Mike looks down at his watch, swears under his breath, scrubs at his eyes roughly and looks back at the computer screen in front of him, typing furiously. Harvey should be here any minute and Mike isn’t even close to being done with this brief and shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Mike keeps his eyes on the screen, types even faster if possible. “I’m sorry, Rachel, but whatever it is, I don’t have the time right now. I had to finish this brief for Harvey, like, an hour ago.”
He licks his lips, makes a quick correction, and keeps typing.
“It’s about Harvey.”
He turns to look at her and the look on her face makes him immediately uneasy. He pulls his hands from the keyboard, says, “What about Harvey?”
“Donna called.” She hesitates a moment, her eyes wide and shiny, reaching out to him. “There was an accident.”
Mike stares at her, can barely make his mouth form even one word. “What?”
“Harvey was in a car accident, Mike.”
Mike bolts up and out of his chair and goes running down the hallway, barely even registers Rachel’s shouted words of comfort behind him, has just enough sense left to take in the name of the hospital.
Mike isn’t sure how he gets there, he has no idea how long it takes, but he can feel the panic reaching inside him, gripping him tight like a vise, and no matter how hard he tries to breath, to relieve the pressure, all he can feel is it growing stronger, building faster, threatening to pull him under.
He sees Jessica in the hallway and runs toward her and she holds out a hand to stop him, grips his arm, but he doesn’t stop, he can’t stop, he won’t, and as he fights to get his arm free, she gets a look of understanding on her face and says, “Room five thirty-six. The impact was on his side of the car.”
He pulls his arm free and runs down the hall and and toward Harvey’s room before he can hear what else she has to say, before he can hear her tell him he’s losing someone else he loves. There isn’t anyone else left, doesn’t she get that? Doesn’t everyone? There isn’t anyone else left but Harvey. He’s all Mike has.
He stops in front of the door and yanks it open, and the vise gets harder and stronger and so much more painful, and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe.
He drops his head to his chest and gasps for air, but his body won’t take the oxygen in. He can’t bear to look into the room, even as he stands in the open doorway, and his hand grips the handle as he feels tears start to fall.
He can’t breathe.
He hears Donna’s whispered, “Mike,” but he turns away from her when she tries to take his hand, tries to offer comfort.
Mike’s eyes jolt open and the noise that comes out of his throat is high, pained, as he looks across the room and sees Harvey sitting on the bed, alive and okay and looking at him like he’s so glad to see him and he’s sorry and Mike dives across the room toward him, falls into the chair by the side of the bed, drops his head to the bed.
He presses his head as close as he can to Harvey’s thigh, presses his face into the sheets and lets the tears fall, gasps for air, feels the panic like a living thing. Harvey presses his hand to the back of Mike’s neck, whispers nonsense words to him, shushes and comforts him, tells him he’s okay, he’s here, he’s fine, Mike’s okay, they’re both okay.
Mike leans into the touch, feels the vise begin to loosen, leans into Harvey’s touch, barely registers Donna and Jessica in the room with them.
“His parents died in a car accident.”
Mike gasps, scrunches his eyes, and Harvey squeezes the back of his neck, brings up the other hand to run through his hair.
“Shh, you’re okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.”