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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years

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The Same Bed: Lost (And Found)

CW: Trauma recovery, healing internal and external injuries, references to noncon and choking, brief suicide mentions at the beginning, references to past pet whump, consensual spice between survivors, brief masochism funtimes

(using the “Lost” prompt for @whumpmasinjuly day 2 for this! Loosely interpreted, but still...)

“Hey.” Jake drops the stack of folders, stuffed with paperwork, onto the table. “I brought these by for you to look over. I think I have it all taken care of, though.”

“Cool.” Jenna doesn’t look at him, sitting with her chin in her hand, watching a TV in the corner. Jake follows her gaze to see the chyron running along the bottom of the screen, a news anchor talking animatedly. The volume is so low he can’t hear it, but the subtitles are on.

NOTED FORMER CHILD STAR OWEN GRANT FOUND DEAD IN APPARENT SUICIDE…

Jake takes a seat across the table. “Suicide? That’s what they went with?”

“That’s what I paid the coroner to go with, yeah,” Jenna says, leaning forwards a little. She’s cut her hair short, to her chin. It suits her. “Figured it’d be better to have open-and-close suicide case then a bunch of cops looking for a murderer they’re not gonna find. Cops hate that shit, but they love getting to wash their hands of something and say it’s not their problem. And that Grant asshole doesn’t have any living relatives to push for it to be a crime, right?”

“Right. He just had his mom, some distant cousins that hated him as much as everyone else did.”

“Good. Yeah, the coroner’s going to find that Owen went a little off the rails after losing his mom. It’s believable.”

“Yeah. He definitely went off the rails, anyway.” Jake hesitates, and then offers, reluctantly, “Thanks, Jenna. For your help. I know how you feel about Kauri-”

“You know how I felt about Kauri,” She answers breezily. She sits up, then, pulling one of the folders in front of her, opening it up and looking over what she sees inside. “It’s been years, Jake. He’s not who he was then, and neither am I. Plus, I don’t like the idea of people fucking with us after we’ve started to really get better. It wasn’t that big of an ask.”

“Jenna.” Jake barks out a laugh. “I asked you to drive around with a dead body in the trunk to help Antoni get rid of it, that's not a small ask!”

“It is,” Jenna says, almost primly, “When I don’t mind doing it. I didn’t mind following him to make sure he went to that house like we thought he would, and I didn’t mind helping Antoni out with the body. Besides, I used Vincent Shield’s money to bribe a coroner to say Owen Grant is dead by his own hand, you can’t tell me that’s not some poetic fucking shit right there.” She sighs, looking over at him. “You can always ask me for help, Jake.”

“Can I? Since goddamn when? You’ve been calling Kauri a whore for a decade-”

“Nah, I haven’t done that in a while. Since I decided to stop like five years ago. Since, you know, I realized… I was just taking out on him what I wanted to say to the other pet in the house I ran from.” Jenna sets the file down again. A frightened young woman’s face looks back up from a printed out copy of stolen WRU records. Someone new to hunt for, someone listed as ‘assisted walk-in’, an abduction in flowery language. Someone they can save and if they make it public, WRU can’t try to take them back without running afoul of the law again.

“Jenna, I don’t-... I don’t understand-”

“People change. I changed. Just… let me have changed, Jake. I was scared, and pissed off, and just… lost… for years. I was angry at her for nearly getting me killed, and Kauri reminded me of her, so I took it out on him. But, years back, that little one, uh, your brother-”

“Chris.”

“Right. Years back, Kauri called me for help with him. And I helped, because I’m not a complete asshole, just like seventy percent of one, and after that… I don’t know. Kauri really stepped up for that kid, and I could see how scared he was. Kauri and I are never going to like each other, but that doesn’t mean he’s not one of us.”

“Well… yeah, okay. Thanks. I won’t push you on it anymore.”

“Welcome. And thanks. Congratulations on the marriage, by the way.” She waved at the ring on Jake’s finger. “Good fucking luck with that. Marrying two people sounds way worse than marrying just one.”

“Nah.” Jake shrugs, and opens a file himself. He circles what he sees - ‘referred by foster mother, assisted walk-in’. “It’s way, way better. They’re pretty cool to be married to.”

“If you say so. No marriage for me, thanks. Too much like being kept all over again.”

“That’s fair. Live the life you want to live, right?”

“Right.” She smiles, then, looking around the little kitchen in the small brick ranch she lives in. “Damn straight. Live the life you want to live, all yours, on your own damn terms. Okay, so I say we start with this one, she’s part of a bonded pair. We can get them both.”

“Where are they located?”

“That’s the best part. They’re handler’s pets. They’re local.” Jenna grins at him, sparkling and full of mischief. “Ready to break into a handler’s house and fuck some shit up?”

Jake can’t stop himself from laughing. “Clearly not as ready as you are.”

“... so yes or no?”

“Yeah, Jenna. Let’s do it. Let’s plan a raid.”

“Cool. So how do you feel about setting his house on fire?”

“... I might know someone who can help us with that.”

“She’s said sorry like seven fucking times.” Jameson lays on his side on his bed, his back pressed to the wall. “If she says it again, I might lose my goddamn mind, Allyn.”

“She just feels bad.” Allyn smiles at him, laying a hand against the side of his face, their thumb rubbing over his cheekbone, over a small scar. He shudders, closing his eyes as sparks seem to light and dance down his skin, buzzing just under the surface. When they move their hand away, he can still feel the weight of it, the ghost of pleasure.

“I know, but I already told her, I don’t mind hurting for her. I didn’t mind. It wasn’t even that bad, I’ve been hurt worse than that!”

Between them on the bed Trash Cat lays curled in a contented little ball, eyes closed. Her ear flicks whenever Jameson speaks, as if listening to him, keeping track of the emotion in his voice. Reading it for potential trouble.

“But she never wants to hurt you. She never wants to hurt anybody. I get it.” Allyn’s hair falls in loose red waves over shoulder and neck and lays against their face. He tucks a little of it behind their ear, watching their freckles shift as they smile at him, flashing white teeth against pink lips, sparkling gray-blue eyes.

He listens to their voice, tastes the rainshower that comes with it.

“I don’t mind hurting,” He repeats, but softer this time. “If it’s the right person hurting me.” There’s an unmistakable flirtation in his voice, then, although it’s tentative. He’s never sure how to start this, now that he isn’t having to guess at a master or owner’s mood, read the tension in the air and break it down by handing his body over to the whip and the cane until they are both bonelessly satisfied.

No, this is… something else.

Something honest.

Something equal.

If Allyn hurts him, he knows, it will be because he asked to be hurt. Not because it’s his place. The idea feels like wandering in a new landscape. Touching unfamiliar trees that at least still have bark and leaves, but wondering at colors and shapes he’s never seen. Lost, even with map in hand, because the place he is in is so like but not at all the same as the world he knows.

Jameson shifts forwards, as best he can, back curving a little so he can kiss them. Their lips are warm and soft and his own are a little rough and chapped. For a second they go still, and then they’re kissing him back. It’s perfect, at first, too perfect, and then both of them drop the instinctive training and the kiss goes clumsy and they both laugh as they bump teeth.

Trash Cat chirps, lifting her head to look back at them, and then slowly stands up. She stretches in a perfect arch before stalking down to the end of the bed.

“She’s giving us our space,” Allyn whispers against Jameson’s lips, and giggles. The sound of their laughter sends warmth down his spine, and he moves closer, until they’re touching from collarbone to knees, even their feet twining together. His bandaged hand moves slowly up their side, feeling the slight curve, nearly an angle, from narrow waist to larger ribcage. His thumb is so, so close to their chest, and they inhale in a soft hitch.

“She just doesn’t want me to push her off the fucking bed in a minute,” Jameson answers, a little breathy, and he hates his hoarse voice - can remember he had a normal voice, with Nanda, before Brute and Robert made him scream until it was gone over and over until it stopped coming all the way back.

“Can I-... can I try something?” Allyn asks in a whisper, and when Jameson nods, they give a little smile and reach up, taking his hand from their face and holding it in their own. Their soft sotto voice is like subtle droplets on Jameson’s tongue, a burst of the way the air taste just before it really starts to rain. He watches them, meeting their eyes with his own, as their thumb settles just over the center of his palm. Beneath that, a healing cut, where Nat had jammed a GPS tracker as deep as she could get.

And Jameson hadn’t screamed.

He knew how to hurt.

“Can I push down?” Allyn’s eyes search his. “While I kiss you, can I… push down on the cut a little bit?”

His mouth goes dry. Jameson’s body is a lightning rod, and he stares at the storm and wants to beg for the roll of thunder that follows the strike. He nods, a little jerk of his chin. “Yes,” He breathes.

Their lips are on his own, again, opening to slide their tongue against his, and he hums into the kiss, pressing his body to theirs. Warmth stirs deep in his stomach, his body waking up, answering the firmness of their kiss.

Then they press down, pain racing down Jameson’s arm and into his body, and he moans, unmistakable and louder than he means to be. He’s rolled onto his back with Allyn pressing into his hips before he can think, and Allyn’s mouth is on his neck, teeth bearing down on soft skin as they roll their own hips against his, and he moans again.

The front door closes, muffled downstairs.

Allyn pulls back, startled. Then they burst out laughing, leaning over until their forehead touches Jameson’s. “Oh, no, I forgot she was home.”

Jameson breathes in soft gasps, and laughs, too. He tips his head back, baring his neck. The place they were biting is cold where air and the remnants of drying saliva meet. “She’s not home anymore,” He offers.

Allyn leans down to bite again, and presses their thumb into his hand at the same time.

“I love this,” Jameson groans, eyes fluttering closed. His hips move to meet theirs right through their clothes. It doesn’t occur to either of them to take them off… not yet. “I love, love this-”

“I love it, too,” Allyn murmurs, nipping at his earlobe.

Neither of them says what they really mean. Both of them have loved men who could never fully love them in return. Both of them know the words have always been hollow. But both of them think it, if not consciously, then with every inch of skin where they touch.

I love you.

“Antoni.” Kauri’s voice, still hoarse as he heals from the hands that had tried to choke the life from him, is laced with a kind of affectionate irritation. “I don’t need it.”

“You do.” Antoni sets the mug down on the side table next to the bed. The tea within is faintly pink, see through, not marked with milk. Kauri can look down into it and see, a little muddied, the image of a cat face painted on the bottom. He sighs and looks up at Antoni, whose eyebrows raise. “You do,” He repeats. “Tea is good for sore throat.”

“Yeah, for like… when you have strep or the flu or some shit,” Kauri groans, but he pushes himself slowly up to seated, back cushioned by approximately eleven million pillows Jake and Antoni have both insisted on keeping near him at all times. Not that it isn’t really, really nice to have one to sit on when he leaves the bed and ends up in a chair like a dumbass. “I was choked, Ant, it’s not the same. Not even the first time I’ve been choked. Not even just Owen! There was this one guy I went home with once…” He smiles, but the laugh dies in his throat before it comes out as he meets Antoni’s dark eyes.

“I remember,” Antoni says. “I remember that night.”

“Of course you do.” Kauri sighs, and pats the bed beside him. Antoni sits, just at the edge, as if he might flee at any second. Like he wants to run from the pain still marking Kauri’s skin.

Kauri leans over, and places a hand over his. Long fingers that have been slightly cool for so long are warm from too much tea and time under the covers. His ring glimmers in the light, back on his finger where he plans to never ever take it off again. It overlays Antoni’s own.

“Ant,” He says, softly. “For the thousandth time. It isn’t your fault. I knew what might happen when I went into that room. I was… I was ready for it.”

I was ready to die.

“I should have been inside faster,” Antoni says, and he leans slowly over until his head rests on Kauri’s shoulder. The soft, messy nearly-black hair tickles Kauri’s cheek and he smiles, pulling Antoni’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles, gently, one by one. Bruised knuckles, torn and bloodied the night of the rescue, now healed but still scarred. “The fight with the other one was not supposed to take so long. We had a plan, and we nearly-... you could have been dead-”

“I’m right here,” Kauri says, voice low. He turns and breathes deep. Antoni’s hair smells like tea-tree and mint shampoo, and there’s always something of a kitchen around him. Smells like flour and baking things and sweetness. “I’m right here, Ant. I am alive, I’m right here, look, I feel like a flip flop left out in the mud but I’m here.”

“If not for Vince-”

“Then you would have saved him.” Kauri smiles, and he keeps that smile in his voice. “And that’d be something, wouldn’t it? Secret runaway pet saves multi-millionaire movie star…”

“It would not matter. It would be nothing, if Jasha and I lost you.”

“You would still have had each other-”

“It would be nothing. You are the… the piece of puzzle that holds two others together. You are color, we have none without you.”

“Bullshit.” Kauri’s smile widens, though, and he flushes a little at the praise, at being told he is needed. Not just needed but wanted. That, at least, he’s never quite lost, and he wonders if that was inherent in Liam Harker, the man who once walked around in his skin. What parts of him have survived within Kauri?

