You're mine," Harvey says simply, like that explains anything. Mike starts to tell him that it doesn't when he amends himself, "You were."

"So, what, you leased me like a goddamn car?" Mike is starting to get pissed, which is great, because pissed is way better than guilty.

"No," Harvey shook his head. He hadn't so much as twitched from his vantage point on the couch since Mike appeared, and he's still grasping his second-too many tumbler of scotch, "You were mine and I was yours and now we're not anymore."

The words hang in between them until Mike feels like he's going to choke on them.

"I'm sorry," he manages finally, because he is sorry, even though Harvey has things to be sorry for too. Like never telling him anything. Like just expecting Mike to understand and follow Harvey's rules. Like Harvey never seeming to know just how much Mike needs him. Like Harvey just expecting Mike to know.

But Mike knows everything. He should've known. He didn't, though, and the full weight of losing something he never fully understood he had is crushing him.

"Don't be. Clearly our lack of communication wasn't a mutually beneficial as I thought it was. Some of the blame for all of this lies with me, but that doesn't change how I feel about the fact that you went out and slept with whoever you slept with."

"Jenny," Mike says, because he has no sense of self preservation. And also because he won't spend another minute lying to Harvey, even by omission, "And I'm still sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, God, Harvey-"

Harvey just nods, and it's enough to silence Mike.

Mike thinks he should probably ask about his job, but if Harvey hasn't fired him yet then he won't.

"Can we?" Mike doesn't even know what he's asking, but Harvey does.

"No."

They do, though. A month and a half later, after Harvey spends an entire work day out of the office without explanation and later shows up at Mike's apartment wearing khakis and smelling like expensive liquor. Mike doesn't say anything when he opens the door to find Harvey standing there, only a little unsteady on his feet.

Mike steps back, and Harvey steps inside. His face flickers involuntarily at the décor in Mike's apartment like it always does, but Harvey lets the sense of calm that the knowledge he's back in Mike's apartment brings wash over him. He lets it be Mike's. Mike's mouth on his, and Mike's hands tugging at his clothes, and Mike's cheap sheets against his skin, Mike's legs wrapped around his hips, and Mike's hot breath against his cheek as he whispers "I miss you so fucking much," and practically screams Harvey's name.

For a few minutes, Harvey even lets it be Mike's svelte frame pinned beneath him as he catches his breath and regains his bearings. Then he realizes that those are Mike's long fingers tracing over his back, and Mike's lips feathering at his jaw, but not his Mike's. And an overwhelming sense of panic rises in Harvey's chest. He practically catapults off the bed, barely registering Mike's half-whimpered protest.

Harvey has to leave, because Mike isn't his and he isn't Mike's and he won't be all the parts of his father he never wanted to be. The parts of his dad that held onto his mother even when it was clear she was never going to belong to his father, to their family, again. Not really.

Mike is standing now, too, pawing at the shirt Harvey had managed to haphazardly button and saying something that sounds too much like "Please don't leave. Please. Harvey!" as he rushes out the door.

Mike doesn't go to work the next day. Mike sits around his apartment for over twenty four hours and tries to figure out how to fix it. Except there's no loophole for him to find, and he comes up empty.

Harvey is furious, and he doesn't know if he's furious with Mike or himself or Jenny or people who are dead and have no goddamn bearing on the situation. Even Louis doesn't say anything about Mike's absence, and in fact Donna is the only Pearson-Hardman employee who dares enter Harvey's office that day.

"It's not fair, Harvey," Donna announces as she settles herself into a chair.

"By all means," Harvey growls, gesturing at her seat. Donna just raises her eyebrows at him and waits.

"What's not fair, Donna?" Harvey sighs, because fueling a rage aimed at people who aren't around is exhausting.

"What you're doing to Mike. He understands how your brain works, Harvey. He knows, but relationships aren't all in your head. How you feel has a remarkable amount to do with how you think, and he doesn't know how you feel because you don't tell him. You just assumed that he knew, when it was obvious to anyone with two eyes that he hoped you felt that way, but was convinced you probably didn't," she informs him levelly, almost coolly. Because Donna has had about enough of both of their bullshit.

