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Evolution was a bitch, Donna decided as she sipped her skim milk latte with whipped cream and sugar (no, that did not defeat the purpose of skim milk).
The way she looked at it was that people evolved and then immediately decided to use the evolutions of others against them. It used to be simple, really. Some people used race as an excuse to look down on others. Some people used gender to discriminate. Some people thought you were worth something less if you could walk, or hear, or see or do something else they could. Just as society started to stretch out the kinks of its current excuses for hating its fellow members, the human race up and created another reason to look down on someone.
Bonding.
Well, shit, she thought cynically. It was just one of those things that had popped up in the last hundred years or so and thrown the planet for a loop. Bonding was scientifically undefinable, but there was no question that it existed. No one was sure if it was mental, emotional, or physical in its power, but it was there. It was all relatively simple, Donna assumed. She knew that all it took was a single touch to your one and only 'Bondmate' and you were immediately Bonded. No one except people who had Bonded knew exactly what that entailed and there was apparently no way to explain it fully to anyone who wasn't, but it was powerful and all-consuming and glorious if the world was to be believed. It was exceptionally rare, too, given that less than half a percent of the population ever came within a hundred miles of their Bondmate, never mind actually finding them.
It was also quite controversial.
See, things that society doesn't fully understand are big, red targets for hatred and discrimination. True, the majority of the world had moved on and accepted that Bonded people were special and required different rights because of their potentially crippling connection to each other. Emotions, physical comfort, and the avoidance of a potential mental break were all cause for the laws that protected Bonded partners. They were never to be forcibly separated. They were never to be punished by use of their Bondmate. They were to be executed following the death of their Bondmate because all ability to function emotionally and mentally was lost upon permanent separation from their partner.
Naturally, a nasty chunk of society viewed this as a weakness. Being forced to rely on someone to stay sane and healthy was positively horrific to many people. Donna thought this wouldn't be so bad if those people just found their Bondmates and realized they were being ridiculous. Except a Bond could be rejected by both parties just like a marriage, so if they decided they didn't want it, they didn't have to have it.
Donna viewed that as totally unfair. It was one of those 'walk a mile in their shoes' things. Maybe if they just experienced a Bond for themselves, nasty people could get the fuck over themselves and everyone could just get on with their own business.
This was her one and only spot of contention with Harvey Specter. Sure, she was behind him every step of the way even when he did stupid things or rude things or even sometimes illegal things. That was her job – helping him do his. But when he smirked and looked down his nose at a paralegal who had recently discovered her Bondmate, she smacked down the phone and told him she quit. Donna could put up with a lot of shit from Harvey Specter and, by God, she loved him – suits, hair gel, snappy wit and all – but she couldn't work for a bigot.
"You're quitting?" he repeated in his dangerous, I-deem-that-royally-insignificant voice. She nodded firmly and resisted the urge to go put an arm around the crushed-looking paralegal's shoulders. The poor girl had just had the happiest thing in her life ruined by Harvey.
"Yes."
"Alright, then," he said with a shrug. He picked up his briefcase and headed for the door – it was eight o'clock on a Friday. "I'll see you Monday, Donna."
Donna gritted her teeth because, damn it, she could never follow through with threats to Harvey. Especially threats that included leaving him forever. Maybe she should have the drycleaners destroy a suit. Yes, that seemed like a more effective use of her rage.
: : : : :
On Monday morning, Donna sat at her desk and basked in the glory of her perfectly executed suit sabotage. She smirked through the email from Harvey declaring her two percent raise as an apology for acting like a dick on Friday. She was in such a good mood, in fact, that she didn't even notice Mike Ross until he was knocking his knuckles on her desk right in front of her. He always knocked, the little puppy, it was like he'd been trained and was now incapable of breaking the rules.
That was number three on Harvey Specter's List of Live-and-Die-By Rules for Office Etiquette. It was a simple list, really. One, mouth off and you're fired unless you are Donna. Two, no circumstance ever warrants self-adornment through the use of a skinny tie. Three, always knock or you'll find yourself biting the curb as you await a cab to your next job interview. Four, absolutely no Red Sox paraphernalia is to disgrace the halls of Pearson Hardman at any time. There were more, but they never applied to any real life situation and were therefore not in Donna's mental list of things to remember.
