A/N. Hey all. Thanks once more to all who have reviewed, favourited, and followed this story – it's been great encouragement!

Sorry for the poor formatting here on . I've seemed to have lost the ability to format on this site since I've last uploaded a story :/

This isn't as long as I wanted it to be – so sorry for its shortness – but again, it just seemed like a good place to end it. I hope you enjoy it!

Oh – and I know that I've probably got Mike's age wrong, but I don't think it should be too big a deal (so please don't kill me if it's wrong).

Chapter 6

He didn't show up for work the next day. Or the day after that. Mike barely noticed the rest of the week go by, choosing instead to lose himself to video games, reading, grocery shopping, and every other normal thing a person who's life was not completely wrapped up in their job did. Donna texted him once a day to see, Mike figured, if he was still alive, but that was alright. While he still felt embarrassed and upset that Donna knew what he did and was now involved in this whole mess, he wasn't really angry with her. He had to admit, he'd rather be treated like glass than be yelled at. No, it was Harvey that he didn't want to see. It was Harvey who grabbed his arm and lifted his sleeve, who humiliated him, who wouldn't back off when he told him to get away, who treated him like he was some sort of child that needed to be reprimanded and set right. It was Harvey who yelled at him, who got angry with him, who figured that all he needed to do was "stop" and then everything would go back to normal. Because Harvey believed that he did this for fun, that he thought this was just a game. And that was exactly why Mike had never wanted him to know – because he wouldn't understand. Because he couldn't understand. But he did know. And there was nothing Mike could do about it.

It was Sunday morning, a pale blue sky and a crisp, cool air hovering over the water of the park's lake, a blanket of dew still laying across the grass. Mike was sitting on the park bench wearing a light spring jacket, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle as he stared at the water lapping against the shore; his eyes were watching, but his thoughts were far, far away.

He could leave the city. He had nothing to tie him here, no friends to keep him and no family to care for. He could pack up his things, leave the city, move somewhere isolated, somewhere safe. He could get a job as a bike-messenger again, or heck, just a regular job behind a counter at a local grocery store. It didn't matter; all that mattered was getting as far away from here as he could – away from Harvey, away from Donna, away from this life that he had somehow, unintentionally made for himself. Or that was given to him. Because really, in the end, he'd never had any control over his life in any way whatsoever. His parents had been taken from him, his shot at a university degree had been taken from him, his friends and his grandmother had left him, and the job he now had had only been given to him by chance; he hadn't earned it, he certainly didn't deserve it – and by all means he shouldn't have it now. So if he could just leave, start anew, start fresh, he could –.

"Can I sit here?"

Mike blinked. He looked around until his eyes landed on a small bundle of jacket, scarf, and gloves, which was staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"Can I sit here?" the little girl asked again, her eyes never leaving Mike's.

"Uh…" Mike began, looking around for the girl's parents, but no one could be seen in the immediate vicinity. They were alone. "Sure," he said at last, moving over slightly as the girl began scrambling up onto the bench. She grunted and huffed as she climbed up and turned around, squirming and wriggling until she finally settled, her small shoes hanging off the edge of the bench, her legs immediately beginning to swing.

Mike scanned the area again for any adults that looked like they had lost a child, but again, there were none. The two sat in silence, neither saying a word or looking at each other; Mike was just beginning to relax when the girl began to squirm, then spoke.

"Are you cold?" she asked.

Mike glanced down at her and shifted; he had never been that great with children. "No," he replied. "Not really." He noticed that while the spring jacket she wore was fairly thick, she was still shivering from the cold. He had to admit, it was a bit crisp out, a slight breeze drifting through the air and nipping at any exposed skin it could find.

"I'm cold," she stated, then went back to swinging her legs. Another long moment passed before she once again turned to Mike. "Are you sure you're not cold?" she asked again. Mike did his best to put on a smile.

"Pretty sure."

Another pause. Then, "My name's Brooklyn. What's yours?"

"Um… Mike."

