AN: I don't feel I've been clear enough with warning this: Don't expect Mike and Harvey to swan off into the sunset.

Next chapter will be either Sunday or Monday!

Chapter 4: The Lilo to my Stitch

Four years and ten months ago

Trevor's eyes were dark and hard, burning with his frustration and fury. His hands were curled into fists so tight that his knuckles were white and cracking as he held them resolutely at his sides though their occasional twitch made Mike doubt his self-control. Mike stared back, his shoulders hunched in defeat and angled away from Trevor. He was anxiously ringing his hands, his eyes flicking between the near-snarling Trevor and an equally anxious Jenny who had her hands bunched into her hair (a nervous habit she had developed).

"I'm not changing my mind," Mike's voice was soft but resolute. This wasn't the first time they had had this argument but Mike could tell it would be the last. Trevor's jaw twitched as he restrained himself from speaking. It looked almost painful when he final unlocked his jaw to let out his response. His voice was low and shaking with exertion as he tried to control himself.

"How can you say that?" unable to keep staring into Trevor's accusing eyes, Mike made to close his eyes and turn his head but Trevor's sharp reprimand stopped him, "No! Don't you dare look away from me now Mike!" his voice was a dark growl filled with a promise of violence Mike had never heard from Trevor before. Reluctantly, Mike maintained his gaze, "You have to leave her Michael – you have to!" Mike was shaking his head before the other could finish.

"No," he said sharply, "I will not leave her," Trevor sneered in disgust, "She wouldn't leave me!"

"Michael – she would want you to go. Do you really thing your Grandmother would want you to throw away your life for her?" he had no answer, "You have to leave with us Mike. This place had gone to hell – we can't stay any longer! You have to accept that Mike!"

"I don't have to accept anything," Mike grimaced – even to his own ears he sounded like a petulant child

"Mi-,"

"I will not abandon her!" Mike's voice teetered on a shout, "We've had this conversation every day for the past month and nothing has or will change my mind Trevor! I'm not leaving her! She's all that I have!"

"But Mike…" Jenny ventured forward hesitantly, her hands loosening their grip in her hair, "You have us too – me and Trevor," she glanced back at Trevor, seeking support but finding him too far gone to be of any help, "We're your family too. She'd want you to leave for safety with us – you know she would," a soft hand reached up to cradle his cheek and Mike leant against the affectionate presence, "Please leave with us, we don't want to leave you behind," the unsaid words 'but we will' lingered in the air between them. Reluctantly, Mike pulled away from her touch.

"I-," he swallowed, "I'm sorry," his whisper was almost a sob, "I can't leave her," Trevor's patience snapped. Letting out an animalistic growl he lunged forward and landed a punch on Mike's cheek, knocking him to the ground. Jenny jumped back with a cry and the look in Trevor's eyes said he regretted it immediately. He lurched forward again, this time to gather a dazed and crying Mike into his arms and bury his face into his neck.

"Why can't you just run away with us – please Mikey," his voice broke as he mumbled into the other's skin, "We're a family, we stick together," slowly, Mike's arms came up to hold Trevor to him. He whispered mournfully into his ear:

"I'm sorry." Trevor's grief filled groan almost broke Mike's resolve as the elder collapsed against him and pulled him fully against his body. Trevor's fingers tangled in Mike's hair and pulled his head over so Trevor could press an almost violent kiss against his hair and then against his cheek and finally his temple. Without another word, Trevor had released him and was out of Mike's apartment and down the stairs.

Jenny lingered a moment, her gaze regretful and longing before she turned tail and followed after Trevor.

Mike clung to the leg of his table, anchoring himself in place as he fought the urge to run after them.

'Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives.'
- C. S. Lewis

Filled with a kind of morbid fascination, Mike peered closely at himself in the mirror as he carefully ran his finger over the now flattened top of his ear. It was the first time he had seen his ear sans bandage for weeks and weeks (every time he thought it was heeled, he caught it and opened it again or went and got himself an infection) but it was finally healed enough to be left exposed. It was worse than he remembered; almost the whole top half of his ear missing. He winced at a sting of pain - though no longer bleeding, it was still sensitive.

"Stop messing with it," Mike scowled in the mirror at Harvey's warning reprimand, "You'll just make it sore again," Mike rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder to find Annie sitting dutifully still while Harvey diligently brushed her thick fur: she was malting and leaving fur everywhere. Things had… changed between them. For one, they never went out the house without one another anymore – without exception. Harvey was very firm on this point: he'd given Mike such a look when he suggested them separating that he hadn't bothered bringing up the point again. But more than that, Mike felt less like he was living with and being tolerated by a stranger and more like he was living with and enjoying the company of a friend. It was novel.

He turned back to the mirror and began examining the right side of his face from every conceivable angle, curious about his new profile. He let out a despondent sigh. Harvey appeared at his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, "What are you doing?"

