Chapter Text
Carry your cross and I'll carry mine
Dig your own hole and you'll be fine
Build your own tower until heavens devour
Your very last hour
-Present time-
He doesn’t know exactly how he got here, or why the hell he’s secured to a chair with rope, swimming in the freezing water of his porcelain bathtub. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t know why he was where he was, and that for the first time in his life, he was honestly at fault and regretful. His skin was already starting to shrivel like a prune, after a good six hours attempting to break free of his makeshift prison, bribing his captor and occasionally throwing threats when neither of the first two options worked.
A stainless steel kitchen knife dangled above his head, swinging back and forth and gave the occasional flash of its deadly sharpness. He’s tired and weary; his hands have fallen asleep and lost most of their circulation from the too tight rope. Both of his legs are bruised from his last attempt of escaping, it only ended up landing him back into the cold contents of the bathtub. With each and every one of his options running out, he dons his usual poker face he’s used so many times in court, silently praying (not that being religious right now wouldn’t hurt) it will work. He looks up and pushes his bleeding forehead against the porcelain bathtub, his eyes moving slowly towards the direction of his captor.
His captor is leaning on a matching porcelain sink, completely at ease in contrast to Harvey’s tense one. Blue piercing eyes stare right into his soul, dragging out the guilt from where he buried it, bringing it out into the light. It’s hard not to show the turmoil going on inside him, and it’s almost impossible to keep himself from holding on to his façade. Those same blue eyes tell him otherwise, they tell him that they can see right through his falling mask of perfect calmness. There is the obvious surprise, followed by remorse, and finally by anguish.
Somewhere in the batch hides a tint of anger, though that might just be from the current situation he finds he’s in. The face of his captor is all too familiar, a face he’s been exposed to for the last two years. There is no trace of the naïve, ‘always-trying-to-please’ associate that used to work at Pearson Hardman. Used to meaning that Mike was alive and breathing just three days ago. Three days ago that Harvey tried to blur away with alcohol and work, often trying to mix the two to see how far that would get him. Mike is entirely pale like the sink he’s been leaning on for the last six hours, wearing three day old clothes soaked with his own dried blood, and Harvey’s fresh blood.
- Six Hours Ago -
God damn it Harvey, are you listening to yourself?! Harvey placed both his hands over his feverish forehead. The headaches were going from mild to completely unbearable, and no amount of pain killers were making them go away. Donna had hovered over him all morning, with questions and a few threats that he should just go home and rest. Harvey dismissed her questions as soon as she spoke them and dogged those threats with little success. The ringing in his ears grew stronger when he approached the door to his apartment, the key falling from between his fingers with a loud clang.
Everything was silent, no honking of cars from the outside, nor hushed whispers from a distance. Harvey looked at his surroundings and is slightly startled when he realizes that for the first time since he was in his office… something was definitely off. How did I even get home? The fact that he couldn’t even remember walking out of the firm, his usual brief conversations with Ray as he was driven to his condo or the daily greeting from the doorman alarmed him.
“Mike, I thought you were-“ Harvey’s mind kept rewinding to the scene from three days ago, the horrifying events of an argument gone wrong. Harvey was sure that as soon as he had stopped panicking about washing the non-existing blood of his hands with boiling water, he had temporarily taken matters into his own hands. It had been a moment of desperation and weakness, and now he was regretting leaving Mike’s body stuffed in a closet and unsupervised for three days.
Mike had either still been alive and had managed to crawl out of the closet and his apartment, or he was definitely hallucinating. Either way, Mike was now standing in the middle of his kitchen holding a knife towards his direction; with a skin crawling smirk on his face.