Anyway, Mike. He knocked like the good little puppy he was and she allowed him the pleasure of her widest Monday morning smile. He stared blankly back at her, pale and a little clammy. Neither of them said anything for a few moments until Donna realized Mike seemed rather incapable of words at the moment. She was instantly worried (not that she'd ever admit it, no, because Mike was just an associate and she didn't care about him outside of Monday to Friday).
"Cat got your tongue, Michael?"
Mike just stared into Harvey's office with a desperate look on his face and wiped his palms on his pants, which would have made Harvey cringe had he seen it.
"Can I?" he croaked, like he was hoarse from a cold or shouting too much. Except Mike never shouted, so he must be sick. Donna dismissed the issue of Mike looking like shit because a cold was just a cold and would not likely kill him (unless he operated heavy machinery on cough meds, which was decidedly unlikely). She waved him into Harvey's office and warned him not to cough on Harvey.
She went back to flipping through Harvey's inbox.
When Mike reappeared two minutes later, he looked one hundred percent better. In fact, he grinned at her and asked if she had had her morning skim milk latte with whipped cream and sugar. Then he offered to get it for her when she said no and darted off before she could reply to that. It was a strange ritual that had occurred every morning since Mike started working at Pearson Hardman .
He came in looking tired, pale, and generally quite jumpy and he exited Harvey's office moments later looking refreshed, pink in the cheeks, and relaxed. Donna doubted that Harvey and Mike were involved in some sort of illicit affair because, let's face it, she'd know about it by now. She was quite sure, though, that Harvey dealt out some serious encouragement to Mike in the mornings because, really, why else would the rookie look so happy after two minutes in an office?
Maybe he and Harvey had worked out a schedule for praise and Mike got two minutes a morning from Monday to Friday while Harvey claimed the rest of the week.
That was probably it. It sounded like them, anyways. Mike was constantly bending over backwards like a pretzel to keep Harvey happy. Harvey was forever refusing to give any sort of praise or interest in the hopes of maintaining his rock solid reputation of an emotionless, hardass, badass mother of a lawyer. Societal norms at the firm were intact and all was well in the world.
: : : : :
On Tuesday night, Donna had spent ten hours behind her desk and knew that Mike had spent probably another half as many behind his. The thing about Mike was that he always showed up first and always left last. He was in his cubicle working steadily when she arrived each morning at seven o'clock and he was still there when she left each night long after dark. For a while, she had wondered if he'd just been evicted and was living at the firm like a squatter, but then she heard him whining about how the hot water in his apartment wasn't working last week.
More to the point, she was tired and hungry and wanted to get drunk, eat Chinese food, and watch about a forty hours of a random crime show with Mike while he ranted about their blatant disregard for how the justice system worked and how real police didn't have snappy comebacks like that in real life (because he would know). Now, she'd never ever been to Mike's place and was wholly unimpressed when she showed up at the address she stole from his employee file and saw a rickety, sketchy-as-fuck low-rise apartment complex with a precariously dangling fire escape. Well, who was she to question Mike's living choices. Maybe he spent a lot on comic books. He had that look.
She noted with disdain that there was no buzzer, nor was there a doorman or any sort of security. She sidestepped a strange looking stain in the hallway and knocked on Mike's door. It opened when he rapped her knuckles against it (how very safe), so she peered inside.
"Mike?" she called out. There was no answer. She pushed the door open, thinking 'yes, officer, I thought I heard someone in distress' and stepping inside. The apartment was mostly bare, save a metal table with two mismatched chairs, a threadbare sofa, a painting of a panda on one wall, and a boxy television set atop a coffee table by the wall. There was a fridge in the corner of the kitchen. Donna had been to exactly one other associate's apartment and it had been quite swanky, indeed, which wasn't surprising in the least since Donna knew what Pearson Hardman paid their second year associates.
Mike must own a lot of comic books.
"Mike?" she hissed again, hoping that the next person she saw in this hellhole would be Mike and not some sort of mob muscle. She heard a quiet keening sound from behind the counter and picked up the lone frying pan that lay on the countertop. She wielded it like a sword and poked her head over the counter to see Mike on the floor.
