Suits Big Bang : The Haunting (Or Something Lame Like That) by corsykitty : Rated R : Part 2/6
Part Two
Mike stood up on the pedals of his bike, gliding gracefully through traffic. He hated to admit that Harvey might have a point about the accident affecting him; his mind flashed on it any time he wasn't actively thinking of something else. Unfortunately, riding a bike wasn't exactly strenuous mental exercise, and with no really tricky cases on his plate there wasn't much to distract him.
He was still in a fairly good mood, buoyed up by Harvey's badly hidden worry. It was nice to know that even though the relationship between them wasn't exactly platonic or professional, he could rely on Harvey when he needed to. He was contemplating the vague boundaries between the two of them when his bike shuddered beneath him. His pedals lost all traction, and the suddenly excessive force of his next down pedal jarred him from head to toe. His feet spun on the pedals, all traction gone, and he overcompensated badly, knocking himself off-balance.
He was going pretty fast, so when his bike careened out of control, he went down hard. The heel of his left palm caught the brunt of the impact, knocking him off-center so that his helmet encased head ricocheted off the ground and his left calf scraped across the ground, trapped beneath the bike. His body contorted, his shoulder barely touching the asphalt as he slid to a stop.
He lay stunned as he registered all the bright spots of pain clamoring to be the center of attention. Sitting up revealed the cause of the crash; his bike chain had snapped and was nowhere to be seen. Mike's fingers trembled as he forced himself to bring his left hand away from where he held it cradled against his stomach; the flesh was pretty badly mangled and bits of dirt and gravel were clinging to the wound. He hissed at the renewed pain actually seeing the wound caused and brushed the debris away as best he could. Carefully, Mike extricated his leg from his bike's mangled corpse, and slid up his pant leg to see how bad it really was. His leg was a mess of blood from mid-thigh to ankle, his shoes and pants a complete lost cause, bandages from earlier barely clinging to his skin. It would have to be the same leg that he'd brutalized that morning.
A swell of frustration choked off his breath and he felt tears stinging at his eyes. He clenched his fists, ignoring the burn of sweaty, dirty fingers digging into his scraped palm and slammed them against the ground once, twice.
“Damn it! What is wrong with me?” he yelled. Mike drew his knees up and rested his elbows on them to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying and failing to wrestle his emotions under control.
He sniffled and swiped at his nose with his ruined sleeve. Angry or not, sitting here wasn't going to do anything for him but get him hit by a car, and wouldn't that be a great way to top off the night. He sighed, grabbed his bike and clambered to his feet. The friction had burst one of his tires and he resisted the urge to chuck it on the side of the road, instead forcing himself to take the first step down the last few blocks to the care home.
Mike was almost there when the rain started. He stopped and let his head fall back on his shoulders, grinding his teeth.
“Like my day wasn't bad enough already!” he said, voice spiking into a shout on the last word. Lightning shattered his vision and he sighed.
“Maybe I should just make like a turkey and drown,” he grumbled darkly to himself, laughing without humor and moving on.
He dumped his bike by the front entrance, confident that no one would bother with the hunk of junk in its current state. Due to the late hour, he managed to reach his grandmother's room unmolested. She looked up from her book when he opened the door, practically jumping out of her skin when she got a good look at him.
“Oh, my Lord! Michael!” She wasted no time in seizing the call button to summon a nurse, jamming the button down repeatedly.
“What on Earth happened to you, boy? Come here,” she commanded, patting the bed next to her in a gesture that managed to be both imperious and concerned.
“Grammy, it's okay, I'm okay. I just had a little mishap -“ he tried to say, shifting into reassurance mode, but she was having none of it.
“Michael Ross, you will come here and sit down right this moment, or so help me,” she threatened, eyes hard despite her trembling voice. Age had done nothing to tame her spirit. Mike held up his hands in surrender and winced when she gasped at the wound on his hand.
