A/N: I was going to put some of this up yesterday, but wanted a tiny bit more of Harvey in it, so it was delayed just so I could wake Harvey up. Wow! 14 pages in one chapter. I can not guarantee I will churn that amount out the next time.
Warning: This chapter features implied non-con and sensitive material.
Standard disclaimers apply. No infringement intended
In difficulty Lies Opportunity
'In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.'
Albert Einstein
Chapter 2
It's really not his fault the next time he's late.
He's struggling with his bag and his bike.
He has a slice of cold toast hanging from his mouth.
The door is open.
Cliff is lounging in it. He's leant against it as though Mike had never thrown him out.
"What are you doing here?"
Appetite lost, he throws the remainder of his breakfast in the direction of the kitchen – it zips through the air – and lands in the sink.
"Hey," Cliff drawls, eyeing Mike's attire – suit and tie – before eyes land on the helmet in his hand and crinkle in amusement. "Can we talk?"
"No," Mike says quickly. Firmly. He pushes forward with his bike hoping the momentum will propel his uncle back.
Instead Cliff stays where he is, shifting from the door frame to stand upright, and catches the handle bars in a firm grip. Mike looks down at the handle bar, at the hands there, touching his bike, mere inches from his own.
"Mike."
Voice wavering.
Mike closes his eyes tightly.
His chest tightens.
"Mike... please..." voice catching, breaking, desperate and suddenly Mike's thinking about small hands wrapping broken ribs and bloodied faces and stinky breath. "I'm in a bit of trouble."
Mike takes a breath and opens his eyes. He takes another second to even the breath out, but when he looks up it's all for nothing – it still escapes him when he sees his dad's face instead of his uncle's. They have the same mouth, the same nose, the same set of eyes. It's not Cliff asking for help now, it's his dad.
"Just hear me out. Five minutes is all I'm asking."
Just five minutes, Mikey. Hear him out. If you don't like what he has to say, you can walk away.
Against his better judgement he pulls the bike back and steps aside.
"Five minutes," He says as Cliff pushes past and immediately takes the couch.
Mike sets the bike against the wall, closes the door and turns to face Cliff, folding his arms against his chest.
"What type of trouble?"
"The type that money can only fix," Cliff answers. He's fidgeting on the worn couch. Awkwardness is evident. Eyes are cast away from him. There doesn't seem to be the shame or guilt from before, so Mike starts to let himself relax, although anger and distrust still lie heavily in his gut.
"How much do you need?" Mike asks. His voice is bland, emotionless, detached. "I'm not sure how much I..."
"That's not what I'm asking," Cliff answers, eyes darting up (in those seconds it all becomes clear) before flicking away. There's the shame. There's the guilt. The anger and distrust surge up through him.
"Seriously?" Mike asks, voice raising. He unfolds his arms and braces one hand – wrapped bone breaking tight – around one of the bike's handles. He makes no attempt to move closer to the couch. "Seriously? You just thought you'd show up and start where you left things before?"
"Mike, please -" Cliff tries to reason, turning on the seat, hands out in justification. "I'm not in a position to get a job. No one's gonna take someone with a record like mine."
"Whose fault is that?" he spits out at him. The grip tightens, skin scream in distress and bruise against bone.
"I need money fast. I need easy money."
"And your first thought was to track down your dead brother's kid and try and pimp him out? Because you want an easy life?" Mike spits out in disgust.
Cliff rises from the couch, a look of disappointment on his face. "Don't bring your daddy in to this, Mikey. This has nothing to do with him."
Mike releases the anchor of the bike and steps forward, incredulous rage building.
"He's my dad! He's your brother! I'm your nephew!" Mike yells at him. He's not a little kid any more. That little thought is enough to push him into action – he gives his uncle a little shove. Cliff stumbles back. "How is that nothing to do with him?"
"Mikey, stop it," Cliff says quietly – almost reasonably as though it is Mike who is being out of hand – as he catches Mike's raised hand in his own, wrapping them around his wrists. "Sit down and give me the five minutes."
