It was a rash decision that was formed and executed in less time than it takes to exhale.
But Mike had to do it.
He knew…he just knew that the chamber was loaded. He knew that there was a very real bullet only moments away from his brain. So he moved.
Mike twisted his body, his chest up against Bruce's, the gun between them. He was trying to get it out of Bruce's cold, sweaty hand; but the man's bony fingers clung to the black metal. Mike's head was still spinning from the blows, his heart was skipping beats from the adrenaline.
It happened so fast.
The gun went off and a deafening roar ripped through the air. They fumbled around and Mike's back was up against the glass wall that separated Jessica's office from the hallway. And in an instant, a mass of black uniforms was flooding the room, pulling Bruce off of Mike. The weapon fell to the floor. Cops were screaming. Bruce was on the ground. And Mike's hand was…wet?
His hand was on his $300 gray shirt, and when he peeled it away it was bright red. Slowly his eyes rose to meet Harvey's. They were blown wide with terror, his mouth hung open in disbelief.
When Mike went to breathe, it felt like he couldn't. In what seemed like slow motion, he lurched forward. He thought he heard Harvey scream "NO!" And then Harvey was holding him, guiding him towards the ground, where he was already headed.
"MEDIC! WE NEED A MEDIC!" one of the cops screamed as they drug Bruce out of the room.
"Sorry…Harvey," Mike breathed, between wheezy rasps of labored breath. "No, no, no," Harvey said. "You're going to be okay Mike," he said, tears rolling down his face, voice hitching in his throat.
Mike was on the carpet, feeling the life literally seep out of him. His feet were towards the glass, Harvey was on his right side and Jessica, Scottie and Louis were on the sidelines; watching in horror.
It wasn't real. This couldn't be real. How could this be real? Mike really got shot, he was really lying on the floor, really bleeding.
Three medics rushed into the room. "Move," one of them said to Harvey, "sit at his head."
Harvey moved.
"'s not your fault," Mike croaked. Harvey was biting his lips, burning tears spilling from his face, "yes it is…yes it is," he whispered.
"What's his name?" one of the medics asked.
"Mike," Jessica answered.
"Well Mike, my name is Jeremy, and I'm gonna help get you through this okay?"
"I hate to do this buddy, but I'm going to have to cut up your shirt," another medic said as he took a scissors to the cloth. Mike could feel it pull and hear it rip. He just stared up at Harvey while Jeremy asked them questions about his allergies…his blood type.
"It's going to be okay Mike, you're going to be okay," Harvey said.
"Harvey…" Mike croaked, a drop of blood escaping out of the corner of his mouth. The sight made Harvey's blood run cold, but he tried to hold it together, lowering his ear to Mike's mouth so that he could hear whatever it was Mike was trying to say.
The paramedics were buzzing around the young lawyer, their hands furiously working to preserve his life.
When Harvey raised his head, after hearing what Mike had to say…he looked…surprised.
A loaded tension hung in the air between the murmurs of the medics and the deafening silence of the lawyers.
Louis couldn't breathe, his face was white. And Jessica's usually stolid expression gave way to grief, shock and fury.
These are the moments that Mike would never remember; the very same moments that the other four in that room would never forget.
"Does this building have a helipad?" one of the men asked, snapping Jessica from her daze. "Yes, yes it does." "Good," the man said in return, grabbing the radio on the left side of his chest. "This is John Schneider requesting communication with the Life Flight Comm Center," the man said.
The radio crackled. "Go ahead Schneider," a voice on the other end replied.
Mike tried to listen, but Jeremy interrupted. "Mike…I'm going to need to clear your airway okay? It's not going to feel too good, but it's going to help you breathe. Can you hold either side of his head - gently?" he pointed to Harvey.
"Yeah…" Harvey said, placing his hands gently against Mike's skull.
The medic snaked a tube into Mike's mouth and down his throat. It burned going in and made some queasy gurgling noises.
Louis couldn't watch, he felt sick.
Blood came out of one tube, the tube was pulled out, and another one was put in that delivered oxygen.
It was too much. The ceiling lights were so bright, Harvey's pained expression was too much, his head hummed in excruciating pain, his chest throbbed in agony, he couldn't breathe.
For a moment, he thought…this could be it. On the floor of Pearson Specter, beneath Harvey's broken gaze, as his colleagues stood and watched. But he was too young…too smart…he had too much to do. That was his last thought before Mike's heavy eyelids slipped shut.
He never heard Harvey screaming his name, right above his face. Never heard the blades of the chopper slice through the thrum of rush hour. Never heard Schneider tell Life Flight that he had a punctured lung. Never felt his body being gently moved onto the stretcher or brought into the elevator, and then the crisp spring air to be loaded into the chopper.
"I want to come, I need to come with him," Harvey said to a medic who's hand was on his chest, stopping him from moving forward. "You can't," the medic yelled over the noise. "There's only room for him and one paramedic. He's in the best hands, I promise."
Harvey felt like he was ready to break apart, shatter into a thousand pieces like glass being thrown violently to the floor. "I need…"
"You can meet up with him at the hospital," he said.
The door to the red and white chopper slid shut, and the convoy began to lift off the pad.
They got back into the elevator; Harvey, Jessica, Louis and the two medics. The ride was slow and Specter felt like there was no air in that fucking metal box.
When it dinged and the doors finally cracked open, Scottie and Donna were waiting in the foyer. Donna had all of Harvey's stuff in her hands, his jacket draped over her arm. Her face was ghost white with bright red streaks beneath her puffy eyes. "Out, out, out" she ordered to everyone in the elevator but Harvey.
"We'll see you guys there," she said, stepping into the elevator with Harvey.
The doors closed.
As soon as they were out of view, Harvey gasped in broken breaths, bracing himself against the elevator wall.
His pulse was beating in his ears, it was like he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Donna's firm grip brought him back to the moment. "Harvey," Donna said in her most serious voice. "You have got…," she verbally stumbled, and cleared her throat. "You have got to hold it together," she said, eyes boring into his. She shook her head slowly, still gripping his bicep. "…If only for me. If you fall apart, I'll fall apart, and it'll all go to hell from there."
She rubbed his arm, staring at his face rather than his blood smattered shirt. "Breathe Harvey, just breathe. Slow…deep…breaths." He nodded, taking in carefully measured breaths. "He's stubborn as fuck, he'll be fine," she said, more to reassure herself than Harvey.
"I hope so," he said as the car came to a stop and the doors opened.