Mike knew very well that there was no arguing his Grammy down when she thought he needed help, not after the kind of life she'd led. Two generations of teenagers (and one especially stubborn husband) and all of their bullshit had honed her wit to a fine point, and the way Mike had behaved before Harvey came into his life had ensured she kept it that way. He knew that she still wasn't sure what to think of 'this Harvey fellow.' While on the surface she was grateful to him for making Mike clean up his act, she was still leery of people taking advantage of and sabotaging her grandson.
He winced and turned his hand to get a better look at the scrape -- it was pretty bad, so he supposed her reaction was justified. When he was close enough she didn't wait for him to sit down, she simply gripped him by the uninjured wrist and yanked him down next to her. She pushed up his sleeve, warm worried eyes meeting his when she found the dirtied bandages. He lowered his gaze and she cupped his cheek gently to force it back.
“Michael, look at me. What happened?” Mike floundered for the right words, and reading the struggle on his face, she pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder. He closed his eyes and leaned into her as she smoothed the hair from his forehead and pressed a dry, soft kiss to his brow.
“Oh, Michael, Michael, Michael,” she soothed. “It'll be all right.”
He relaxed, hands cradled limply in his lap, and the words were suddenly there, pushing to get out.
“I saw somebody die today,” he told her, voice smaller than she'd heard it in years. She swallowed thickly and pressed her cheek against his forehead, squeezing him a little tighter. There were so many things Mike had seen that she would have given anything to keep him from, and here was yet one more. She closed her eyes against the swell of tears and lifted an apology to her children, for failing to keep their child from so much.
“That's why I'm all banged up,” he continued, flapping his arms a little to demonstrate what he meant. “I crashed my bike. I - I tried to help him, but I guess he was too badly hurt.”
“Why don't you start at the beginning?” she suggested gently, resettling with her chin resting on top of his head and one hand stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. She spared a thought for the whereabouts of the nurse she'd summoned, only peripherally registering his slight nod. He took a deep breath of her perfume before beginning; it was a smell that wreathed nearly all his fondest memories and went a long way towards settling any raw nerves.
“I was on my way to work this morning, coming up to a crosswalk on my bike. One of the other associates, Aaron, saw me coming from the other way and started to hurry over. This cab just gunned it and ran right into him, bam! I tried too hard to stop and crashed my bike, and when I managed to get up he was just lying there.” Here Mike paused, and she waited to push, already seeing where this was going. Her grandson wasn't usually the type to lay the blame on himself -- much as she loved him, everything he'd done with Trevor was voluntary -- but this situation was clearly different.
“I gave him CPR, the paramedics showed up and next thing I know he's dead,” he said, glossing over the emotion behind it. He untangled himself from her embrace, sitting up and trying to distance himself from the memory.
“Trevor's looked worse after one of his really bad benders,” Mike said. He summoned a paltry imitation of his usual mischievous smile, the one that invited you to join in on the joke.
Mike's grandmother squeezed his shoulder and slid her hand down to cover his, mouth tightening with humor as she actively let it go. She didn't allow his attempt at levity to deter her; one of his greatest talents had always been the ability to make her laugh in near any situation. It had gotten her through many a rough patch after the loss of her son and daughter-in-law. He'd told her what had happened, and that would have to be cathartic enough for now.
“And the fresh scrapes? Someone obviously helped you with these bandages, I know how terrible you are at wrapping gauze,” she said, lifting a castigating brow. Mike huffed an annoyed laugh and rubbed his temple, wishing for a better shield against his Grammy's all-seeing eyes.
“My bike chain snapped on the way over here,” he told her ruefully. They both looked up when there was a knock on the door and a nurse peeked into the room. Mike didn't refrain from rolling his eyes when his grandma motioned the nurse inside and pointed at him.
“Susan, Mike took a bad spill on his bike, is there any way I could get you to take care of him?” she asked. The nurse, only slightly older than Mike himself, gave him a once-over and smiled flirtatiously.
