Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Neal doesn't really do portraits. All of his works (his original works at least) are not of portraits. Still lifes, landscapes, even graffiti. Hell, he once covered a canvas in black paint and only put one dot of white paint in the dead center. Admittedly he might have been drunk but the point stands.  The only ever one he did was of Kate. Two days after the explosion he had sat down in front of a canvas with some wine and when he had finished her face gazed back at him. He burned that painting, and no one, not even Mozzie, knows about it. He's not going to burn this one though. He cant bring himself to destroy it. Not the face so different from his own, but with the same clear blue eyes. He loved Kate, he really did. But he'll always love his brother more.

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Peter likes to think he knows Neal. He's not foolish enough to go as far and say that Neal could never surprise him (that ship has sailed a long time ago) but he knows who Neal is. He knows how he likes his coffee, the way he hides his laughter when Diana gets something wrong but will still go the mile to make it right for her. He knows the triumphant smirk and the swagger that Neal has when he beats Peter at something. He knows that Neal loved Kate, and maybe some part of him always will, but he also knows that Neal loved Sarah too, disastrous and bright and destined to end. He knows that Neal loved Ellen, that her death hurt him more than anything else he had gone through. Peter knows that more often than not, Neal is a mess hidden behind three piece suits and the flip of his hat. He knows he will never know the bottom of Neal's contact list, or the depth of Neal and Mozzie's brotherhood. But he likes to think that the most important parts of Neal he knows. The things that really matter.

(There have been times where he thinks Neal hasn't shared much with him at all. Not the important parts anyway.)

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Harvey set rules the first time he met Mike. No weed, no bullshit, and no Trevor. The first and the third aren't a problem. It's the second that he wonders about sometimes. He remembers lying in bed with Mike one night, long past sunset. They were still awake, still running off the high of winning a case earlier. He remembers tracing circles on Mike's chest absentmindedly, thinking about family. When he'd said as much, Mike had laughed.

"Marry me first, ok Vin Diesel?" His smile has been bright and teasing, and Harvey had playfully punched his shoulder.

"That's not what I meant."

"And what did you mean then?" Mike's light tone had faded, giving way to a more serious line of thought.

"I was just wondering," Harvey shrugged. "You know. What other family you had besides Edith. Like a Donna."

"You mean someone who would literally commit murder for me?" Mike joked, but Harvey could see there was some tension in his face.

"You know what I mean," He replied, softly. He didn't want Mike to be scared of telling him anything.

Mike blew out a breath. Harvey could see him schooling his face, putting up a wall. It hurt him, to see Mike hide from him, but it was okay for now. They'd figure it out sometime in the future.

Mike turned, facing away from Harvey. When he spoke Harvey held his breath, as if that would convince Mike to tell him the truth.

"No," He said, quiet and slow, as if saying it like that could make him believe it, make him forget the hurt. "No, I don't have anyone else."

Harvey slipped his hands around Mike's waist, pulling them together. They'd be ok. They'd figure it out.

"You have me," He offered, even though he knew it was different. He could feel Mike smile though, so it was worth it.

"It's not the same," Mike rolled over, facing Harvey. "This is better."

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Sometimes remembering is a gift. Sometimes when his memory gets them a win, he relishes in Harvey's triumphant smile and Donna and Rachel dragging him for drinks.

Other times he hates it more than anything. He hates remembering every single part of his grandmother's chart. He hates remembering every single detail that the nurses told him when she died. He hates remembering every single part of the apartment he had bought for her.

He doesn't know how to feel about remembering Neal. He loves his brother. He always has, always will, that's something he knows will never change. He remembers every single part of their childhood together. He remembers Neal distracting him from their mother and her problems, even though it never quite worked. He remembers Ellen, and all that she did to help them. He remembers coming to New York, for the first time, feeling something swell in his chest at his first sight of the city.

He remembers everything after that too. Meeting Mozzie and conning people with Neal and finding their grandmother. They didn't recognize each other at first, and Grammy never let him forget the fact that the first time he had met her he had accidentally dumped a cup of coffee on her.

He remembers meeting Alex, and her stupid nickname for him. They ran cons together, sometimes with Neal and sometimes without. Then Neal met Kate, and everything changed. He remembers the look on his brother's face when he first told Mike about Kate. He remembers what happened when everything with Adler collapsed, and Kate moving in with them.

He remembers the bad stuff too, like meeting Trevor and nearly getting arrested the first night they went out. He remembers Neal dialing his mother's number, and then hanging up before she could pick up. He remembers it all, even if he can't tell anyone.

The thing about not telling anyone about that life before means he doesn't get to share all the stuff that he loved. He knows for a fact that Harvey wouldn't care about any of the stuff they got up to, legal or not, and would probably just laugh his ass off. He also knows that Rachel would love to hear about that one night in Queens, that Donna should never be introduced to Alex or, he shudders to think, Mozzie, for fear of replicating the Caravaggio fiasco, or worse. World domination is probably something that she will achieve sooner or later, but for now he just wants Donna to be happy with Manhattan. There are also just some memories that he wishes he didn't hold so close to his chest.

