Mike sees it.

How much Harvey is off his game.

It's in his deflated posture, his tired voice, his shaky hands.

For as long as Mike has known him, Harvey Specter has never had shaky hands.

And as Mike sits beside him now, passengers in Ray's Lincoln Town Car, he's painfully unsettled at the demeanor of his mentor.

His head is leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed. He's taking deep, measured breaths in and out through his nose. He's loosened his tie and sport coat.

Ray meets Mike's eyes in the rearview mirror. "You lot are a quiet pair today," he comments. "Everything go okay with your client?"

Harvey tsks under his breath.

Mike swallows hard. "It went as well as it could have, given what we had to work with," he tells Ray. He glances at Harvey. "It did, Harvey. Slattery's going to take the deal."

Mike is feeling the utmost appreciation and respect for Harvey after that meeting with Kevin Slattery; a meeting where Harvey had every opportunity to pin blame for the original plan going south on Mike and Rachel, but he swallowed the blame whole, instead. Mike would've been the fall guy, especially now, but it means a lot that Harvey hadn't used him as one.

Harvey reopens his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. "I know he is," he says tiredly. "But he wasn't happy about it and I can't exactly put this one in the win column." He tugs at his collar then shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Is it stuffy in here?" he asks. "Ray, do you mind if I roll the window down?"

"I've got it," Ray replies, and presses the button on his door to lower Harvey's window.

It's then that Mike notices the sheen of sweat on Harvey's brow. His face is pale, too, and his lips are white. Harvey mutters his thanks and Mike watches as he takes in greedy swallows of air.

"Harvey, are you alright?" Mike asks quietly.

"I'm f…—" he gulps. "F-fine…" He brings a fist up to his mouth, and his bleary eyes shift to panicked. He's ill.

"Uh yeah, no, you're not," Mike says, taking ahold of Harvey's elbow in an instinctual comforting gesture. "Ray…?"

"I'm pulling over," Ray announces and steers the car to the nearest, open curb.

Harvey keeps his fist at his lips as he chest starts to heave. Involuntary, nauseated groans are escaping him and he drops his head, dizzy, as Ray brings the car into park. Harvey starts fumbling with the door handle, but his hands are shaking too badly to be effective.

"Here." Mike reaches across him to swing the door open.

Harvey turns his head and tosses the tails of his tie over his shoulder. He leans out of the car, gripping the top of the doorframe, and promptly vomits into the street gutter.

Mike grimaces as he hears liquid connect with asphalt.

"I'll go get him some water," Ray tells Mike. He puts on the hazard lights, then kicks open the driver-side door. He disappears in the crowd of sidewalk commuters, headed for the convenience shop down the way.

Mike doesn't know how to navigate this. His unflappable boss is in an obvious state of vulnerability, and it's a foreign predicament. But as Harvey pants and heaves, Mike is called to do something.

"Harvey…" he says gently. He scoots a little closer to him on the bench seat and places a hand on his shoulder, hoping to provide some comfort and to keep Harvey's tie from slipping back into the crossfire.

Harvey flinches at his contact and another gush of vomit rockets out of him.

"Jesus," Mike gasps sympathetically. He can feel Harvey's body trembling under the palm of his hand. "Puke any harder and your organs are going to see the light of day." He squeezes Harvey's shoulder as he spits mouthfuls of excess saliva to the ground. "Seriously, are you alright? What can I do?"

Harvey can't answer right away. He spits again then takes in three deep breaths, waiting to see if there's more to bring up. When he thinks he's in the clear, he relaxes and lowers his hand from the doorframe so he can drop his head in his hands. "Nothing, Mike, I'm fine," he manages through his palpable exhaustion.

"Okay," Mike says softly. "I'll pretend I believe that."

"Really," Harvey insists, making his voice as strong as possible. He swings his legs back into the car and wipes his mouth with his hand. "Just a little bout of food poisoning."

He's still out of breath, panting a little, as he tilts his head back against the headrest. He closes his eyes. Mike notices that his Adam's apple is still pulsating threateningly.

"You sure you're done?" Mike asks hesitantly.

"Mm," Harvey grunts the affirmative through clenched teeth.

"Convincing," Mike mutters, his eyes scanning his boss up and down. Harvey's lost weight. A lot of it. His face is gaunt. He looks sad, and tired, and sick, and it's off-putting seeing him that way.

Mike reaches to put a hand on Harvey's knee; it wasn't even a conscious decision. And it speaks to how rotten Harvey must be feeling, because he lets him keep it there.

They sit there, like that, until Ray returns with the water.

"Would you like me to drive you home, sir?" Ray asks Harvey when they get back on the road. "I know you drove yourself into work this morning, but—"

Mike frowns. "You did?"

