Life in Alphabet
Harvey Specter & Mike Ross (AU)
Author's note: Because we're opening, we have 2x1 week. I hope you can hook them up.
Descargo de responsabilidad: I don't own Suits. All goes to USA.
D for Drinking [Second Part] or A for Asphyxiation
Sixty-five seconds were enough for Mike Ross's world to wobble and crumble into one of its foundations. He never thought of his eidetic memory as a curse until days after the accident when he was able to evoke every terrible second of those sixty-five —between the moment he paid for coffee, heard the roar, and the moment he was able to hold Harvey on his lap— and then in the longest minutes of his existence with his wounded mentor bleeding out in his arms.
Of course, being Mike Ross with a Ross's luck, his world imploded twice: the first when his grandmother confessed in tears that his parents would not come back, and the second when he saw Harvey lying in a puddle of his own blood a feet away from a blue Jaguar. With his mathematical ability, he concluded that the duration of the disbelief on both occasions was the same.
Harvey had invited him out for fresh air and buy a coffee when he found him lying on the floor of the office after a night of hard work. They had a meeting two hours later and no one wanted Mike not attentive enough, especially their client: a forty-eight-year-old woman accused of bribing a major military man to agree to suppress a protest rally against her sugar company.
It took sixty-five seconds to ruin what it once was: a driver in an inconvenient state, with cocaine up on his eyelashes, and a car that, despite its impressively expensive brakes, was impossible to stop.
Mike was buying two cups of coffee and two cart bagels when Harvey received an urgent call and walked away to an empty place, away from the sound of other people's conversations, to attend it. Twenty-five seconds is what it took Mike to leave the coffees on a little bar and try to pay and, at the same time, take the bagels. Then he heard the roar, the squeak of the tires against the asphalt and the screams of the people passing by, adding up ten seconds more to his fatal account. He looked up and the worst of his nightmares came true: a driver had climbed the sidewalk, boarded the dressing case and hit his only passerby. The colleague dropped the stupid coffee and the stupid bagels, because there was no doubt that this man well-dressed watered on the asphalt as a stuffed animal was his boss and mentor, Harvey Specter. Mike saw the luxurious star blue car against a pole, steaming in its killer heat, and the lawyer lying near one of his tires.
Mike's memory allows him to relive, on sleepless nights, the panic of his chest, the absolute fear that made his hands tremble and the crippling shock that almost led him on his knees to empty his stomach. He remembers approaching quickly, though his legs barely moved him, and unexpectedly managed to settle next to the wounded man before any morbid Samaritan. The last thirty seconds. He tried to evoke anything he had read about attention to hit-and-run victims, but to no avail; for the first time since he had memory, it was blank, and the irony seemed cruel to him, needing its help more than ever.
"Help! An ambulance! Somebody calls 911!", he shouted in a broken voice.
Mike forced his prodigious memory and common sense to work, which dictated to him that, on the one hand, it was vital to comfort an accident victim and verify his level of consciousness and, on the other hand, that moving him increases the risk of spinal injury. Before he knew it, he was gently turning Harvey on his back and lying him on his lap.
"Harvey?, Harvey, please", Mike called, begged.
"Mike?", the wounded man asked as his brown eyes opened slightly. "What-what's going on?".
"You had an accident, but it's okay... You're all right". Mike wasn't sure of that, but his mind wouldn't allow him to consider another possibility: it didn't recognize that tomorrow he might wake up and Harvey wouldn't be at his desk with a growl and the attitude of dominance and control over people, about cases, about winning. There was no scenario in which Harvey lost, not even against concussion or brain injury, lung perforation, pneumothorax, paralysis, coma or death.
"What-what happened, kid? Why are you… crying?", the senior partner asked with confused eyes, choppy breathing and lips shaking.
"You had an accident, Harvey, it was a car", the kid replied, trying to put his friend as best as possible on his lap, and frantically looking around. "Ca-can someone call an ambulance, please?!", the colleague raised one of his hands when he sensed moisture and found blood, dark blood, blood that did not look like blood. He did not know where it came from because it was too much, and his mind drew up the false inference that then it could not come from Harvey Specter's body, and for the first time in forever Mike had no intelligent idea and cunning response, simply fear in its purest, most abrasive and corrosive, lacerating form; the absolute fear of losing again, helpless, to one of its pillars, and to see the rest crumble like pieces of dominoes.
