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Harvey had intended to talk to Mike, he really did, but time had gotten completely away from him and the rest of the day had been spent chasing after clients and finding ways to win their trials. Donna kept shooting Harvey glances whenever Mike was nearby or in the office, but Harvey blatantly ignored her; he wasn't about to put all their work on hold in order to sit down in a circle together and share their feelings while singing 'kumbaya'. And besides, Mike seemed to be in a much better mood than he had that morning, so maybe the problem had fixed itself and Harvey wouldn't even have to bring it up.

The day ended in a rush, and the next day began in a rush. Mike was thankful for it, as he was able to almost forget what had happened in Harvey's office and how close he'd come to finding out the truth. And when they managed to pull a big win with one of their client's cases, he was able to put it out of his mind completely. Harvey hadn't brought it up, hadn't tried to call him out on his lie, and so for all intents and purposes, everything had gone back to normal. Mike gratefully breathed a sigh of relief.

The clock hit twelve noon and so to celebrate their win, Harvey and Mike went out to the hotdog stand outside the office building to grab some lunch.

"So, what do you think we should do about Friedman?" Mike asked as he bit into his hotdog.

Harvey rolled his eyes, speaking through a mouthful of food. "Come on, Mike, we just finished off the deal with Mason; I'm not gonna jump into the ring with you on Friedman. Just eat your hotdog and be happy."

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?" Mike asked with a grin.

"I'm a grown-ass lawyer; I can do whatever I want."

"Yeah, but it's disgusting."

"Not as disgusting as your face."

"Oh thanks Harvey, that's really mature. I – ." Suddenly out of nowhere a bike appeared, clipping Mike on the shoulder and throwing him to the ground. The biker managed to stay upright, and after steadying himself he tossed a haphazard look back, before quickly pedaling away.

"HEY!" Harvey shouted, instinctively taking a few steps after the man. The cyclist ignored him, though, and disappeared around the corner. After a moment he heard a groan and he quickly turned his attention to Mike, who was in the process of sitting back up. "Are you okay?" Harvey asked, reaching down his hand to help the younger man up. He heard Mike speaking, but his voice fell into the background in an unintelligible buzz, as Harvey's muscles suddenly turned into ice.

The shirt-sleeve that Mike was wearing, on the arm where the biker had clipped him, was torn; it wasn't a massive tear, but it was enough for part of Mike's forearm to be exposed, and for Harvey to see the mass of lines running up and down the skin.

It didn't register at first. He blinked, his hand automatically helping Mike up to his feet, but he was unable to remove his eyes from Mike's arm. Mike didn't notice Harvey's stare, focusing instead on brushing the dirt off himself and straightening his shirt. The torn sleeve disappeared when Mike put on his suit jacket, which he had carried with him outside. It was only when he heard Mike saying his name, did Harvey look up with a start. "What?" he asked.

Mike gave him an weird look. "I said, 'I'm fine, thanks for asking'. But clearly getting clipped by a biker is still not enough for the Great Harvey Specter to show he cares."

Harvey frowned. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, my hotdog is worse off than I am." Mike picked up the fallen food, which was now covered with dirt, frowning as he walked over and tossed it in the garbage bin. "That's $3.25 I'll never see again. Can I have yours?"

Harvey blinked. "What?"

"Can I have your hotdog? You have more than enough to share."

Harvey looked at Mike incredulously. "What? No, you can't have my lunch! Go buy another one if you're so hungry."

"Come on, Harvey – I was just run over by a jerk on a bicycle! Show some sympathy."

"You're not having any, Mike; get over it." Mike pretended to pout, purposefully putting on his 'pity me' eyes. Harvey ignored him.

Mike huffed. "Well if you're not going to help your injured, hungry associate, then I'm going back inside to start on the new Friedman files."

"Yeah, and that's all you're doing; if I find out you called him, there'll be hell to pay."

"Yeah, yeah."

Harvey watched as Mike walked away and opened the building door, the disappeared inside. He remained rooted where he was for a moment, as everything that had just happened began to catch up with him. After a moment he finally moved, walking to the bin and throwing his half-eaten hotdog away; he no longer had an appetite.

Harvey sat in his office, leaning back in his chair and staring at his desk. Files were spread out in front of him, but he wasn't looking at them. He'd been staring at them now for a good half hour, and the hour and a half he'd spent before that hadn't been any more productive. After another ten minutes of silence, he finally placed his hand over the intercom. He hesitated only for a moment, before pressing the button down.

"Donna, could you come in here?"

Two seconds later the door was opening and Donna walked in. "What is it?" she asked. She acted like she didn't know why Harvey had called her, but the slight strain in her eyes betrayed her concern.

Harvey stared at her, his hand cupping his chin, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, he spoke.

"I think Mike is hurting himself."

Donna blinked.

"What?"

"I think that's why he's been so skittish these past few days, and why he freaked out when I grabbed his arm. He said that he got cut while being mugged, but I think he was lying. I think the only one doing any cutting is himself."

Donna stood in stunned silence for a long moment, before saying, "Harvey, that's a massive accusation; you can't just say something like that with no evidence. Why would you – why would you even think –."

