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"Volunteers represent a cross-section of caring, responsive and motivated individuals, who not only talk about helping others but actually do something about it," Mike reads from the leaflet in his hands. "I repeat, caring and responsive. And you say Harvey's really the best man to go with me on this?"
"It'll be good for him," Donna says promptly.
Mike narrows his eyes. "Yeah, maybe not so good for the people in need, though," he responds.
Donna raises her eyebrows. "Are you saying you think Harvey has no compassion for his fellow human beings?"
"Think it?" Mike says, shaking his head at her. "I know it!"
"He's not the monster everyone thinks he is, you know," she scolds lightly.
"I know that," Mike concedes, "but come on, Donna, even you have to admit the man's all about himself. It's always what people can do for him, not what he can do for them."
Donna opens her mouth to protest, but then she promptly closes it again. Except when it comes to you, Mike, she wants to add.
"See, even you have to agree with me."
"Well, whether I do or not," she replies matter-of-factly, "the fact remains that you and Harvey are going to do this thing, and you are going to do it together."
A few days later, Mike waits somewhat nervously outside the charity's new center, a rather dilapidated three-floored tenement building, recently acquired, and its renovation depending not just upon the goodwill of the charity's benefactors, but also on the volunteer workforce needed to prepare it for its new purpose. The reason for Mike's nervousness is that although he and Harvey have worked closely together during the last three months or so since he'd taken the job, they haven't really spent much time together outside of work, and he isn't at all sure if it's the same or a different Harvey who will turn up, or even if he'll turn up at all, especially as Harvey had sighed heavily when he'd read the memo out to Mike about the volunteer hours that all Pearson Hardman employees were expected to complete. He'd briefly explained the way the volunteer program worked before buzzing through to Donna, asking her to find him a suitable placement. "I really can't stand pro bono work," he'd complained, "but Jessica has this real thing about wanting us to project our charitable image to the public. He'd rolled his eyes at this point. "Ah, well kid," he'd then sighed, "at least if we do this thing together, we can hopefully make short work of whatever it is they want us to do, and then get back to making money."
Mike needn't have worried about Harvey not turning up, however, although when his boss strolls into view exactly on the stroke of 9.30, Mike is surprised to see that he's wearing a smart charcoal three-piece suit – hardly the perfect attire for what they've come here to do.
"You're a little over-dressed, aren't you?" Harvey drawls sarcastically, lifting his Ray-Bans to inspect Mike's washed-out gray t-shirt and tattered jeans. "You know, just because we're doing this work for free as a charitable gift, it doesn't mean we don't still show our clients the utmost respect."
Mike can barely keep the grin off his face at this. "So she actually didn't tell you, did she?" he says, still eyeing Harvey up and down. "Donna, I mean. She said she wasn't going to."
Harvey squints against the sun as he frowns. "Tell me what?" he asks, suspicious now.
"About the job we're doing here today," Mike replies, doing his best to not to snigger. "Harvey, we're not doing any kind of lawyer work here. We're painting walls!"
To give him his due, there's very little reaction from Harvey and certainly no gasp of horror. His lips crook into something halfway between a pout and a smirk, and then he replaces his eyewear and turns and glances this way and that up and down the street. "Apologize to whoever's in charge of the project on my behalf," he instructs. "Tell them I'm going to be a touch late."
And with that, he marches swiftly away.
Mike watches until Harvey all but disappears amongst the shoppers on the busy sidewalk, and then glancing at his watch and seeing he's now late himself, he heads inside the building to where he finds Janice, the project supervisor, a big woman with dark glossy hair, who's busy organizing the other volunteers inside.
"Hi," Mike says, holding out his hand. "I'm Mike from Pearson Hardman. I talked to you on the phone a few days ago about coming to help out?"
"Oh, sure honey," she says, her handshake warm and firm. "So good of you to come and help with our little project." She glances over his shoulder. "I thought you were bringing a friend with you, though?" she enquires.
"Oh, Harvey's gonna be here soon," Mike assures her, hoping that that's actually true. "He said to apologize but he's going to be a little bit late."