He had his knees hugged to his chest, heels tucked tight to his ass, and his arms wrapped tightly around his shins. His head rested on his knees and he rocked back and forth in the corner slowly. She was shaking violently.
"Mike!" Donna flew around the end of the counter and flung herself down beside Mike. She reached a hand out and grabbed his wrist to alert him to her presence because he seemed to have no idea she was there. As soon as she touched him, he wrenched his arm away with a whimper. Her hand had left a red welt around his wrist and it made a low sizzling sound. What the hell…? "Mike – Mike, say something. Can you hear me? Did someone hurt you?"
Nothing. But then he looked up and his eyes were pitch black, like the pupils were blown to their full capacity.
"Shit, puppy, what did you take?"
There were several options here. One, walk out and let Mike deal with his stupid mistake on his own. Two, call an ambulance to make sure Mike hadn't overdosed. Three, call Harvey and let him clean up his associate's mess. Four, stay with him until the morning and make sure nothing horrendous happened to him.
Option four was the only real option, she decided. There was no way she could leave him looking so pathetic and obviously in pain on the floor of his kitchen. She couldn't just hand him over to the EMTs, either, because they'd call the cops and Mike would lose his already precarious position at Pearson Hardman. No way was she calling Harvey, who would take one look at Mike and fire him for getting high after their little talk months ago. She couldn't do that to him, especially when Mike just wanted to make Harvey proud – sometimes to the point of destroying his own life.
She got a glass of water and grabbed a container of Chinese food, then made herself comfortable next to the shaking associate to wait out the night.
Five hours later, Mike still hadn't snapped out of it, so Donna headed for the bathroom and was sure she would rather curl up and die than use whatever dollar store soap she would find in Mike's shower. Just as she started to move, the cellphone beside Mike's hand on the floor started to vibrate. She peered down at the screen and saw that Harvey was calling.
Mike grabbed it and pressed it to his ear.
"Hello?"
He sounded remarkably calm for someone who had just spent five hours shaking on his kitchen floor. His eyes closed and he breathed deeply as he listened to the other end. It was clearly not a pleasant conversation, but Mike sucked it up like the last glass of water in a barren desert.
"…Norton briefs…yesterday night…ass into my office…six-thirty…deal with you then…"
Ah. Apparently Mike had forgotten to finish his homework the night before. Mike nodded and said 'yes' about ten separate times before closing his phone with a reluctance that Donna did not understand one bit. Harvey had clearly just spanked Mike over the phone. Why was he so sad to end the call?
Maybe he knew what was waiting for him in Harvey's office later today.
Mike stood up, stretched, and rubbed his face in a very familiar way – the same way he did every morning when he stepped off the elevator. Like his eyes were itchy. He turned around and saw Donna standing in his kitchen and threw his cell phone into the air in surprise.
"Donna!" he shrieked. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Erm," she said. "I've been here for five hours."
"Did you break into my apartment? Why?"
"The door was open!" Donna protested. "Yes, officer, I thought I heard someone in distress."
"What?"
"That's what I'll tell the cops if you call them," she said challengingly. "And they won't disagree when I tell them that you were having a bad trip on the floor of your kitchen last night."
"Bad trip? I wasn't high, Donna. I haven't been high since that time Louis blackmailed me."
"What do you call last night, then?"
Mike looked away and gazed down at the empty Chinese food containers and bottles of water. He frowned at the red burn in the shape of Donna's hand on his wrist and covered it with his own.
"Don't worry about it," he said shortly. "I can handle it."
"Handle what?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Mike," she raised her eyebrows at him. "I will find out. You'll be happier if you just tell me now."
"Are you blackmailing me?"
"Why, yes, I believe I am."
"What do you have against me?"
"A video on my phone of you shaking and crying and muttering nonsense. It's five minutes long."
Mike clenched his fists and glared at the phone in her hand, obviously calculating the likelihood of success if he attempted to wrestle it away from her. She shook her head at him and he slumped against the counter.
"I have a rejected Bond," he admitted. "I wasn't high. I can handle it on my own. Don't tell Harvey."
"I may not have a genius IQ, Mike, but I am way better than you at spotting a lie," she argued. "I know what happens in a rejected Bond. You come to an agreement, go your separate ways, and never bother each other again. A rejected Bond wouldn't make you break down like you did last night."