“Oh, of course, Mrs. Ross, anything for such a handsome young man. He'll have to lose some layers, though,” she said coyly, eyes sparkling with good humor. Mike sent his Grammy a censorious look when she looked the nurse over speculatively. He returned his attention to the nurse and she winked at him, grinning at their exchange.
“Let me go get a cart,” she told him. As she walked out of the room she put a little extra swing in her hips and Mike shook his head, amused. He looked to his grandmother to find a thoughtful expression on her face, and a shot of instinctual fear raced up his spine. His Grams was devious, and those expressions rarely boded well for his peace of mind.
She had never pushed for him to settle down, not only because of his youth and finances, but because the thought of something happening to Mike - her Mike - leaving his children bereft terrified her. Her health was in serious decline and she knew it; there would be nothing she could do to shield them from the system.
It hadn't occurred to her before, but the way Mike spoke of Harvey, the way his life had been consumed by this man's influence was the most emotion she'd seen her grandson display towards anyone other than Trevor and his parents. There were subtle differences between those relationships and this one; the balance between Trevor and Mike was parasitic at best by the end, and Mike had a very troubled connection with his parents before their deaths. Due to his memory Mike had felt very superior to all those around him, including his parents, and it hadn't made raising him easy on them. Lord, especially for her son, who despite all his best attributes liked to be in firm control of every aspect of his life. To have a son who so blatantly disrespected him had been a great thorn in his side. Losing them had effected a change in Mike, destroying his self-confidence and making him clingy and almost subservient for many years. One of the reasons things had become so bad with Trevor was the reversal of their established roles made him feel empowered after being brow-beaten by Mike on a near daily basis. With maturity her grandson had regained a feeling of intellectual superiority, with the glaring difference that now he did his best to hide it from those that mattered.
This thing with Harvey, though - the man was Mike's boss, but the way Mike spoke about him told her that Mike felt like his equal. Not only that, but Mike valued his opinion and went to great lengths not to disappoint him. She'd never seen him like that with a woman; he either treated them like something to be conquered or like they were only almost an equal.
Maybe there was something more to his feelings for Harvey than just a mentor or someone to be admired. She focused on Mike once again and rubbed the hand she was still holding on to. He wet his lips nervously and she let a smile curve her mouth, knowing Mike too well to miss the effect her wool-gathering had on him.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” His eyes widened and she did her best not to laugh, reading the internal groan of horror on his face. “I'm a very progressive and open-minded woman, I promise I won't be surprised. You know they're teaching me to use the computer and there are some very informative websites -“
“Whoa, whoa, Grammy!” Mike blurted, throwing both hands up to ward her off. She laughed and clapped her hands together. The nurse chose that moment to push the cart clattering into the room, taking in the scene with a grin.
“I missed something good? Shucks!” Susan closed the door behind her and eyed Mike predatorily. “Are you going to give me a show to make it up to me?”
Mike gaped, scandalized, but his grandmother laughed delightedly. He turned to his Grammy incredulously.
“I'm so glad my humiliation entertains you,” he said pointedly, and she waved a dismissive hand.
“How did I raise such a prude?” she sniffed. His mouth quirked and he shared a conspiratorial look with Susan.
“Oh, if that's how you want to play it,” Mike said. He stood and showily reached for his belt, slowly undoing it and drawing it through his belt loops. His Grammy gasped and smacked at his hip.
“Michael! Get out of here, go in the bathroom, shoo!” she ordered and Mike laughed.
“Who's the prude now?” he called over his shoulder as he and Susan disappeared into the bathroom.
Mike was patting his pockets to make sure he had everything he'd brought with him when his Gram motioned for him to come sit on the bed. She was on the edge of sleep already, her meds and the excitement of Mike's visit having tired her out, but she needed to say her piece. He settled in next to her and took the hand she'd held out for him.
“Now listen to me, Michael. You can not rationalize this,” she told him intently. “This was no one's fault but the driver's, and you did the best you could in a horrible situation. I don't want you beating yourself up about this, do you hear me?”
