#tw: past ableism

[schrijverr]

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)

[disabled-queer-culture-is]

Disabled culture is getting really upset at how little people on this website seem to care about people with OCD. Like, reblog bait all you want but dont tie morality and shit to it. Dont make it a ‘ill know if you dont reblog this!’ or ‘i dont trust you if you ignore this’ or ‘reblog to save a life’ or whatever, cause that wont make a person WANT to reblog it more, itll just fucking stress people out, which is made WORSE if any of said people have OCD (like myself)

Am I making ANY sense?

Yeah, that makes a lot of sense! I really hate that too. I don’t even have OCD and those sorts of posts still have had a horrible affect on my ability to engage with anything of that kind, politics especially, even when it is something I find important to talk about. I cannot imagine how awful it can get with OCD or similar disorders added to the mix.

For anyone who needs to hear it: the sort of person that you are is not determined by what you don’t reblog. You do not need to interact with anything or anyone to prove you’re not an evil person. If people start bringing morality into it, it is alright to block them! Take care of and protect yourselves!

[uncanny-tranny]

The frustrating thing about having good days with pain or bodily irritation or mobility or whatever else isn't that it's a "good day." It's the feeling that you are either greatly exaggerating your suffering or worse, that you're secretly wanting attention/admiration for your suffering. I think people sometimes are confused as to why good days in terms of disability can be distressing to some, but it is precisely that you almost... overthink the Implications of good days.

It isn't that you want to be suffering, it is that you are taught you will only be "worthy" of help if you are suffering in the Right way (and having any good days are often seen as a sign that you aren't "truly worthy").

[rorywritessmut]

How do I get my spouse to understand my PDA?? It’s taken two years for him to understand that I am autistic and things won’t change. Now that I have a PDA profile, which has always existed, he refuses to believe it’s real and it something I can change.

Take today for example:

Him:What Are you doing today?

Me: I’m not telling you my plan because then it’s a demand and I won’t do it.

Him: you really need to grow up and get over this.

Like, I can’t??? I’ve talked to him about PDA and sent him articles but the man, I have to admit, is ableist as hell. He won’t even support me in accommodations because it’s “a crutch.”

[ignatius-pennyfeather-ix]

holy shit if you think that a marginalized population having not that many members means that they’re not important & we shouldn’t care about them i will fucking kill you with knives

[celestesparlour]

elaborating further onto this old post; argbur is an assassin that never really wanted to be one, but he fears he's already far too gone as his hands are filthy, tainted with blood and sin that he just can't wash away.

incelbur is pampered and sheltered in a way that he is more so considered like king's prized jewel slash treasure than an actual prince, with how he is always kept safely within the palaces, where his needs are tended to — so he doesn't feel the exact need to go outside that often, when he can just ask a servant to fetch him something he wants; he never went to the royal academies, why does he need to when he can just be homeschooled by the best, after all?

simpbur is the older twin, and experienced a lot more than he already had at a young age. because the king was more worried about incelbur— and seemed to care more for him, especially ever since the last assassination attempt having scarred incelbur. simpbur was never meant to be a heir, a prince— rather than a weapon that just mimicks every part of his brother's life and appearance, and follows him in his shadow to be a means to secure his safety

nobody knows that simpbur exists apart from the ones that live in the palace and even then, the retainers do not talk about him as much, so when argbur began to work there to get closer to his target— he had no idea that incelbur had a sibling

simpbur initially crushed on argbur just because he knew incelbur liked him. so to simpbur, it just made sense that his body double would like him that much too. he only started to take genuine romantic interest in argbur when argbur recognizes him as his own person

then it quickly turns into obsession as simpbur wants to be the one that has something their sibling doesn't for once; it feels greatly unfair that incelbur can have argbur, but not him

incelbur's attitudes towards women largely stem from his mother having left, and being the main gossip of the common folk; also has a complicated relationship with who he calls, his "evil stepmother"— pogbur, whose greatly misunderstood by everyone in the palace; they believe her mental illness to be a result of demonic possession, and the king although claims to love her— still tells both his sons to stay away from her, as she has a great evil within her.

pogbur genuinely thinks her mental illness is of the devil, due to everyone telling her that it is. so because of that, she kinda uses it as a way to intimidate others into doing things for her— for help with things like haircare, better bed sheets, a chance to go outside maybe? she knows that if she doesn't use fear to make them abide, they wouldn't do it for her

both the twins feel awkward with pogbur around since it feels like with pogbur in her room most of the time— its like living with a stranger that they have been warned over and over again is bad. they, like many other people, were told to see their father as "good" because "their father had the heart in him to take her in as his wife despite everything"

though i would say their relationship with pogbur greatly improves overtime as they develop to become better people ^—^ and as they do, i can see them getting less distant from the king and start to see lmanbur, one of their knights, as a more better, positive father figure

[verypsbfan019]

The Engine Drivers series: Falling out.