"What?... How bad… How bad is it?", the older lawyer asked, though deep down, in his body, he felt the answer: he could not think clearly, his heart was pounding in his chest quickly, feeling dizzy and nauseous, barely able to breathe. He tried to stand up to verify the level in which he was injured, but his friend prevented him.
"You're all right, Batman. Just stay still". Harvey heard the diagnostic, but didn't believe word. Gradually, the deafening shock disappeared, and there remained the pain that gives away the broken bones, the burst organs and the muscles in agony by the chaotic blows: the suffering that dictates death.
"Never... lie to me. The truth, Mike, always the truth", Harvey said as he tried to focus his young colleague's face. The effort was excessive and left him nauseous and gasping for an air that could not enter his lungs, so his body inadvertently convulsed in his mentee's arms.
"No, no, no, don't do that. Don't do that, Harvey, okay? You must breathe. Just breathe, breathe", Mike could not prevent the tears from accumulating in his eyes and slipping, and he felt panic and anguish at not controlling them, and not being able to be strong just as Harvey taught him, and instead he tremble and become again the vulnerable boy whose parents never returned from a date of love; the one with the marijuana portfolio; the colleague who gave way to Louis Litt's threats, to the blackmail of Jessica Pearson; the one who almost lost Harvey's loyalty for a stupid mistake.
Harvey tried, tried to breathe deeply to make sure he didn't die in the arms of a person who had already lost his mother, father, and grandmother—not that he was as relevant in Mike's life as they were— but was physically prevented from doing so. He was going to die, that's what he was sure of —because that's how he felt, like dying— but he would have preferred to make the experience less traumatic for his associate. Who would say that? The mighty Harvey Specter, imagining better scenarios in which to die, those that did not involve blood, chaos, automobiles, exploited lungs, suffocation, and pain, lots of pain, and definitely not in the arms of this orphan kid with and excellent memory, capable of remembering every smell, color and detail.
"I'm sorry, Mike. I don't think… I'm gonna make it", the senior partner voiced with his throat closed and a weak voice.
"Don't say it, okay? The ambulance is almost here and you're going to get better. Everything will be back to the way it was".
What worried Mike most and ended up breaking it inside was the sadness he saw in that brown eyes, plagued with the absolute certainty of the abrupt end of his life, given for a moment of lucidity and awareness between the toxicity that was beginning to circulate through his blood in his dying body, which clouded his judgment.
"It's over... Forgive me. I didn't want to... do this to you".
"Harvey, don't say that, I beg you".
"I'm so sorry. You'll be all right, Mike. You'll be the best of us, you got that? Better than me, better than Jessica. It'll be all right".
"Please don't, Harvey. Not without you. Don't close your eyes. Look at me, look at me, please. I can't do this. Not again, God, please".
At one point, Harvey's eyelids were closing, and his eyes were rolling inside his head, and the next he knew was that Mike was hitting his face hard, trying to make him regain some sense. He was utterly confused. At times he understood what was going on around him, while in others reality was a diffuse flow of images and sounds, of disjointed symbols, which he was unable to interpret. He returned to the land of the living with confusion and wanting to escape from his mentee's arms and from pain and recompose his broken suit and stretch out the legs he no longer felt.
A long shiver swept across Harvey, and along with it a coughing access that ended in attack, and in a blood vomit in his mouth that brought his colleague to the brink of panic. Even though he listened to the sirens in the distance, it was evident that they had run out of time. Mike Ross found inevitable to cry because it wasn't fair: he wouldn't accept that outcome, and would make any deal, whatever it would cost, to keep his mentor alive. Any deal. Any sacrifice.