"That was before I knew what you were asking," Mike grits out, struggling against the double hold. Cliff pulls down hard and they both fall to the couch. Once seated Cliff hesitantly releases his wrists. Mike doesn't run though – he'll sit and listen and then have the satisfaction of saying no, of seeing his uncle's face crumple at Mike's decisiveness, at his control over the situation and him.
"I'm giving you a choice, Mikey," Cliff says, voice soft and calm as though he was trying to soothe a spooked horse, trying to manipulate him to leap over ridiculously high jumps and dangerous – unknown depths and murky water – brooks. "You can say no if you want."
"I say no," Mike says, smiling thinly. He tips his chin at him.
"Are you going to work?" Cliff asks him suddenly.
"What does that have to do with it?" Mike asks, worried that Cliff knows about his and Harvey's deal.
"What do you do? Sales?"
Mike could have laughed out loud.
Cliff doesn't have a clue. He was very tempted to smugly tell him what he actually does and who he actually works for. He wants to see the shock on his face, the fear, the realisation that, despite Clifford Ross very nearly destroying his nephew, the boy had done good. But he can't afford to. There were too many consequences, for both he and Harvey, and Cliff could very easily use it to his advantage.
He had, at least, sold a lie.
"Something like that," Mike says. Thin smile still in place.
He could tell the sudden detour into detached calmness was making Cliff nervous, so he smiled a bit more.
"Well, it can't pay much," Cliff tries to reason. "I'll see you good."
"I am good. I don't need money."
"It wont be like before."
A fit of giggles erupts from him and he sees Cliff look at him in confusion.
"That's what you said before," Mike offers in explanation, wiping at his face. When he lowers his hand again, his face is back to calm and detached.
"I meant you're an adult now," Cliff tells him, back to reasonable and justified. "Everything will be on your terms."
"You make it sound like we're negotiating a business deal," Mike says, swallowing the urge down to fall into another fit of giggles.
"In a way we are," Cliff says with a shrug.
"You're trying to sell me for sex," Mike says bluntly. "There's no negotiating in that."
"Mike-"
"I said no," Mike says, feeling some of the anger toying through him. He's bored of calm and detached. He wants the conversation over with. "This is New York City, I'm sure there's a street corner with someone who'd be willing take a lot less than what you're offering. You want easy money. I'm not easy."
Cliff doesn't respond.
They end up staring at each other. Neither break contact. He's unnerved by this – he can see the change in the eyes – the knowledge that it's a loosing battle.
Defeat.
And he doesn't like it one bit.
"Go," Mike says, finally finding his voice. "Your five minutes are up. I don't want you here any more."
It takes another few seconds until Cliff finally nods and raises from the couch.
"Okay," he says, conceding. He pulls a small piece of paper, out of his breast pocket of the leather jacket he's wearing, between his fingers and tips it towards Mike before placing it on the bookcase. "My number, if you change your mind."
Mike knows he wont.
He's left on the couch alone.
Cliff has already made him late for work.
Another hour wont make a difference.
xxx
Instead of going to work straight away he decides to go his grandmother's nursing home.
He has a a sudden, over-whelming, urge to see her, partly because he's terrified Cliff has been to see her. He was never sure how much his Grammy knew about what happened in those few months after his parents died. Neither one spoke about it.
When he finally enters her room though, he realises it wasn't the only reason he wanted to see her.
"Michael?"
The tears come first.
The sobs take a few seconds longer.
He ends up sitting on the chair beside her bed, head buried into her side, as she holds onto him.
"Shh, it's okay. Whatever it is, hon, it's going to be okay..."
xxx
The kid's late again.
He's tried calling him several times.
Left a few irate messages and text messages.
To which he had received no replies.
He's starting to get a bit worried. It wasn't unusual for Mike to be late, but he's already over an hour late. Even by Mike's standards, that was pushing it. He just hoped the kid hadn't fallen – or been knocked – off his stupid metal contraption. He's seriously considering making him, if and when he finally turns up, spend the entire day in the the records room or leaving him to the mercy of Louis. It was the least he could do considering how Mike was playing with his hardly-there-very-repressed-and-non-existent-emotions like a fiddle. Besides, worry didn't equate to caring. It just meant that if anything happened to his associate he'd have to go through the arduous actions of re-interviewing all those Harvard drones again.