⚠️Content warning: Mentions of suicide, ableism, meltdowns, trauma, depression. ⚠️

Donald was skeptical about what his friends told him some hours ago so he had to look it up by himself. There was no way that Douglas did what they were saying. 

“He always takes things personally and the rest loves to dramatize everything…” thought the red haired driver. He wasn’t in a good mood; arguing with his twin brother usually had that effect on him.

But it was true. At the other side of the sheds, there was a blue engine (Caledonian blue, to be more specific, he recognized that hue as soon as he saw it) and an engine driver wearing a coat with the same color. 

“Douggie?!” Donald shouted. He noticed another detail as he got closer: His brother’s hair was black.

Douglas ignored him, he looked so focused on closing the doors of the sheds and leaving the place as soon as possible. 

“What are you doing?! You disappeared for three bloody days!!!” He kept talking but didn’t get any answer “What did you do to your hair? WHY IS YOUR ENGINE BLUE?!”

Now they were some steps apart. 

“What’s wrong with you?!”

Douglas didn’t look at him. He turned his back on Donald, ready to leave. 

The NWR 9th engine driver was finally close enough to grab his twin from the shoulders and shake him with all of his strength.

“Leave. Me. Alone. Donald.” Douglas spoked up and turned around with rage in his green eyes. 

“Don’t ignore me when I talk to you!” Donald took another step and pushed Douglas against the doors of the sheds. A few chips of wood from the old doors broke off and fell into Donald’s hair. 

Douglas never felt so much rage against his brother before but it was burning him alive at that moment. So he did something neither himself nor his brother expected: He pushed Donald away with both arms and made him fall on the floor.  

"I can't believe you are doing this, Douglas! No matter what you try to do, we'll always be brothers!!!"

“Shut up!!!” The engine driver with black hair was about to cry. 

“It’s the truth!!! You are being childish, as always!!!” Donald already lost his patience so he wasn’t aware of what he was saying. 

“I HATE YOU, DONALD, I HATE YOU”, Douglas kept shouting at the top of his lungs and began to pull his hair with one hand.

“You have not the slightest idea of how it feels to be the imperfect version of someone else!” the black haired driver continued with his eyes closed, “Everyone has always thought that I’m just the stupid and useless version of YOU! Your shadow, the broken twin, your poor little brother incapable of doing anything on his own!!!”

“My dear brother, calm down!!!” Donald stood up when he realized what he did. His twin was at the edge of a meltdown. 

"You should have let me jump off that day!!!" Douglas opened his eyes and didn’t notice he said those words aloud until he saw how Donald's expression changed to a horrified one.

"You don't... you don't mean it, r-right?" said Donald with a trembling voice. 

Douglas didn't answer, his cheeks were red and was breathing too fast. He couldn't help but run away, leaving Donald desperate for an answer.

“Douglas!!! Wait!!!” He heard a distant voice mixed with the noise on his head. His surroundings began to look sketchy and distorted while his life flashed before his eyes.

Several years ago.  

“Your child has Attention Deficit and Hyperactive disorder, Mr. and Mrs. McIntosh.” the young lady explained to the parents who were in front of her “The inattentive type: this explains why he is struggling on paying attention to the lessons and the memory issues.”

“That’s impossible, he reads a lot at home!” the mother said.

“Douglas’s just lazy, he just wants to waste time scribbling on that notebook”, added the father as looked at the green rug where his son was playing with a wooden train. “He needs more punishment, that’s all.”

“What is this?” Douglas showed his parents the piece of paper he found at his mom’s home office while looking for some books. He tried so hard not to sound angry in front of them but the three lines he’d read weren’t going to leave him alone:

Douglas McIntosh

Age: 8

Diagnosis: Attention Deficit and Hyperactive Disorder (inattentive type)

"We didn't want to label you, Douggie", they said with a forced smile on their faces. “It’s not important anymore since you and Donnie are graduating this year.”

 “As if they forgot all the times they called me lazy, childish, dramatic, weak, selfish, annoying…” thought Douglas during the confrontation. 