Maybe just a need to be loved, and wanted, and needed.

Maybe Liam had that, too.

“Kasha, I love you,” Antoni whispers. It’s hard for him to say the words. Kauri kisses his forehead. Then the tip of his nose.

He pulls back. “I love you, too, Ant. You and Jake and I… we’re forever.” They sit in silence for a few minutes. In the background, a soap opera plays, which both of them are entirely ignoring. Then Kauri says, softly, “Antoni… will you go get my phone? I forgot it in the bathroom and I don’t think I have the energy to go get it on my own just yet.”

Antoni stands, retrieving the phone where it lays on the bathroom counter. When he comes back, he climbs right into the bed, lying on his side under the blankets, near to Kauri without quite touching him. Kauri doesn’t push, this time.

Antoni offers touch, when he wants it.

“I’ve been thinking,” Kauri says, taking it and tapping idly on the screen, listening to his fingernail click against the shining black. “About a lot. Since I, uh, didn’t die. Lots of time to think when your partners won’t let you leave the fucking bed.”

“Mmhmm.” Antoni doesn’t take the bait, but he smiles a little, pleased with himself. “What do you think about?”

“I think I should call my mom.” Kauri says it all in a rush. He barely gets the words out, even so. The old drumbeat begging him to run from what’s behind him is still so strong, it nearly drowns him out inside his own mind. But he clings to this thought, because he needs Antoni to either encourage him or talk him out of it. “Well, Liam’s mom. I was thinking, if I had died… she’d been trying to get ahold of me, but what if I died and like, she found out Liam was alive and then I got his body killed anyway? Before she could see him?”

“You are Liam, Kasha,” Antoni says. He watches Kauri with inscrutable eyes, looking up at him from where he lays propped up on one elbow.

“Yeah, but… what if I’m too different, and she hates me for stealing him? What if she thinks Liam is lost, and Kauri is what came back from the dead?”

“You cannot do this,” Antoni says, shaking his head. “Steal him. WRU stole, and he is not lost. You are him. I think it is a good idea to call your mother.”

“But… what if she hates me?”

“Then you never speak to her again, and she can go fuck herself.” Kauri’s eyebrows nearly raise to his hairline, and Antoni laughs, low and soft and deep. ‘What? You think I can’t swear?” He takes Kauri’s hand, and presses warm lips to the back, right in the middle of blood vessels and nerve-endings, making Kauri shiver pleasantly. “Call her. Kauri Grant is brave, and strong-” He kissed again. “Smart, and good. I think that Liam Harker would like this Kauri Grant. So I think Liam Harker’s mother will like Kauri Grant as well.”

Kauri swallows. “Are you-... are you sure about that? I’ve done some pretty seriously fucked-up shit to this body, Ant. Remember when I spent like a month straight on ecstasy?”

“I do, yes.”

“Plus, there have been, like, seven orgies…”

“Sssshhh. Kasha. Listen to me. She will love you. She loves you already, she is Liam’s mama and that means yours. And also… it will probably help if you do not talk to her about the orgies.”

“Right, right, keep a lid on the orgy talk. Got it.”

“Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t talk to me about the orgies, either.”

Laughing hurts, but Kauri discovers that once he starts, he can’t quite make himself stop.

“And… and, and then they… laugh at me.” Chris sits with his knees pulled to his chest, the heels of his feet just barely balanced on the edge of the chair, arms wrapped tightly around his calves. He won’t look at everyone else, keeping his chin tipped down so the shimmering light purple of his hair hides his green eyes. “And, and, and say, um, you-you wanted me to, and when I, um, when I say I, I, I-I didn’t, they, they, they… get angry.”

He has a silicone feather pendant on a small cord stuck in the corner of his mouth, slightly muffling his speech.

“They say then, um, then why did you you you sign up? Like… like they, they don’t already know that, um, that I didn’t, and… and then they, they say, let’s go again, and I start… I, I, I start crying, because, because they sound just, um, just like… like my-... like him. And they, um, they put me on my, my my my my, my, my… on… on m-my… stomach…”

There are tears in Chris’s eyes, running down his cheeks, but no one moves. No one speaks. Not yet.

“And, and, and then… I wake up.”

There’s a breath of silence, and then a man to the left of Chris leans towards him, putting a hand to his back. “I have dreams like that, too.”

Chris looks over at him, resting his head on his knees. His eyes are red-rimmed, wreathed in shadows. “You, you do?”

“Yeah. I’ve been married for, like, what, three years now?” The man gives Chris an encouraging, soft smile, rubbing at his back a little. “And free for ten. And I still, sometimes, I wake up just gasping for air because I remember how it felt. And sometimes I dream that my wife is the one hurting me like he did. Probably-... probably all of us have nightmares, right?”

He looks to the rest of the group of twelve, seated in a circle of folding chairs in a small side room in a community building they rent for these meetings. The others, men and women from their early twenties through their late forties, all nod.

“It just… it goes with getting better, is that-” The man’s eyes flicker to the therapist ostensibly in charge of this meeting. Dr. Francis just nods, gesturing with one hand for the man to continue. He has a cup of bad, bitter decaf coffee in his hands, slowly warming the styrofoam cup, with powdered creamer stirred in and bits still floating a little on the top, refusing to fully dissolve. “That your brain doesn’t always know that you’re safe. And nightmares are just… how your mind tries to, to put together the two parts of your life.”

“It’d… it’d be, be, be be-be nice if it could, um, could do that some other way,” Chris mutters, and there’s a scattering of soft laughter, kind and well-meaning, from everyone else.

“It would be,” The man says, and gives Chris a final pat on the back before sitting back. “But that’s not really how brains work.”

Dr. Francis clears his throat. “Isaac is correct,” He says, and moves to take his own seat, sipping his coffee and steadfastly making no expression at the awful taste. “It is, indeed, more common than not to have nightmares, and for many those nightmares can last for years. But they are just that - nightmares. They are your minds working inside of you to put together a life of subjugation with one of freedom, and struggling to reconcile the details. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t doing that. It’s only that our brains must adapt in order to survive at a lightning speed. But… it takes so much longer, doesn’t it, for our brains to realize those adaptations are no longer necessary.”

More nods from everyone around the circle.

“It… it, it does help,” Chris offers, without uncurling himself. “To know everyone else, um, does, does those dreams, too, that it it it doesn’t… they wouldn’t ever, um, hurt me… they wouldn’t.”

Dr. Francis nods. “But someone did. And our bodies and minds catalog those hurts, and hold on, because they are trying to prepare you for that pain to start again. Your body is trying, as hard as it can, to keep you safe. Let’s take a moment to close our eyes, and just-... you can do this silently, everyone - just say thank you to your body for keeping you alive, and safe, to get this far. Just a quick thank-you. All that fear and pain, that was adapting to survive. Let’s thank our bodies for those adaptations.”

There’s another silence, heads bowed and eyes closed. It looks like a prayer. Some of their lips even move, but no one here is thanking God, not really. Instead, they’re whispering a prayer of thanks to nerves and bone and blood that bruised and broke and sent screaming pain signals to brain cells that rearranged, rerouted, made new pathways of survival where none had previously existed. They are giving their gratitude to lungs that fought to expand even with hands around their throat, to a heart that refused to stop beating even as it broke again and again, to hands that slapped and punched, feet that kicked out, lips and tongue that held desperately to the memory of words they weren’t supposed to say.

Words like fuck you and I don’t want this and stop touching me.

Words like we did not sign up for this.

Words like no.

Dr. Francis ends the moment of silence by clearing his throat again. Some of the men and women in the circle have glimmering eyes when they look back up, rubbing just under them in ways they think are subtle, but which everyone recognizes and no one remarks on.

“Now,” Dr. Francis says, “We have someone new here tonight, and he would like to tell his story. Would it be all right if I call him in? Remember that there is no wrong answer here. And he won’t be listening to any of your stories, just telling his own.”

Some of the group meet eyes, and then they look back to the doctor and nod. Some carefully, others more enthusiastically. A few even smile, kind and soft, agreeable.

The doctor stands and steps out of the room.

“It’s the guy who came with you, right?” A woman asks Chris, and he nods without uncurling, chewing on the silicone feather. He starts to sway, just a little. “I wondered why he didn’t come into the room right away. He’s one of us, right?”

Before Chris can answer, the door opens again. Dr. Francis steps in first.

Vincent Shield steps in after him.

He moves with a slow, slightly shuffling step, showing the aches that haven’t quite faded in a body still working hard to heal itself. His movie-star megawatt smile is subdued, simply lips pressed together. The shadow of a bruise still wreathes his eye on one side, another clings to a cheekbone. Finger-shaped bruises are finally fading enough from his throat to not be immediately visible for what they are.

“Hey, Chris,” Vince says, voice low and slightly rough. Chris hums a greeting. There’s a whisper from a few of the circle participants, people who have seen his movies. Their eyes are wide, surprised, but no one comes at him. No one even stands.

They respect the circle, and the people within it.

“Okay, Vince,” Dr. Francis says amicably. “The circle agreed to hear your story tonight, and welcome you to our meetings from here on out. Gang, let’s make some room for Vince to sit down.”

“Uh, Dr. Francis-”

The doctor looks over at a woman in her thirties, while others are shifting their chairs with soft scrapes along hard floors so Vince can unfold a new one and put his own into the empty spot, slowly sitting down, looking around and smiling with a nervous shyness utterly at odds with the empty friendliness he has on the red carpet.

“Yes, Trin?”

“He’s… he’s not a Romantic, though,” Trin says, glancing to the side. “Sorry, Vince, no offense.”

There’s a bit of low laughter, not unkind, from the participants. “It’s not exactly something anyone should apologize for not being,” Isaac says, good-naturedly. Trin blushes a little and looks down and away, shrugging, smiling a little uneasily. “But she has a point, Dr. Francis, this is group for Romantics only, isn’t it?”

“Normally, yes. But Vince’s story is a little different. He’s been seeing me for a couple of weeks now, and I think it’s worth all of you hearing it. So many of you struggle with feeling separate from the world, and that’s because of the laws and societal isolation, of course, but… I want you to hear this. Your stories, your experiences, they are connected with the experiences and stories of people outside of WRU, outside the system. I think it could help to see that you are not set apart in that way. Vince, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Vincent Shield sits back. He doesn’t look like a movie star - his hair is shaggy and unwashed, he’s wearing an old Nirvana t-shirt he borrowed from Nat and sweatpants, a pair of sandals that don’t even match. You’d never know who he was, if you saw him on the street.

You might wonder if Kauri Grant was having a bad day, but looking at Vince, you’d never see the movie star beneath the real man.

“Hi, um. Hi everyone.” Vince smiles. “Dr. Francis asked me to talk to you all tonight. He thought it might help, and I’ll… I’ll talk about my, um. What happened to me, and then you can… I’ll step out and you can vote if you want me here. If you don’t, no harm no foul, I totally get it. I’m not sure I even want me here.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m… I’m really lost, if I’m honest. I’m totally lost at what to do with… everything now. I have this entire life and it’s just… hollow. I’m just doing what everyone told me I wanted to do, but-...”

“But it’s not what you want,” Trin suggests.

“It isn’t. I’m not sure it ever was, or if I just… was told so many times…”

“They tell you that you want it, the way they treat you.” That’s another young woman. “They tell you you’re a flirt, but they make you flirt to get everything, to get food, to get a place to sleep. They make you… they make you pretend, over and over, and tell you that you’re not pretending.”

“They call, they, they call you a slut,” Chris whispers. “And, and, and if you say you’re not, they, they, they say you’re so good at acting that, that, that you must really be…”

“Right.” Vince clears his throat. “Shit. I didn’t know that I would feel… I told myself for forever that what everyone told me was true. But I can’t… I can’t lie to myself any longer. I just can’t. It’s been eating me alive for so long, and I don’t know what it’s like not to feel that way, and… I guess we’re going to find out. But Nat suggested… therapy, and… maybe not lying to my therapist so much this time.”

“You lied to Dr. Francis?” A third person, a man Chris’s age, asks in a scandalized hush.

Vince smiles - it’s a real and sincere smile. He shakes his head. “No, my old therapist. I’m not seeing her any longer. I wanted to start over. I’m… I’m starting over. So. Uh, where… Dr. Francis, where should I start-”

“Anywhere you like,” Dr. Francis says, voice low and gentle.

“Uh, okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll start kind of like I start when I go to AA, if you all don’t mind?”

“I go to AA,” Isaac offers, a kind of hand outstretched, in words if not in gesture. “Every week. I’ve been sober for two years.”

“Congrats,” Vince says, sincerely. “I’m, uh, it’s been… a few weeks, but after I got to Nat’s I kind of, I fell off the wagon. I wasn’t sleeping, every time I closed my eyes I saw him... what happened. At the end. Drank until I blacked out and woke up on the floor with Nat’s, uh, that Jameson guy pouring water on my face. Then I got so sick I could barely move, turns out when you stop drinking and then start again, your liver gets really angry… it doesn’t matter. I’m starting over. So here’s to… three days sober, I guess?”