The day he came home, when he opened the door and there was a random surprise party. Everyone screamed surprise the moment he walked through the door, to his ultimate confusion.

Alex had popped a champagne bottle, and whispered that she was proud of him. Mozzie had clapped him on the back and congratulated him for pulling a huge con that could get them into a lot of places. Kate had been reduced to no words and had instead squeezed him in a hug so tight could barely breathe. Grammy had pinched his cheeks and told him she was so proud of him over and over until they were both crying. He didn't even know why he was crying. Neal just stood there, hands in his pockets, a huge grin on his face. Kate was wiping away tears on her face as the doorbell rang.

"That'll be the pizza," Neal said, still grinning. While everyone was distracted momentarily, Mike turned to his brother.

"What the hell is going on?" His face was the picture of confusion. "Did I forget my birthday or something?"

"First of all, that's literally impossible for you," Neal said. He kept trying to school his features, but the grin just kept coming back. "Second of all, welcome to Harvard, Mike Ross. You'll be completing your undergrad with us, as well as your law school."

Silence. Then, "Mike Ross?"

"Mozzie knows a guy."

"Is it good? Will it work for the rest of my life?"

A snort, then a look. "You want to voice your doubts to Moz yourself?"

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Neal has a personal grudge against whoever invented mortgage fraud. Seriously. If he has to go through one more then he will rob the goddamn Met and pin it on Mozzie just for some excitement. Where's the creativity, the dazzling skills that stun FBI agents, himself included. He's just tired of playing poker all day with Jones and pretending to work when Peter or Diana walks by. Hughes has officially joined in on their betting pool, and so has that pretty intern with the gorgeous undercut.

He's going to win, though. He'll swindle them out of their cash when they aren't paying attention, and by the time the realize he can deny, deny, deny. Ah, the joys of an office job. In the meantime, that two-finger point Peter is giving him will sufficiently quash his boredom.

He walks into the conference room, to find a gorgeous Black woman in her late forties talking to Jones. She seems to be fussing over him, smoothing down the wrinkles in his suit and handing him a napkin to wipe away a bit of mustard on his cheek from his lunch. Her demeanor changes when Neal, Peter, and Diana enter the room, turning from affectionately aunt-like to alarmingly shark-like. Jones almost looks sorry for them.

"Agent Burke," The woman stands, extending a hand. "I am Jessica Pearson."

Peter shakes her hand, and she turns her gaze onto Neal and Diana.

"Agent Berrigan," Diana says, shaking her hand.

"And this must be your CI," Jessica says. "Forgive me if I do not shake your hand, Mr. Caffrey."

The amusement is clear on Jones' face, as is the confusion and shock on Peter and Diana's faces. Neal schools his expression, before it betrays anything more than slightly impressed. He smiles at her, unbothered. Her gaze only narrows, and he tries his hardest not to waver underneath it.

"What can we do for you, Ms. Pearson?" Peter says, shaking off his moment of unclarity.

"Auntie Jessie here runs Pearson Hardman," Jones says.

"Pearson Hardman?" Diana says at the same time Neal says, "Auntie Jessie?"

"I'm sure you've heard of us," Jessica says, gaze unwavering. "And I am a close friend of Clinton's mother. That's why I came here with my problem."

"And what exactly is your problem?" Peter asks.

"Daniel Hardman," Jessica's voice takes on a slight edge. "The guy with the name next to mine on our building. The man who's trying to frame one of my senior partners."

Chapter Text

The thing about being in love with his boss is that no one can know. There are exceptions to that rule, obviously. Jessica knows, because she has to. Rachel knows, because she's Mike's best friend. Jenny knows, because they got drunk and he told her. Grammy knows too, because she could tell just from the way Mike talked about Harvey. And Donna knows, because Donna exists. He doesn't know if there's a universe where Donna could never know.

He wishes that Neal could know. He thinks about it, only sometimes though. He wishes a lot of things, even if seeing Neal again isn't quite on par with living on the moon.

If there's one person who absolutely, completely, cannot know, it is Daniel Hardman. He'd use it to take down Jessica, and probably to get Harvey disbarred. Mike's not going to let that happen. He tells himself that it's the thing that matters most. He reminds himself of all the consequences of him not doing this. He can do this, shatter his heart to get this done. He has to. He has to.

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Harvey's ears are ringing. He doesn't understand. He doesn't know what to do. He's speechless: him, the great Harvey Specter, and he can't say a word. This is fine. It'll be fine. Everything will be fine.

"Harvey?" Mike's voice is soft and unbearable. Harvey wants to scream, or cry. Neither is acceptable. "You still with me?"

Harvey let's out a laugh, sounding jagged and wrong to even his ears. "The whole point of this conversation is that I'm not with you anymore. You just broke up with me, remember?"

"Right," Mike nods, stiff. They lapse into silence.