"No, Ray, that's okay," Harvey answers, ignoring Mike's question. "You can just drop us both off at the firm."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you going to be okay to drive home?" Mike asks Harvey. They're standing outside of the firm as Ray drives off. Harvey's just staring at the double doors, posture haggard.

He turns to face Mike. "I would be, if that's where I was going." He nods toward the doors. "I have some things to take care of."

Mike gapes at him. "Harvey, you just emptied your stomach on the side of the road. You can't be serious."

"I'm not going to go home just because I undercooked my eggs this morning," Harvey says, his voice dull but unwavering.

Mike sighs. "Right, because that's your story and you're sticking to it." He isn't buying it. "Harvey, come on. The Slattery case is handled. Anything you need to do can wait until tomorrow, or you can dump it on me."

"What I need to do can't wait, and it has to be me," Harvey says, his sheer stubbornness shining through. With that, he pushes past Mike to inside.

Mike follows him. "Harvey, stop. Stop," he says and grabs his arm, making Harvey turn and face him in the middle of the lobby.

"What?" Harvey asks, incredulously.

Mike hesitates, his heartstrings twisting with concern. "I'm just…" he lowers his voice. "I'm just worried about you. You've been off ever since Donna left. And I get it, I do. But Harvey, you need to take care of yourself. You're exhausted. You're making yourself sick."

"You're making it sound like I undercooked my eggs on purpose," Harvey remarks bitterly.

"You and I both know that you didn't even eat breakfast this morning," Mike says seriously, dropping his arm from where he was holding onto Harvey's elbow. "Do you think people haven't noticed how much weight you've lost?"

Harvey swallows hard and turns his head away.

"Are you hearing me?" Mike asks him.

"Yeah, Mike, I hear you," Harvey says, through gritted teeth as he meets Mike's eyes. "And it's all very touching, really," he adds sarcastically. "But I hired you to be my associate, not my nursemaid or… or some detective into my psyche. So why don't you get off my back and let's just do our goddamn job, alright?"

Mike can feel the heat in those words, surprised that he had it in him. He breathes in deeply. "Harvey," he says on the exhale.

"Mike," Harvey all but growls, and there are tears brimming his eyes.

It's Mike's sign that he's pushed too hard. So he raises his hands in surrender. "Okay," he placates. "I'll drop it. Let's just get back to work, I guess."

Harvey motions to the elevator. "Let's."

Harvey Specter might be the only person who can throw up his stomach lining and still look better than most men on their good days.

Mike marvels at him while he regains his composure in the elevator. He smooths out his suit, straightens his tie, spits on his hand and spruces up his hair. He reaches into his pocket and pops a peppermint in his mouth.

"Good call," Mike quips.

He's expecting Harvey to say shaddup or flip him the bird. But he doesn't. He just meets Mike's eyes briefly, then looks down at his shoes.

The rest of the ride up is in silence.

"Hey, Harvey?" Mike says, once they've exited the elevator and before they go their separate ways.

Harvey breathes out deeply and turns partway to face him. "Yeah."

Mike does his best to be disarming. "I just want to say thanks…" he shrugs. "For not throwing us under the bus back there."

Harvey narrows his eyes at him, but his shoulders soften. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, you could've told Kevin Slattery the truth. That mistake was mine and Rachel's."

"No, it wasn't," Harvey tells him with despondent accountability. "You were right. That mistake was mine." He gives a slight, meaningful nod to his associate, then turns on his heel.

Mike taps on the door to Rachel's office.

She looks up from her desk and smiles, then waves him in. She's been glowing ever since he asked her to marry him.

"Finally," she greets and starts shutting down her computer. "I'm starving."

They had made plans to grab a late lunch at the deli next door after the meeting.

"How'd it go?" she asks. She stands up and starts straightening the papers on her desk. "You didn't answer my text."

"I know, I'm sorry," Mike tells her. "Harvey got sick to his stomach on the drive back…" He mimes a vomiting gesture so she gets the picture.

Rachel stops what she's doing and frowns at that. "He did?" She swallows hard. "Because it went poorly?"

"No," Mike assures her. "It went how we thought it would. Slattery's going to take the deal. He wasn't happy about it, but Harvey made him see that it was the only way."

Rachel covers her face with her hands. "I still can't believe we're the ones who messed that up—"

"Harvey doesn't see it like that," Mike interrupts her. "He took the fall."

She drops her hands. "In front of Slattery?" she asks, disbelief evident in her voice.

Mike nods. "I was as shocked as you are."

Rachel sighs with relief, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile. When she meets Mike's eyes, her expression sobers. "Is Harvey okay?"

Mike shrugs. "He claims he undercooked his eggs this morning. It wasn't pretty."