"Donna-"
"No, Harvey -" Donna interrupts him. "I already told you he hasn't come in yet. I said I'll let you know when he graces us with his presence."
Harvey ends up pacing up down by his window, picking a baseball up and then placing it back down again. He repeats the process several times until Donna's voice interrupts it through his intercom.
"Harvey-"
"Finally-" Harvey starts to say.
"Actually, Mike's still not here," Donna corrects him. Her voice sounds worried and he frowns. " - But I have Mrs Ross, Mike's grandmother, on the phone. She's insisting on talking to you."
"Okay," Harvey says, swallowing the not-quite concern away. Harvey's pretty sure Mike has him down as his main emergency contact – although Mike hasn't actually come out and said so – so he's quietly confidant that he's not dead or injured. "Thanks, Donna."
"Mrs Ross?" He questioned.
He's taken aback by the fierceness to her voice.
"Care to explain why my grandson just spent the last half hour crying in my arms?"
He's still digesting her feral tone but manages to process the words 'Mike' and 'crying'.
"Mike's been crying?" Harvey can only ask in befuddled confusion. Harvey knows something was bothering Mike the other day, and despite working all hours, putting up with all the shit the other associates put on him, and dealing with Trevor's death and the resulting end to a friendship, Harvey had never actually seen Mike cry. He was having trouble imagining what the kid actually looked like when he cried.
"I just spent a good half hour trying to get him to calm down," Mrs Ross continues. Her voice is still fierce and angry, but there's an unmistakable distress lacing through it. "He wouldn't tell me what was wrong, he just cried and then stopped as though nothing had happened."
"Mrs Ross," Harvey tries to reassure her, "I swear, this has nothing to do with me. I'd never want to see the kid cry. I'm pretty sure it hasn't got anything to do with work, but I know something has been bothering him."
"Mr Specter-" the older woman interrupts him. "I don't know if you're responsible or not. Mike's always described you as tough but fair. All I know is that my boy was inconsolable and I want to know why. I tried to find out what it was, but he just clammed up on me. I couldn't push him, but you can."
Push him until it hurts
"Mike says you're the city's best closer. Fix it."
He's left with a disconnected line and a dialling tone.
Mike had been crying.
He'd been inconsolable.
What the hell was wrong with the kid?
xxx
It takes another another twenty minutes after the call until Mike finally makes an appearance.
"Donna says you wanted to see me?" Mike says off-handily when he enters the office.
Harvey doesn't say anything at first and uses the opportunity to scrutinise his associates appearance. It's clear that the kid has been crying – there's the tell tell signs of red-rimmed and blood shot eyes and his cheeks look flushed.
"Sorry I'm late." Mike says, pacing over to the window. His hands brush against the baseballs lined up but doesn't move them. "Something came up."
"Like going to see your grandmother?"
"I..." Mike starts to say, until it slows off into a drawn out syllable. "What?"
"She called me. Wanted to know why I made you cry," He says, tilting his head as he looked at Mike.
Mike's eyes widen and then he looks away, face flushing with redness.
Seriously, what did he expect after scaring the bejeezus out of his grandmother by crying in her arms.
"It's nothing."
"Cut the the BS, Mike. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Mike says. He looks like he wants to run, fidgeting from one foot to the other.
"It's something when clearly you're unhappy enough to turn up late late twice in one week and go running to your grandmother in tears. She wants me to fix it," he says, waving his hand between them. "What ever this is."
"It's those Harvard douches giving me a hard time all the time," Mike suddenly snaps. He looks pissed and annoyed. "It's you giving me a hard time when I don't deserve it. It's Louis who hates me only because he hates you more. It's the end of my friendship. It's Trevor dying."
Harvey doesn't believe a word Mike has just said. Angers fuelling the litany but there's no truth behind the force or his eyes that refuse to look into his own.
"Trevor died over three months ago."
"I get you own me at work but I didn't realise you had a monopoly on my emotions too."