Harvey meant to say so much: what he lacked to teach, which was quite considering that they had only four years together; what he dared not confess for fear of being vulnerable; what could help Mike overcome a loss and accept that sometimes it is statistically impossible not to lose; what everyone else knew, but which was never said between the two —that he loved him as the brother he had and the son he never had—. However, the experience was far from what it was in the movies: there are no long goodbyes, no wise advice, no words of encouragement to compensate for the years that won't be for them. In Harvey's death there were only violent jolts of pain and suffocation, accelerated beats, blurred sight, until he began to be defeated by the bleeding, internal and external, and the convulsions gave way to stillness, and he was horrifyingly motionless in his kid's arms, while Mike clung to his sophisticated suit and screamed for him to stay awake, as if that desperate contact could function as a lifeline, and his breathing failed him and his heartbeat subsided, and his consciousness disappeared.
Mike lifted his torso from the couch by a pull of reality: a coughing fit coming from the main room. He ran into the room long before he was completely awake because that was exactly the noise that plagued his nightmares: of someone who simply. Could. Not. Breathe. In the bed, a chest was rhythmically shaken, and Mike was able to identify the silhouette that stood with difficulty on the pillows. The younger lawyer moved rapidly, giving the impression that the life of the person suffering from the attack depended on it, and as a result almost stumbled upon his own footsteps.
"Harvey?! Hey, easy, easy!", Mike called with a slightly exaggerated tone for the situation, which did not go unnoticed by Harvey. Ross grabbed him by the shoulders and helped him finish his way up. The youngest sat on the bed and tried to connect glances, but Harvey continued to struggle to release the imaginary obstruction of his throat.
It took several attempts for the junior partner to focus the view on his boss's face. Maybe he needed glasses, or maybe it was a passing effect of drunkenness. It wasn't a serious coughing attack, but after that nightmare, Mike's nerves were upset and the feeling of blood on his fingertips was vivid. No one would blame him for being overprotective. Nobody but Harvey.
"You're fine, breathe, deep, deep", Mike asked as he helped Harvey to apply the inhaler he had to use to improve his breathing since that day, and then pour a glass of water from the jug on the table at the end of the room.
Harvey looked at him with a reproach that Mike couldn't understand. When he managed to speak, Harvey remorselessly released the Specter character.
"What the hell, Mike!?".
"Sorry?".
"Why the hell do you enter in like this! You're going to give me a damn heart attack! Was a maniac chasing you?".
"What? You were having a coughing fit. What am I supposed to do? Let you die?".
"Damn, Mike, I'm not going to drown in my own saliva. That would be pathetic. Stop acting like I'm made of glass. I don't need you stuck to me like a leech".
Mike walked away indignantly and took a seat on the divan. That's exactly the kind of person Harvey is, no matter what many glimpses of a different Harvey he sees: he always returns to the insensitivity proud distance from those he loves and knows that love him in return. On that couch, Mike had spent many all-nighters, when Harvey's breathing is so bad that someone must stay and take care of him, when the risk of pneumonia became a bitter reality. But his friend is unable to see that: for him there is pride, appearances and a crooked idea of dignity. Mike did not expect any recognition for the concerns, the attentions or his dedication, but a simply understanding of his fears rooted and fed on the traumatic experience, because although Harvey was the main victim and who had to deal with everyday sequels in the aftermath, everyone was scarred and won and lost battles everyday, including wanting to help and not to do so for not damaging the pride of the senior partner.
Mike sighed bitterly.
"Forget it, Harvey. You wouldn't understand it".
"Understand what?".
"I'm going home now".
"Wait, Mike. It's four in the morning. You can't go home at this hour. Explain to me, understand what?".
"What, Harvey!? Understand that you were run over by a drug addict and almost died in my arms; understand that this damn demising cough is exactly what I hear in my nightmares; understand that when we went in the ambulance your heart stopped and they had to revive you in front of me and for a few seconds I thought they wouldn't make it; understand that in the hospital we were told that you would not last the night because the bleeding was almost fatal and your lung was badly damaged; understand that Donna and Rachel made me walk into that fucking room and say goodbye to my mentor even though I wasn't fuckin' ready, I wasn't ready and that didn't fuckin' matter because I had to do it or I was going to regret it for the rest of my life; understand that when you became aware and Donna told you about your legs, you were so upset and started screaming that we would have let you die, and I felt like the most selfish and insensitive man in the world because I was so fuckin' glad you were alive while you were sinking in suffering, because that's exactly what I asked for before you lost consciousness on the day of the accident: any price but that you lived!".