"What you just described is what happens if both Bondmates reject the Bond," Mike said wearily. "I didn't. I can't. The only way you can reject a Bond is if you think it's below you. I was raised to think a Bond was the ultimate happiness. I spent my whole life thinking that a Bond would be the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I can't reject it."
"I'm sorry," Donna said quietly. "I had no idea that could happen."
"It doesn't, not often."
"Last night…" Donna trailed off and stared at Mike's recently vacated position in the corner.
"Every night," he said dejectedly. "I thought it would wear off. It hasn't."
"What exactly did you think would wear off?"
"A partially rejected Bond eats away at the Bondmate that doesn't reject it," Mike explained while Donna listened, growing more horrified by the word. "It makes your skin crawl and keeps you awake at night. Extended periods of time away from your Bondmate also cause a lot of pain. Touching anyone but your Bondmate burns" – he held up his red wrist – "and you panic if you're apart for too long."
"It hurts?"
"Hence the freaking out last night."
Donna thought back to sitting in the dark in Mike's kitchen. How he'd shaken and whimpered. How he'd dug his fingernails into his arms and clawed at them. How he'd pulled at his hair and groaned through clenched teeth. She'd thought he was coming down from a high. Instead, he'd been in pain and trying to hold it in.
"Does it go away?" she asked. "You seem okay now."
Well, more okay than last night. His eyes were rimmed with red and he had bags under them. He was pale and clammy and his hands still shook.
"No, it doesn't go away," he admitted. "I can just focus better when I'm getting ready to go to the office."
"Maybe you should take a day off, Mike," she told him. "You look awful."
"No!" He looked positively horrified by the possibility of staying here in his apartment instead of heading to the office. "I can't."
I can't. Why not? Donna pondered Mike's statement for a moment before landing on the one thing she'd been fishing for.
"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "It's someone at Pearson Hardman, isn't it? How could – oh, my God. Someone sees you every day and ignores you while you – while you…fucking bitch."
"Bastard is the word you're looking for, I think," Mike corrects her. "And don't call him that. I love him. It's not his fault I'm –"
Mike swallowed.
"I should get ready for work," he said instead. "I have a six-thirty appointment to be verbally kicked in the junk by our mutual favourite narcissist."
Donna smirked – call Harvey anything, but narcissist was at the top of his list of favourite compliments meant as insults.
"Mike, if you need anything…"
"I don't."
"Alright, if you ever don't need help, I'm here for you," she told him. Mike nodded because, really, they'd been working together for a long time now and he knew what she meant.
: : : : :
It had been five weeks since Mike's kitchen floor breakdown. It was just long enough for Donna to think, hey, Mike seems to be coping with his rejected Bond pretty well. Then, as she was preparing to watch copious amounts of The Office with her own personal hilarious commentary, something thudded outside of her apartment door. It was most likely Mrs. Allen's morbidly obese cat escaped from apartment 79A across the hall again, she figured, but it never hurt to check it out.
She opened the door and, voila, there was a spectacularly pale and unconscious Mike Ross on her threshold. She reached down to pat his cheek, hoping he'd wake up and she would have to drag him inside her apartment, but his skin was icy cold. It sputtered hotly under her fingers, leaving another burn, but it was cold to the touch. That was the moment she decided that maybe possibly she should call an ambulance, just in case.
When EMTs arrived, she told them about Mike' situation, to which their faces darkened with sympathy and something else she didn't catch. They loaded him onto the ambulance and let her climb in after him after seven promises that she wouldn't touch a hair on his head. She clutched at his shirtsleeve the whole way there and watched as his face convulsed and tears slide down his cheeks even in sleep.
The doctors gave him a sedative and morphine to help the pain and anxiety, but when Mike woke up at the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket, he seemed more at ease than any drug was apparently making him.
Donna heard Harvey's terse voice and short, efficient instructions on the other end and felt like wrenching the phone from Mike's grip to tell Harvey to shove it up his ass. Mike was in the hospital, for Christ's sake, and the least he could do was give the poor boy some leeway. Except Mike clutched the phone and nodded and barely said a word other than 'yes, Harvey'. When he hung up, he checked himself out of the hospital against doctor's orders and listened to Donna's shrill arguments all the way to Pearson Hardman.