“Here’s to three days,” Isaac says, and smiles. “Three days is a start.”

Vince looks up, then, letting his eyes drift over the ceiling. He shifts and his chair creaks beneath him, as if castigating him for pausing for so long, for letting the silence draw out. Then he takes in a deep, deep breath. He fills his lungs with the oxygen until it burns, lets it slowly, slowly push out again.

“My name is Vincent Shield, and I’m an alcoholic. Sorry, just. That bit’s habit. Anyway… When I was twenty-one,” He starts, still not looking at anyone. His voice shakes a little. It’s thin and strained, pushed out past twenty years of keeping secrets and bruised from Owen’s hands. His throat wants to close around the truth, the way it has always wanted to close. The way he allowed it to close over and over for so, so long. His hands find the sides of the chair and grip, white knuckled. “When… when I was twenty-one, my best friend - my only friend, really, kind of my only real family, my parents had already stopped talking to me by then - told me he loved me.”

The room is silent, except for the soft hissing crackle of the coffeemaker and the hum of air conditioning blowing cold air through vents.

“I told him I didn’t… feel that way about him. He said okay. For a little bit, things were okay. I thought it was fine… and then he-... he acted normal for a while, but… but then he drugged my drink. And when I woke up, I was tied to a bed.”

Vince swallows.

“Naked.”

Perfect silence, nodding heads. They’ve been tied to beds, they’ve woken up naked, they’ve faced down what had felt like such a unique horror to Vince. A terrible thing that it felt like didn’t happen to other people, and here is an entire room of people for whom it was so commonplace they were told their entire lives revolved around it.

Here they all are, with new lives, hobbies, friends. Things they do that aren’t pretending to be someone else, or being… or…

“I was raped.”

It comes out all at once, a single breath of air, a slur of syllables. Iwasraped.

The next words, somehow, harder to say. He forces himself to speak more slowly. He makes his mind dwell on each and every single word. On what it means, on what it’s always meant, on what damage it’s done. He fights not to cry.

Vincent Shield confesses someone else’s sin.

And grants himself absolution.

“Owen Grant raped me… and it wasn’t my fault.”

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

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schrijverr · 2 years

Text

Old Wounds May Scar, but They Never Stop Hurting

Mike used to be in the Army before he ran into Harvey. He doesn’t like talking about what he saw back then or the injuries he suffered. However, when they prevent him from getting up, Harvey steps in and helps him, not only with the pain, but also in getting better accessibility at work.

AKA I give Mike chronic pain, cane swag and shit on the US Military and healthcare for 13k words.

@flawsome4ever I hope this is what you expected, sorry for the length, but this prompt gripped me by the throat and inspired me!