"It doesn't matter, Donna," Harvey murmurs, and fights the urge to rub his temples.

"Oh?"

"What was it that you said to me, a lifetime ago? 'If we do this, we can't go back?' Well. I didn't learn anything from that advice and Mike's not as smart as you and now we can't go back."

Donna is quiet for a long time, considering.

"Fix it," she orders finally, and leaves his office.

Harvey doesn't want to fix it, which is not at all related to the fact that he doesn't know how.

So Harvey vacillates, and Mike comes back to work on Monday and everything is fine. Bombs sometimes don't go off if everyone can manage to leave them alone.

Mike never did learn to leave well enough alone, though. And if Harvey was drunk when he showed up at Mike's, Mike is frankly shitfaced when he shows up at Harvey's three months later.

Harvey's elevator won't open, and the number pad keeps beeping angrily, so finally Mike settles for the regular elevator and plasters himself to Harvey's door.

"'Arvey!" There's an ear shattering pounding breaking through Harvey's dream and he automatically swings his feet to the floor, grabbing a Louisville Slugger from underneath the bed and heading for the door.

"Haaaaarvey!"

He knows it's Mike before he gets the door open. Who else would it be, hammered at two a.m. and screaming desperately in the hallway? Harvey doesn't put down the bat, but he does open the door. Mike seems a little surprised to have his support yanked away, and nearly tumbles inside. Instead he manages to faceplant directly into Harvey's chest.

"Mm'arvey," Mike slurs, nestling into Harvey's Henley.

"No." Harvey grasps his shoulder and forces him to stand up straight, "What are you doing here?"

Except what Harvey is really saying is "Leave."

Mike doesn't leave. He's already practically woven his fingers into the fabric of Harvey's shirt, stretching it beyond repair.

"It was good like it was, whattin it?" Mike asks, and for a split second his glassy, half-lidded eyes focus, "I love you."

"Don't do this, Mike," Harvey retorts tightly, attempting to steer Mike back into the hallway. If he can just get the kid in a cab, everything will be fine. He leans the bat in the doorway and allows Mike's weight to fall against his side.

"I didn know, Harvey. Howcun ya blame me if I didn know?" Mike sounds exhausted, and he stumbles, forcing Harvey to throw his arm over Mike's shoulders to drag him back towards the elevator.

Harvey feels not saying anything is the wisest decision in this situation.

"Howcun I fiz it? I can! I'll do 'nything." Mike's arm has found its way around Harvey's hips, "Please."

Harvey presses the down button before spinning Mike to face him, cupping the younger man's face in his hands.

"It's not even what you did anymore, Mike. It's that you didn't know. I thought you did, and I was wrong, and I'm sorry about the other night because I know all it did was confuse you further but, Mike, I can't. I can't. How can you say it was good before if you thought I was using you? How can you even want to be in a relationship with someone when that person's idea of a relationship feels like being used? It's ruined, now. It's mostly my fault, but it's ruined. I-"

The dinging of the elevator cuts Harvey off, and he shoves Mike inside.

"It'll be better! Cuz I'll know that you're not using me and-" Mike's eyes widen as the doors start to slide shut, "Wait, Harvey, I have to-!"

"Congratulations," Harvey's reflection says to him when the doors glide shut completely, "Chased off another one."

And when Mike's resignation is waiting for him on his desk on Monday, Donna says exactly the same thing without a single trace of pity. Harvey's not sure he deserves it, anyway.

Author's Note added 8/13: I'm not surprised everybody hates this. I completely see why. I'm sorry if it bummed you out or you just thought it was awful for any one of numerous reasons.

That said, I'm still completely in love with this story, because I never like the things I write in this kind of style and it came out exactly how I wanted. Also the role of cruel puppetmaster is one that occasionally appeals to me as a writer.