Donald was there, witnessing the moment. It was also a big revelation for him as well, since he didn't clearly know why his brother was described as "different" in a bad tone. 

Douglas has always seen himself as less than his twin brother. He was the imperfect twin, the broken one, the waste of potential… or that's what the people around him made him believe while growing up.

“All this time I had this AD… A-D-H-D and nobody told me.” Douglas couldn’t stop thinking about the papers he found that day. He had borrowed an Encyclopedia from the library that was two blocks away from the train station where he and Donald were working:

…attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), a behavioral syndrome characterized by inattention and distractibility, restlessness, inability to sit still, and difficulty concentrating on one thing for any period of time…

It was a good change to move in with their uncle as soon as they graduated from high school. Uncle Duncan was an engine driver and lived next to a big train station.

After finishing his lecture, Douglas couldn’t stop the memories about all the times mother, father and even the teachers compared him with Donald. Even as an adult, those comments were still stuck on his mind:

"Oh, why can't Douglas be like Donald? He is such a lost cause!"

"You are not trying harder, Douglas! Your brother does the same things without problems!"

“You have excellent grades on Grammar and English literature, why don’t you make the same effort with the rest of your subjects?”

"He can't even remember the basic things!"

 "He can't do anything right!"

“Stop wasting your time on that stupid notebook! As if you truly believe you’ll become a good writer”

And the last thing that filled the glass was something he heard when he was going downstairs for some water at the kitchen when mother and father were chatting in the living room:

"I wish we had had just one child instead of two..."

That last quote convinced him that he shouldn't have been born at all. His twin brother was all what their parents needed.

None of these painful words faded away. 

Why was he in this world then?

 Mother and father even said that Douglas becoming an engine driver was totally thanks to Donald rather than because of his own efforts. This was so discouraging for him. In spite of uncle Duncan and Donald telling them that Douglas did excellent in his exams, they never believed it.

“You won’t last too long on that job”, father said on the speaker phone. “Without your brother’s help you are nothing more than a burden, Douglas.”

That was the last time the twin brothers spoke to their parents. 

“Change that sad face, Douggie! We are engine drivers now!” Donald tried to cheer his brother up but it didn’t work. 

No matter what Douglas did, he was always gonna be less than his brother.

At the end of that day, Douglas wrote on his notebook:

I often feel there is noise in my head. The same noise we hear when there is no signal on the radio. That white noise. I can’t think properly at all when this happens, I can’t connect two ideas, I can’t concentrate at al. I lose my train of thought so easily. My mind is going at the speed of light but I don’t understand what's going on. Although I scream in silence that I must move on, my body is paralyzed. How come that everyone knows what to do? When the instructions of life were given? Why does everyone assume I know what they know? 

Why nobody understands me? If I’m lazy, why do I always feel so tired? I wish I could change my brain. I wish I was normal like everyone else. 

During the last half of 1991, lots of changes arrived to the Caledonian Railway. Everyone was nervous, there were rumors about a mass dismantling of steam engines in other parts of the country. Several engine drivers lost their jobs and weren’t able to keep going with their lives after seeing their beloved steam locomotives being scrapped. 

Madness was in the air. 

“You’re lucky, Donald! You’re gonna be transferred to the Island of Sodor!” said the Controller of the railway while giving Donald a piece of paper where it was written that engine number 57676 was bought by the North Western Railway. “I’m so sorry for your brother’s engine, it’s gonna be scrapped next Monday…”

That was the last thing for Douglas. He was 25 years old and life lost sense completely in less than five minutes. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t have a backup plan. He never considered having one. 

Life was already pointless so he tried to do something that had been around for years but tried so hard to ignore: He tried to jump off a bridge. 

“One more step and everything is over. No more cold criticism, no more disappointed faces, no more frustrated dreams. Just jump. JUMP.” The voice told him. 

Donald arrived by pure coincidence since it was the route of his goods train. He saw his twin standing on the edge, staring at the water of the river.

He stopped him by grabbing the neck of his coat.

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?", Donald yelled, his heart was beating so fast.

"You don't understand, Donald! You're not the one whose engine is going to be scrapped!", cried Douglas.

Of course Douglas took the news very personally. Just imagine: There are changes in the Railway, your "Mr. Perfect" brother is being transferred to somewhere else with his engine while yours would be sent to the scrap yard and you will be unemployed…

His head was repeating the same quotes, some of them from his parents, some of them from the darkest corner of his mind.