"Lamenting the loss of half my ear – don't laugh!" Harvey held up his hands defensively, the annoyance in his eyes giving way to quiet amusement.

"Who's laughing?"

"You are," Mike grumbled under his breath. He leant back from his reflection with a sigh, "I miss my ear,"

"You're an idiot, you know that don't you?" Mike ignored him as he swung his rucksack up on to his back and secured his knife at his waist. He wandered vaguely away from the mirror and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Where's my gun?"

"On the side,"

"Which side? Oh! Never mind, got it!" he stuffed the handgun into his waist band and reappeared in the living room to find Harvey waiting for him with his arms folded over his chest.

"You ready now princess?" Harvey sniped, blowing out the candle on the mantel piece and swinging his rifle into his hands.

"Snarky much – yes, I'm ready," systematically he and Harvey set about putting out the candles that had illuminated their living room in the early morning darkness. Now however, the sun was just peeking over the back gate and creeping across the living room floor and the candles had been rendered redundant.

Standing at the houses front door with Harvey in front of him working through the many locks and Annie swaying with nervous energy, Mike felt the usual coil of anticipation building in his stomach that came with leaving the house in the morning. The house was sanctuary: it was a precious place of sanity in an insane world and the only place Mike ever felt even remotely safe. The act of leaving it every morning was a necessary act but one he dreaded. It was only now that he had a comparison that he could see the horrors of New York for what they truly were.

The last lock un-done, Harvey craned his neck round and his eyes met Mikes, "Ready?" silent, Mike nodded. Carefully, Harvey pulled the door open and peered out intently: at his feet, Annie did the same, her ears pricked forwards and nose twitching. Gun raised to his shoulder, Harvey ventured out into the sunrise. Loyal as ever, Annie followed him to the doors threshold where she stopped and waited for further instruction. Harvey was in the street now, peering carefully up and down. Finally satisfied, he nodded. As if compelled by a retracting cord, his dog was by his side in an instant. Mike followed at a more sedate pace, pausing to place a door stop just at the edge of the door and to trap a piece of paper in the door before he locked it: precautions so they didn't come home to a surprise. The whole process was almost ritualistic to Mike now and it felt wrong and unsafe to not follow every step.

Harvey still had his gun clasped safely in his hands as they walked together while Annie ventured a few feet ahead of them. Strangely, Mike felt more comfortable not having a gun his hands. He had no doubt Harvey knew this and Mike was desperately grateful that the other never asked him to hold one when they went out like this.

They stopped their silent walk after about an hour when Harvey spotted a building he liked the look of: Harvey was always the one to decide which building they went into and Mike had never had a problem with this (someone had to decide after all) until now. He recognised this place.

"This seems promising," Harvey eyed the building and the sign that stood in front of it critically, "Lots of residents, lots of rooms," he mused out loud, "Gotta' have supplies on hand if you're housing the elderly – first aid kits on mass," the usual trickle of amusement at Harvey's preoccupation with first aid kits didn't come like it usually did, "Mike?"

"Mm?" it was with much effort that Mike tore his eyes from the faded words 'Evergreen Nursing Home' on the sign that stood at the road side. Looking to Harvey, he found the older man was already half way to the homes front door, a concerned frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" steeling himself, Mike shook his head and joined Harvey.

"Nothing," Harvey's response was a disbelieving raised eyebrow but he let it slide. It was with one last glance behind him that Harvey opened the double doors into the foyer. Mike reluctantly followed, tugging his gun free and holding it warily.

The gust of wind that followed them kicked the thick layer of dust on nearby surfaces up into the air as a chocking, toxic cloud that whooshed forwards before being sucked back into their faces by the closing door. Mike reeled backwards and Harvey went into a sneezing fit that made Annie start at his side. Fighting to get his breath, Mike tried to rub the dust from his eyes but only managed to make his eyes burn more. Giving up, he left his eyes to stream tears down his cheeks and concentrated on trying to stop coughing. A hand was on his back, patting him weakly. Mike met Harvey's equally pained and reluctantly amused gaze.

"You okay champ?" Harvey's face was covered in dust except for tear tracks across his cheeks – Mike expected he looked much the same. He nodded and waved off Harvey's concern with a weak glare, sinking carefully to the floor to catch his breath. Harvey followed him down to a squat, reaching up a hand to wipe across his forehead. Mike looked up at Harvey's snort, "You're filthy!"

"You're not exactly clean either," to prove his point, Mike swiped his hand across Harvey's cheek and wiggled his dust covered fingers. Harvey wrinkled his nose before pushing himself to his feet and peering around at their surroundings, suddenly wary, "It doesn't look like this place has been touched in years!" looking up, Mike could only conclude that Harvey was right.

Everything was as he had left it nearly five years ago. In his mind's eye he layered his five year old but still perfectly accurate memory over the image he saw in front of him. It was like a game of spot the difference and Mike could see only two: the abundance of dust and ceiling fan that at some point had crashed into the floor.

