Author's Note: I'm not dead! Or abandoning this fic. I had some downtime from work and did a little summer living. Also this fic had just started weighing on me with how cliched it was becoming, and I needed a break. I am back now, I think. I pretty much sat down tonight and told myself I had to finish and post a chapter before I could go out. So I did. I think working under a constraint will help me to get this finished. I do still love this story, but I'm trying to pull it back from the brink (chapter ten. chapter ten was totally the brink) of (in my opinion) totally awful. But then, I'm my own worst critic. I'm rambling. Enjoy!

Oh, also, how much fun does the new episode look like it's going to be? I mean, it's totally a cheap ploy so the writers have more time to think about what they're actually gonna do with the current draaaaaaaama, but I'm still ridic excited.

Okay. Right. Suits isn't mine.

Harvey wasn't sure what to do, which was an unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation. Mike was curled in a tight ball on the other side of the bed, still sleeping soundly. Harvey's clothes were still on the kitchen floor where Mike had all but torn them off the night before, and Harvey was stuck somewhere in between.

The Harvey that was Mike's mentor, maybe friend, and definitely boss told him he needed to get up, get dressed, and get out before Mike unfurled and woke up. That Harvey was off on a tirade about how arms length was best for all involved. That things were inevitably going to go bad, which was putting it mildly, and that Mike should be as far away as possible when that happened. Arms length was as far as even that Harvey was capable of pushing him.

The Harvey that pinned Mike up against countertops, made drunken excuses to get into Mike's bed, and steered Mike across his condo in the middle of the night simply refused to get up. That Harvey found it perfectly reasonable that Mike should be curled up beside him. That when things went bad Mike was the person Harvey would need to have around to help him put it right again. That Harvey's self-destructive streak couldn't win out when it counted.

Mike made a quiet, miserable noise from across the bed, and that spurred Harvey into action. He put his feet to the floor and headed for the kitchen.

Mike awoke to the smell of coffee and quiet swearing from the kitchen. He flopped around on his bed, stretching stiff muscles. It took him a long moment to place the voice. When he did, he felt himself flatten and go still, sinking deeper into his mattress. Mike closed his eyes tightly and willed it to not be Harvey puttering around his kitchen.

"I can see you, you know," Harvey called out, "Get up."

Mike didn't move. He had a vague hope that if he simply didn't acknowledge Harvey's existence, he would cease to be there.

"Get up, Mike," Harvey kicked the end of the bed. Mike cracked one eye to glare weakly.

"No," he groaned and rolled over, burying his face in a pillow. He threw it away a moment later after discovering it reeked of Harvey's particular scent, a mix of expensive cologne, hair product, and something sharp and citrusy that Mike thought might be soap.

"Mike," Harvey sighed and sank into a seat on the edge of the bed, "I'm not going to pretend to understand to what you're going through right now. It's trite, and frankly it's beneath both of us. You told me once that I'm not allowed to admit defeat. Well, you aren't either. The world doesn't stop turning. You have things to do for your grandmother, and for me, and for yourself. So get up, and get dressed. There's food in the kitchen."

Harvey stood and moved through Mike's apartment to collect his suit jacket and shoes. He was missing a sock, but had too much dignity to search underneath Mike's bed for it.

"When you come back to work, be on time."

Harvey was right, Goddamnit, but it took Mike another ten minutes to admit it to himself and drag his body out of bed.

Four days later, Mike was back at work, lounging in one of the desk chairs around the conference table in Harvey's office. He spun idly, the tip of one thumb caught between his teeth as he waited.

"You're in my office. Why are you in my office?" Harvey paused halfway through the door, cup of coffee in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

"I'm waiting for you," Mike replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which really, it was.

"Why?" Harvey sat down slowly, regarding Mike as though the younger man were a startled deer, one who might flee if Harvey made any sudden movements.

"I'm sorry, are you not my boss? Do we not meet every morning so you can dump paperwork on me and laugh at the plight that is my life?" Mike snarked, hoping his tone didn't betray the nerves that were making his stomach feel as though it were doing calisthenics.

"I was under the impression you were taking a long term leave," Harvey answered, ignoring Mike's sarcasm. Mike shrugged.

"I couldn't sit around my apartment and think anymore."

"So, you're all right then?"

That startled a merciless laugh out of Mike.

"I'm not 'all right,' Harvey, I'm doing as well as can be expected, I suppose. What are we working on?" Mike was clearly unwilling to continue the conversation in their current vein, though he did swallow back a jab about caring of any sort.

"We're not working on anything until we talk about this. When's the funeral?" Harvey was clearly unwilling to let it go.

"Two days ago. You sent flowers."

"I did not. Why didn't you call me?"

"Well then I guess Maybelle's getting better, because you sent flowers. I didn't call you because I didn't want you there. It wasn't work related so there was no reason for you to be there."

"Mike."

"Well what the hell was I supposed to say, Harvey? 'I know I manipulated the utterly bizarre carnival ride our relationship has become to cope with my grandmothers death by having sex with you, but I'd really like it if you could come sit next to me while I stick her in the ground?' Come on, Harvey. Can we please just go back to work?"

"No."

"Harv-"

"No, shut up. You did not manipulate me into sleeping with you. And I didn't manipulate you either, when Donna got fired. I slept with you because I wanted you, and I was under the impression you wanted me too," Harvey arched his eyebrows pointedly and continued, "No, we can't go back to work because it's clear to me that your attitude right now has everything to do with the fact that you're grieving and you don't know how to handle loss. You just referred to your grandmother's funeral as 'sticking her in the ground.' That's not who you are, or how you talk, or something that you would ever say about her or anyone else. Go home. Get some sleep. Stop obsessing about work, and," Harvey raised a hand when Mike opened his mouth to protest, "Stop obsessing about our relationship. I'm still your boss, we still work together, your job is still here when you're actually ready to come back. Everything else is moot, at this point. We're fine. Now get out."

Mike stayed sat for a minute.

"Thanks," he mumbled finally, and shuffled towards the door.

"Call me if you need anything." Harvey hadn't actually intended that last part to come out of his mouth. Mike turned his head, ready to shoot back a smarmy retort about Harvey having a heart. Except Harvey was looking at him all funny again, and he lost the will.

"I will," he murmured instead.