"You are incapable"

"You are useless"

"You can't do anything right"

"You can't even work as an engine driver"

"Your brother is better"

"You are broken"

"You should die"

All those awful intrusive thoughts were constantly invading him. Making him cry in the middle of the night, making his work more difficult.

"You don't understand how it feels to be a failure before the eyes of everyone", Douglas continued as he sat down on the edge of the bridge. He took of his hat and stared at his engine's number: 57647

Donald just could sit next to his twin, he didn't know what to say so he was quiet for some minutes.

"You aren't a failure, Douggie", he finally said.

"Yes, I am, that's why my engine is gonna be scrapped while you are going to a better place..."

“That’s not how it works!” Donald argued, “You’re not the only one whose engine is in danger! There are more drivers like you going through the same situation across the country!” 

“...I guess there are more useless people like me, then.”

“Douglas McIntosh!” Donald raised his voice “If you ever say that again I swear I will…”

“What? Hitting my head with my own notebook just like father and mother used to do?” Douglas looked at Donald with a deadpan face. 

“Don’t mention them, they are dead for us” Donald sighed.

None of the twin brothers talked for a long time. They stayed there, with the wind making their curly red hair dance and the noise of the water under the bridge. 

“I’m sorry, Donnie,” Douglas finally spoke. “I’ve been fighting with myself a lot lately and I finally gave up when the news arrived…”

“I have a plan,” Donald interrupted. 

“What kind of plan?” Douglas asked intrigued.

“You are coming to the Island of Sodor with me…”

Present time. 

Donald had totally forgotten about that conversation. It was such a distant memory but the feelings left were burning under his skin at that moment. He thought that after years of working on the North Western Railway buried all those horrible events of their past.

They were working together almost every day.

Their engines were saved from being scrapped.

They had a found family. 

They finally felt they belonged somewhere in the world.

Even Douglas was trying to bring back that childhood dream of becoming a writer. In fact, the rest of the Little Western collaborated to give him a typewriter as a gift (Donald refused to have a birthday gift that year because seeing his twin happy was the best gift he could ever get). 

Sure, they argued from time to time but it never went so far.

Life seemed to be perfect for both of them.

It seemed…

Although Donald saw Douglas with a new appearance, he knew that he was still the same person under the surface.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that once they were both proud of how they were so alike and now one of them pretends they are two strangers. 

Donald had been afraid that the arguments between him and Douglas were getting worse and more frequent, to the point that being brothers might not be enough to repair the cracks.

His fears became real. 

Douglas's voice from past events started to yell at him on his own head:

"You never listen to me!"

"You're just like mother and father!"

“Stop being so overprotective! I’ve worked by myself before and you know that!!!”

"I wish I was normal like you!!!"

"Just because I need help doesn't mean I am useless!"

"In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you do the opposite of whatever I said!"

It was so painful. 

After walking around the yard of the station with a flashlight in hand, he gave up. Being fair, the best thing that he could do was to leave Douglas alone and look for him with Duck, Oliver and Emily the next day. 

“This is all my fault,” Donald told himself. He turned off the flashlight and a suffocating darkness surrounded him. “I just hope we’ll get back together…”

But he didn't believe that would be possible anymore. 

[pigeonwhumps]

Found footage

MD-264N masterlist

@febuwhump alt 8: found footage

Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @den-of-evil

Blue reluctantly shows Morgan footage of themself from the hacked Ministry hard drive.

1.4k

CWs: minor whump, parental death, kidnapping, grief, mentioned ableism, mentioned abuse

"Thanks for this," mutters Rhian. Blue shrugs uncomfortably.

"I promised I'd try. And it is their past, after all. If they want to see it then I guess it can't hurt. I'll call you if we need anything."

Rhian looks reluctant to leave but does so after a reassuring smile at Morgan, shutting the door to the workroom quietly behind her. Blue turns to Morgan, who's standing behind one of the computer chairs, hands behind their back.

"Sit down. Are you sure you want to watch this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. There's information documented in writing too, if you want to read it later, but for now we'll stick with this video. It's the first of the lot, taken from security footage from a house in Bangor. If it gets too much, press the space-bar here, or tell me. Are you ready to start?" Morgan looks terrified, but nods determinedly. Blue sits down beside them and pulls the mouse towards him, watching them warily out of the corner of his eye. "Okay. Here we go."

The video's in grainy black and white, showing a hallway of a modest house similar to the rebels' own. Shoes and toys are scattered around, and there's a few colouring books and some scattered pencils with large grips on a shelf. This is clearly a family home.