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: The US Army, the US healthcare system, war, mentions of old injuries and death, chronic pain, interalized ableism, trauma, reference to drug addiction.

~~~~~~~~~~

In hindsight Harvey will wonder how it took him this long to notice and then he’ll look at Mike’s thin figure and fail again to see a soldier in there. However, sometimes when Mike levels his eyes at him, he wonders how anyone could ever miss it.

Yet, Harvey consoles his bruised ego about people reading with the fact that there were some things that he picked up. Despite the fact that they didn’t click until later.

When they first meet, Harvey notes the calloused hand that shakes his. He shakes a lot of hands. He shakes the hands of the powerful, of the wealthy, of the desk job workers, the business men. And especially today, he has shaken a lot of lawyer hands already, much to his dismay.

All the hands today have been soft, with too much product to keep them like that. Except for these, who lack the grooming and appearances that is part of this world. They instead speak of work, actual hard work that requires more effort than what your average Harvard gradate does. These hands, combined with the wink from Donna, make him look twice at the kid, who just entered his interview room.

The second thing Harvey notices, is Mike’s walk.

This takes him a few times. There isn’t anything extremely particular about it, just a good confident walk, like so many have in the business world. Yet it is odd on Mike, who he met during a drug run and has seemingly never owned a suit in his life past prom.

Because when Mike walks, he walks with confidence. It is almost like he walks to a drum beat only he can hear, with his shoulders upright and his face forwards. He is still clumsy from time to time, but Harvey has also noticed how he plays it up when that paralegal girl, Rachel he thinks her name is, is around. And he mostly seems to have butterfingers. Because his posture is immaculate.

Harvey is grateful for it when he does notice. He has been worried about being found out ever since he hired the kid. Mike still has a lot to learn about being a lawyer and all the things that come with going to law school. But a good posture takes a while to ingrain and he appreciates that it is one less worry on his list.

Another thing Harvey has never truly noticed, but in hindsight is something his subconscious noted, is how Mike sits facing the door.

They rarely sit together, but Harvey notices that Mike doesn’t sit down unless there is a seat facing the door. He would rather pace the area, picking up items that don’t belong to him, flip through vinyls or lean against desks.

In the conference room, he prefers it if they sit facing the firm, telling Harvey it is because the skyline behind them is intimidating and that way they can see Jessica coming if they’re doing something she said they shouldn’t.

It says a lot about Harvey as a person that the second reason is the most convincing.

Even in his cubicle, which is located alongside a passageway, he ensures he never has a blind spot. At first, Harvey thinks it is just childishness that has Mike spinning in his chair like it’s a theme park ride. However, after a bit of reflection, he realizes that it is to follow people as they pass. To spin towards the elevators as they arrive, bringing strangers, and ensuring that no movement slips past him.

And then there are the things Harvey chalked up to being from a poorer background. Again, he found the kid on a drug run, it isn’t a weird assumption that he would have a few leftover habits from that time.

For example, Mike will eat anything. Sure, he may look at some things with suspicion, but if he gets it and it is presented as food, he will eat it. And Mike eats fast.

Harvey has watched in amazement as a burger disappeares in seconds, as he tries not to think of whatever made him eat like it was the first time in days and someone might take it away if he doesn’t hurry.

Besides that, he has also discovered that Mike carries a knife with him at all times. He discovers that when a package arrives while they’re late in the office. It’s the files they subpoenaed and the other side is trying to make it difficult for them to access them.

He himself has a letter opener, something Mike had laughed at when he first saw it, but now is useful, or so he thinks. However, the opposition has really taped the box shut and the delicate knife is struggling with getting through.

After watching him for a few moments, Mike rolls his eyes and pushes him aside. From his pocket, he produces a sturdy pocket knife and deftly cuts through the tape, removing a few staples in the process as well. Once done he cheekily grins: “There you go.”

“Why the hell do you have that?” Harvey asks, not even bothering to be grateful they can access the evidence now.

“Because it is useful,” Mike informs him, looking a bit confused.

“If the police even suspects that you’re carrying that for unlawful purposes, they can arrest you, you know that, right?” Harvey says.

“Relax,” Mike assures him. “It’s under four inches, thus allowed and on top of that, I have been carrying this since I met you and you’ve never noticed. And opening boxes isn’t really unlawful, now is it?” Then he shrugs, “Besides, it could have been worse, I used to carry a switchblade.”

“You what?” Harvey exclaims.

“I said used to, I don’t do it anymore. I’m not stupid,” Mike tells him and in that second Harvey doesn’t even think to remember that active US Army personnel is allowed to carry a switchblade in the state of New York.

“Just don’t be an idiot,” Harvey says, for lack of something better to say.

“Never,” Mike grins, before grabbing a stack of papers out the box. “Now, lets find what these sons of bitches are hiding.”

At the end of the night, Mike has found the discrepancy. After handing it to Harvey he rubs his back and shoulder, grimaces for a moment, before collapsing against the desk and immediately falling asleep, so that he can catch as many hours as possible. Which is coincidentally another thing Harvey has noted, but never thought much about.

Mike can sleep anywhere at anytime.

It’s a skill many associates have to learn through trial and error as they struggle with the workload they never thought could be bigger than college exams. Harvey remembers being them. Remembers walking through the hallways, desperately wanting to sleep, but an uncomfortable chair and hard desk preventing him.

He still sees them walking around like he used to do and wondered how Mike would fare. It has been a while since the kid was in college after all.

However, he needn’t have worried, because Mike sleeps instantly and wakes up just as easily, ready and alert. Though, he always stretches and groans afterwards, scowling more than on other days, something Harvey can understand, shuddering as he thinks back on the many nights he used his desk as pillow.

Donna has made up all sorts of stories about why that is, the next one sadder than the last, but Harvey always just rolls his eyes. There might be truth to it, but with what Mike lets slip, he has never truly been on the streets. Privately, he thinks it’s because he needed to keep an eye on his grandmother and this was the way to cope with that.

But even without all that, it isn’t particularly odd that Mike sleeps well even on the floor of the file room, or slumped against a desk. Associates work hard. They work until they’re exhausted and then a few hours more. Harvey would be more concerned if he never saw Mike sleep. And as long as he is functional, Harvey doesn’t care much about Mike’s sleeping habits.

So, yeah, all the signs were there. Harvey knows that in hindsight. But they were all scattered throughout their interactions and Harvey isn’t knowledgeable enough about ex-Army personnel habits to put the pieces together.

Therefore, Harvey finds out that Mike used to be a soldier by complete accident and to his complete surprise on an innocuous Tuesday.

General Curtis, an older gentleman, who has been collaborating with private security for a few years now as liaison. He is still active in the Army, but when he is in Harvey’s office, the man knows he’s not there on the military’s behalf, but on the company’s that Pearson Hardman represents.

Not that it matters much to Harvey on whose behalf he is there, as long as the client pays. Besides, he likes General Curtis. He knows what he wants, is friendly enough and lets Harvey do his job with minimal interference. Mostly content if he can return with a good deal.

So, he warmly welcomes General Curtis and is discussing what needs to be done for an upcoming deal to run smoothly when Mike enters, looking a bit disheveled as always and carrying a file. “I have the McCuffins file,” he says, not yet spotting General Curtis.

When he does spot the General in full military uniform, his eyes grow wide. For a second, Harvey thinks it’s the uniform that makes Mike try to be respectful as he salutes the man.

Even as he greets him with: “General Curtis, sir,” Harvey faintly thinks he must have seen the man in Harvey’s files before.

It’s not until General Curtis salutes back and Mike falls into a parade position as General Curtis returns, “Corporal Ross? You work here, son?” That Harvey begins to realize what is happening right in front of his eyes.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Mike responds as Harvey watches with surprised fascination. Behind his eyes all the aforementioned puzzle pieces start to click together as the words ‘Corporal Ross’ ring around his head on a loop.

“It’s good to see you on your feet again, Corporal,” General Curtis smiles as if seeing an old friend when saying that.

“Sir, thank you, sir,” Mike nods in response, tensing slightly.

On his face in an expression Harvey doesn’t know. He knows the cheeky grin Mike wears, the serious expression as he argues, the smug face when they win, the disbelieving one when Harvey does something he could never.

However, now his face is blank. It’s an odd expression. Like he is a doll, a toy soldier with only this expression carved on. Not at all the expressive Mike he knows. It is a weird thing to witness. It feels wrong.

Meanwhile, General Curtis slaps Mike left shoulder hard enough to make him wince. Then he grins: “None of that formal military stuff. Neither of us are here for the Military. Harvey here is helping the company I’m a liaison for in a deal. You two work together?”

“Sir- Yes. I’m his associate,” Mike informs him. “I do the paperwork. Still climbing my way up here, sir.”

“Well,” General Curtis laughs, “knowing you, you’ll be there in no time.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mike replies, not sounding like he means it and Harvey wonders why he is underselling himself to General Curtis and why he looks uncomfortable. Mad, even.

And it’s not just the stiff politeness that is so unusual on the kid, it’s the way his back is ramrod straight, the way he is trying to end the conversation, the way he is showing any emotions. The whole interaction is creeping Harvey out.

“While I appreciate this reunion, Mike has a lot of work to get back to and we have a lot to discuss,” he cuts in before General Curtis can react.

“Of course,” General Curtis says jovially. “I hope to run into you again, son.”

“Sir,” Mike salutes again, dropping off the files and briskly walking away in that manner Harvey has always known and can now suddenly place.

It hasn’t hit him before, but it is now. Mike used to be Military. Mike is a veteran. Mike knows General Curtis. Mike was a Corporal.

The whole thing is swirling through his head as he quickly gets through his meeting with General Curtis. He is slightly off kilter the entire time, but enough of a professional that General Curtis doesn’t notice. And before he knows it, he is saying goodbye and falling into his chair.

It’s hard to connect skinny, fishbone, ex-drug addict, difficulty with authority Mike with the image of a soldier. Yet here Harvey is, attempting to reconcile the two.

He wonders what happened to the kid.

He sits in his office staring for long enough that Donna comes in. She looks a bit uncertain, something she rarely does, before she takes a breath and sits down as she says: “That was certainly something.”

“Did Mike look off to you?” Harvey asks, not really reacting to the statement that was more meant as an icebreaker than something that needed a reply.

“Stiff as a board and the most un-Mike I have ever seen him?” Donna ask rhetorically. “Yeah, he did. If you don’t go to talk to him, I’m calling down there to say you asked for him. Don’t stop trusting your gut now.”

“Yeah,” Harvey nods absentmindedly, before blinking the world back into focus and nodding: “Yeah, I’m going.”

He gets up and walks down to the cube farm. Another thing he subconsciously noticed now pops out to him again as he watches Mike twirl to face the door right as he walks through it. The only one there, who notices his arrival.

Their eyes meet and Mike’s immediately flit back to the pages in front of him, ignoring Harvey’s presence, despite the fact that he would usually jump up in hopes he could get to leave and do something more fun than research or paperwork with Harvey.

Slightly on guard, Harvey makes his way over to Mike’s cubicle. He leans on the edge of Mike’s desk as he always does, attempting casual. “So,” he starts, “you never told me that before.”

“And I don’t see how it is relevant for you to know,” Mike shoots back, not looking up. “Now, Louis is already giving me shit for the paperwork I put off to get you that McCuffins file, so if you have nothing to discuss except for my previous employment, then I’m going to ask you to leave. I am busy.”

For a second, Harvey looks at Mike flabbergasted. He isn’t used to rejection in general, but even more so from Mike, who has rarely rejected him this bluntly. “Mike,” he starts.

“No,” Mike cuts him off, finally looking up. “I’m serious, Harvey. I don’t want to talk about it and you have no leg to stand on in asking me. So, for both our sake, leave it alone.”

“I just wanted to-”

Again Harvey doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Mike interrupts again: “If you’re doing that thanking for your service crap, shut up. And don’t mention this to anyone, I mean it.”

“I won’t,” Harvey promises.

“Thanks.”

“But, I wanted to say, if you ever need to talk, I’m here,” Harvey says, ignoring the surprised and confused look Mike is giving him. Anything is better than the emotionless guy he saw in his office, besides he likes keeping the kid on his toes. “Or, you know, I can do something.”

“Oh, uh, I- I might,” Mike says awkwardly.

They share a nod, before Harvey walks away. He gets a few steps before he stops and turns around, asking: “Not even Donna?”

Mike rolls his eyes and says: “Like I didn’t already assume Donna would find out. It’s impossible for her not to know when you’re concerned. I half-assumed she wired you and was listening in at this point.”

Harvey snorts, then truly leaves. It’s good to see that Mike is still his Mike, he is just touchy about this topic. Though Harvey doesn’t know why.

When he relays the conversation to Donna, she shares his confused concern. However when she suggests digging with her Military contacts, he shuts her down. It is against his nature to do so and he explains: “You didn’t see him, Donna. I have never seen him like that. He really doesn’t want us digging and he is right that we wouldn't have known if it weren’t for this. Unless it starts to interfere with work, we’ll keep out of it.”

Grudgingly Donna agrees muttering: “I hate having to say you’re right to encourage your emotional development.” Something he pretends not to hear.

And for a few weeks that was that.

The first time he returns to Harvey’s office, he eyes the both of them suspiciously with unfamiliar calculating eyes. When there seems to be nothing to require a reaction, he carries on like it’s any other day without a word.

Harvey tries to forget it and that mostly works. His eyes are opened, however, and from time to time he’ll spot the habits he noticed before and will be reminded of the fact that Mike used fight in the Army. Used to be part of something that has rendered him unable or unwilling to speak about what he did back then.

It is hard to fight his curiosity, something he has never before had to do. When General Curtis comes by again to work out the last details and to sign, Mike is coincidentally busy.

As Harvey covers for his associate he wants to ask about the kid’s service time so badly, but doesn’t.

He has just about accepted that he will never learn more about Mike’s Military time.

Maybe if he becomes even closer with the kid, he thinks for a moment, but they’re about as close as they can get with Mike calling him whenever he pleases, if he has found what they need and Harvey dropping by unannounced, if he needs something from Mike. The late nights at the office, the movie references, the secrets that bind them.

So, yeah, unlikely, or so he thinks.

That assumption is challenged, because his phone starts ringing at an hour that is inhuman and causes him to want to murder whoever is other side. “Harvey Specter, this better be important,” he grouches into the phone. He’s not even ready for his 7 AM run yet.