Mike simply nodded, throat tight around some unnameable emotion, and leaned forward to drop a kiss on her cheek.
“Thanks, Grammy,” he whispered, voice choked. She patted his hand and fixed him with a serious look.
“I expect a phone call, young man. Don't forget.” Mike chuckled and made for the door.
“Night, Grammy.”
The day dawned bright and cold, the bite of the chill air reminding tourists and New Yorkers alike that New York City was a stern mistress in the winter months. Mike was simply grateful for the opportunity to crack out his coat - it would do a better job of hiding the bandages from Harvey than his flimsy suit jacket.
He stepped off the elevator and sneaked surreptitiously to his desk, keeping a sharp eye out for Harvey or Donna while he stripped off his jacket. A hand gripped his shoulder from behind and he nearly leaped out of his skin, freezing in place.
“Good morning, Mike,” Louis said, letting go to slap his back once before moving into Mike's view. Mike did his best to ignore the supercilious look on Louis' face, not particularly in the mood to get fired for assaulting a partner. He forced a tight, polite smile and sat in his chair.
“Morning,” he replied. Louis looked at him with consideration, then twitched his neck in discomfort. A truly hideous smile contorted his mouth, displaying his tightly gritted teeth.
“How. Are. You?” he forced out, and Mike didn't bother to stifle his surprise.
“Uh, Louis, I appreciate the effort, but I'm -” Mike stopped when Louis blew a gusty sigh and relaxed, looking to the ceiling in relief.
“Oh, thank God.” He tossed a card on Mike's desk. “Conference room 7, I need those briefs proofed ASAP.”
Mike smiled genuinely and Louis stalled, blinking in confusion. He help up a finger and made an abortive attempt at speaking before his brain kicked into gear again.
“Wait, you're not going to -? Huh,” Louis closed his mouth and squinted. “Are you sure you're -?”
Mike lifted his eyebrows and Louis recovered, tugging at his cuffs.
“You know what? Never mind.” He patted the cubicle wall twice and left towards his office.
Mike was frankly relieved to be out from Harvey's notice for a time. Word that he'd been dumped on by Louis would get back to Donna and therefore Harvey, and with Harvey so clearly concerned, Mike would get a few blissful hours of peace and quiet away from the rest of the firm. There were worse things to do than the mindless song and dance of proofing.
True to Mike's expectations, he saw neither hide nor tail of Harvey until lunch rolled around. Unfortunately, that had given him enough time to relax and roll up his sleeves, leaving the most obvious of the new bandages in plain sight when Harvey finally did seek him out. Mike didn't notice when he appeared in the doorway and stopped to look him over. His eyes zeroed in on Mike's hand and he stalked over to grab him by the forearm and get a closer look, shocking Mike out of his paperwork stupor.
“What the hell -” he started, tensing when he saw it was Harvey. “Harvey! Uh, is something wrong?”
“Cut the bull, I know you know better than that. What happened?” Harvey kept his hold on Mike's arm to keep him from turning back to the files to avoid having to face him as he answered.
“Nothing happened, I just crashed my bike last night. Bad luck,” Mike said testily. Harvey looked carefully for any hint of a lie in Mike's face and found only pissy defiance; he forcibly relaxed and peeled his hand from its grip.
“Right,” he said slowly, and switched to looking over the boxes. “This is all the work Louis wants?”
Mike nodded and leaned back in his chair.
“Yeah, I think I'm almost done. Was there something you needed?” Mike asked, pointedly reminding Harvey of his purpose in barging into his fortress of sanctitude.
“We have a new case. I need you to find a few precedents, I want this argument to be rock solid. The judge we pulled is not one of my biggest fans,” he said, and Mike's interest piqued.
“You don't mean like that Judge Pearl guy?” Mike asked, and Harvey shook his head with a smirk.
“Not quite. This one just takes a little more effort to convince.” He waved a hand at all the boxes. “I hope you weren't too attached to the idea of getting any sleep tonight, because you're going to be here late.”