A child giggles in the background, and a woman responds in what Blue thinks is Welsh. Someone's added English subtitles to the security footage, and he follows along.

"Ah, come on, put that down, little one. No, hey– hey!" A young child comes charging into view, tackled by a laughing young woman, who grabs the notebook out of their hands.

Beside Blue, Morgan reaches out towards the screen before dropping their hand and whispering brokenly, "Mam."

The little child on-screen is very likely Morgan, then, especially given that this recording is in their file. According to the documentation they're eight, but they look younger.

"Lovely drawings, baby, but did you have to colour in the letters as well? What's my professor going to say?"

"He'll say that it's so colourful he just has to give you extra marks!"

"Well, it is very nice and colourful. Maybe we can put it on the wall after my professor's had a look."

Morgan beams.

There's a jangle of keys and both look up as a man booms, "I'm home!"

"Tad!" yells Morgan, running off-screen (next to Blue, present Morgan mouths the word along with their younger counterpart). The man lets out an "oof".

"Hey there little monster. How was your day?"

"I did all my exercises. And mam says we can put my colouring on the wall!"

The two of them have walked into the camera frame now, the young, bearded man's arm around Morgan. He kisses Morgan's mum quickly.

"How was work?" Morgan's mum asks. Their dad makes a face.

"Boring. Packing parcels never gets interesting. You two seem to have had a better day."

"Lili forgot to tell you her biggest achievement today." Their mum hands her notebook to their dad, who takes it with his free hand and examines it.

"You been colouring in your mam's coursework again?" Morgan nods. "Little monster. I– wait. That's your handwriting. You wrote your name?"

"Yep!" replies Morgan proudly, and their dad beams, ruffling their hair.

"Well done! This calls for celebratory pancakes. You want to go and choose the mould? I need to talk to your mam."

Morgan nods and runs off, and Blue can hear clattering, presumably from the kitchen. Morgan's dad's smile falls slightly.

"What's wrong? Did you speak to your colleague?"

He runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I didn't say it was because of Lili, obviously, but I asked what I could about hiding her powers and keeping her out of the government's hands. His advice was to homeschool for as long as possible and speak to a rebel-aligned specialist about controlling her powers. Which we're already doing."

Morgan's mum sighs. "Great. I don't want to go into hiding but if it's the only way to keep Lili safe…"

Their dad places his hands on her shoulders. "Hey. We've got time until the standardised exams. She doesn't need to go near any officials for a few years yet. Also, I got the radio parts."

"Excellent."

"Let's see what mould Lili's chosen. 50p says it's the owl one."

"Only 50p?"

"Well, we do have a new Sword in the Stone one."

Blue almost doesn't want to watch any more. Tears are streaming down Morgan's cheeks already, and Blue can guess what comes later in the video. Morgan's parents were worried about the government taking them away for special education, similar to what he had, and that did happen, he supposes.

He doesn't want to watch this happen. The kidnapping. The electric shocks. He's had enough of his own, he doesn't want to see it happen to another child who's not a so-called 'normal' person who the government will leave to live their life. With Morgan's disability and powers, and their parents' resistance, it's no wonder that the government wanted them out of society.

That doesn't mean that Blue wants to watch.

But… he needs to. The rebels need any information they can glean from Morgan's records, and that includes these videos. Also, Morgan's watching, and he made a promise. He steels himself and turns his attention back to the screen.

"True." They start walking off-screen. "Hey, little one, what did you choose? Ah, I owe your tad 50p."

Just then, there's a series of heavy raps on the door.

"Ministry of Defence! Open up!"

"Lili, you need to run, just like we practiced."

"But I don't want to leave you!"

"You have to, baby. We'll come for you, I promise. I love you so, so much." There's a sound Blue recognises from his early childhood as a sloppy wet kiss on a forehead. "Now go!"

"They didn't– come," whispers Morgan, hunching into themself, as the younger version of themself dashes across the screen, pancake mould in hand. "They didn't, I– it–" They cut themself off with a sob.

Blue reaches across and pauses the video. "You don't have to watch this. I can stop it if you like?" Morgan shakes their head. "Okay."

Morgan's parents enter the hallway, and their mum unlocks a safe behind a children's painting. She tosses a gun and ammunition to their dad, loading another for herself and clicking off the safety.

"If we don't get out of this…"

"We will," he interrupts. "We have to. For Lili."