"Mike, you almost died on my doorstep last night!"
"I'm fine, I'll be fine."
"Well, which is it? Are you fine now or will you be fine later?"
"I just had a tough couple of days, is all. I'll be better today. I promise."
"Fine."
When they arrived, Mike headed straight to Harvey's office for his two minutes of praise and encouragement before emerging with a smile.
"Honestly, Mike, what does he say to you that makes you so happy?" Donna asked, exasperated. Mike grinned. "Is it like some sort of 'good work, son, today you are a man' thing? Because, Mike, you're already a man."
"No, Donna, it is not a 'good work' anything. Every morning, Harvey lets me know exactly how badly I fucked up yesterday's work and then hands me another stack."
"That's what makes you so happy?"
"Hey, for the entire two minutes I'm in there, everything revolves around our discussion. He's my mentor. I take it because he wants me to."
"Masochist."
"Have a nice day, Donna."
: : : : :
Two weeks after Mike's 'outside of apartment 78B' breakdown, Harvey made a bet with Louis and gave Mike away for nothing. Mike was understandably indignant at this and did his absolute best to argue, bargain, and flat out refuse his way out of being pawned off. Midnight of that same day, Donna found Mike shaking in his cubicle, looking absolutely wrecked.
"Mike," she sighed, grabbing his messenger bag. "Let's get you out of here."
She remembered her promise to Mike that she wouldn't tell Harvey about his partially rejected Bond, but she couldn't touch him to move him. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't leave him here all night, not like this. She flipped open her phone and dialed Harvey. He always had a plan.
"Harvey Specter," he answered in his clipped, you-better-have-a-good-reason-for-calling-in-the-middle-of-the-night voice.
"Don't sass me, Harvey," Donna told him. "I need your help with Mike. We have a situation."
"Is he high?"
"No."
"Is he dying?"
"No…"
"Is he causing irreparable damage to my gleaming reputation?"
"No."
"Then tell him to go home and stop causing minor crises in the middle of the night."
"Harvey, Mike is currently in the middle of a breakdown in his cubicle and I can't touch him without hurting him. I have to get him home somehow," she said demandingly. "So get your big, strong ass down here and help me figure out how to remove his scrawny one from this horrendous desk chair."
"What's wrong with him?"
"Remember that time the DA's office tapped your cell?"
"…Yes."
"Get down here and I'll tell you."
Harvey stepped off the elevator twenty minutes later and Mike was still teetering on the edge of falling apart. He was shaking more violently and he was starting it breathe unevenly, which Donna knew meant that he'd be holding in screams soon.
Harvey stopped in his tracks, on hand on the button of his suit jacket as if he'd been moving to open it.
"He looks like shit."
"He has a partially rejected Bond and he is currently experiencing his nightly withdrawal at the office," Donna explained. "He told me about it a couple of weeks ago when I went over to his apartment and wound up waiting it out with him on his kitchen floor. Apparently this is a nightly thing, but he didn't get home in time, I guess."
"This happens every night?"
"Yes."
"He's…shaking."
"Yes, he says it hurts and that his skin crawls all day, but at night he can stop faking it and let it take over for a while," she said impatiently. "How do we get him home?"
Harvey looked angry. He reached out to Mike's shoulder and Donna flung herself between them, resulting in Harvey smacking his hand awkwardly against her ribcage.
"Don't touch him!" she ordered. "It burns."
"I'll be fine," Harvey tried to push her aside, but she stood her ground.
"Not you – it hurts him."
Harvey stared at Mike's trembling form and Donna remembered her promise to Mike. She felt immediately, horribly guilty. She'd thought Harvey valued his associate enough to deal with this. She hadn't thought Mike would be expendable enough for Harvey to look at him so angrily.
"You can't fire him for this," she begged. "It's not his fault. He didn't want to tell you because he doesn't want you to think he's weak. He just wants to make you proud, Harvey."
"Mike," Harvey said sternly. Mike's head snapped around and he locked eyes on Harvey, then Donna. His eyes glistened and he blinked rapidly, looking down and away from Harvey with shame. "Mike, look at me."