"I'd say you were about right," Mike muttered under his breath, pushing himself to his feet to follow Harvey who was carefully leading Annie around the glass and in the direction of the residents' rooms, "So what's the plan?" he was glad that his voice sounded more normal than he felt: this place had an over whelming feeling of wrongness to it, a feeling so strong it was almost palpable against his skin. Harvey glanced back at him, a contemplative frown on his face. He paused at the door to the stairwell. With his face dusty and streaked, Harvey looked to Mike like a member of some Amazonian tribe who had painted himself in preparation for war; the image was fitting with the gun that rested in his hands and the tense set to his shoulders.

"I think we'll be safe to split up: no sign anyone else has been here. I'll take the upstairs okay?" Harvey paused, pondering, "Annie will go with you," Mike couldn't hide his surprise and even Annie seemed confused (a ridiculous notion): Annie always went with Harvey.

"What? Why?"

"Because I want you safe," his hard tone left no room argument and Mike was too dumbstruck to pose one. With a prod in her hind quarters from Harvey, Anne trotted obediently to his side though the look she cast over her shoulder was almost betrayed. Harvey jabbed a finger at her, "You. Guard," his eyes flicked to Mike, "Stay down here, I'll come find you when I'm done," with that, Harvey disappeared into the stairwell.

Mike let out a shuddering breath and collapsed back against the wall to steady himself. He couldn't be here. Memories were crashing against him in unrelenting waves and he found himself cursing his perfect recall. It had hurt to leave and it hurt even more to come back. He had to bite his lip to stop himself from calling out to Harvey and begging him to leave now. He could not be here. She was still here somewhere (not somewhere, he knew where) and though he knew she was dead, the prospect of her cadaver before him wearing her clothes and lying in her bed was more than he could handle.

He was tempted to stay right there and wait for Harvey to come back but he knew it wasn't an option. It was with a feeling of resigned numbness that he set about exploring his grandmother's old home. The rooms were as the residents had left them and any dust voids that told of hastily grabbed personal items were long since gone. There wasn't much of any great value except for a revolver he'd found stashed in an underwear drawer and a few luxury items (shampoo and body wash mainly): he took everything he could fit in his bag.

Without really meaning too, he found himself at his grandmother's door, though he knew there was nothing of use in there. A lump of emotion caught suddenly in his throat, trapping his breath in his lungs and spreading down to wrap an iron fist around his heart. He pressed a hand against his mouth to smoother the gut-wrenching sob that was threatening to break free as guilt consumed him: he'd left her. After all she had done and all she had sacrificed, when it came down to it he had abandoned her to save his own worthless skin. She had died alone and that was on him. He let out a shuddering breath, allowing his hand to fall from his face.

"Mike?" Mike flinched and a sent a startled look over his shoulder, "Are you okay?" he considered the concerned look on Harvey's face. Unable to hold eye contact with the other man for any longer, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

"No," he bit out, "I –," he swallowed, "I'm not – I'm sorry,"

"There's no need to be sorry," the depth of sincerity in Harvey's voice was almost enough for Mike to believe him, "What's wrong?" Mike forced out an answer before he could think about it.

"My grandmother – sh-she-," he sucked in a breath, "This was her room," silence followed his admission, "I – I, she made me, I left her. I wanted to stay, but -," buried under five years of regret, his words didn't come easily. Thankfully, Harvey seemed to understand.

"Ah," a hand slid over his shoulder and carefully pulled him around into a warm but brief embrace. He felt Harvey make a conscious effort to relax against him as if he wanted to give comfort but wasn't entirely comfortable doing so. Harvey squeezed his waist before carefully stepping away, hands falling to his sides. He scrutinised the stony look on Mike's face, "Do you want to go inside?" vehemently Mike shook his head and took a deliberate step away from the door, refusing to look at it, "Do you want me to go inside?" he shook his head again, "She must have loved you very much," Mike's reaction came slowly as though he was wading through water to find an answer to give Harvey. Finally, he gave a deep and heavy sigh.

"Yes. Yes she did. She raised me: she was my only family," his voice caught on the end of his sentence and he stared determinedly at the floor, unable to look at Harvey.

"If she was anything like you, she must have been a brilliant woman," Mike's responding chuckle was more than a little wet. He nodded weakly, a ghost of a smile twitching to life on his lips, "You're not alone though now," he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, "We're kind of a family right?" Harvey seemed to consider his own words, as though he wasn't sure himself, "I mean, we have a home together and I try to take care of you and- and keep you safe. I'd never let anyone hurt you. Never," he was firm about this point, losing his uncertainty, "We aren't blood related and we haven't known each other that long, but we are a family,"

"Yeah, we're kind of a family," Harvey looked pleased with Mike's agreement, squeezing his wrist briefly.

"We're family," he reiterated, "And I'm not going anywhere that you're not,"

Mike wanted to believe.