Chapter Text
Harvey was drunk. Very, very drunk. He had just lost a very high profile client and he blamed Mike. It was easy for him to yell at him at work - Mike was his responsibility and needed to be taught when he made a mistake. But the more Harvey realized how much he had lost, the more he placed blame on Mike because he couldn't bear to take any of the blame. Harvey Specter didn't lose.
. . .
Harvey promised he would keep work at work and home at home, but when Mike walked through the door he could feel the air was wrong. “Harvey?” He called out but there was no response. He walked through the hallway and into the kitchen. When he saw the man, he almost didn't recognize him. His suit jacket was on the floor, his tie loosened but still around his neck. His hair was sticking up everywhere, having run his angry, shaking hands through it every 30 seconds. Mike wasn't sure he wanted to think Harvey could still be mad at him for what happened earlier at work. There was nothing Mike or Harvey, or Jessica for that matter, could have said to make the client stay. When he got within a few feet of Harvey the stench of alcohol hit his nose, and he was suddenly very certain Harvey was still angry. When he finally turned, Mike could see his face was red and blotchy, and his eyes held a murderous look he's only ever seen once in his life. His whole body tensed.
Though he was afraid to provoke him further, Mike slowly ventured closer and asked “Harvey, what's wrong?” He knew what was wrong, but he also knew asking him about the alcohol would be worse. Harvey's face transformed into a sort of sneer, and he released an empty chuckle, “Why did you come here? You're useless to me at the firm, you're useless to me here. Just useless.” Mike, eyes previously on Harvey now glued to the ground, tried to convince himself that Harvey had no clue what he was saying. His Harvey would never say that to him. He was about to say something but when he lifted his gaze his eyes widened as he saw Harvey stumble up to his feet and make his way over to Mike. Mike began to back himself up as he stuttered out “Harvey, I said I-I was sorry. I-I don't know what else you want me to say.” But Harvey didn't seem to absorb any of his words, he just kept advancing on Mike. “Harvey,” he pleaded with the man he no longer recognized as his lover, “Please, I don't know what you want from me!” At this, Harvey paused and he said very lowly, “I want you to get the fuck out of my apartment”. Not their apartment, his. That stung Mike, especially as he saw Harvey begin to turn away. He reached out to grab Harvey's arm to stop him, but as soon as he did he regretted it. “I said get out!” As Harvey yelled this, he turned in Mike's grasp and caught Mike's cheekbone with his right hand.
Mike felt the contact and then it was like everything was moving in slow motion. He felt his back hit the counter behind him, and he vaguely registered that his impulsion backwards was great enough that he would have a bruise from the hit. He hunched himself over, holding his face for a minute. He retreated back in his mind to a place he swore he would never have to go again. He tried to block out the pain from his aching face and his back, and when he successfully banished it from his mind he began to straighten up. One quick glance told him Harvey was no longer in the room, for which he was glad. As he gathered himself up and made for the door he said no parting words, but slammed the door loud enough for Harvey to register his exit.
. . .
When he wakes up, the first thing Harvey registers is the blinding light coming in from his windows. His head is absolutely throbbing in pain and his mouth tastes like something crawled inside it and died. He knows this is going to be the worst hangover he's had in years. He was never foolish enough to drink himself stupid because he knew he had a reputation to maintain. As he starts to get out of bed, he begins to piece together what happened the previous evening. He had been angry, that much he can absolutely remember. He took his anger out on Mike, but now, with a clear head, he can admit it was never the kid's fault. Nothing anyone could have done would have gotten the client to stay. But, never one to admit defeat, he had let his mouth get the better of him. Despite the alcohol, he can perfectly remember the look on Mike's face while he was reaming him out; he had looked so dejected and that only fueled Harvey's need for a drink. He had gone home and quickly found his scotch. Now, as he walks to the bathroom to brush his teeth, he remembers sitting on the couch and throwing his jacket on the ground. He had made his way into the kitchen, his head pounding too much to remember the rest of the evening.
When he had woken up alone, he figured Mike had already gotten up to make breakfast but when he saw the kitchen empty, he came up confused. He had looked around, and there was absolutely no sign that Mike had returned home last night. But he vaguely remembers the door opening and closing, hearing Mike's voice float in through the apartment. That's when the memories flew back. Mike had come home to find him, tried to placate him but he had just yelled at Mike, told him to leave. When the next memory came back to him Harvey nearly threw up; he had punched Mike. His Mike. His Mike he promised to protect against all forces out to hurt him. He pick up his leftover scotch glass from last night and hurled it at his wall, shattering it. He slumped over himself onto the floor, gaining no release from the tumbler breaking, only feeling a growing guilt.
. . .
“I don't know what you did, boss man, but the puppy refuses to come remotely close to this office. He's sending Rachel to give me his files.” Harvey had been expecting something as such, but still his heart dropped into his stomach and his chest tightened as Donna looked him in the eye with a look that clearly said 'you fucked up'. He had been dreading today all weekend. Mike wouldn't answer his calls. They had moved Mike completely out of his old apartment when he moved in with Harvey, so he had no idea where he went. He knew that work would be no different, but he had hoped he would get the chance to talk to him. “What did you do, Harvey?”
Harvey just walked into his office knowing Donna would follow him. When he reached his desk, he put his briefcase down and turned to see Donna waiting with an expectant look on her face. He sighed as he looked down at his desk, “You're going to need to sit down for this.” At this, she looked at him with an incredulous look, not quite sure if she was ready to hear what he had to say. He didn't speak right away, but she let him have his time to sort his thoughts out. When Harvey did begin to speak, all she could do was let her jaw fall. Her hand flew to her mouth when he choked out the end of his story. Afraid to look Donna in the eye, Harvey kept his fixed on his wringing hands in front of him. He never showed vulnerability like this, never outright avoided eye contact out of fear but Harvey had never known a guilt like this. He was hoping Donna would yell, would kick his ass but as his brown eyes lifted to meet hers what he saw there instead of anger was worse; he saw hurt, betrayal, and something colder than he'd ever seen in her. “Donna-” he tried to begin but she just cut him off with a curt shake of her head before she left without any words.
. . .