"Still. I love you."

The door bursts open and Morgan's parents start firing at the agents in the doorway. A couple of agents fall, there's a burst of gunfire, and then–

"Mam!" screams present-day Morgan, rocking back in their seat, hands flying up to cover their mouth. Blue rests a hand on their shoulder to hopefully ground them and they grab it, squeezing tight. The grip turns into a vice when their dad crumples to the ground too, their voice by this point barely a pained whisper, tears streaming down their cheeks, pooling on their lap.

"Tad…"

Despite the pain, Blue doesn't try to get Morgan to let go as they continue to watch. It's more of a frightened kid than a dangerous weapon next to him now, and he can't bring himself to force them into the position of having no comfort whatsoever.

Several agents dressed in full combat gear enter the hallway, fanning out and disappearing in various directions at their leader's orders. There's no subtitles for them – they're all speaking English.

The hallway empties except for the leader, who rifles through the pockets of Morgan's parents, pulling out electronic parts from their dad's. The floor and walls are spattered with blood, and there's probably more bodies out of shot.

Suddenly, the sharp, terrified scream of a child rings out, and a few seconds later an agent comes into view carrying a squirming Morgan in their arms.

They fall still and silent and their eyes widen at the bodies and the blood. "Mam? Tad? Let me go, let me go, mam, mam, tad!"

The agent cuffs Morgan around the head and they fall limp, dazed. "Your parents are dead. Shut the fuck up or I'll give you something worth screaming about."

The agents leave the house and there's a few seconds of a silent, bloody hallway before the video ends.

Blue looks down at Morgan, unsure what to say. They're curled up, sobs racking their body, eyes screwed shut, hands clamped over their ears, still clutching him tightly with one of them, and he has no idea what to do.

[blogalreadydoesntexist]

people when people assume that somebody is a bad person from -some- misunderstandings and misinfo (they have suibaited before and are now pedalling that the person who fully let their ass believe they killed somebody is actually good (sorry to use you as an example when i damn well thought you had 'followed in their footsteps'? either way i cant exactly fucking contact a deactivated account?-))

And also, nobody fucking misgendered anyone? from a hard ass search of going through she and her and shit on that server, i havent ound anything other than references to the 17 year old she got pissy at (who uses she her,) and catty herself (who uses she her) with the occasional reference of other fuckers out there who use she/her and come up in convo. legit most of us, to my knowledge, are trans. not saying trans people cant be transphobic but come the fuck on.

ableism is ableism, no dice.

Christ i thought lying to minors about serious shit was above certain folk, guess not. this is why we didnt delete your shit, catty. i cant doubt youre using munch-level ass tatics to fucking see shit anymore. none of your shit has been or ever will be deleted.

either way, the whole 'i cant trust mentally ill people ever' shit is fucking dense. what next, cant trust black people because gynt and sophie are both black (sophies mixed but fucking still) and agree with us on this shit? cant trust seasians? trans people? man you do one fucking thing and it opens up a lot of doors. we've had that convo before.

i brought up the lesbian slur thing (though you both refuse to mention it) because you should damn well know better? oct 4th, reblogged a post saying Not To Do That Shit. and i doubt you havent seen others talk about it. i dont say youd stalk my blog, now however i cant put it above you, i say that you, a grown ass 20 year old whos married (hope hes fucking safe btw, if this gunshot level shit is how you react to suicide, instead of 'hey can we stop the convo here for now and actually talk', im terrified for what happens if ptsd EVER DARES to occur in your presence), should know better.

you were, from what i know and excluding alters since some of our ages dont correlate with realism, the second oldest in that server. im not saying 20 y/os should know everything ever, but being so fucking irrational like this? i kept on thinking you were MY age saying that shit.

i pray for your future therapist shit, cuz if this is how you react to humor to cope or just fucking talking about the topic, i fear for your possible fucking clients. wishing i had ss'd our messages on here at this point.

[murasakikagekitsune]

My Diaracial Identities

(Image ID: A rectangular flag consisting of six vertical stripes that are white, pink, red, maroon, blue and then yellow from left to right.)

The first three stripes represent my transjapanese identity - the white and red stripes are the colours of the Japanese flag and the pink stripe is the most common colour for cherry blossoms, an iconic tree associated with Japan in spring. The second set of stripes represent my transsami identity, because the Saami people wear the primary colours on their clothing.