“Hi, Harvey,” Mike sounds sheepish, but something else is tinting his voice, which sets Harvey on edge.

“Mike?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I wanna preface this by saying that I can usually handle this and I know that I am technicality fine,” Mike starts, doing nothing to calm Harvey’s nerves. “But I don’t think I’m making it to work today and I need you to fight Louis for me, because I have a ton of work that I have to give him today, but it’s lying here on my coffee table, so I won’t be able to do that.”

Harvey is now fully awake and his head is filled with question marks. His primary worry is the fact that Mike can’t make it to work and decides to focus on that for the moment as he says: “Are you okay? What do you mean can’t make it to work?”

He hears Mike sigh and mutter something about knowing it wouldn't be this easy. Then he speaks to Harvey again: “To be frank, I’m lying in my bed and I’m pretty sure that if I were to move I would start crying.”

That is one of the most worrying things he has heard, so – arguably, correctly concerned – he asks: “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I mean, you could say that,” Mike says and now that he knows what it is, he can place the pain that laces his voice.

“What?” Harvey will later argue that his voice was not shrill, thank you very much.

“Oh, yeah, okay, that can sound wrong, wait,” Mike tells him. “I’m fine now, just old pains. They don’t tell you that when you sign up for the Army, but some of that shit hurts and never leaves.”

It’s only when Mike says Army that Harvey realizes what is going on. Old pains are haunting Mike, apparently to the point where he can’t get out of bed and the fucking idiot is more worried about Louis’ work instead of his own well being.

“I’ll be there in 30,” he says.

“Huh? No!” Mike replies. “Why? I’m fine. I told you I’m fine. I just need today. Come on, man.”

“Yeah, you told me a lot of thing,” Harvey says, wanting to get angry, but managing to think today through, before switching to a tactic that has worked for him in the past. Lying. “But Jessica is on my ass for that thing with Louis last week and if Louis even sniffs something is off, he is running to her to convince her to punish me. So, here’s what is going to happen, I’m not fighting him for you today, instead I’m getting the work from you and you can deal.”

Mike is quiet for a moment, then grudgingly agrees: “Sure. Whatever.”

“Alright,” Harvey nods. “I have the keys, be there in 30.” Then hangs up.

He gets dressed in the first clothes he pulls out of his closet. Him being him, that means he is wearing a full suit, though he isn’t bothering with all the buttons or the tie, so he looks a lot more rumpled than usual.

Ray isn’t on duty yet, since it is so early, so he hails a cab and pays extra for the driver to break a few laws. Exactly 30 minutes later he is rolling up to Mike’s shitty apartment building, where the elevator has never been in working order and he takes the steps two at a time.

Harvey is pretty sure he has never looked more like a mess when he lets himself into Mike’s apartment, sweaty and breathing heavy.

The apartment is the biggest question mark to Harvey, who always thought that Military personnel were neat and organized. Meanwhile Mike’s apartment can best be compared to a hurricane and the kid in question is never without a button missing or his hair disheveled.

But he barely gives it a thought now, quickly making his way to the bed in the back of the room to ensure with his own eyes that Mike is alright. Well, as alright as he can be.

Mike is half asleep when he gets there. One eye is watching him, but his gaze isn’t as alert as it usually is and his hair looks even more messier than normal. He is wrapped up in multiple blankets, his phone on the pillow next to him. Tiredly, he croaks: “Heyyy,” failing at casual.

“Hi,” Harvey humors him anyway. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Mike rolls his eyes goodnaturedly. Then causally comments one of the most horrifying things ever. “You get multiple shots in the back once and your body never lets you forget it.”

“What?” Harvey isn’t ashamed to admit he choked on those words.

At that point Mike seems to realize what he has admitted and cringes sheepishly, as he softly tries: “It’s not that bad?”

“Mike…” Harvey starts.

“The paperwork!” Mike cuts him off with forced cheer, trying to sit up to hand it over, only to groan in agony before collapsing back onto the bed with a choked: “Fuck.”

“Mike,” Harvey repeats, this time with concern as he hover around the bed, unsure of what he can do to help.

“I’m fine,” Mike exclaims in an obvious lie. “Just moved wrong.”

“Mike…” Harvey is starting to feel like a broken record.

“Don’t worry,” Mike fails to assure him. “It’s usually not like this, I promise. Just the rain and cold that hate me.”

“Just stay down,” Harvey orders.

And Mike groans: “Don’t have to tell me twice,” as he burrows back into the comforter.

“Thank fuck,” Harvey mutters to himself, uncomfortable with seeing Mike in pain and being unable to do anything. He looks around, slowly realizing he has no clue where to start. So, he just asks Mike: “Alright, what do you need?”

“A glass of water?” Mike replies, almost unsure if Harvey will actually help. Like he isn’t used to that.

Harvey tries not to think about it.

He gets the water, wrinkling his nose at the dirty dishes, before he remembers his own associate apartment with a shudder. Returning he wants to hand Mike the water, but the kid can’t drink lying down. “We’re going to need to get you into at least a semi-seated position.”

Again Mike groans, before his eyes widen a bit and he assures Harvey: “I promise I’m usually not this whiny. I swear.”

It makes Harvey wonder who told Mike he was being whiny about being shot in the back and the feeling of wanting to strangle someone comes to mind. “Mike, you got shot in the back, I would be milking this for pity and service, calm down.”

“Sorry,” Mike says sheepishly.

“Now, come on. Think that if I pull you’ll live through the momentary agony?” Harvey asks and after Mike’s nod, he pulls him up into a sitting position, rearranging his pillows so Mike can flop back slightly more upright.

“Thanks, dude,” Mike says. “Having to lie all day, or for however long this lasts, would have sucked.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Harvey replies, unable to react to the genuine thanks about just basic and minor help.

“Whatever dude,” Mike snipes cheekily, though Harvey gets the uncomfortable feeling Mike knows that he cares.

Harvey just levels him a look that does nothing anymore as he gives him the glass and orders him to drink. With the request for water, he realizes Mike is probably not in the state to get food for himself either. So, he leaves the kid on his bed and starts rummaging around in his kitchen.

Mike follows his movements with a confused look as he sips his drink. After a moment, he says: “I know my house is a mess, but the paperwork for Louis isn’t in my cupboard. It’s on the coffee table.” He looks to the coffee table in question, which looks like a bureaucratic war zone. “Well, somewhere on there.”

For a moment Harvey tries to comprehend that his associate is truly that stupid. Then he just sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose and turns back to what he was doing.

“What?” Mike asks confusedly after a moment.

Again, Harvey levels him a look, but this time he explains: “I’m getting you food, idiot. You’re not and that’s understandable, but if you starve I have to do your paperwork. Or find a new associate, which I already hated the first time around.”

“Oh,” Mike says, sounding touched, but also unsure of what to with that emotion. He follows Harvey’s movement a little longer, then asks: “But what about Louis?”

“I can still take it, but first food,” Harvey replies. “I haven’t eaten either yet.”

“Ah, I see,” Mike says, getting back to safer ground for both of them. “All of this is just a trick to steal my food. I see you.”

“No, my evil plans to steal your stale bread and two eggs, down the drain,” Harvey deadpans, unearthing oil and salt to cook the eggs with.

Mike snorts and turns back to his water, picking up his phone with slow movements and checking his messages. Harvey keeps an eye on him as he cooks the eggs. He looks comfortable, but the twinges here and there give away that he is in pain. It makes Harvey wonder how many times he didn’t say anything. How many times Harvey didn’t notice. How many times he was alone in bed, unable to make food or grab a glass of water and just suffering.

He quickly texts Ray that there is no need to pick him up today, but that he might need him later, before plating the eggs as he contemplates whether to text Donna.

On one hand, she would want to know and cares enough about Mike to be concerned about this. On the other hand, it isn’t his place and he is pretty sure Mike doesn’t want her to know. In the end, he decides to save making the decision for later and hands Mike his plate. Sitting down on the foot of the bed with his own, since the couch has been overtaken by laundry.

They eat in silence, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

As they eat, Harvey tries to make a plan of action for the rest of the day. He needs to find out to what extend this is affecting Mike and how to take that into account, maybe clean a bit because Harvey doesn’t think he could live like this. Then he also needs make sure Mike is comfortable today and won’t get any shit at work without telling people about this, whose business it absolutely isn’t.

“So,” he starts after another moment. “Does this happen often?”

Mike gives him a calculating look, before he swallows his bite and shrugs, wincing at the movement: “Depends. It hurts often, kind of comes with the territory, but to this extend is rare. I can usually function just fine.”

“Would you have ever told me without the paperwork for Louis hanging over you?” Harvey asks then, biting the bullets one by one.

At the question, Mike doesn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know. Probably not. It’s not really something I like to bother people with.”

“Bother?” Harvey repeats, unable to stop himself.

“Harvey,” Mike says in a ‘lets be serious here’-tone. “You had to haul me up and make me food, it is a chore to know this, because people feel guilty. Especially since it’s old Army pain. They feel this need to help. Hell, even you, a known uncaring bastard felt the need to do it. I don’t want to push that on people. Besides, it’s not even that bad most of the time.”

It’s the first time he has heard Mike speak about the Army freely and it breaks his heart. Feeling the need to set the record straight, he says: “Mike, stop. Yeah, it’s a little work, but it’s not like you have any control over this. I don’t feel guilty or whatever other emotion you’ll try to pin on me. Believe it or not, I consider you a friend and I don’t mind lending a hand, if you need it. And right now, you just happen to need it.”

If he were to go off Mike’s look, he would think he has grown an extra head. It is as if he has never heard anything like that before.

“Goddammit,” he sighs. “Mike, just accept that this is a thing that is happening. I don’t mind and it is all fine, alright.”

“You- You don’t mind?” Mike asks, like he still isn’t sure.

“I don’t,” Harvey repeats, forcefully. “I have never done anything I don’t want to and I’m not starting now.”

That luckily seems to be something Mike can believe.

“But, just so you know, you can just walk away,” Mike feels the urge to emphasize anyway.

“Okay, I’ll remember that,” Harvey says, not feeling like fighting Mike more on this, since it is apparently not going anywhere anytime soon. There are more important things to focus on. “Now, when this happens, what do you usually do?”

“Just lie in bed,” Mike answers. “If I feel like it I’ll get some water and easy snacks to pile around me. And a hot water bottle. Then I might read or sleep more. But that’s just if it gets like this, most of the time I’m fine and I just try to go on about my day best I can.”

Harvey restrains himself from getting angry at the injustice of it all and the fact that Mike is trying to undersell this, instead choosing to get up. “Where is the hot water bottle?”

Despite all he has said to him, Mike still looks surprised as he tells Harvey. Something Harvey also tries to ignore.

He makes the hot water bottle and checks the time. It’s 8 AM. Technically work starts at 9 AM, something Harvey tends to ignore in favor of showing up whenever he wants, while Mike is usually there at this time (or so he has been told, he’s never really there to check).

However, Louis gets to the office strictly at 9 AM and he is not showing up early just to hand Louis of all people his paperwork. He’ll hand it to him sometime in the morning, he resolves.

With that decision made, he goes to hand Mike the hot water bottle. Mike takes it and puts it over his left shoulder, groaning as he twists to get there. He is still wrapped in his blanket and has an oversized shirt on to sleep in. With the hot water bottle in place he settles back into his pillow kingdom, the grimace slowly fading from his face.

Again Harvey wants to ask what exactly happened, because all he has now are bullets and rain and cold. But he knows better.

So instead he walks around the messy apartment and finds a stack of books, the top one bookmarked indicating this is the stack Mike is working through.

He had once commented on Mike’s messy desk and he explained that he worked with stacks, bookmarking the top thing of the ‘to be read’-stack as he worked his way down and having the done-stack face down, because he basically flipped the through the stack like a book. If you just happened to work on five cases, things got out of hand easily.

Harvey sets them down on the nightstand, then notes how far Mike will have to stretch to grab them, the probable reason he keeps his phone in his bed, just in case something like today happens. So, he takes the top three books and deposits them on the bed instead.

Mike sends him a grateful little look, then takes the top book and starts reading, though to Harvey it will always look like he’s barely scanning it. Mike’s brain always amazes him.

He takes a moment to look at Mike, a kid who has become like a brother to him, someone to protect and guide, and it hits him how small the chances were of them ever meeting, of him even considering hiring Mike. How he almost never ended up in this place with the brilliant, kind and genuine kid.

After the moment has passed, he takes the dirty breakfast plates and brings them to the kitchen. In the background Mike calls out: “Just leave them near the sink. I’ll do the dishes later.”

Harvey takes a look at the sink and concludes that Mike must have been saying that to himself for quite a while, because it is piled high. It’s gross and honestly, Harvey would rather just do the dishes than have to look at them all day. So, he starts to run the tab.

From his place on the bed, Mike hears and yells: “I’m serious, Harvey. Just leave the dishes, I can do them just fine.”

“Mike, these dishes are gross and I have literally nothing better to do,” Harvey calls back. “I never have to do my dishes, because I have a goddamn dishwasher. It’s not the biggest punishment.”

“But it is a punishment,” Mike argues. “So, just leave them. It’s fine, I swear.”

“Just read your damn books, Mike,” Harvey says, proceeding to ignore any other protest Mike makes after that.

When he is done, he leans against the door and asks: “I thought Military personnel is thought to be neat,” not really expecting an answer.

“It is almost like I had five years to redevelop all the bad I habits I already had,” Mike tells him with an amused brow raise. “I’m a messy person by nature. The Army took that from me, I just took it back.”

Harvey is surprised to have gotten such a straightforward answer to his Army question. The end phrasing strikes him as odd, but Mike has turned back to his book already, obviously done with the conversation.

By now it’s a quarter past nine. He’s been at Mike’s for about two hours and done as much as he could to get Mike comfortable. It might be time to deliver on the reason he is ever there in the first place and go bring Louis his goddamn paperwork. Mike should be fine for the time that takes.

So, he starts sorting through the paperwork filled coffee table, trying to recall Mike’s complaining about the case Louis was demanding his help on.

In the end he finds three thick yet completed briefs, which came in yesterday according the date, but have all been clearly proofed in Mike’s handwriting. He holds them up to Mike and asks: “These the paperwork Louis needs?” while texting Ray.

“Yeah,” Mike says. “You going?”

“You look comfortable enough,” Harvey shrugs in explanation.

“Thanks for all this, by the way,” Mike smiles. “I really appreciate it. I’ll likely be able to come in tomorrow, so don’t worry.”

“Wait,” Harvey says, hearing the goodbye, “you do realize I’m coming back after, right?”

“What? Why?” Mike frowns in a confused manner.