Mike did, resentfully.
"Why didn't you tell me?" It wasn't gentle or concerned, it was demanding and angry.
"It wasn't your problem."
"Anything that messes with my associate's ability to do his job is my problem."
"It doesn't mess with my ability," Mike bit out. Donna stepped closer to him. "I deal with it, okay? I don't bring it to the office. I just had a…rough day."
Harvey's cheek tightened.
"Keep a tighter hold on it," Harvey ordered before turning on his heel and making for the elevators. Donna stared after him, appalled that he would say something so harsh to someone so obviously desperate for his approval.
"I'm sorry," she apologized on Harvey's behalf. Mike shook his head.
"He's right. I should have left as soon as I felt myself slipping under."
Mike leaned forward and rested his forehead on the edge of his desk. His shoulders started to shake, but it wasn't the same as before. He sobbed and Donna blinked away her own tears because, damn it, Mike didn't deserve this.
"I don't know how to be good enough," he whispered like he couldn't hold it in but didn't want her to hear it come out. He sat up, eyes red and face pink with emotion. "It's too hard, Donna."
"Mike, of course you're good enough."
"I'm not."
He snatched his messenger bag and darted for the elevators, Donna hot on his heels. He whirled around, looking a bit crazed, and she almost ran into him. He wiped madly at his face and stared around the bullpen.
"Tell Harvey I resign."
He stepped on the elevator and left Donna to stare after him in shock.
: : : : :
Mike couldn't quit, Donna steamed as she paced her living room. He physically could not quit his job. His Bondmate was at Pearson Hardman and quitting meant spending the rest of his (presumably short, if he quit) life in the same state she had found him in on his kitchen floor two weeks ago. If Mike quit, he'd waste away and die and she absolutely could not let that happen because, yes, she cared about him a little.
"Damn you, Michael Ross!"
Her empty apartment didn't answer her.
In the morning, she was seated at her desk when Harvey strode into the office, full of confidence and swagger.
"Morning, Donna," he said as cheerfully as he ever got as he strode by.
"Mike resigned last night," she said by way of a greeting. Harvey stopped and gave her a look. "He said he couldn't take being subpar anymore and quit."
"Why?"
"Why doesn't he want to feel subpar anymore? Gee, I don't know, Harvey. It seems fun."
"Why did he choose last night?"
"He said he had a rough day yesterday. Maybe he couldn't take being worthless to the only person who matters anymore," she shrugged, still angry. "I can only assume it is terrible, seeing as he's looking at a few months of constant withdrawal."
"So he'll get over it. Once he does, he can come back."
"No," Donna said coldly because Mike was more important than some bastard's emotional hang ups about Bonding. "Mike will not come back because Mike will be dead."
Harvey set down his file on her desk and stared.
"Mike will die because of this?"
"The only reason Mike is not already dead is because he gets to come into Pearson Hardman and at least lay eyes on the bastard who is doing this to him. If he can even so much as say hello each day, Mike can cope. When he doesn't have that anymore, the coping stops."
"He'll kill himself."
"Don't think that makes him weak. He's handled this whole mess alone because he's strong enough to realize he's the only one who will. Don't fault him for cracking."
"Get Mike in here. Now."
Donna called Ray, who went to pick up Mike, who staggered through the elevator doors of Pearson Hardman in jeans and a sweatshirt looking as if he hadn't slept in weeks – which, Donna knew, he hadn't really. Donna met him at the elevator and guided him to Harvey's office, where Harvey currently was not.
She set him on the couch and he stared up at her sort of blankly.
"Why am I here?"
"Harvey wants to see you."
"I can't see Harvey anymore."
Donna frowned at sat down beside him. She sighed.
"It's Harvey, isn't it? He's your Bondmate."
"Yeah."
"You think he's ashamed of you?" she asked. Mike shook his head and then clasped a hand to his forehead as if dizzy.
"I know he is," Mike said softly. "It's not his fault. I'm not exactly a catch, you know? The moment he told me we weren't going to see it through…what could I say? All I wanted to do was give him everything he wanted."
"Even if it killed you."
"Yes, of course," Mike said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world to him. Donna realized just how powerful a Bond was. She'd thought they meant mutual happiness and commitment. Seeing Mike willingly sacrifice his life for Harvey's happiness made it darker somehow.