Mike groaned and threw his head back, rubbing his face vigorously with both hands, highlighter still held in the crook of one finger.
“When's the trial?” Mike asked, and Harvey's smirk widened.
“The day after tomorrow.”
Mike pulled his hands away and blinked blankly at the ceiling.
“Wait. Why am I doing this tonight, then?” He shifted his puzzled, wary gaze to Harvey.
“Because I said so,” Harvey told him with amusement. Mike just rolled his eyes. “Come see me when you're done with all this and I'll give you the file.”
He turned to leave, laughing when Mike called out, “That line only works for soccer moms, you can do better!”
That evening found Rachel and Mike hard at work in the stacks, looking for a precedent in one of Harvey's cases. Harvey had apparently decided that if Mike was so determined to work, he'd damn well earn his pay. Mike secretly thought Harvey was miffed over him getting to work on time that morning.
“Mr. Specter can be very petty sometimes, can't he?”
Or maybe not so secretly. Mike sighed.
“Let's talk about something else, the man's practically psychic. He'll show up at the worst possible moment and I'll never hear the end of it.”
Rachel shrugged and opened another book. They ate their pizza in silence for a while before she suddenly jumped, chair legs scraping loudly against the floor and startling Mike into looking up. A triumphant grin was spread wide across her lips, and he felt an echoing curl form on his own.
“I found it!” Her eyes sparkled as she flipped the book around and pointed out the relevant passage. “Right here, it says --”
She stopped, puzzled, when she belatedly noticed Mike's breath condensing in the suddenly frigid air. They shared a look of consternation, then slowly stood, lights flickering all around the vast room.
“What the heck?” Rachel asked, glancing towards the hall housing the thermostat. No one was there.
“Hello?” Mike called out. A high-pitched cracking emanated from the glass windows. Rachel rounded towards the noise when it crescendoed with a great crash and shrieked when she realized the shattered glass was floating in midair.
“What the hell is going on? What the hell!” she cried frantically, backing around to Mike's side of the table. Unable to look away from the threat, she cast her hand around behind her for Mike, who grabbed her hand and pulled her slightly behind him instead of answering. The glass started to swirl and Rachel buried her fingers in his shirt sleeve, tears springing to her eyes unbidden.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she chanted, voice speeding up and rising in frequency as the light reflecting off the glass danced across the room. Mike swallowed against his suddenly dry mouth, eyes stretching impossibly wide.
All at once, the glass stopped. It hung there in the air, motionless for an endless moment, before flying straight at them.
“Rachel!” Mike yelled, tugging her into his arms and throwing himself onto the floor. He curled his body around hers as best he could, hoping to protect her from at least some of the shards. She sobbed uncontrollably as the glass whipped around them, opening small cuts anywhere it could reach. Mike gritted his teeth against the pain and squeezed his arms tighter around her.
The glass fell out of the air with no warning, some pieces bouncing harmlessly off their clothes, others slicing or burying themselves into any exposed flesh. Mike heard a familiar voice swear loudly and the reverberation of approaching feet.
“What the hell happened here?” Harvey exclaimed, coming around the edge of the table at last. He took one cursory look at their entwined forms, surrounded by glass, before pulling out his phone and dialing 911. Mike let his boss's deceptively calm tones wash over him as he pulled slightly away from Rachel to look her in the face.
“You okay?” he asked, surprised to find his voice was steady. She looked at him like he was crazy.
“No,” she said, voice shaking. “I most definitely am not. What the hell just happened?”
Mike shook his head, completely at a loss himself. He slowly sat up, cuts everywhere stinging viciously. Something tickled below his right eye and he gently reached up to touch it. His fingers came away wet with blood, so he carefully wiped at his cheek with the side of his hand. Beside him, Rachel had climbed to her feet and was shaking out her clothes with trembling hands. Harvey wandered back into his line of sight and offered him a hand up. As soon as he'd regained his feet, Harvey grabbed his chin and turned his cheek into the light.