For a moment all Harvey can do is look disbelieving at him. He forcefully reminds himself that Mike seems to have no clue what the words ‘taking care of’ mean. Not that he has said them out loud, because he is still Harvey Specter.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, before saying: “Mike, I said, I’m going to lend a hand, if you need it and unless you can make me believe you couldn't use one for the rest of the day, I’m coming back here and you can’t stop me.”

“This is weird, like you’re threatening me with help,” Mike says, for lack of better response, since anything else is pushing the boundaries of emotional displays that have grown between them.

“Alright, I’ll see you in an hour and half or so,” Harvey nods satisfied. “I’m also picking up stuff for me to work on, so Donna is probably going to ask…” the unasked question of how much he can tell her silently tacked on.

“You can just tell her, but I would appreciate if you didn’t mention the shooting thing, or the fact that I’m too much of a dramatic little bitch to get out of bed,” Mike says. “But I think her knowing will help in fighting Louis when I come back to work,” he grins at that and he is right that having Donna’s protection is the best methods against Louis.

Still, Harvey can’t let the wording pass without comment. So, he says: “I won’t, but I don’t really think you’re being a ‘dramatic little bitch.’ Anything else?”

Mike raises a brow, but doesn’t respond to the comment, instead tentatively saying: “I have some briefs you asked for on my desk? I can work on those from here.”

Harvey gives him an assessing look, asking: “You’ll be okay doing that?”

“I’ll be fine,” Mike tells him in a tone that screams ‘stop mother-hening me,’ which is foreign in being directed at Harvey. “I can read just fine, briefs is reading.”

“You’ll also be writing,” Harvey points out, ever the lawyer.

“And I’ll be writing,” Mike concedes. “But my bad shoulder is on the left and I’m right-handed, so – like I said – I’ll be fine.”

After one last look, Harvey believes him and leaves the apartment, sliding into the car that is waiting for him downstairs. Ray asks if everything is alright and Harvey assures him that Mike is okay, just not feeling very well, without giving away any details.

During the drive he finally does the last of his buttons and ties his tie. He is going to look like always and ignore how he is bringing Louis his paperwork, like he’s some sort of delivery boy. He has left his mail room days behind him, please and thank you.

30 minutes later and he is strolling into the cube farm like he owns it. The associates there stare for a second, before pretending to be working really hard. He spots a few glancing at Mike’s empty desk with sick glee in their eyes. They probably think he is here for Mike and that the kid is about to be punished for not showing up.

Harvey finds joy in casually strolling up to Mike’s desk like he expected this (which he did) and taking a stack of briefs bookmarked and right side up. He puts them in his briefcase, taking out the work for Louis, because if he knows the man, he’ll be there any moment.

Louis doesn’t disappoint and indeed comes walking in, already demanding to know where Mike is and what Harvey is doing there, because unlike other people, Louis works hard and needs the briefs that were supposed to be done today.

Casually Harvey waits until Louis is done with his tirade, before smirking and holding out the requested files. “I’m not here to mess up your little schedule, Louis. Not enough fun, honestly. Here, your briefs.”

“Huh?” Louis takes them, his face filled with confusion. “Why do you have these?”

“To give to you,” Harvey answers, like this is a normal thing and Louis is weird for how he is reacting.

“I can see that, Harvey,” Louis snaps. “Why are you delivering Mike’s paperwork?”

“Because I have commandeered him for today, since he is my associate after all,” Harvey pulls something out of his ass. “I’m pretty sure he’s running around like a headless chicken collecting all I need right now, but because Mike care about whatever the fuck you do for some godforsaken reason, he asked me to make sure you got this.”

“And you just did it?” Louis asks, rightfully suspicious.

“I am a man of many mysteries and layers, Louis,” Harvey tells him condescendingly. “You wouldn't get it and that’s okay. Now, I have actual work to do.” And with that he turns around and walks away.

As he does, Louis yells after him: “Don’t think I won’t find out what you’re planning, Harvey! And I am the most mysterious man there is. You don’t even know the depths I have. I’m like the Grand Canyon.”

Then the elevator doors close behind him and he’s off to the fiftieth floor.

Donna is sitting at her desk when he arrives, diligently typing away. Something that ceases the moment he gets there as she asks him: “Where is Mike? He didn’t bring me my morning coffee like he usually does,” as if she is an interrogator.

“Home,” Harvey answers, knowing there will be follow up questions.

“Home?” Donna repeats. “Why? Is he alright?”

“He is technically fine, but old Army injuries are acting up, so he can’t really come in today,” he explains. “I’m picking up some paperwork for us to do, so I can keep an eye on him and ensure that he doesn’t do anything idiotic.”

“Old Army injuries?” Donna asks.

“He asked me not to say,” he tells her apologetically.

“I should go, I can help,” she says, already reaching for her stuff.

“Don’t,” Harvey stops her and she sends him a look. “He already hates that I’m there and thinks I’m being dramatic. He’s barely talking to me. It’s pretty worrying, not going to lie. At this point he is more likely to yell at you if you show up. Besides, I need you here to keep Jessica and Louis off our backs.”

Donna clearly doesn’t like that reply, but gives in. She never passes a chance to bully Louis. So, she sighs: “Alright. What is the story.”

“You’re the best,” Harvey grins.

“I know.”

“Anyway, I told Jessica nothing and she might not even notice that neither me or Mike have shown up today. However, I gave Louis some of the briefs Mike has done for him and he asked why the hell I was doing that,” Harvey explains. “So, I said that Mike was running errands around the city for me and I am just that nice.”

“Tsk, like he’ll believe that,” Donna snorts.

“Exactly,” Harvey agrees. “So, he might come asking questions or go to Jessica. I need you to mollify him and keep me updated on whatever bullshit you feed him.”

“And if Jessica comes asking?” Donna inquires.

“If you can convince her of the same bullshit as Louis, try that and I’ll deal with the fallout. Otherwise just tell her to call me.”

“Alright.”

“Thank you, Donna.”

“Of course,” she smiles kindly. “Now grab you paperwork and go help your boy.”

He wants to protest the moniker, but is reminded of the scene of this morning when Mike was reading and how content he felt. Suddenly he feels incapable of protesting it, so he just ignores it and goes to collect some of his own paperwork.

Then he bids Donna farewell, promising to tell her if anything happens, before leaving again. He sighs when back in the car, glad to leave the place behind him, despite the fact it feels more like home than his own condo.

Half an hour later, he is again laboring up the steps, wondering why Mike hasn’t tried to fight his landlord over this neglect, especially since the kid apparently does this while carrying his bike each day.

When he finally makes it, he unlocks the door and is immediately greeted by a loud thump and a groan. His heart beats with worry and he hurries to the bedroom, calling Mike’s name.

In the bedroom, Mike is lying curled onto his side, clutching his hip and shoulder as he groans again. Next to him on the floor are the books Harvey left there. He looks fine, beyond the obvious and relief fills Harvey’s bones.

“Holy hell, Mike,” he breathes. “You fucking scared me. What an earth were you even trying to do?”

Mike looks up pitifully and answers: “I just wanted to go to the bathroom. Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have shoved my cane in the back of my closet.”

“Cane?” Harvey exclaims, unable to hide the shock at the revelation.

“Oh, yeah,” Mike replies, waving a hand vaguely. “They gave me one. I should probably use it more, but Trevor always said it made me look like a grandfather and the stares are fucking uncomfortable.”

Harvey tries to process that this is a thing (the urge to strangle Trevor is familiar and back in full force) as he asks: “Do you want me to grab it?”

“Can’t hurt, but if you don’t mind helping me hobble to the bathroom, it’s up to you,” Mike answers, pushing himself into a seated position with his right arm, wincing as he does.

The blankets are now pooled around him and Harvey can see that his is in dressed in nothing but a shirt and trunks. He stretches and Harvey can spot a nasty scar on his left shoulder when the wide sleeve slides down. Mike groans and they can hear bones crack.

With that done, he rubs his eyes, before looking at Harvey, who offers a hand and says: “I don’t know how long it’ll take to find it.”

“Smart,” Mike nods. “I have to go really bad.”

Harvey gets on his right side to avoid agitating the scared shoulder on the left, letting Mike sling an arm around him, before hauling him to his feet. As he does, he notices there is also a scar on Mike’s right hip that snakes out from under his trunks. But he doesn’t comment on it.

As they go, Mike makes small pained noises that make Harvey want to fight someone. He also apologizes a few times to Harvey for being an inconvenience, as well as comment how fucking embarrassing this is.

While Harvey can understand being embarrassed about being helped to the bathroom, he shrugs it off. He also shuts the inconvenience thing down real fast.

Mike pees. He waits outside. Then they make the track back to the bed. Harvey can’t help, but peek at the nasty looking scars, continually picturing Mike bleeding out somewhere. An irrational fear grips him as he thinks of Mike not making it.

Of course, Mike notices it, but neither brings it up just yet. Harvey just hands him the paperwork and tells him about what went down at the office as he digs through the closet for the cane.

“Maybe I should have tried to hold on to a bit of that cleanness,” Mike comments as he watches Harvey dig further and further, the ground around him now filled with all the other crap he had stuffed in there haphazardly.

“Why didn’t you?” Harvey asks, seeing an opening and remembering the odd phrasing from earlier that morning.

He can feel Mike’s eyes burn into his back, but he doesn’t stop looking for the cane, content to wait for a reply and already prepared to never get one.

“Like I said, I’m a messy person,” Mike’s voice comes from behind, surprisingly answering. “In the Army you’re supposed to be a cog in a bigger machine. There is no room to be a person, to be anything but what they need you to be. They forced me to be this clean person, they changed me and when I got back, I tried to find who I was again. And I am just a messy person.”

“You talk about it like the Army did something to you,” Harvey comments idly, mulling over the words.

“And?” Mike sounds defensive.

“Nothing,” Harvey shrugs. “Most soldiers talk about the brotherhood, how they miss it, how it taught them things. Not used to hearing anyone be so bitter about it.”

Mike snorts: “That’s because they really try to push that narrative to find new recruits. Anyone being critical is quickly shut down or doesn’t make it.”

“Doesn’t make it?” Harvey asks, as he triumphantly pulls the cane from the closet, finally facing Mike again as he holds it.

The kid smiles and shakes his head, taking it and placing it next to his bed. The way he handles it looks familiar and Harvey again wonders what happened to him and if he’ll get an answer or if Mike has shared enough for today.

“Yeah, doesn’t make it,” Mike surprises him by answering when he’s done. He looks right at him and says: “I saw you watching.” Harvey looks guilty at that. “It’s alright, I get it. But I’m one of the lucky ones. We were hit by a spray of bullets, three got me. My shoulder, my back and my hip. I got an honorable medical discharge and they shipped me back to the US where I got the care I needed for the lowest cost, before they threw me on the streets and told me to figure it out. That is being lucky, Harvey.”

Harvey is quiet as he listens. He never served, never even thought of it, just blindly listened to whatever he heard from people who didn’t serve either. What Mike is telling him is all news to him and he wonders how he never knew.

“I had just received three heavy blows to places that were already damaged by always carrying a heavy pack around,” Mike continues. “I had no college degree, since I joined after I was kicked out, because there was nowhere else for me to go. What could I do? Nothing. They don’t tell you that you’re done when you leave the Army.”

At this point it’s less an answer to Harvey’s question and more a rant. It sounds like it has been trapped inside Mike for a long time, so Harvey doesn’t interrupt.

“I was constantly in pain and with my record before the Army, no doctor was willing to prescribe me painkillers, so I turned back to drugs. I couldn't work and was too weak to care for Grammy, so I spiraled back into criminal activity again. The Army doesn’t get anyone back on their feet, they just take and spit people out. They destroyed my future more than drugs and cheating did,” Mike says, breathing heavily.

In the back of his mind, Harvey feels guilty about taking Mike’s one pain relief when he started working for Pearson Hardman. However, he also knows that weed was keeping Mike chained down in his shitty situation.

Still, he resolves to ask how Mike manages his pain now.

“Hell, I can’t walk through a metal detector normally anymore,” Mike rant on, “because they just sewed the bullets back in order to get bleeding to stop enough to drag me out of there. Though, not before digging around in them with a knife, making sure the scaring would be horrible, as they decided to fuck it to save time and my life. And, now, if they try to get them out, they might paralyze me for life. Not to mention all the mental bullshit that comes with it.”

“And I have to live with the fact that I’m one of the lucky ones,” he is bordering on hysteria now and Harvey isn’t sure if he should intervene.

His fists are clenched and he is shaking slightly. Tentatively, Harvey sits down next to him, putting a hand on the back of his neck as he softly says: “…Mike.”

“I used to have really bad nightmares when I just came back,” Mike confesses softly. “I remember everything I saw out there in vivid detail. I hoped the weed would dim them, but it never did.” He chuckles bitterly. “I still have them actually, I just don’t wake up screaming anymore, because I have become so desensitized to them. It’s just a part of my life now. Part of me.”

At the soft, broken tone Harvey can’t take it anymore and carefully pulls Mike into a side hug. He pretends not to feel the tears slowly staining his suit.

“Sorry,” Mike sniffles after a while.

“Please stop apologizing for the most reasonable reactions and things you can’t control,” Harvey tells him gently. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through, it’s okay to be upset. Hell, to be traumatized.”

“Ah, so-, uhm,” Mike clears his throat. “Thank you. You don’t have to do this, but I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t expect today to be this much. It’s been a while since it was this bad, I guess all sorts of things came to the front.”

“It’s no issue at all,” Harvey says, nearly admitting how glad he is Mike didn’t hide this from him and that he can be here for him.

Mike doesn’t really reply to that, just leans further into Harvey’s side and wipes his eyes. “It’s hard to explain how bad it was. But no one cares about you out there and no one cares when you get back. You see the worst shit and then you just have to report for duty the next day like nothing happened. Like you didn’t try and fail to hold the blood of your friend inside him hours before. Like you don’t want to go curl up into a ball, cry and go home.”

“Is that the reason you don’t like General Curtis?” Harvey asks, remembering the dislike that radiated off Mike, hidden under that impassive mask, while the General seemed friendly.

At that Mike snorts bitterly and pulls back a bit as he explains: “When I knew him, he was Sargent Curtis. Friendly, but sneaky. I’m a Corporal, I was a team leader, but I reported to him. He took pride in me being under him, since I was bright and he could take credit for my successes, without having to take the risks.”

Harvey is just starting to think that sounds a bit like him, when Mike says: “He was kind of like the anti-you. Pretended to care then stabbed you in the back without teaching you a thing.

That earns Mike a raised brow, since not many would describe Harvey as the opposite of that, but Mike ignores that and moves on: “Anyway, we had just come back from one of the shittiest missions to date. We were all exhausted, so I told my men to take the evening, while I went to check up on the wounded. Maybe write a few letters to widows or now childless mothers.”

A part of Harvey doesn’t want to know how this story ends and his heart breaks for Mike, who has lived it.