"Ah, that's okay then," she says, leading him up a flight of stairs into a large, airy room, which did indeed look in desperate need of a new coat of paint, "because it's a big room for just one as you can see, so you'll need your friend. Oh, and look, don't worry about any splashes, okay? There's a new carpet going down in the next few days so it doesn't matter if you make a mess of this one."
By the time Harvey finally arrives, Mike has already loaded up his tray with the cream-colored paint and is busily rolling it onto the wall. He finds it very satisfying to see the stained brown walls coming up fresh and new and clean-looking, and in any case, he's always particularly enjoyed the smell of fresh paint. It reminds him of his dad.
"Looks good," Harvey comments. "I think you missed a bit there though."
Mike swings round to see Harvey's changed into a pair of blue jeans and gray t-shirt, very similar to his own, although these clothes are brand new and clearly of much better quality. "Surely you didn't just go and buy those clothes just for painting in?" he mocks.
"Well, I was hardly going to paint in my suit, was I?" Harvey replies. "Besides, this stuff was only cheap."
Mike catches sight of the designer label on the jeans as Harvey stoops to load his own tray with paint and he shakes his head, knowing full well that the charity could probably fund three or four of its dedicated phone lines for a few months for the price Harvey has just paid for those jeans and that t-shirt, not to mention the top-branded sneakers he's now wearing.
"What did you do with your suit and shoes and stuff?" he asks.
Harvey looks at him as if he's said something stupid. "I got Ray to pick them up from the store and take them home, of course," he says witheringly.
Shaking his head again, Mike turns back to his own section of wall, although after a while he glances over his shoulder to see that Harvey is very efficiently applying the paint in smooth even strokes, and much more neatly and quickly than Mike has been doing himself, and he can't help admiring the fact that the man seems to be just as good at this task as he is at everything else. Once more, he's reminded of his dad, painting the walls at home whilst he and his mom had pitched in to help, although with a half-smile he remembers he'd probably ended up getting more paint on himself than on the section of wall his dad had given him to work on.
"I wonder why Donna chose this project?" Harvey wonders aloud later, after Janice has popped in to bring them a large pitcher of lemonade and a pair of paper cups. They've stopped work for a few minutes to gratefully gulp down the much-appreciated treat, and his comment breaks Mike out of his reverie.
"Hmm?"
"This particular charity. Why did she choose it? We don't have any connection to it, as far as I know."
"I don't know much about it," Mike mumbles, turning away and bowing his head as he kneels to refill his paint tray. He again relishes the scent of the fresh paint and the gloopy noise it makes as he transfers it from the can to his tray: such a good, clean, homely smell and definitely one of his favorites.
"But Donna said you already knew all about it," Harvey protests, "and in any case, I saw you reading that leaflet about it at the office the other day, so come on, you must know every word of it by heart."
There's a silence.
"Mike?"
"Oh, um, well, it's just a charity for young people who are down on their luck," Mike replies off-handedly.
"Oh, so for freeloaders and drug addicts, you mean?" Harvey scoffs.
"Not necessarily," Mike replies as he turns to stare at him. "Not everyone gets to lead a charmed life, you know, Harvey."
Harvey stops his painting and turns round, his roller balanced over the tray in his left hand. "You think that's what happened to me?" he demands, frowning. "You don't think I had to work damned hard to get where I am today?"
"No, I know you did," Mike says. "But not everyone gets the same opportunities. Sometimes … well, sometimes other things just get in the way."
"Like what?" Harvey asks sarcastically. "Oh, don't tell me, skipping class and joyriding cars? And then what? Becoming an addict? An alcoholic?"
There's a pause. "Possibly," Mike says cagily. "Or maybe an illness, or … or family circumstances, or any number of other things. It's not always as clear cut as you're suggesting."
"But even so," Harvey insists, "if someone wants to succeed badly enough then they'll find a way, regardless of their circumstances."
