The ride to the hospital was excruciatingly slow. It was around 4, so you'd think traffic wouldn't be bad, but this is New York City…
"What the fuck is going on?" Harvey growled, his breath struggling past a tightening throat. "There was an accident sir, I'm trying my best…"
"It's okay Ray," Donna reassured. She turned back to Harvey and gave him a knitted brow of disapproval. "Keep your head Harvey."
"Are you kidding Donna? Keep my head? Mike was shot!" he yelled, bringing a hand up to loosen his tie. The redhead clenched her jaw and averted her gaze to her lap. It was a rare thing to see Harvey Specter like this. She shared in his helplessness, but couldn't afford to let herself succumb to emotion. If she did, she'd crumble completely.
"Got to get this fucking thing off" Harvey said, haphazardly yanking at the blue tie around his neck, to no avail. Then he stopped, and for a moment, Specter looked down at the piece of fabric he was struggling with.
The tie was brand new – he didn't usually wear blue. But it wasn't blue anymore. The azure tone had smatters of blood across it, turning the bloodied areas purple. It was a good thing that he hadn't eaten lunch, because he could taste his stomach on the back of his tongue.
Donna looked up just in time to catch the look of realization and horror that flitted across her boss' face. Not only was his tie marred with blood, but his gray suit was also awash in it. Flecks of red dotted his pants, covered his sleeves…
"Here, let me help," Donna whispered, scooting forward and bringing shaking hands up to Harvey's tie. She slipped it off easily enough, and began pulling his jacket off as well.
Deep breaths filled the small cabin of the car as Harvey once again felt the sensation that he couldn't breathe. He had to remind himself that it was just an illusion – that he was fine.
The tie was off, as well as the jacket, but the vest also had deep red stains on it, so Harvey shucked it off.
Luckily, they were making some progress down the construction and accident riddled streets – but it was still taking too long.
"Harvey," Donna's voice snapped him back. "Stop looking out the window, it only makes it worse. Lean back and close your eyes."
"Donna…I don't need…" "Do it!" "Fine," he resigned, leaning back and closing his eyes. But it didn't make the situation better, because all he saw in the black darkness behind those heavy lids was the expression on Mike's face. He could feel Mike's weight against him as he fell forward into his chest, he could feel Mike's hot breath against his ear when he whispered to him. He could smell the metallic blood as it pooled beneath Mike's blonde hair.
Tears escaped from the confines of his closed eyes and slipped down Harvey's hot cheeks. He balled his hands into fists and waited for the car to stop driving, for his world to stop spinning.
They reached the hospital an hour later; the first ones to arrive.
On the roof, Jessica told the pilot to take him to the best hospital…and they did, though it was a little further out.
Harvey barely waited for the car to come to a stop before he was out and jogging into the hospital. Donna tried her best to keep up in 5" heels.
The halls seemed to stretch on and on in an endless maze of fluorescent lights. The walls were an unassuming shade of algae green and the passageways smelled of disinfectant and desolation. There was a whole host of faces that passed by in a blur.
Finally, they made it to the correct desk.
"Mike Ross," Harvey commanded, breathless, "where is he?"
"Are you his family?" The woman behind the fake wood, half circle desk asked nonchalantly. Harvey's mouth was dry, and his wide eyes swung over to Donna.
"No, we're his lawyers…and his employers, and his friends. Where is he?" Donna recovered.
"Let me see," the woman replied, calmly clacking away on her keyboard. "Mr. Ross is currently in surgery."
"Do you know anything about his condition? How long will the surgery be?" Harvey raced. "Who's the doctor? Or doctors?" Harvey could barely catch his breath; he could feel his heart beating behind his eyes, in his throat, at the tips of his fingers.
"I know that there's a lot going on right now Mr…"
"Specter."
"Mr. Specter, so I'm going to give you this 'authorization for release of information' form to fill out, along with these patient information and insurance forms and have you take a seat in a private waiting room," she said, shuffling a novel's worth of papers together and straightening them out on the counter.