“The next morning, I stumble back to camp and Sargent Curtis is in my face screaming about why my platoon didn’t show up for evening drills,” Mike continues. “I had just returned from the medical tent. Two of the three wounded didn’t make it through the night. I had held their hands the entire night and promised them that they would be okay. That they would go home soon.”

Mike stares unseeingly at the ground. “I decided then, the whole Military could choke and I would never sign up for another tour. However, a week later that decision was made for me. I will never forget that fucking asshole. I wonder whose coattail he rode to General.”

“Fuck. Mike,” Harvey breathes after a second.

“I’m fine now,” Mike assures him, giving him a crooked smile that is only half believable. Then he clears his throat and blinks. “Wow, I just really dumped that all on you.”

“You looked like you needed it,” Harvey says, adding, “And I’m the guy you tell, remember?”

That gets a laugh out of Mike, which makes Harvey prouder than it has the right to. Mike softly elbows him and rolls his eyes. “Alright, Mr. Lawyer-man. Just hand me my paperwork. I need a distraction right now.”

“Course,” Harvey agrees, having pushed more than enough for today.

The rest of the day passes slowly, but companionably. Harvey puts the stuff back in the closet in a more organized manner and gets lunch at some point. He also organizes Mike’s coffee table and rearranges the mess on the couch, so that he can comfortably work there.

It’s about half past 3 that Harvey’s phone rings. Donna’s face smiles up from the screen and he picks up with a smooth: “Hello, Donna. What’s up?”

“I’m trying to keep your line busy, since Jessica was just here and she is probably on her way to her office to interrogate you,” Donna informs him.

“Louis didn’t believe you?” he asks.

“No, he did, she just happened to hear what I fed Louis and didn’t believe that,” Donna says. “She asked me what was really going on and I told her you weren’t really out on a free day, but finalizing the paperwork for a deal for the company of Louis’ sister and didn’t want him to know.”

“Let me guess, she didn’t think I would be that considerate.”

“Bingo,” Donna agrees. “So I hope you have something to tell her, because I’m sure she’ll be able to find you otherwise. By the way, how is Mike doing?”

Harvey glances at Mike, who sends him a questioning brow. He is still in bed with the hot water bottle now on his hip, surrounded by paperwork, marker behind his ear. “He is good,” he tells Donna. “We’ll come up with something.”

“Alright, bye,” Donna says. “I’m off to call Jessica and stall her to give you time.” Then she hangs up with a click.

“What did Donna need?” he asks.

“Jessica can call any moment, because she didn’t believe our excuses for not being in today,” Harvey answers, getting up and walking back over to Mike. “What are we telling her?”

“We can say I’m just sick?” Mike offers.

“Wouldn’t work, she knows I hate being sick and avoid sick people like my life depends on it. If you were contagious, I wouldn’t be here,” Harvey shakes his head, falling down on the bed as he shoots the idea down.

“So now what?” Mike asks.

Harvey has another option, but he doesn’t know how it will be received. Carefully he suggests: “We can also just tell her the truth. We’re lawyers, she knows the anti-discrimination laws, you’re entitled to sick days and aid.”

“And what about you, huh,” Mike challenges, not shooting the idea down, but also not pleased with it at all.

“I’m doing my work and ensuring you can still do yours in these circumstances,” Harvey says. “She also doesn’t really care if I work from home, though working in office is better for our image, handier and better for if we have walk-ins. I still did my part.”

“No,” Mike shakes his head. “I’m not going to tell Jessica I’m not in, because my bones just hurt a little bit. She already doesn’t like me very much, I’m not giving her more reasons to think I’m a whiny little bitch.”

“I asked you to stop with calling yourself a whiny little bitch,” Harvey reminds him. “You have an actual medical condition that is not a moral failing. She’ll understand and then you can discuss accessibility aid.”

Mike scowls: “I don’t need accessibility aid.”

Harvey sighs. “Why not?”

“Everyone there already thinks you’re giving me special treatment and I have been functioning fine until now,” Mike says. “If I randomly show up with a cane or get help, everyone will have questions and I don’t need the extra shit. I get enough already.”

“If that happens you can file a discrimination lawsuit,” Harvey points out. “I’ll represent you, pro-bono.”

“No,” Mike says.

“What are you going to do then?” Harvey asks. He doesn’t want to force Mike, but he also doesn’t get it. “How are you managing now. You said yourself you should use the cane more and weed isn’t really an option to cope anymore. Are you just going to swallow a bunch of Tylenol and keep your fingers crossed?”

“I’ve become immune to Tylenol,” Mike shrugs. “So, I’ll just deal like I’ve always done and I’ll be fine.”

“And if a day like this rolls around again?”

“I’ll call in sick,” Mike says. “I should have done that today, honestly. It was my plan after calling you, but I thought that counted. Next time, I’m calling Donna.”

“Oh, yeah, because Donna will let you get away with being miserable like this,” Harvey points out the flawed logic.

“Dammit, Harvey, why are you pushing me here?” Mike explodes.

“All I’m wondering is if all this can be lessened or even prevented, if you tell Jessica,” Harvey replies. “If you had a good chair, if you could get a moment to stretch, if you could use your cane, would the chances of having a day this bad be lower? I know you don’t want to tell anyone and you don’t have to. You know they’re legally not allowed to ask you. Throw title 1 of the ADA in their faces and try to give less fucks.”

“People don’t really tend to believe it’s this bad,” Mike points out softly.

“Jesus, Mike, you got shot. Multiple times. The bullets are still in you,” Harvey says. “It’s pretty hard to deny. Just tell me, if it would help.”

Mike is quiet for a moment, then he shrugs: “I guess, the strain would be less. It might help, but these things are unpredictable.”

“Alright,” Harvey nods. “Look, all I’m saying here is tell Jessica. You don’t have to do anything more with it, but think about it for a minute.”

It’s quiet, then Harvey’s phone starts ringing again, this time Jessica’s severe eyes stare judgmentally at them and Harvey says: “Make that a second.”

“Wait. What are you going to say?” Mike asks, stressed out.

“We’ll see,” Harvey replies cheerfully, before picking up. “Hello, Jessica. What can I do for you today?”

“Harvey.” How Jessica can say so much with just his name, he’ll never know.

“That is me, yes,” he says anyway, instead of being serious. As he stalls, he makes a few inquiring faces at Mike, who is still thinking, brows pinched.

“You know why I am calling you,” she tells him.

“Probably, but before I confess to something you don’t know yet, remind me?” Harvey answers.

“I have become aware that you and your little minion, Mike, aren’t in the office today,” Jessica informs him. “Now, this would be only mildly worrying, if you didn’t have Donna lying straight to my face. So, what the hell are you doing out there, Harvey?”

“Nothing, I swear,” he says, feeling a bit like a boy called to the principal’s office

“Harvey, this is not a time to play games with me,” Jessica tells him sternly. “I let a lot of the shit you do slide, but there are still rules that need to be followed and I can’t have you drag Mike out of work for your little escapades. People talk, Harvey, you know this. What am I supposed to say if the partners start asking why I’m letting you and your associate have days off without explanation?”

“Yes, Jessica, I know,” Harvey agrees, turning serious. She is not amused in any way and now is not the time to be cocky or cute with her.

“So, I’m asking you again,” she says. “Where the hell are you?”

And for this first time in a long time, Harvey flounders. While he has an opinion on what Mike should do, he’s not just telling Jessica when Mike said no. However, she needs some sort of explanation and if he lies to her now and she finds out, he is done for.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, waving his hand around as if it will give him inspiration.

Mike has been sitting next to him, listening as he attemps to cover for Mike. He has heard everything, but has also taken the time to think about what has been said. So, when Harvey runs aground, he plucks the phone out of his hands and puts on his most chipper voice as he greets: “Hi, Jessica, how are you today?”

It isn’t often that he hears that tone, but surprised, Jessica answers: “Mike? Why are you here?”

“I thought you knew Harvey and I were in the same location,” Mike shoots back.

“Are you toying with me, kid?” And when Jessica says it, it doesn’t sound as fond as when Harvey does. “Why isn’t Harvey answering?”

“Because Harvey was about to lie for me, even though he didn’t want to,” Mike tells her honestly, hoping the switch in tone will throw her off enough to prevent her anger.

“What?”

Ah, success!

“He is in my apartment,” Mike confesses. “I didn’t want him to tell you, because I don’t like talking about it, but he is right in that as my employer you should probably know.”

Jessica sounds like she is preparing for the worst as she asks what the hell they’re doing and Mike suddenly realizes how that might sound. He smartly chooses to ignore it.

“I used to be in the Military,” he says quickly, trying to get it over with as fast as possible. “I did three tours in Afghanistan and was honorably discharged after I got shot in the back. Today the neglect I’ve put my body through caught up and put me out of commission. Harvey came to bring me my paperwork and ensure I was alright.”

The line is quiet. Mike has done the impossible and rendered Jessica speechless for a moment as he processes all he has just said.

“That is- Ahum- Thank you for your service,” she says and Harvey sees Mike wrinkle his nose in disgust at the thanks.

“No problem,” is what he awkwardly replies.

“You said the issues were caused by neglect, has this anything to do with work conditions?” she then goes on in a businesslike manner, immediately trying to barricade herself in legally in case of a later lawsuit about the accessibility of Pearson Hardman.

“I- uh,” Mike fumbles, not yet prepared for this part of the conversation.

Harvey sends him a questioning, concerned look and Mike smiles at him, before turning back to the phone.

“Overall the work conditions have not directly impaired me. At the moment, I’m in a dialogue with Harvey on how to improve my work area. The only thing I would currently note is the atmosphere in the cube farm.” As he talks he chooses his words carefully and Harvey listens in with pride at how far Mike has come lawyer-wise.

“How so?” Jessica asks him and Harvey can picture her sitting there perfectly.

“While I get the hazing culture, it has discouraged me from using my cane,” Mike explains. “It helps lessen the strain. However, I’m sure that right now it would get missing sometime during the day or it will be broken. Not to mention the verbal abuse.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” Jessica says. “When you’re able to come in, please head to my office so that we can discuss this further. Bring your discharge papers and doctor’s notes, since we do need to see some proof. And tell Harvey to report what you two agree on surrounding this.”

“Certainly,” Mike promises. “And thank you for your understanding.”

“Of course,” Jessica replies. “We at Pearson Hardman promote a diverse and accepting work environment.”

Mike bites his lip to keep himself from laughing at the obvious sales line and says his goodbyes before hanging up. Then he sags into himself, the anxiety suddenly leaving him.

“Are you okay?” Harvey asks.

“Yeah,” Mike smiles. “That was just really stressful and scary, but she was nicer about it then expected.”

“Jessica is a black woman at the top of a multi-million law firm,” Harvey points out. “She has been diversity points and knows how shitty it is to not be seen as human beyond that. She has been pushing more diversity and less discrimination ever since she became name partner, but not in that corporate way you so often see.”

“Well, it’s appreciated,” Mike says. “Now I just have to figure out how I’m going to face the entire firm and its ridicule.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Harvey assures him and the brow he gets back tells him all he needs to know about what Mike thinks of that. He amends his answer slightly to: “Well, it might, but now you have me, Donna and Jessica backing you. And Louis, because Louis wants to lick Jessica’s boots at every moment.”

Mike considers that for a moment. “Alright, yeah. But it might still happen, before they can get reprimanded, or whatever. And that will suck.”

There isn’t much Harvey can do about it and that does, indeed, sucks. So, he wracks his brain for a moment, then offers: “You can work in my office the first few days, until the word has spread.”

“Thanks, Harvey,” Mike smiles. “But I think I’m passing. Your couch is nice, but working on it is killing for my back. I’ll just have to deal, I suppose. But I am keeping you to that offer, should it be necessary.”

“Alright,” Harvey nods and they shake on it. Then he says: “We should probably have that dialogue about how to improve your work conditions now.”

“Come on, man, that’s not necessary,” Mike tries to play it off. “I just came up with that so that I could hang up on Jessica as fast as possible. It’s fine, I swear.”

“And I thought it was a good idea,” Harvey raises a challenging brow. “In fact, I have already suggested a few things like a better chair and stretch room. If you tell me what would help, then I can say to what extend that can be arranged and then we can leave the subject be.”

“I hate it when you go all lawyer on me, did I ever tell you that?” Mike complains and Harvey just grins victoriously.

“So?”

For a moment, Mike is stubbornly silent, then he gives in. “I mean, a better chair would be nice, I guess. One with better back support and wheels so I don’t have to get up for every little thing. And if I didn’t have to continuously run around to bring people my finished paperwork, but that can’t always be helped, so whatever. Like I said, I’m fine most of the time. Hell, most people don’t even notice.”

Harvey guiltily counts himself among those people as he thinks for a second. “A chair should be no problem. And if you call, me and Donna can collect my paperwork, which is most of your workload. Louis is the other half, so that will depend on him, but maybe we can ask that paralegal-” “Rachel,” “Yes, Rachel, if she can take your work if she has the time.”

“I don’t know about that, Harvey. She already hates that associates and partners treat her like a secretary,” Mike shakes his head. “I would feel bad asking her.”

“She is your friend, right?” Harvey asks and Mike nods. So, Harvey says: “Well, then she might make an exception for you. Otherwise you can ask one of the associates, because Louis and Norma aren’t going to. Though, you never know.”

“Keep it as a backup option should Louis be shit?” Mike suggest.

“Sure,” Harvey agrees. “Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of,” Mike says.

“Alright. Then I’m calling Donna, so she can get on that and because she has probably been dying to know what’s happening ever since Jessica left her desk.” And Mike snorts at that as Harvey starts to dial Donna.

He was right about her curiosity, because she pounces the moment she picks up. Dutifully Harvey relays everything to her, ending in her promising that Louis will be collecting his own paperwork one way or another.

The rest of the day passes by peacefully. Mike’s body decides to be kinder and Mike can use the cane to get to the bathroom on his own when he needs it again. Harvey does a few groceries, claiming he just wants to cook for a change, but also getting Mike a few basics.

They eat at the small table Mike has and talk about upcoming cases. When it’s time to leave, Mike stays seated and tells Harvey he would normally walk him to the door, but you know…

“Mike, you live in a broom closet, you can be anywhere and still have walked someone to the door,” Harvey informs him when he says that.

“Shut up.” Mike sticks his middle finger up at him, but he is smiling again, so Harvey counts it as a win anyway.

At the door he hesitates again, then asks: “You sure, you’re gonna be alright?”

“I’m not made of porcelain, Harvey,” Mike rolls his eyes. “I had a bad day, that’s it. Tomorrow I’ll probably take a cab to work instead of my bike. That’s the worst of it.”

“Okay, but if you can’t come in tomorrow, call me,” Harvey is mollified, but makes Mike promise anyway.

“I will,” Mike says. “Now shoo. I need my beauty sleep.”

“Alright, alright.” And with that Harvey finally leaves, wondering how his day ended up like this and reflecting how much he didn’t mind. How much he missed being needed for a change.

He gets a lot of people asking for his help, of course, but this protective caring feeling is something he only knows from Markus, who hasn’t asked him for anything except money in years. It’s kinda nice. Makes him realize how much his friendship with Mike means to him and how badly he wants to hold onto it.