"Mike-"
Mike adjusts his bag over his shoulder. His eyes dart towards him before turning away to look at the window. Harvey swears that there's a look of desperation screaming in his eyes ('help me, Harvey') before being torn away. He can clearly see how tight and wound Mike is at the moment and he wonders how easy it would be to try and push him to the verge of tears. However, Harvey hasn't a clue what is actually behind the kid's misery so he doesn't actually know what to push.
"My grandmother shouldn't have called you. I'm sorry," Mike says. He's still refusing to look back at him. "It doesn't concern you."
It damn well does; especially when he has his associate's grandmother calling him up and demanding answers.
"I just needed an outlet. It's done with now. I'm fine."
('Are you okay?')
('I'm fine, Harvey.')
('How you doing, kid?')
('Fine.')
"I should have called. It wont happen again."
Harvey feels like his head is ringing, that he and Mike are on some endless type of loop that always ends with false platitudes and (apparently) dried tears.
"Do you need anything else?" Mike suddenly asks and Harvey realises he hasn't spoken for at least a few minutes. "Can I go to my desk now?"
He finds himself nodding and waving him away.
He's not satisfied with himself.
Damn it, Harvey, push until it hurts!
Harvey is left with a heavy heart as he watches the younger man walk away, knowing full well that nothing was fine or okay, but he reassures himself that as the city's best closer he wouldn't let sleeping dogs lie – or puppies for that matter.
He might have acted sooner – right there and then – if he had realised a whole lot of trouble can happen when little puppies are out for the count. Because trouble was brewing, whether they wanted to admit it or not.
xxx
Mike had managed to avoid Harvey for most of the remainder of the day. Donna, however, had been on the prowl.
He'd waded through several briefs and had probably spent more time in Louis office then Harvey's. Louis had appeared surprised as hell when Mike had actually asked him if there was more he wanted him to do.
'Trouble with daddy?' Louis had sneered.
By 6:30 he was done with work. He stopped by the break room to have a last minute coffee to help fuel the bike ride home. Rachel was there at the table, a half eaten sandwich in her hand.
She eyes him and the bag over his shoulder.
"Finished for the day?"
"Yes and before you say anything I do realise it's before the accepted time a associate should be leaving."
"Actually," she says, smirking. "I was going to say you look tired."
"Oh," Mike says, breaking into a small smile as he takes a sip of coffee. "There's that too."
"Something wrong?" she asks, finishing her sandwich and dusting her hands together.
"No. Why?"
Rachel shrugs and studies him from the table.
"You just seem different today. Strung out... and Harvey looks like he's about to bust a blood vessel," she offers. She looks concerned. Already he feels like backing off. "You've hardly spoken to him today. Did you two have a fight or something?"
"Not exactly," Mike answers, feeling confused. "How do you know we haven't spoken much?"
Rachel shrugs again.
Donna
No wonder she's on the prowl. Harvey didn't know the truth so that meant Donna didn't. And she hated being out of the loop. It kind of explained why she had spent the entire day looking like she wanted to put him over her knee and spank him.
"I gotta go," he tells Rachel, putting the mug down and making to leave.
Rachel rises from the table and snags his arm as he's stepping away. He flinches at the touch. It's involuntary twitch and Rachel's eyes widen before crinkling into concern.
"What's the deal, Mike?"
Mike turns back towards her and paints a smile across his face. It's tight against his teeth.
"There's no deal," Mike tells her. "Sheesh, what's with everyone today. I'm just tired."
He pulls his arm from her hand. The smile, in all it's fake glory, stays firmly in place.
"Seriously, I gotta go."
He walks away from someone willing to listen.
He feels her staring at him as he walks away.
He walks from the break room and back through the associates area.
He feels eyes on him.
Harvey
He doesn't know why he can't open his mouth and tell him the truth.
Filthy, pathetic, naïve and weak (stomached)
It wouldn't take much, right now, for him to lift his head and catch Harvey's eyes. He knows if he does, Harvey will flick his head for him to follow, and as soon as they are alone together his mouth will open and all his dark little secrets will spill out. He doesn't know why he feels more at risk from this now then this morning but he puts the former down to self-preservation in the wake of tears.
He can't afford to slip up. Can't afford to confirm Harvey's suspicions about the type of associate he has employed.