My Stance on Transid People

I support all transid people - race and gender are social constructs meant to confine people to certain labels; doing so by not supporting transgender and diaracial people would be eugenicist because that means labelling race with biological features only. There's also the explanations of being your transid identity in a past life or as a headmate in a system, so dismissing this would be ignoring the psychological or spiritual aspect of transid identities.

As for transids like trans medical conditions or transfaith, I believe these are good ways of describing your new faith or medical conditions as a part of self-diagnosis or self-discovery, because you have transitioned from your old state of being to your new one - in transfaith circles, I suppose it would be synonymous with the word convert. With regards to situationally exclusive medical conditions such as Acute Radiation Sickness or being an amputee, you could argue that you didn't have certain limbs or were Ukrainian or Japanese in a past life (like me - I'm transjapanese now because a past life) but the most common explanation is BID, or a medical delusion. That's not to say that I discredit people with BID - rather, I think that the medical transids are helpful in explaining BID to the general public; i.e "I believe that I have Acute Radiation Sickness because of mental health issues." Besides, if people want to live with these medical conditions (excluding Acute Radiation Sickness or terminal cancer - I honestly don't think anyone without BID or a death wish would want them) isn't that a good thing? I would rather people want a medical condition than be terrified of it.

I take much the same angle with diaracial and diaethnic people - if people want to be part of a culture, in good faith, and do their research on the customs, then it ensures that the culture doesn't die out. All groups are welcoming to outsiders if they are willing to learn. Think of it as a mass effort against racism. This is, however, different from cultural appropriation - if you pick up a First Nations' headdress, for example, because you want to wear it for Halloween and you are unwilling to learn the culture of that group, then that is racist.

[76th-biannual-cock-festival]

And while we're at it it should not need to be fucking said, but apparently does, that intentionally going out of your way to trigger and harass mentally ill teenagers posting self-harm imagery on their blogs as some method of retaliation is not normal behavior. This is not a sentence I should have to type. You, as a grown adult, no matter how aggravated you get seeing people make graphic vent posts or disturbing imageboards that, granted, the poster in general should not be enabling for themselves as a form of self-harm, should not take that as an invitation to dogpile, torment, and intentionally set out to trigger/harm an obviously mentally ill child.

And this doesn't stop at kids' accounts. Yes, they're fucked. Yes, they shouldn't exist. This is about every goddamn cutting account, pro-ED account, self-harm account in general out there that should not under any circumstances exist on any website. It is fucking nauseating that these are allowed to exist in the first place. They are exceedingly triggering to scroll past or have interact with you in any capacity and of course I speak from a place of massive experience on this one. Yes, there are also people neck-deep in the sinkhole of eating disorders in particular that will initiate some very fucked up interactions that are highly unnecessary and very triggering, usually in the form of ridiculous comments on other people's posts or images.

They can go fuck themselves 100%. Report them. Block them. Tell them to eat shit. Do whatever you have to to get them the fuck away from you. But if you intentionally go out of your way to trigger them, to enable their extremely obvious forms of self-harm further with the explicit intent of hurting them as a form of retaliation, you're a piece of shit. You can never bitch about ableism again. You can never post your "end the stigma" moodboards again. Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental disorder and rather than blocking, reporting, and refusing to engage, you are choosing to make a conscious mockery of very ill and misguided people (teens and adults alike) on what is typically very large platforms. EDs are not fun and they will fucking tear you inside out. They are not glamorous and they are not to be idolized, but they are also not a fucking joke or a goddamn punchline. These are real people. Act like an adult.

[notabled-noodle]

If you don't work, you don't deserve to eat. Simple as that, u have to give something to get something, and if you can't... well, not everyone should live a long life, it is what it is

how do I get it into your head that food is a fucking human right???

at this point, you’re either a capitalist who is past the point of no return, or you’re a troll. but what I will say is that…

you could become disabled at any time. you could lose the ability to work at any time. same goes for your friends and loved ones.

and if that happens, I can promise you that you’ll want the guarantee of food, water, and shelter, without the pressure to return to work before it is healthy for you to do so

[mordcore]

genshin impact... mondstadt... idk what it is about the city but it's too clean. too empty. liyue feels different. there's all kinds of people there and everyone's obsessed with money. it also has a certain lacking feeling that is probably just the limits of the gamemaker's capabilities but somehow the lack is much stronger in mondstadt. maybe because they made it the city of freedom without understanding what freedom actually means... if it was the city of freedom it would have artists. at least one... idk, gallery, theatre, artesanal workshop or market, but it's tiny and lifeless and way too clean. no one seems to have problems, except for all the alcoholics... but the game does not understand alcoholism either and seems to view it as a flaw of character and not a real problem someone can struggle with.