Just as Harvey's mouth parted to protest, the woman said, "while you get started on these, I'm going to find someone who has more information than me, and I'll send them in to talk with you."
"Okay," he said, nodding, reluctantly grasping the stack of papers affixed to the dirty brown clipboard.
"The waiting room is right over there," the woman said, pointing to a room on the other side of the hall with glass windows looking in on the small space.
They walked over, entered, and Harvey gracelessly plopped himself into a stiff green chair. The arms were plastic, and he tried, and failed, to balance the clipboard on one of the arms. So he held it in his hands instead.
"God…Harvey," Louis' voice entered the room. He looked up to see Louis, Jessica and Scottie walking in. "What do you know?" Louis asked. "Nothing much," Harvey said bleakly, "just that he's in surgery."
The trio took a seat. They looked ridiculous – dressed to the nines in a room with paper cups and peeling wallpaper. The space was warm, over-heated. Harvey put the clipboard on his lap and went to roll up his sleeves. But the sight of more blood stopped him.
Unbelievable. Mike's blood had seeped through his jacket and appeared in spots on his white undershirt. It stood out starkly against the crisp white background.
He felt sick…thinking of what made that blood spill. It was so quiet in that damn room that he could almost hear the bullet tearing through Mike's flesh. But when he returned to reality all that could be heard was the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall. It must have been a mirage, a lie, because time wasn't actually moving.
Harvey tried to fill out the first form, but he couldn't see straight, he couldn't focus. When Donna saw his hands tremor, she took the pen from him. "Here, let me do it," she said, taking the clipboard as well. Furiously she began scribbling in information.
Her pen and the clock were the only noises in the room.
They all raced there just so that they could hurry up and wait. Jessica was stone still, Scottie was rubbing her hands together and Louis was tapping his foot.
"This is ridiculous," Louis finally broke the silence. "They still haven't come to talk to you?"
Harvey looked up at the clock. "It's only been fifteen minutes Louis." "Yeah, fifteen minutes too long," the man bolted up and out of the room. Someone was about to get a verbal ass whooping.
In his absence, the remaining troupe sat silently, and Harvey exchanged awkward pitied glances with both Jessica and Scottie.
After about seven minutes, Louis returned with a young doctor. He was probably a student, in the room to assist and learn about the surgery. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he started. "Mr. Ross is stable for the moment," he dove right in.
Harvey edged to the precipice of the flimsy seat beneath him, carefully caught on every word being spoken.
"He took one shot to the left lung. Luckily, it was the bottom area of the lung," the young man brought a hand up to his own chest to indicate the location. "His lung collapsed and we're working remove a very small area of the left lung. It's a six hour surgery – at least." He continued on after that… but Harvey was zoning out.
His lung collapsed. They took part of his fucking lung out.
Seeing the color drain from the lawyer's face the man made sure to mention that it was a very small portion of the lung that they had to remove…maybe an inch, or two?
"I'll let you know if anything changes," the doctor said before disappearing out the door, leaving an ocean of disbelief in his wake.
Harvey gulped but his throat was so dry that it clung to itself. The room seemed smaller, and the lights brighter. It was as if the walls were closing in. "I need some air," he said walking out into the hallway, not even noticing Scottie's footsteps behind him.
He made it down a hallway and a half before she managed to get a hand on his shoulder. "Harvey!"
He turned and faced her. "Talk to me," she breathed. "Tell me how you are."
A beat of silence passed between them.
His face twisted up. "How do you think I am?" he said incredulously.
"What can I do?" she pled.
"Nothing," he said bitterly.
"I can at least be here for you Harvey…"
But that's not what he wanted. He wanted Mike. He wanted Mike to be there for him. That's who he'd turn to if he were dealing with some other catastrophe. And it was his fault. It was his fucking fault that Mike was even here right now…in this situation. He wanted to take that bullet; he should have taken that bullet.
Harvey shook his head for a moment before looking up at Scottie with brown eyes drowning in defeat and despair. "I just want to be alone," he said, turning, and continuing on down the hall – his shoes clacking against the green speckled linoleum floors until he was out of sight.