Harvey promises himself to have Mike’s back no matter what. Vows to ensure the kid is alright. To deal with whoever gives him even the slightest grain of shit.

So, the next day he gets in early. As if she has read his mind, Donna is there as well. He greets her and asks after developments.

“Louis will have a kid named Harold collect Mike’s paperwork and the chair got delivered yesterday in the late afternoon,” she informs him.

“How did you manage that?” Harvey asks, impressed.

“I have my contacts,” she shrugs nonchalantly. “What about Mike? Hear anything from him yet?”

“No, nothing so far.”

“If he keeps his usually schedule, he should get in at any moment,” Donna says after checking her watch.

“Jessica told him to report to her immediately, but perhaps he’s dropping his bag off at his desk first,” Harvey tells her, watching the hallway intently.

At 8 AM exactly, Mike steps off the elevator. His suit is done up neater than Harvey has seen it before, as if it’s an armor. His satchel is thrown over his right shoulder and he is leaning on his cane. On his face he’s wearing a confident grin that Harvey can see is partially fake. In his other hand he has a coffee carrier with three coffees in it.

He casually makes his way to Donna’s desk and sets down the coffee carrier. He hands her order, before giving Harvey his as he says: “I thought you would be here already.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harvey asks as he takes a sip. Exactly how he likes it.

Mike drinks his own and grins. “Nothing, just that you can never deny you care again and I will be using this knowledge against you.”

“Don’t you have a meeting with Jessica to get to?” Harvey says, not denying what Mike says, but also not acknowledging it. He has an image to maintain after all.

“Wow,” Mike snorts, taking a sip. Then he explains: “I’m drinking my coffee first. I usually do that while I walk, but my hands were full.”

“How are you feeling?” Donna asks and Harvey is gratefully she does. If he had done it, it would have sounded overbearing or like he wanted to coddle Mike after his explicit wish not to, but he is curious about the answer and Donna is close enough to it, yet uninvolved enough, to be able to ask him.

“I’m fine, Donna. Thank you,” he answers with a kind smile. “I had forgotten how much this thing helped until I used it again.”

“It makes you look very refined,” Donna tells him with a smile of her own. “And don’t worry about Louis, he was offering to be your assistant when I was done with him.”

Mike laughs at the mental image. “What would the world do without you, Donna?”

“Crash and burn probably,” Donna replies in that serious yet cheeky way only she can pull off successfully.

“Probably, yeah,” Mike agrees. Then downs the rest of his coffee, before saying: “Well, I’m off to Jessica then. Wish me luck.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Donna assures him.

“Yeah, that,” Harvey agrees.

Mike takes a deep breath, straightening his shoulders as he hypes himself up. For a moment, Harvey can see the soldier clearly as he imagines all the muscle bulk Mike must have lost to his injury and drug addiction that was caused by it.

Then Mike walks away, the tapping of the cane announcing his arrival. He looks like a proper lawyer on a mission and Harvey can’t be more proud of the man his kid is becoming.

A/N:

I feel so guilty abt my chronic pain (which, granted, is less bad than Mike’s) and I feel so dramatic, so welcome to the ~projection hours~

Harvey: *shows up and helps Mike even though he didn’t have to and is known not to*

Also Harvey: What if Mike notices I care?

Mike: *is so confused by said care*

Harvey: Nvm, I must tell this idiot I care

While writing this fic, I realizes that you would never know that Louis is one of my fave characters in the show. He just always gets the short end of the stick in my writing for some reason?? (that is in character though, lmao, poor Louis)

And remember kids, hate the US Military, be compassionate for the veterans who are ground up and used by the machine of war. My other PSA is, someone’s medical history is no one’s business except their own :)

(@liar-or-lawyer bc you asked to be tagged)

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lildevyl · 2 years

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Tommy Innit's Secret Clinic Chapter 9: Tommy's Healing Powers

Summary: After discovering his new healing powers, Tommy heals someone he found in an alleyway without a second thought.

TW: Burns, Blood, Injuries, Mentions of Mugging, Medical Supplies, Stitching a Wound up but not severe, Mention of Past Child Abuse.

A/N:

This is a flashback before Tommy almost gets kidnapped. This is the lead up to it. So, letting everyone know that there will be some backstories of different characters through out the story. Some like this will be actual chapters, others will be in the chapters of the current timeline of the story.

Also, there is a bit of time skip in this chapter. The beginning when Tommy finds out about his powers Tubbo hasn't joined yet. It's a few weeks before Tubbo joins the Group Home and Tommy's taking a few Summer Classes so he's all caught up for school. Then we jump a little to the beginning of the new school year. Where Tubbo is there at the Group Home. Hope this helps but if no, let me know and I'll do my best to explain!

(Kitchen)

It has been a while since Tommy came to Ms. Scarlet Pinkett's House. This was supposed to be a group home! And yet, here was Scarlet treating him better than most Foster Homes. Ranboo was pretty cool though. Tommy even began liking little Michael! It was a late lazy afternoon that had both boys in the Kitchen. Tommy sat at the Kitchen table finishing up his school for once it was done on time and Tommy wouldn’t have to worry about getting into trouble. Tommy had started at the new school East Middle School and so far it wasn’t too bad. It could be worse but it could be better. Tommy wasn’t going to complain.

So far his teachers have been okay and Tommy got to be with Ranboo for some of their classes together! Bonus! The only problem was both of them still had to put up with bullies. Apparently, not having any powers was heavily frowned upon and was just the thing that bullies love to make fun and put others down about. Yeah, let’s just say Tommy has gotten better at fighting back without the teachers noticing.

Tommy still wasn’t sure what his take on Scarlet was. So far, she hasn’t yelled, she hasn’t screamed, she hasn’t hit him, she hasn’t taken his food away, she hasn’t made Tommy do the chores around the house all by himself. She really hasn’t done anything that should be a punishment for him. And that just confused Tommy even more. Why wasn’t she doing all that? Why wasn’t she screaming at him or hitting him when he was bad? All she really did was take away his desert and games and then sent Tommy to his room if he was truly being bad.

But Tommy wasn’t going to be fooled. Tommy knew that sooner or later the “Nice Act” would drop soon. They always do. As soon as they realize that Tommy was “Human” and they couldn’t take his anger issues. They just send him on his way. It always happens. Foster Parents want the perfect angel. The kid that could be their Charity Child that they saved. Kids that have powers, the parents show them how to control them. No, powers well that’s “okay” they can still have the perfect “dream child”. Until they find out about the fights at school because Tommy kept getting bullied then fought back. Until they realize what a “Problem Child” Tommy was. Yeah, Tommy wasn’t going to be fooled. She may have fooled Ranboo but not him! Not the great Tommy Innit! The biggest man of them all!

Scarlet was a Doctor’s Appointment with Michael. Wanting to make sure that he had all of his shots and doing a check up. So, she asked if the boys were going to be okay to fend for themselves for a few hours until they got back. Both boys told her not to worry. Tommy had school work that he was finishing up so it would be done on time. And Ranboo said that since he was learning how to cook that he could whip up something simple for them.

Which was what Ranboo was doing right now. Cookbook propped up and skillet on the stove. Ranboo was humming to himself while stirring. Then a high pitch curling scream echoed throughout the Kitchen. Tommy snapped his head towards Ranboo and saw him screaming and clutching his arms to his chest. The Skillet was on the floor as well as whatever Ranboo was trying to make. Tommy jumped up, knocking the chair down and rushed over to Ranboo. Grabbing the other’s hands and quickly dragging him over to sink to run cold water on Ranboo’s arms.

That’s when Tommy felt a strange warmth in his hands. It felt like he had packs of hand warmers in his hands. Then an orange glow started to emulate from his hands. All Tommy and Ranboo could do was stare at the orange light with eyes as big as saucers. The light faded and all Ranboo had on his arms was some light scarring from the burns and some scabbing where it healed.

“Tommy?” Ranboo asked barely above a whisper.

“Did I - did I do that?” Tommy looked at his hands. The warmth wasn’t there anymore. It just felt cool like he just ran his hands under the faucet. There was no more glowing orange light. And yet, Ranboo was completely healed?

“You can heal!” Ranboo said with a wide smile on his face. “Tommy, you have healing powers!”

That was the day Tommy learned he had healing powers.

(Maple Street, East Side)

It was late afternoon when Tommy started to walk home from school. Backpack on, his favorite red hoodie, khaki pants and a huge smile on his face. Tommy decided to take Scarlet’s advice and joined a club. Not only that but Tommy made a new friend as well! Tommy couldn’t wait to tell Ranboo and Tubbo all about Purpled and hopefully their trio can be a quad! The four of them against the world! The four of them would become heroes and they would save East Side!

Yeah, that’s it! Tubbo, well they’re not sure what Tubbo powers are. Come to think of it, neither of them knew Ranboo’s either. But it doesn’t matter if they have powers or not! The four of them could handle Lady Death, Killer Queen and the Puppet Master. The four of them could team up with the Orcus, Somnus, Jupiter, and the Captain!

Purpled’s power or enhancement is accuracy. He couldn’t miss! Right now, he’s teaching Tommy Archery. And with Tommy being the biggest man of them all was getting quite good at it (he needs a lot of help but refuses to admit it!). Tubbo being the super genius that he is with technology, he could be the one that makes all the machines and hero weapons to take down the Villains. Ranboo, well Tommy’s not sure but Tommy wasn’t going to leave Ranboo out! They could train Ranboo and he can become one the first heroes to never have powers! And Tommy with his healing ability could easily heal his teammates and still be there to help back them up!

Tommy was so caught up in his own fantasy of him and his friends being the next Superheroes that he didn’t notice the commotion that was going on down the street. Tommy didn’t notice the commotion but he did notice a guy stumbling near the entrance of an alley that he was about to pass. The guy’s breathing was ragged, clutching his chest and slumping against the wall. He looked at Tommy and then collapsed right then and there in front of Tommy.

Now for normal people the smart thing to do was to call an ambulance and the police and then get the hell out of there! But Tommy wasn’t a normal person. He was a kid with high hopes and big dreams of getting the hell out of L’Manburg or quite possibly becoming a hero with his friends. Not only that but Tommy had healing powers and here was a guy that Tommy never met before in dire need of help. Who was Tommy to say no in trying to help someone? Isn’t that what heroes do? They help people that they have never met before without a second thought right?

Not even thinking of it, Tommy ran over to the stranger and took out his first aid kit from his backpack. Scarlet was teaching them first aid and what to do in different situations if you ever need to treat yourself or someone else if they ever got hurt. Tommy never knew that he be putting those lessons to use here.

“Hey Mister, I need you to stay awake for me. I’m going to help you!” Tommy said, kneeling down in front of the guy.

The guy was tall and looked to be a Ram Hybrid judging by the horns that were curling around his ears. He was wearing a blue shirt and dark pants. From what Tommy could see though, the shirt was getting soaked with blood. Did the guy just get mugged? Oh Primes, it was a good thing that Tommy stumbled upon this guy then!

Okay, what did Scarlet say to do in this kind of situation? Look at the wound first and try to gauge it. Okay, Tommy just lift up the shirt like this (the guy winced in pain of his shirt being moved). Okay, now look at the wound and see how bad it is. Oh Prime there’s a lot of blood! Focus Tommy! Focus! You can help save this guy! You want to be a hero right Tommy? Now, get it together! Okay, okay, okay. There’s a lot of blood and what looks like a stab wound? And a deep gash possibly? Tommy wasn’t sure. What Tommy was sure was that if he didn’t act fast then this guy was going to bleed out.

Okay, Tommy, just breathe! In and out, in and out, in and out. Okay, now, grab the antiseptic wipes, clean the wound, yeah just like - “This is going to hurt Mister,” Tommy warned.

Tommy began cleaning the wound and whipping the blood away. The man flinched and hissed in pain but didn’t do anything else, which Tommy was grateful for. When Tommy finished cleaning the wound, he put his hands on the wound and pushed it together. Tommy closed his eyes and concentrated on the wound and imagined it starting to heal itself. The warmth that Tommy felt when he healed Ranboo came back and spread through his hands. The orange glow was there and Tommy saw the wound began to heal itself. When that was done, Tommy collapsed onto the ground, with a hand trying to steady him.

“You okay, kid?” The man asked, still wincing a bit in pain.

“Yeah, yeah, it just took a lot of me to heal that,” Tommy answered.

The man nodded and then looked at the first aid kit. “Do you think you could still help me? I just need to stitch this up. I’m not going to have you knock yourself out just to heal me.”

“Yeah, I think I can.” Tommy took a few minutes to try and steady his breathing. Then he came over and looked to see what was needed. “Um, I never - I never did this before. The stitching that is.”

“That’s alright, I’ll help you through it. You see that small plastic sleeve that looks like a plaster? Be careful with that, that’s the needle that I need. Okay, so you see that string there? I need you to thread that string through the needle. Can you do that for me?”

Tommy nodded and did his best. He nearly lost the needle when he first popped it out of the packaging and it took nearly a full minute to thread the damn thing through the eye. Once everything was done, Tommy looked at the guy again, asking what he should do.

“Okay, so what you need to do is, and this is going to be very difficult. You need to put the needle through my skin and literally stitch my wound up. Think of it like stitching a rip in your pants. But don’t do the loop over stitch. Just a regular stitch.” The man instructed.

Tommy nodded and with very shaky hands, began the process. Tommy wasn’t sure how long it took. It felt like hours but in reality it only took a few minutes. Tommy tied it off like he was in sewing class. Then Tommy went to the first aid kit and grabbed some bandages and the guy helped Tommy with how to bandaged correctly.

The guy looked at the patched work and nodded. “Thanks kid. I’m Jay Schlatt.”

“I’m Tommy. Tommy Innit.”

“Tommy, do you live around here?” Tommy nodded. “Okay, give me a minute then I’ll walk you home. Don’t want someone jumping out and trying to attack you kid.”

“I’m not a kid, I’m twelve.”

The man, Jay Schlatt chuckled at that and then winced remembering his wounds. When Schlatt got up he still hissed and winced in pain but he held out his hand to Tommy, and gestured for Tommy to lead the way. Schlatt walked Tommy home and waved him goodbye and thanked him once again.

Tommy walked into the house ready to tell Ranboo and Tubbo that he just saved someone! And about his new friend Purpled. And how all four of them could be heroes!

Not knowing that things would get worse for Tommy and his friends.

*****

Characters:

Midas - JSchlatt Orcus - Philza Jupiter - XD Somnus - HD The Captain - Puffy

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: Head Wound Tumblr Here AO3 Here

Chapter 2: Nuke and Ender Tumblr Here A03 Here

Chapter 3: Some New Faces Tumblr Here AO3 Here

Chapter 4: Some New Places Tumblr Here AO3 Here

Chapter 5: Unexpected Visitors Tumblr Here AO3 Here

Chapter 6: Getting Help Tumblr Here AO3 Here

Chapter 7: Group Home Tumblr Here AO3 Here

Chapter 8: Michael's Birthday Tumblr Here AO3 Here

****

Tagging: @weirdmixofweirdness, @tracobuttons, @ashedflower, @nightfuryobsessed, @isa-ghost, @septic-dr-schneep, @ghostsknewmynights, @a-humble-narcissus, @luna-moonblood, @iamliteraltrash1

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