“Doesn't look too bad,” he said. His voice was hushed, worried. Mike glanced away, uncomfortable with seeing the gentler side of Harvey not just once, but three times in such a short time. The weight of Harvey's gaze lifted and he backed away as Harvey looked Rachel over for serious injuries.
“Since both of you seem to be okay, how about letting me in on the details?”
Rachel opened her mouth as if to answer, but closed it when she couldn't find the words. Mike piped up with the only possible answer.
“No idea.” Harvey gave him a lizard stare, so he embellished the simple statement. “It got really cold, the lights flickered, and then the glass attacked us. I have no idea what's going on here.”
“Well. That's not crazy at all.” Mike shrugged. Harvey sighed, aggravated at the non-answer. “Let's go meet the paramedics downstairs.”
Rachel moved willingly toward the door, but Mike balked at the simple suggestion. The wheels in Harvey's head started turning; two refusals was the beginning of a pattern.
“Something wrong, Mike?” Harvey asked knowingly. Mike shiftily avoided his gaze.
“It's not worth it, they're just some tiny cuts. A pair of tweezers and some band-aids and I'm good as new.”
Harvey sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“Look, I'm not in the mood to fight about this right now. You and I are going to have a talk about this, but for now I'll help clean you up. Again.” Harvey directed his words towards Rachel. “Go on ahead, tell them he doesn't want treatment. Take tomorrow off.”
She hesitated until Harvey jerked his head at the door, then slowly exited the room. Once she was safely out of earshot, Harvey took closer stock of Mike. He looked even more battered than he had that morning, if that was at all possible, and three suits ruined in two days would be a hard pill for him to swallow. Judging by his skittish expression, he was liable to disappear for the night if Harvey didn't rein him in.
Decision made, Harvey grabbed Mike by the wrist and hauled him towards the cubicle farm. He made for such a pathetic sight right now that Harvey wasn't totally comfortable with him running off just yet.
“Whoa! Harvey?” Mike exclaimed, stumbling before regaining his feet. Harvey ignored him and kept walking.
“Uh, okay,” Mike said, choosing to go with the flow. When they reached Mike's desk Harvey maneuvered him into his chair and shoved it into place.
“Stay here, I'll be back in twenty minutes. I have to go explain to Jessica how I don't know what happened to a couple hundred panes of glass.”
Mike just watched as he stormed away, bemused.
Mike stared blankly at his computer screen, Harvey's footsteps having long since faded from his hearing. He'd told Harvey that he had no idea what had happened, but that wasn't quite the truth. He did have an idea, it was just so patently ridiculous that he could barely stand to admit to himself that he'd come up with it, let alone suggest it to Harvey fucking Specter. It's not like there was a plethora of explanations for flying glass.
He took his mouse in hand, still debating if he really wanted to go looking this type of thing up, especially on his work computer. Imagine if one of the other associates found this in his search history; he'd never live it down. Not owning a personal computer ultimately left him with no other choice - he wouldn't be caught dead doing a search like this on the computer he'd (stolen) won from Benjamin in IT. Irritated with himself for being indecisive, he stopped thinking about it and just acted; he had less than twenty minutes left, anyway. If he didn't like what he saw in that time he'd simply give up on the notion, as he already should have.
He opened Google and clicked on the search bar. Temporarily stumped, he wondered how the hell he was supposed to go about looking up, 'Today some glass up and jumped my ass. Am I being haunted?' He glanced up to make sure Harvey wasn't approaching, then punched in 'ghosts attacking people.' The search came up with a ton of hits, as expected, and he nervously scrolled down the dauntingly large list. There were a lot of unusual hits, but... there it was. His eyes honed in on a forum thread titled Testimonials on a website called - hellhoundslair.com, really? Mike tore his incredulous gaze from the screen to check again for any sign of Harvey before clicking on the link. The depths he was sinking to were a new record, even for him, he reflected disgustedly.