"My cousin's name is Mike," she said, obviously pleased at finding someone with the same name. "But everyone calls him Mikey. He's three. Do people call you Mikey?"

My parents did, before they died. But no one's called me that for years. "No. Just Mike."

"Oh." She seemed somewhat put out, but the disappointment quickly left as she spoke again. "I'm five years old, but I'll be six in…" She silently counted on her hand, before holding up seven fingers. "This many months. How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-eight," he said absently, looking around the park. Didn't this girl have any parents? If no one showed up in the next five minutes, he'd have to start looking for them.

The girl's – Brooklyn's – eyes widened. "Wow…" she said. "You're really old!"

Mike made a face. He wasn't that old.

"You're almost as old as my mom and dad!" she continued. "They're forty." Twenty-eight was nearly as old as forty? Well that sure was a morale booster.

"Where are you parents?" Mike finally asked. Had they actually lost her, or had she run away from them?

Brooklyn's shoulders slumped and she looked away, kicking her legs in the air. "I left them. They were being mean to me."

Mike tensed. "How were they being mean?"

Brooklyn pursed her lips. "They wouldn't let me have any cookies before bed last night, and when I said I wanted to play, they said I couldn't and that I had'ta 'go to bed'. I don't like them. They always tell me what to do and they never let me do anything that I want to do. So when they were putting on their shoes to go to church, I ran away."

Mike breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He wasn't sure how he would have handled it if her parents had been 'mean' for any other reason. "I think they're just trying to do what's best for you. Lots of cookies before bed sometimes make you sick."

"No they don't, I've done it before! I slept fine!"

Great. Mike tried again. "Well, it can. And they just didn't want that to happen to you."

"Well do your parents make you go to bed early while they still get to stay up?"

Mike swallowed, and it was a long moment before he managed to reply. "They used to. I didn't like it either, but they… they knew what was best for me. If they hadn't, I would have been tired and grumpy all day."

Brooklyn gave him a look that said she didn't quite believe him, but seemed to accept it nonetheless. "Where are they now?" she asked, her legs swinging once more. "Are they trying to make you go to church when you want to play, too?"

Mike swallowed again, but the lump in his throat just wouldn't seem to go away. "No," he said at last. "They're not… they're not around anymore."

"Where are they?" Mike felt a stab of annoyance. Wouldn't she just stop with the questions? But when he looked down at her and saw her big, blue eyes staring back up at him, the annoyance fell away. He knew that her questions were asked only out of innocence.

"They… died," he said at last. "A long time ago."

Brooklyn looked away. "Oh," she said quietly. Then after a moment, "My grandpa died. My mom was really sad. I was sad, too. My birthday was in only one week, and we were going to have the party at my grandpa's house on the farm. We had to have it at my house, instead. I was really sad. It's not fun losing someone you love."

Mike felt his chest tighten and the lump in his throat grow. "No, it's not."

The two fell into silence once more, until Brooklyn shivered again. Mike instantly felt bad for forgetting that she was cold, and he quickly took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. The jacket was probably as big as she was, and it nearly covered her entire body, but when Brooklyn looked up at him, she had a big smile across her face.

"Thank you," she said, trying to put her hands through the overlarge sleeves. Mike quickly kneeled down in front of her, holding the jacket up for her to slide her arms into. He zipped it up and pulled the strings on the bottom so that it would fit just a little better. As he was finishing, two small hands came to rest gently on his arms, and Mike froze. He'd forgotten that his arms were now bare. The little hands carefully stroked the scars that littered his arm, both old and new, her fingers like feathers brushing against his skin.

"What happened?" she asked. Mike bit his lip, unable to find the strength to look up at her. "Did you get hurt?"

Mike didn't know what to say. Yes, he'd been hurt. He'd been hurt a long time ago, and the hurt had never really stopped. His parents' death, his growing up as a strange, too-smart kid with an eidetic memory, his getting accepted into university, only to get kicked out… To getting involved with drugs and drug deals, to losing his life-long friends and then his grandmother… To be completely and utterly alone, with no one but your co-workers to know you existed.