So he buries his head further and walks a bit quicker and kids himself he's not that little kid any more, that he's a man in control of his actions, and doesn't need anyone else to fight his battles.
xxx
When Mike arrives back at his apartment it's to find Cliff back on the couch.
Mike angrily dumps his bike against the wall.
"What...? How did you get in here?"
Cliff's sitting there casually on the couch. He has a can of beer in his hand – a six pack on the table sits in front of him on the coffee table.
"Your lock is easy to pick," Cliff shrugs.
"Get. Out." Mike angrily huffs and jabs a finger in his uncle's direction. "I said no. Why can't you get that through your thick skull."
"Take it easy, tiger-" Cliff tells him, hands and beer out in defence. "I do get it and I respect it. I'm leaving. I can see despite what happened to you – what I put you though – you're doing good. I had thought that Trevor might have lead you down the wrong path."
Mike stands there looking at him stupidly and Cliff looks at him before chuckling dryly.
"Yeah, I know – coming from me that sounds really stupid, right?"
Mike folds his arms against his chest, mimicking his hold from the earlier conversation, and nods.
"Smart kid," Cliff laughs again. "Despite the situation I put you in back then – and this morning – I am so so so glad you had the balls to stand up to me. You made it so much easier..."
His uncle's voice is slurring slightly, tinged with emotion, and (maybe foolishly) he starts to let his guard down. He can control a drunk. He can throw a drunk out if needed.
"Cliff..."
"You did good, kid. You chose the right path. A different life," Cliff says, raising the can in the air. "Let's drink to that, at least."
"I don't think-"
"Just a drink. A goodbye drink and then I'll be gone."
It sounds easy enough. One drink and then her can pack him off. Move on with his life as though nothing had ever happened. Resume normalcy.
xxx
One drink turned into two which turned into a few more and things started to turn a little bit hazy.
Somewhere between the second and third drink, Cliff had taken the photo of Mike with his parents – the one with their faces pushed up close to the lens – and stroked it thoughtfully before handing it to Mike.
Mike ends up staring at it with tingly lips and numb hands.
"I took that. Do you remember?" he hears Cliff through the haze. The picture's swimming in front of him. He feels his body start to sink and he thinks – hopes – he can fall right into the swirling mass in front on him.
Mike manages a shake of the head because he's having trouble remembering anything right now.
"Yeah you do," a voice murmurs next to him. A hand reaches up and settles around his nape, kneading it gently. Mike shudders because he knows it's not welcome but his body is already sinking, falling into an oblivion, heavy and hanging as a thin blanket of darkness settles over him. "You never forget anything."
He can't make his voice work.
His limbs refuse to cooperate.
Confusion is settling over the blanketed darkness.
All he can do is curl his fingers around the wooden frame in hand.
Falling but not moving
Through the blanketed haze, there's a noise somewhere – his slowing brain categorises it as a staccato knock. Three of them. The couch shifts as someone moves – the slight lift and fall makes his suspended body feel as though he will fully tip into the oblivion below until it settles him back in a nauseating wave.
Noises surround him. He can just about make some it through the fog but it doesn't quite fully penetrate his smothered head.
"Hey."
"I know this is isn't what you asked for. He's a bit out of it."
"No," one of the noises says, louder this time. Nearer to him. If he had muscles they would twitch at it. "This will do nicely."
"You got an hour. Don't leave any marks on him."
He can't move an inch.
He's not even aware he is being moved until he realises the frame of the photo is being taken from his curled fingers. He hasn't a clue what the hell is happening, but he knows he doesn't want to let it go. The little sound of distress he makes goes unanswered.
Although he doesn't know what is happening he knows one thing for definite.
'You lied. You lied. You lied.'
… 'You made it so much easier.'
xxx
When Mike opens his eyes it's to complete darkness.
He's lying on the couch.
The digital display of the DVD player tells him it is 23:55.
It's not even the next day.
His mouth feels like cotton balls.
He feels discombobulated.
Nothing feels connected.
He's not entirely sure his arms and legs are even attached.
It's not until he tries to move that he realises everything is still very much there because pain ignites between his thighs and settles in fiery talons into his stomach.
He lets a pained moan out.
Despite the pain he still attempts to move.