As soon as the page loaded, an ad popped up and cheesy music came blaring through his speakers. Mike scrambled to shut them off, terrified at the prospect of Harvey and Jessica descending upon him like wrathful gods over his misuse of company property. Blissful quiet fell when he managed to hit the power button, and he froze, ears perked for any sign his bosses had heard. After a few minutes of silence he figured he was safe and turned back to his monitor. The ad had disappeared after playing through, so he scanned the page for the testimonials thread. He scoffed at many of the various discussion titles; most of them were ridiculous and obviously posted by teenagers.
When his eyes lit on the thread he wanted, he felt slightly encouraged by the lack of stupid usernames. He followed the link and quickly browsed for any likely candidates, suddenly very aware of his waning time frame. People were claiming to have been saved from everything from a wendigo to Bloody Mary, but there was one woman that stuck out as almost credible. She said her house had been cured of a haunting by two very tall and intimidating young men and an older woman who was psychic. In fact, on further examination it seemed that most of these testimonials had claims of a pair of young men showing up in an old Impala and saving the day before driving off into the proverbial sunset. The cynical thought that these men were probably cons setting up these paranormal events was interrupted by Harvey's voice emanating from directly behind him.
“What on Earth are you looking at?” Harvey's cultured tones almost sent Mike reeling from his chair, so badly was he startled. Mike mashed at the red close button in a panic, heart trying to beat right out of his chest.
“Harvey!” He laughed nervously and checked his watch. “It's been twenty minutes already? Time sure does - “
“Save it,” Harvey interrupted, repressed smile making him appear almost affectionate. “We're going.”
Relieved at the lack of chastisement, Mike grabbed his bag and silently followed Harvey out.
The bartender placed their drinks on the table and moved on quickly. Harvey let his gaze bore into Mike, hoping he could force some sane answers to exist by sheer force of will. Admittedly, it was very hard to keep a straight face when every visible inch of Mike's skin was peppered with band-aids.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Harvey?” The question was quiet enough that Harvey was tempted to pretend he hadn't heard it, but he was too realistic for that. This must be why Mike had been looking at that absurd website earlier. He exhaled deeply, debating his reply.
“That would require some belief in the after life.” He lifted his glass and swirled the amber liquid while he chose his words carefully. “I'm not so arrogant, or foolish, as to think I know whether they're real.”
Mike took a deep swallow off his beer. Harvey wistfully wished for the return of their easy, flirtatious exchanges.
“That's the only explanation I can think of. It has to be Aaron that attacked me. His death was my --” Mike started, but Harvey cut him off.
“Shut up. I know you heard me earlier.” He stared into space thoughtfully. “Maybe there was a freak A/C accident?”
Mike gave him a dirty look and Harvey chuffed.
“See, right now you're getting it,” he said, smirking. Mike groaned in disgust and desperately gulped his beer. Harvey took the chance to reflect on the insanity of their conversation.
“Maybe there's something in the water and the three of us imagined the whole thing,” Mike suggested, thoughts apparently falling in line with Harvey's. He poked his own cheek to test the validity of his assertion. Nope, the cut still hurt, if the grimace he made was any indication.
“Let's sleep on it. Maybe we're still under the influence.” Mike nodded sagely at this suggestion, like it was an old Chinese proverb. They finished their drinks in companionable silence, Harvey ruminating on the new asshole Jessica had torn him, and Mike trying not to think at all. On the other side of the partition by their table, a pair of young men dressed in well-worn clothes exchanged a meaningful glance.
Harvey steered Mike toward the door before he could flag down a waiter for another beer. He stuck him in a cab and tossed more than enough money to cover the fare at the driver. The cab pulled away from the curb, allowing Harvey a clear view of a gorgeous 1960's Impala parked across the street. He admired it for a few moments before waving over his own cab; this late at night he wouldn't bother Ray for a ride. Harvey watched a couple of good-looking men approach the classic car with no small amount of jealousy as he told the cabbie his destination.
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