i mean the game has a lot of problems, like the fascist ideology that... well it's easier to ignore/overlook once i stopped reading the in-game books. but mondstadt has a lot of it actually. maybe its problem is that it's a fascist's wet dream. no brown people, no homeless nor disabled people (there's kaeya but come on), there's drunks but at least they bring money into the city ? and an endless supply of easily defeated yet never ceasing enemies to fight (hilichurls). the hilichurls get humanized and then dehumanized. they have culture and language but they are nonhuman savages who will attack you on sight. killing them isn't just okay, it's necessary and good. kill them en masse and try to exterminate them all.

city of freedom. yeah, right.

[alltheangstmygifttoyou]

Saw a video where people were talking about hating how when talking about adhd and autism neruotypical people brush problems being expressed by talking about how everyone has a little of the two or whatever and im sitting here going-

It sounds familiar but definitely not the same outcome.....

And then I realized and remembered that I was reassured by loved ones that everyone thinks about *insert thing everyone most certainly does not think about especially when they're 10 or 11 years old and the thoughts happen at least a daily basis*

So basically I'm in the slightly opposite situation of many people hearing things like that, because the people telling me were and are mentally ill too but didn't recognize it. Most still won't even if they have the facts in front of them- or a doctor diagnosis.

Idk thought that was funny/interesting and wanted to share lol

[steavia]

on lydia’s past: 2. the group home

(part 1, information on her parents, can be found here)

the details of Lydia’s early history are a blur. she has a mother and a sense of security until she doesn’t. by the time she’s found by child protective services or police, or some officers whose role a small child couldn’t discern, she’s just old enough to write her own name in crayon—LYDIA. uneven, sloppy letters.

she is deemed an outcast by her peers the moment she enters the group home. it’s not the scottish accent she inherited from her immigrated parents, though it doesn’t help—it’s her inability to connect, the awkward silences and stares, and the overemotional way she reacts that deems her a target in her peers’ eyes.

autism spectrum disorder, after all, was highly underdiagnosed and not well-researched at that point—especially in little girls. what would’ve made sense as legitimate symptoms becomes a list of “weird” traits to make fun of. she gets laughed & prodded at in early childhood. 

she learns how to mask—or tries desperately to, but her interactions fall short and any slight misunderstandings with other children or adults are met with tears. lydia is a miserable child. as she grows up, she loses the accent her parents taught her; she learns that avoiding social situations is the safest way to avoid making mistakes in those situations.

she lucks out with making the occasional friend or acquaintance, however. it’s not all bad; some of the girls are nice, or at least they pretend to be in order to get lydia to stop crying. there are staff who are kind to her, too—many are underpaid and lack the resources to care for lydia on an individual level, but she sees a counselor at the group home and it makes her childhood considerably more bearable. most of the nice girls get adopted out, of course.

her interests develop over time, too. she has a worn-out astronaut poster by her bed, saves up her allowance for a model train that becomes her favorite object in her childhood.

desperate to put an end to the bullying, lydia finds a more creative means to solve her problems—logistically. though she lacks charisma, she’s small & quiet; these are traits that lead to making it much easier to go unseen if she decides to take things that don’t belong to her. the bully has a hole in her shoe? lydia offers her an arrangement—leave her alone, and she’ll give the imposing girl a new pair. any of her peers in need of a new walkman, a pair of socks, mint condition baseball cards? she’ll get the items to them, whether through buying it herself or stealing it from someone. if they continue to be unkind to her after her peace offerings, she threatens to use evidence she’s gathered against them to get them in trouble with the group home’s staff.

lydia learns she has a passion for bringing things from point A to B, for appeasing the dangerous people in her life through material means, and she knows that it’s what she wants to do on a professional level. (by this point, she’ll go quite far for even a hint of feeling secure.) so, she puts her heart into highschool. she graduates early, finds a way out of the group home and into business school, and leaves that chapter of her past behind as soon as possible.

[vydumaj]

the liberal party want to take two year old kids with “unsatisfactory language skills” from their parents if the parents don’t want them to go to daycare and the conservatives want to screen all kids in poorer areas for adhd to “prevent gang criminality” … this country is a fucking nightmare of a joke (sorry if I wasn’t clear obviously both racism/xenophobia motivated besides being ableist and discriminatory towards poor people)