It ends up being a complete mess of limbs.
Everything is uncoordinated and disjointed staggering.
He fumbles near the door. There's an envelope with his name on.
He can't get his shaky and trembling and numb fingers to cooperate so ends up ripping it open. There's a small bundle of notes inside. The inside of the envelope has three small words – but Mike sees double – treble – until they contract back into two sentences.
'I'm sorry. Cliff.'
Mike still can't figure out what happened, even with abused thighs, a torn up rectum and talons within his gut, but he knows he doesn't want to be in his apartment any more.
He grapples with the lock of the door and then staggers down the hallway. He may have even fallen down at least half a flight of stairs. He knows he looks like a staggering drunk, but he manages to flag down a cab and mutter some address. He doesn't even know where he is telling cab driver to go and hopes it's somewhere safe.
xxx
It's 12:30 in the morning when Jenny exits her cab, laughing with ease. She waves goodbye to her friends who are carrying on to their own apartment.
She's still smiling when she steps on to her floor and sees the figure leant against the metal frame of her door.
"Uhh... Mike?" she asks in confusion. It's been months since they have spoken. Their friendship had ended quite abruptly and neither had attempted to speak to the other.
"Oh," Mike says, lifting his hanging head. There's a look of surprise on his face. "Is this where I am?"
His face looks pale, his words slurred, his eyes dilated.
"You're drunk," she tells him, pushing with her foot slightly to indicate she wanted him to move. She was pretty sure if she slid her door open, he would fall right through. "Or high."
Mike shakes his head and then pales further.
"Don't know," he mutters and then folds over more, arms folding tightly around himself.
She pauses and quirks her head at him.
"Wow, you're in a bad way. What did you do, hit the bar as soon as you left work?"
Mike lifts his head and looks at her with pleading and confused eyes. Fear is evident.
"I... I … can't remember," he manages to whisper.
That isn't Mike. Even with alcohol in him, he never drank so much that he couldn't remember the basics. Even drunk, Mike's brain was always firing away, never stopping.
"Why are you here?" she asks quietly.
Why haven't you called? Why haven't I called you? It's been months. I miss you.
Mike shakes his head, clear confusion making his distress even more apparent.
"I … I don't..." he shakes his head once more. "Somewhere safe?"
Her eyes widen at his words.
Mike is also clearly having trouble forming words. It's more than just slurring. It's almost as though his mouth refuses to open.
She reaches a hesitating hand out towards his shoulder and...
"Where's Trevor?"
That makes her fall to her knees right there and then, hand tightening into the folds of the sleeve of his shirt.
"Mike?"
He doesn't respond and lets his head loll sideways against the door.
"How did you get here?"
A trembling, heavy, hand forces it's way up weakly with a crumpled envelope. He lets it drop between them. A few notes flutter with it and she grabs at them, her finger tracing the words.
"Cab?" Mike manages to half ask, forcing it out between closed lips.
"What happened?" she asks. Her worry makes her voice come out urgently, almost harshly and Mike flinches beside her.
A pained moan floats up between them and another confused shake of the head makes him shift again. He ends up wrapping his arms tighter around his torso. In doing so, he moves his arms up further and her eyes are drawn down to the pants to Mike's suit.
The belt has been cut through. The button is missing too.
Mike, what the hell happened to you?
xxx
Harvey is lulled from sleep at the sound of his phone ringing. He's only half awake when he puts it to his ear.
"...lo," he manages croaky.
"Harvey?"
He recognises the voice... Jenny something, the girl who had turned up at the offices to have a screaming match with his associate. He's sleep addled brain is trying to figure out how she got his number (a quick look at his display actually tells him the call is from Mike's mobile) and process the panicked garble of words falling from her mouth. He's out of bed in a quick flash when he hears 'Mike' and 'roofied' and skidding across the cool floor of his bedroom, phone pressed to his ear, while throwing on a pair of track-suit bottoms that lay at the end of his bed before Jenny even takes a breath.
"I'm on my way," he reassures her.
Damn it, he thought, as he took a moment to breathe while sat on the edge of his bed. He'd let sleeping dogs lie and now the puppy was hurt.
xxx
tbc