Rachel winces. "Did he go home?"

Mike raises his eyebrows. "What do you think?"

"I think he told you to go to hell when you suggested he take the rest of the day," Rachel says knowingly. "And I'd guess that right now, he's sitting in his office and pretending nothing even happened."

Mike gives his nose a little tap. "Bingo."

They bring Harvey some soup and saltine crackers back from the deli, and Mike stops and gets him some Gatorade from the vending machine in the lounge. He adds it to the handled brown paper bag the deli had packaged the to-go order in.

"Harvey. Hey," Mike says softly as he nudges his office door open.

Harvey is seated at his desk, head in his hands. He's staring down at single sheet of paper, but he lifts his head when Mike enters.

"Hey," Harvey greets tiredly. He turns the piece of paper over in attempt to keep it private, but Mike had already seen.

It was the list of replacement secretaries that Donna had made for Louis when Norma died. She must've given it to Harvey when she gave her notice.

So that's what Harvey needed to work on.

Mike clears his throat over the sudden lump of emotion he feels for his boss. "I, uh, I brought you some soup," he tells him, giving the bag a little shake.

Harvey's expression softens. "You didn't need to do that," he chides gently, but Mike can hear the appreciative undertones in his voice. He nods to the corner of his desk.

So Mike sets the bag down there. As he does, he takes the time to really look Harvey over to get a reading on his well-being.

He's gotten some color back and doesn't look as gaunt in the face. The dark circles under his eyes are still there, but Mike doesn't expect those to fade anytime soon.

He keeps himself from outright asking Harvey if he's okay, mainly because he knows he isn't, and he doesn't want to subject him to such a vulnerable question that Harvey would naturally respond to untruthfully, anyway.

"I'm planning to work on billables the rest of the day," Mike tells him. "The Slattery case put me a little behind. Is that alright?"

Harvey drops the pen he was holding on the desk, then leans back in his chair and nods. "That's fine. I'm doing some clerical bullshit, too," he says, motioning dejectedly at his desk.

Mike winces at Harvey's choice of words in reference to finding a secretary, but he also recognizes that he's moving through - in no particular order - the stages of grief.

"Okay," Mike says. He reaches to put a hand on Harvey's shoulder, and squeezes it gently. "I'll let you get back to it then."

With that, he starts making his way out of the room. When he reaches for the door handle, Harvey stops him.

"Mike."

He turns around.

Harvey meets his eyes. "Thank you," he says sincerely.

Mike gives him a half-hearted smile, startled by his unprecedented gratitude. "Sure, Harvey."

"What is this?"

It's the end of the work day, and Harvey is standing above Mike smirking. He'd dropped a hefty magazine, complete with a bow, on the papers strewn over Mike's desk.

"A copy of Brides Magazine," Harvey answers.

"Why is it on my desk?" Mike asks, glancing up at him.

He knows why, and he's relieved. This is the start of their teasing banter that Mike has been desperately missing the past few days. Something he had increasingly longed for ever since he and Rachel had gotten engaged, but Harvey had been too out-of-sorts to deliver.

"How else are you gonna pick your colors?" Harvey says.

"Colors?" Mike repeats. "What are 'colors?' How do you know what they are?

"Because I'm a grown man."

"Really? 'Cause you sound more like a grown woman."

Harvey feigns offense. "That's very hurtful. I looked everywhere for that issue."

Mike chuckles and picks up the magazine. "Thanks, Harvey." He meets his eyes meaningfully, and he's glad to see more life behind them than he's seen all week.

"Thank me on the way."

Mike takes pause at that.

"…Where are we going?"

"To do what we should've done the day you got engaged. Nets game."

"Are you kidding?"

Harvey pulls out two tickets from his jacket and grins. "Front row."

Mike doesn't need to be told twice. He leaps out of his chair, caught up in the excitement. He grabs his jacket and follows Harvey out the door.

They go back and forth, playfully arguing about who is going to sit beside which famous person at the game.

But reality sets in again when they get to the parking garage, and Mike remembers the day that Harvey has had.

It stops him in his tracks.

"Hey, Harvey, wait," he says, bringing them both to a halt with the back of his hand. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

Harvey lets out a knowing sigh, like he'd been expecting the question. "I'm sure," he returns, and is brutally honest when he says, "I… I really need this."

What Mike hears is: I need to not be alone.

His heart clenches at that admission, knowing full well that Harvey's default is to compartmentalize and bottle up his true feelings. It's how he operates. This is a rare moment in time when Mike is seeing through the cracks.

"Let me take you to the game, Mike," Harvey pleads softly.

Mike swallows down the emotion rising in his throat.

"Okay, Harvey."

Fin.