Harvey stormed into his office and stared Mike down.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded. Mike crumbled into Donna, wincing as his cheek met her shoulder and his skin hissed as it burned. Donna gripped his jean-clad knee tightly.
"I did this wrong, too?"
He looked brokenly up at Harvey until he broke down into supressed sobs and hung his head in his hands between his knees.
"I'm sorry," he said wretchedly. "You said you wanted this. I should have…I don't know how to make you happy. I'm sorry."
"Mike, I'm pissed because you never told me any of this," Harvey declared firmly. "You should have come to me. Do you know why I thought we should reject it?"
"Because I'm not good enough." Like it was fact.
"Because you're my subordinate and it was inappropriate for us to be together," Harvey countered. "I have no doubts that you are better than me in a lot of ways, Mike. I'm a better lawyer. You're better at nearly everything else."
"What else is there to you?"
"There's you," Harvey supplied. He knelt down in front of Mike, besmirching the integrity of his suit on the carpet, and grasping Mike's left hand. Mike's demeanor shifted – he lost the tenseness, the subtle trembling, and he didn't look like he was in pain anymore. "Mike, you should know that I didn't do this to make you hurt. I did it to keep our jobs above contempt. It was never because I thought you weren't good enough."
"Am I?"
"Good enough? Hell, yes. You're so good."
Mike vaulted forward and pressed his face into Harvey's neck, inhaling deeply. He trembled with a different sort of emotion than before. Harvey held his head there and they rocked gently, Harvey whispering into Mike's ear too low for Donna to hear.
"I take it back," Harvey told him. "I am officially un-rejecting our Bond. Okay?"
"Yes," Mike breathed. Donna smiled happily and moved to leave them alone. As she walked to the door, she heard the smack of lips parting and turned around to see them pressed together, gripping each other's heads desperately.
Order officially restored.
: : : : :
Harvey sat back on his knees and surveyed Mike's naked body with something he had to admit might possibly be somewhere in the realm of maybe adoration. He watched Mike's face, full of colour and void of stress lines for the first time in months. He watched his shoulders shift on Harvey's eight hundred thread count sheets. He watched Mike's chest rise and fall with each lazy breath and watched his nipples harden under the brush of a thumb. He watched Mike's stomach muscles roll under smooth skin. He watched Mike's stiff cock drip impatiently.
Harvey watched as Mike's eyes surveyed him with the same adoration and revelled in the singing feeling that coated his skin at the thought of pleasing Mike. He knew now what it must have felt like for Mike to be rejected by him – not that Mike would ever make him feel that. But he knew that the other side of feeling this good was something terrible, something soul wrenchingly devastating. There was a great distance to fall.
He leaned forward and felt the heat of most of Mike's skin coming into contact with most of his. They curled around each other and Harvey basked in the feeling of Mike's heart against his ear.
"Mike," he said weakly. Mike smiled.
"I know."
Mike's hips pressed against his, they legs interlocking as they rocked together. Somehow, being naked and aroused and pressed as tightly to Mike as possible didn't seem sexual right now. It seemed like puzzle pieces and coming home and right. There was pleasure – God, was there pleasure – but it didn't center in his dick. It spread out over his skin where it connected to Mike's; he pulsed with joy, pleasure, and devotion everywhere they touched.
"Mike," he whimpered again. Mike writhed beneath him with hands like an octopus – everywhere, oh, they were everywhere – and his lips left trails of heat over Harvey's skin as he whispered. "Mike…Mike…Mike…"
"Harvey," Mike whispered back, lips pressed against Harvey's shoulder. "I know."
They held onto each other and trembled. Not in fear or pain or sadness, but with an ecstasy that the rest of the world could only begin to fathom in their wildest dreams. It consumed them and forced them closer and closer and closer still. He just wanted to be so close to Mike that he thought he'd only be happy if he could submerge his entire body inside of him. Harvey wasn't sure he could ever truly explain it, but that was the best he could do. A need to be so close that it takes over any thought that isn't Mike, Mike, Mike.
He clutched Mike closer and tingled under the feeling of Mike's breath warming his neck.
I love you.