"He got clipped by a biker during lunch, and it tore his sleeve. I saw the cuts on his arm when I was helping him back up." Donna just stared at him, and Harvey continued. "He doesn't know I know."

Donna, for once, was at a loss of words.

"Harvey, you can't… Mike wouldn't do something like that, not our Mike."

"You don't think I've thought that?" Harvey rolled his chair back and stood to his feet, staring Donna straight in the eye. "Believe me, that's all I've been thinking for the past two hours. I don't want to believe it any more than you do, but it's the only thing that makes sense."

Donna said nothing, and Harvey could tell she didn't want to believe him. But whether it really was true or not – and he really, really hoped it wasn't – he had to say something. Because if there was a problem that was causing Mike to feel as though he had to hurt himself in order to keep his head above water, then that problem needed to be fixed. Now.

Donna bit her lip. "But why…?"

"He did lose his grandmother recently," Harvey said quietly. "And he doesn't have his parents. Maybe he felt it was the only way out."

"The way out of what?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out."

"Do you want me to call him? Because maybe you're wrong, maybe the cuts you saw were just the scratches from the cement when he fell."

Harvey shook his head. "I know what I saw, and those weren't new; they'd been there for a while."

Donna stared at him for a long moment, biting her lip. Finally she asked, "Should we talk to him now?"

"No. We'll wait until the end of the day when everyone's gone home. Then we'll talk."

The end of the day couldn't come fast enough, and yet it was the part of the day that Harvey wanted to avoid the most. He spent the rest of the day sifting through files on their latest cases, while at the same time studiously avoiding Mike as best as he could. He buried him in paperwork that he knew would take him through to the evening to finish, and claimed he was busy whenever he asked to discuss something. During the few times he did have to speak with him, Harvey couldn't stop himself from glancing at his arm, which was still covered by his jacket. Donna, too, couldn't stop herself from looking at him in blatant concern every time he came by. Thankfully, he was oblivious to it all.

By 7:00pm, nearly everyone had gone home, leaving only Harvey, Donna, Mike, and a few wayward associates left. Harvey stared out his window, knowing that he had to call Mike in soon; the constant glances he received from Donna outside his door told him that she knew the time was arriving, as well.

Finally, when the clock hit 7:15, Harvey picked up the phone.

–

Mike wondered why Harvey had called him so late; he had been hoping to go home after being stuck with paperwork all day. He hoped that Harvey just wanted to tell him some last bit of information on one of their cases before giving him his freedom, but when he walked into the office and saw Donna sitting on the couch and Harvey standing by the window with his hands in his pockets, he knew that something was up.

"Hey," Mike greeted, shutting the door behind him. "What's up?"

Harvey turned around and Donna looked up at him. Mike tensed. Something was off.

"Mike," Harvey greeted. "I wanted to talk to you. Why don't – why don't you sit down?"

Harvey stumbled. Harvey never stumbled. Harvey was the most fast talking, articulate man that Mike knew – he didn't stumble over his words. Something was wrong. He glanced between Harvey and Donna.

"Why?" he asked carefully, staying where he was. "What's wrong?"

Harvey took his hands out of his pocket and took a step forward. Mike fought the urge to take a step back.

"Nothing's wrong," Harvey said. "We just want to talk to you. How's your arm?"

Mike's heart began to beat faster.

"What?"

"When that biker hit you, you scraped your arm. How is it?"

He saw that? Mike had panicked when he realised that his shirt had torn, but he had assumed that since Harvey hadn't said anything, he therefore hadn't seen anything. Mike forced himself to calm down. Maybe Harvey only assumed that he'd gotten scratched on the cement and was wanting to check on him – maybe that was all. Yeah, that had to be all it was.

"It's fine, it was just a scratch."

"Do you mind if I check?"

Mike felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

"Why would you want to check it? It's not a big deal."

"Then you won't mind if I check it. Knowing you, you probably got it infected." Harvey took a step forward. This time, Mike did step back, unconsciously pressing his arm against his side.

"No, Harvey. You don't need to do that."

"Why can't you let me check?" Harvey asked, sounding upset. Why was he so upset? "If it's not a big deal, then why won't you let me see it?"

"Because it's none of your business!" Mike retorted, trying not to yell. Why was Harvey pushing this? "I don't have to show you every bump and bruise I get like a little kid! Contrary to what you believe, I'm your associate, not your puppy. I –."

"Are you cutting yourself?"

Everything came to a halt.

Mike stared at Harvey, his eyes wide, his breath catching in his throat. Blood rushed to his ears, and for a moment the whole world stood still.

Finally, after a long, painful silence, Mike spoke.

"Wh…what?" he asked.

Harvey was looking at him with an expression that he only got when he knew someone was hiding something from him and he was determined to wring out the truth.

"I said, are you cutting yourself?"

Mike gaped. "I… I'm not… why would you think that?"

"I saw your arm, Mike. When you got clipped the biker tore your sleeve, and I saw the cuts on your arm. I'm not an idiot; you didn't get those cuts from falling on the ground."