At the end, Mike had unconsciously locked his head in his hands, in a position that indicated that he was trying to protect himself from a hostile environment, when in fact it was his thoughts which were attacking him.
Harvey kept quiet. He wasn't that cold: some of those things he knew from Donna and others from Rachel, but they'd never talked about them. He looked down, finding no words to apologize for behaving like a jerk.
"I'm sorry, Mike". In cases like these, simplicity was the product of sincerity. "If it's any use, you know you won't get rid of me so easily. I'm going to be here to throw every one of my grays in your face. You're not going to lose me", the older one tried to reassure him; a serious look and firm voice: Harvey assumed that it would suffice to persuade him.
"That's what I thought of my parents, about my grandmother; that's what I thought of you before that day. It turns out that one day, sooner or later, it becomes a false promise", Mike said crudely.
"I know, but it won't be on purpose. I'll do everything in my power to die when you want me, but you don't need me anymore".
"Are you quoting the Nanny McPhee?", Mike asked with an incredulous amusement stuck between his teeth.
"I thought it would be appropriate in this situation", Harvey replied with a cheeky smile etched on his face.
The comment served to relax the tension of the room, but Mike's eyes soon became sad and distant.
"After my parents died, I started making mental lists".
"What kind of lists?".
"Lists about the things I wanted to do with the people I loved. I still do. I have one for each of you. I used to tell myself that if I had a list then God would realize that it was not yet complete and then he would leave them with me".
Harvey tried to find those puppy eyes in the gloom, but he only found emptiness.
"I hope ours includes strippers".
"Bachelor farewell, remember?"
"Right. Although I certainly can't do anymore many of the things that were originally on your list".
"The list was never about activities; it was about people. I know there are days when you would have preferred...", Mike couldn't say. Just thinking about it would make him sick of his stomach, "something different, but... I remember one of those bad days you told me to look for another mentor because you didn't want anymore, and I quote: "a scary lapdog on your pants".
"Mike, you know I said it to send you away. I didn't feel able to teach you or guide you, when I didn't even see the point to keep existing".
"I know, the point is, I didn't want another mentor: I wanted you".
Harvey smiled and there was a peculiar nostalgia in that smile. He also had his own list of things he wanted to live on before kicking the bucket, and he would have liked to invest more effort on it before being paralyzed.
"I bet that list had 'play baseball with my superhero mentor' on it, right?".
"I will not dignify that question with an answer"
"What does it include now?"
Mike got a little nervous. He was a bleeding heart with puppy eyes, that everyone knew, including Harvey, but he didn't like them making a mop of his sentimentality.
"Come on, Mike, tell me...".
"It's predictable, you should intuit it, sir-I-am-too-good-reading-people".
"Well, I guess: Yankees game, drive a Ferrari, go to some museum, marathon of the Star Wars and Star Trek sagas, put together a puzzle or play Monopoly, play some sport, get drunk, a dinner that costs me a fortune, go buy suits, make a heavy prank on Rachel, go to a rock concert, play violent video games, go fishing, go on a Formula 1° car race, build a miniature model airplane, listen to my acetates, celebrate Christmas, vacation in Montana, read a book, meet Michael Jordan and Michael Phelps".
After the initial surprise, because his mentor didn't fail his abductions, he realized: "That is not only my list, but yours".
"Go to sleep, kid".
"You have to say: "Go to sleep, Your Excellency, New York's youngest junior partner".
"If you are His Excellency, I am Your Royal Highness, so let me sleep".
"You guessed almost everything on my list, except one thing".
"Which one?".
"The Ferrari".
"What!? Who wouldn't want to drive a Ferrari with Harvey Specter?".
"Someone who can't drive. Like me".
"You gotta be kidding me... That's the first thing we're doing tomorrow. I need to give you back some dignity".
That's it. Any comment is welcome, even to say this story sucks. I just enjoyed so much writing it. To be continue. Thanks for reading it!