"Or maybe someone will come along and help them out," Mike shoots back. "If they're lucky, a place like this will be here for them when they need it. And besides, not everyone has a Jessica, paying their way through Harvard, or even a Harvey, who's willing to give them a chance."
Harvey narrows his eyes a little, but then he seems to realize this was actually meant as a compliment, not a criticism.
"And you've proved yourself more than worthy," he says graciously. "But I still believe there are always ways and means for someone to rise to the top if they are determined enough and prepared to work at it. You'd have found a way, even without me."
"I doubt that," Mike says, "considering what I was getting myself into at the time, but for what it's worth, Harvey, this charity isn't really about helping people rise to the top. It's about trying to help them find a way back when they've hit rock bottom."
"Yeah, well maybe they should've tried a whole lot harder before they got there then," Harvey says dismissively.
Mike hesitates. He thinks he's said too much already, and besides, he can feel himself getting upset, but for some reason he wants Harvey to understand.
"Look, what I'm saying," he says, his heart starting to pound, "is that sometimes, when someone gets so low that feel they've reached the end and there's nothing else, they – "
"There's always something else," Harvey interrupts briskly, "but some of these people don't even want to try."
"And what if they wanted to try, and they did try, they tried damned fucking hard, but they still couldn't find a way back?" Mike replies, trying to keep his voice calm and even, despite the fact that his hands have started to tremble. "That's when they need a place like this, to stop them going under altogether."
"There's always a way back," Harvey says. "It's just that people don't always consider all the alternatives. Come on, Mike, that was one of the first lessons I ever taught you."
"I know," Mike says carefully, "but what if … what if you're – what if someone was so far down that they couldn't get up, no matter what they tried to do? What if they ended up feeling like they couldn't go on, like … like maybe there was no point in even living anymore?" Turning his back on Harvey, he bites down on his lower lip as he bends down to load his roller up with paint and then he vigorously attacks the next section of wall.
"What are you getting at?" Harvey asks him. "Like if they ended up feeling suicidal, you mean?"
Still with his back turned, Mike closes his eyes briefly, and it takes all his strength to answer. "Yeah."
"Well then," Harvey says quickly, "perhaps we should just let them do it. After all, who needs people like that anyway? They're just a drain on the economy, and – "
He stops as Mike whirls around so violently that a dollop of paint flicks right off his roller and onto the floor.
"Jesus, Harvey, have you even thought about what you're actually saying?" he asks incredulously, his blue eyes wide.
"Of course," Harvey replies. "But realistically, only really selfish people end up feeling that way. It's a sign of a weak character, of someone looking to take the easy way out."
"A coward, you mean?" Mike's tone is sarcastic and disdainful. He looks angry and upset, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Harvey hears an alarm bell start to ring. Typically, however, he chooses to ignore it.
"You don't agree?"
"No," Mike says, shaking his head. "I don't. You know, have you ever even thought what it would be like to get to a point where you feel your life is so completely worthless that you just don't give a shit about it anymore? Well, have you?"
"No," Harvey concedes. "But like I said before – "
Mike interrupts him, his voice starting low but slowly rising all the time. "I'm sure you'll say you've had bad things happen in your life too, everyone has. We've all lost people, we've all done stupid things, and mostly you can find a way to fight back, but sometimes … sometimes all the shit just piles up, and it's just one fucking thing after another, and it gets so bad that you start to think you're worthless and not worth bothering about, and after all, why should anyone give a flying fuck about you when everything's all your fault anyway? And so you start to do stupid shit, really, really stupid shit, and you know you're a total fuck-up, but you'll do anything just to try to numb the pain, let anyone do anything, just because you feel so destroyed and there's nothing else to try. And then you start to hate yourself. You hate yourself so fucking much that it even makes you feel sick to look at yourself in the mirror, and that self-loathing just grows and grows, because you've let everyone down, and all the worry of it just eats away at you, and you just – you just … "
His chest is heaving now, his eyes bright with unshed, angry tears, and as he turns away Harvey watches him, dark eyes slightly wide, but with a faint look of understanding now etched upon his face.