The room suddenly felt too small, as though the walls were closing in all around him. Mike felt the back of his neck heat up, and his palms began to sweat. He suddenly wanted to be anywhere other than here.

"I'm not… I'm not cutting myself, Harvey. I can't believe you'd… how could you even think – ."

Harvey's frown deepened in annoyance. "Then let me see your arm! And if I'm wrong, I'll apologise and we'll forget this whole thing ever happened."

Mike didn't move. Harvey glared and walked towards him. "Damn it, Mike, just show me your arm!" Mike immediately stepped back, until he ran into the wall. Harvey reached for his arm and Mike immediately pulled it away.

"Back off, Harvey!"

Donna's voice suddenly spoke in concern, saying, "Harvey –." but neither man heard it. Harvey finally grabbed a hold of Mike's arm, and before Mike could shove him away, he pushed up the sleeve.

Everyone froze. Harvey's voice could be heard quietly uttering a curse, and Mike vaguely thought he heard Donna gasp.

Harvey stared in shock. He wouldn't deny it – there had been a part of him that had hoped that he'd been wrong, that the marks he'd seen really were just from the cement, that Mike was telling the truth when he denied his accusations. But now…

The cuts seemed to cover every inch of skin on Mike's forearm, from the base of his wrist up to his elbow, where they continued on until they disappeared under his sleeve. Most were horizontal, but a few of them were vertical, criss-crossing across his skin like a frightening, but mesmerising, dance. Many of them were old, scabbed over and fading into scars. Others, however, were new, with fresh red lines that were just beginning to heal. Harvey suddenly felt sick.

"Are you done staring at the freak-show, now?"

Harvey looked up; Mike was glaring at him in an anger he had never seen from him before, his eyes bloodshot and shining with unshed tears. Donna, already having stood to her feet, walked over to them with her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide and threatening tears. "Mike…" She stared at his arm in disbelief, unable to find words to say.

Harvey tried to gather himself together, tried to organise his thoughts into words, but all he could ask was a quiet, "Why?"

Mike didn't answer; instead he pulled his arm from Harvey's grasp, which Harvey let go without any struggle. He pulled his sleeve back down his arm and proceeded to button up his jacket. Harvey belatedly realised that he was going to leave.

"Mike, no – we have to talk about this."

"You got what you wanted, Harvey. You know I'm a freak and you've made sure everyone else knows, too. I hope you're happy."

Donna took a step forward. "Mike, honey – no, Harvey's right, we have to – we have to talk about this."

Mike glanced up at them one last time, looking all like an angry animal that had just been beaten into submission. Without another word he turned around, opened the door, and left.

Donna and Harvey remained where they were, watching as Mike walked down the hallway and disappeared. After a moment, Donna spoke.

"Do you think… should go after him?"

Harvey let out a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding. "And do what? Hold him down and force him to tell us why he's cutting himself? Right, because he responded so well to that now."

Donna choked out a sob, and Harvey immediately felt guilty. He turned around and faced her. "I'm sorry, Donna. I didn't… I didn't think it'd actually..." he trailed off.

"How could we have not seen it?" Donna asked. "How could we have not seen that he was hurting himself? How could we have not seen that things were this bad?"

Harvey just shook his head. He wondered that, too, but for now all they could do was wait. Tomorrow he'd make Mike talk, but for now he'd let them all get some much needed rest; for he knew the battles that were about to come, and they would be far from easy.

Mike slammed the door of his apartment behind him, throwing his bag on the ground and kicking off his shoes, sending them flying into the wall. He tore off his jacket, unaware of his ripping the buttons, and threw it on the ground. He stood still for a moment, unsure where to lead his anger next, when he then spotted his lamp beside the couch. In a moment of pure rage, he walked over to the lamp, picked it up, and threw it across the room. The glass shattered and fell to the ground in pieces. Mike glared at the mess, anger and a rising humiliation coursing through his body.

How could they? How could they do that to him? How could they call him into the office, pretending like everything was fine, making him believe that they just wanted to talk, and then suddenly demand he show them his arm, while accusing him of cutting himself? How could they do that to him?! He hadn't done anything to them, he hadn't – he didn't deserve – . Mike took a shuddering breath, trying to force himself to calm down; the anger and adrenaline slowly beginning to drain away.

How could he have been so foolish? How could he have thought that Harvey hadn't seen anything when he tore his shirt? How could he have thought they wouldn't ever find out? He should have been more careful, he should have seen that they were suspicious, that they were figuring it out…

He didn't know when he walked into the bathroom, but he soon found himself taking off his clothes and stepping into the shower. He turned on the water, unaware of how hot it was as it poured over his body. It was only after a while of staring into nothing that he realised how red his skin was and how scalding the water was, but he didn't change it. The heat was actually distracting, the pain helping to turn his thoughts away from everything that had happened.

He didn't know how long he stood there, but after a while he began to notice that the water had cooled, so he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. He dried himself with a towel then went into his bedroom, where he got into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He turned off all the lights and crawled under the sheets and blankets, laying his head on the pillow. For a long time he just stared into the darkness.

Finally, after a long while, he curled up and began to cry.

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