Yeah, he hurt. Every day.

"Um, yes," Mike said at last. After another moment he made to move away, but before he could, Brooklyn's face tilted down and she pressed a soft, gentle kiss against his arm, before turning and doing the same to the other. Mike stilled, and his breath caught in his throat. Time seemed to stop, until Brooklyn leant back, gently caressing Mike's arms one last time before letting them go. Mike brought his arms back, unconsciously wrapping them lightly around his middle, and looked up to see Brooklyn beaming at him with a great, big smile.

"My mommy says that kisses are the best for hurts. Whenever I get hurt, she puts on my favourite band-aid – Simba from the Lion King – and kisses it. It still hurts, but it feels a lot better."

Mike sat back on his heels, biting his lip once more. Finally he swallowed, took a deep breath, and rose to his feet. "We should go find your parents," he said. "They're probably worried about you."

Brooklyn crossed her arms in petulance, but after a moment she hopped off the bench, standing in front of Mike with her hand raised. "Okay," she said. For the briefest moment Mike didn't know what to do, until he finally realised that she wanted to hold his hand. He gave her a smile, then took her small hand in his own.

–

The two walked around the park for a while, until Mike finally said that it would probably be best to go back to her house; so they walked a few blocks until they arrived at a small house where a man and woman were standing outside, panicked expressions on their faces as they talked to a police officer who was writing with a pen in his notebook. Brooklyn hugged her arms tighter around Mike's neck from where she had earlier scrambled into his arms.
"Will they be mad at me?" she asked quietly. Mike gave her a gentle squeeze back.

"Maybe a little. But that's only because they love you."

After a moment the woman – Brooklyn's mother – looked up, and a strangled cry could be heard as she suddenly dashed towards them, and Mike quickly relinquished the small girl into her arms as her mother began to cry.

Brooklyn's father quickly appeared, gently grabbing Brooklyn's head and giving it a kiss, before shooting Mike a wary glance.

"She was in the park by the lake," Mike quickly explained. "Said something about cookies and not being able to stay up and play?" The wary look on the man's face quickly disappeared, replaced with gratitude and relief. He quickly reached out his hand and grabbed Mike's, shaking it.

"Thank you," he said. His wife pulled away from her daughter, giving Mike a grateful smile, tinged with tears.

"Thank you so much," she said. "Thank you for finding our baby-girl."

"Well, to be honest, she sort of found me. I was just sitting on a bench when she asked if she could sit, too. I'm Mike Ross, by the way."

"James Randall," the man said. "And my wife, Victoria. And this is Brooklyn, as I'm sure you know." Brooklyn peeked out from her mother's neck and gave Mike a small smile.

"Yes," Mike said, returning the smile with his own. "I know."

Harvey heard his cell phone vibrate against the counter and he walked over to it, looking at the caller ID. He stilled when he saw the name.

Mike.

Harvey's thumb pressed answer quicker than he had time to think.

"Hello?"

"Harvey?"

"Yeah."

"I just… I just wanted to tell you that… that I'll be coming into work tomorrow. If my job's still waiting for me?"

Harvey closed his eyes, and let out a quiet breath of relief. "Of course it is. Mike –."

"Harvey –."

The two paused, then Harvey jumped in. "I was an ass," he said. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"I wasn't exactly being helpful, either."

"Well, I could have handled it better. Or so Donna tells me."

"Yeah, well – she's right." Harvey hoped that it was a smile he was hearing in Mike's voice.

Harvey smiled, but it soon fell away. "You know, Mike… this doesn't… change things. We still have to talk about this."

He could hear Mike take a deep breath. "I know."

"But you'll still be in tomorrow?"

"Yes, Harvey." Harvey smiled at the exasperation he heard in Mike's voice.

"Good. Be there at 8."

And Harvey hung up.

–

TBC

Hopefully it wasn't too cheesy! Please leave a review if you have the time :)