"God, Mike," he breathes softly.
Mike is facing the wall again now, panting hard, his shoulders hunched protectively. Harvey bends to return his roller to its tray, then he stands silently behind him, watching him anxiously and seeing that Mike is struggling, and just barely managing in fact, to control his emotions.
"Mike? Look, I'm really sorry if I – "
"I just wanted you to know, that's all," Mike splutters without turning round, half-sobbing as he stoops down to drag his roller through the paint before he vigorously starts to attack the wall again. His shoulders are heaving and the paint splatters unevenly, some of it hitting the carpet. "For some people, it gets to the point where ending it all really does seem like the only solution, but if you're lucky someone notices and they put you in touch with uh … with a place like this. And – and they help you, they help you get back your … they … they …" His words run dry and a cracked sob breaks from his throat. Even so, he goes right on painting, pushing the roller aggressively up and down over the same patch of wall over and over and over again.
Harvey moves tentatively closer before he stops to clear his throat. "Jesus, Mike," he says, "I – I'm sorry. I didn't know." He moves up behind him. "Mike," he says. "Mike, stop," but Mike ignores him and just goes right on angrily painting until Harvey's sure he'll wear a hole in the plaster. "I said stop!" Harvey tells him loudly, and when Mike still doesn't, Harvey grabs his wrist, jerking his arm away from the wall. Mike tries to pull away but Harvey's grip is strong. He twists the roller from Mike's grasp, and pulls it out of reach before depositing it on the tray on the floor, and then he reels him in towards him. Mike fights at first, face red as he pushes with clenched fists hard against Harvey's chest, but then, as Harvey pulls him into a tight embrace, he suddenly gives in and instead leans in towards the firm warmth of Harvey's shoulder. Deep sobs shake him, and Harvey holds him close, wrapping his arms tightly around him while cursing himself and his insensitivity. "It's okay," he soothes. "I've got you. You're okay, Mike, you're okay."
They stand like that for a while, and eventually Mike's breathing slowly calms and he begins to settle. Harvey continues to hold him, the fingers of one hand splayed in the hair at Mike's nape, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth over the warm skin it finds there.
"I'm sorry," Harvey says softly. "I am, Mike. I didn't know, but you know what I'm like by now, right? My mouth runs away with me at times and I end up saying things I don't really mean. Forgive me, please?"
Mike breathes in shakily, but as Harvey pushes him away a little to get a look at his face he nods his head.
"You're okay now though, right?" Harvey wants to know as Mike, face averted, shuffles from one foot to the other in front of him. "I mean, you – you don't get those kinds of feelings anymore?" He waits, holding his breath, but this time Mike shakes his head.
"Not for a while," he admits, eyes on the floor, "and definitely not since I met you."
When he risks a glance at Harvey's face to gauge his reaction, there's fear in his eyes but as he drops them again, Harvey quickly closes the space between them once more, this time pressing his lips to Mike's forehead as he pulls him into another embrace, and Mike clings to him gratefully, burying his face against Harvey's shoulder.
"I'm gonna make sure you never have to feel that way again, okay?" Harvey promises, his mouth close to Mike's ear. Mike breathes out a sigh and presses himself closer, and they stand like that for a while, their bodies close, wedged together in comforting warmth and swaying ever so slightly, so that if anyone had walked in they'd probably have wondered what the pair were doing, slow-dancing together like that without any music.
"We – we'd better get on with the job," Mike says eventually, as he reluctantly pulls himself out from Harvey's embrace. "I mean, you've probably worked out by now that I chose this charity, not Donna. It – well, it means a lot to me to help them, after … well, after … you know."
"Let's get to it then," Harvey says, gesturing to Mike's paint tray as he picks up his own long-handled roller. "We'll get these walls finished, and then later on, we can go someplace and talk, okay?"
"Okay," Mike says, nodding and shyly smiling. "I think I'd like that."
"Good," Harvey replies, returning Mike's smile with an encouraging one of his own, and then both men return to their task of brightening the walls with the fresh, creamy, clean-smelling paint.