The thing is, Harvey was expecting this. How stupid of him. And now that it's happened, the fact that it's for the stupidest reason on the planet hits him harder than he was expecting. He could deal with anything else (he really couldn't, he can't deal with this, because he loves Mike, this was never something Harvey could manage), but the fact that the reason is Daniel Hardman? No. Just no.

They're sitting in Harvey's apartment. It strikes him, that he's lived here for so long and yet now his surroundings seem to taunt him. They'll forever hold this moment, frozen in the very essence of the walls. He thinks briefly, hysterically even, of moving and dismisses the thought almost immediately. These walls hold more of him and Mike then just this memory.

Harvey closes his eyes. He doesn't know how his train of thought got so off course that he's thinking about selling his goddamn home. He breathes, for a moment, pulling something, some sort of mask on his features and his emotions, if only to get through the next ten minutes. When he opens his eyes, he thinks he can handle maybe at least the next two minutes. He may also be rounding. Up. From a lot less than two.

"Okay..." There's something awkward between them now, and Harvey doesn't know how to fix it. He also hates how his voice comes out slightly raspy, like he's on the edge of tears. "I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

Mike exhales, blinking slowly. When he speaks, it's quiet, and Harvey has to clench his hands so that he doesn't reach out to comfort him somehow.

"Yeah," Mike's looking down, at his hands. "We've got that special case Jessica gave us, right? The one with the FBI?"

Harvey nods. "It's a sensitive case, so we'll meet her there tomorrow for more details. Ray will take us from the office."

"Ok."

Silence again.

"I should get home," Mike doesn't meet his eyes eyes. Harvey just nods.

They stand, the awkwardness a barrier between them that pierces his heart. When they're by the door, Mike pulls on his shoes as Harvey looks down at the floor. Mike straightens, stepping through the door. Harvey catches his wrist before he's gone.

"Mike," It's a question, a statement, one that he's not brave enough to voice any other way.

"I'm sorry," Mike whispers.

He slips out of Harvey's light grip, and walks away.

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Neal's never going to forget "Auntie Jessie" ever. Even now, when Jessica turns around to talk to Peter, he mouths it behind her back to Jones. Jones makes a rude hand gesture back. They both school their faces into innocent smiles when Peter and Jessica are done talking, while Diana stifles a chuckle.

"Harvey should be here soon," Jessica says.

As she says it, a well dressed man is walking through the doors, followed by another man with a messenger bat slung over his shoulder. Neal feels the breath leave his lungs.

Mike looks good, tired, but good. He thinks that Mike probably didn't get that much sleep last night, and he keeps glancing at the other man. His suit is slightly rumpled, as if he tried to look good but gave up halfway through. Neal's frozen just looking at him. The last time he saw him was years ago. Before he got caught, when Mike was almost through with law school. He realizes that he didn't get to see Mike graduate law school, or pass the bar, or get his first job, or anything. For one moment, all the emotion in his body is self-hate. 

Mike hasn't seen him yet. He thinks he should go out and say something to Mike. He dismisses the idea almost immediately, he doesn't know if he could even move right now, let alone say something to Mike. Mike, and the guy he assumes is Harvey based on Jessica's reaction, are almost to the conference room. He doesn't know what to do. What does he even say? He's panicking. This is the first time he's seeing Mike in years. Mike doesn't even know he's out of prison. They're in the conference room now.

"Agent Peter Burke," Peter's shaking Harvey's hand now.

"Harvey Specter," Harvey flashes a charming smile. "And this is my associate, Mike Ross."

Everyone turns to Mike, except Neal who hasn't looked away from him since he walked in. Mike's frozen in the doorway, staring at Neal. Jessica and Harvey look concerned. Peter looks slightly freaked out. Diana and Jones are used to everything at this point. Everyone is confused.

"Neal?"

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Peter's confused. He glances at Diana, just to make sure this isn't something that he should know and finds her just as confused. Jessica and Harvey also don't know what's going on.

"Neal?"

The guy, Mike Ross, his voice sounds like he's close to shattering. Like the only thing holding him up is the fact that he's standing, like that might change in two seconds. Harvey shifts, reaching for Mike slightly, and then pulling back as if something changes his mind. For his part, Neal looks like someone just punched him in the gut. He looks vulnerable, in a way that Peter doesn't see often, and not really in front of other people.

"Mike," Neal croaks out. Peter decides he probably needs to figure out what's going on here.

"Neal," He says carefully, and everyone turns to look at him. "How do you know this guy?"

Neal looks pained, and Peter considers that this is one piece of information that Neal probably never wanted to share with him. He doesn't know how to feel about that.

"I'll save you the trouble," Mike says. "He doesn't."

Then he walks out.

Chapter Text

Logically, Mike knows that his reaction might be slightly unreasonable. He knew, he knew Neal was out. He also knew that New York was incredibly large. He knew that the chances of them running into each other again were slim.

So the universe decided to fuck him over, again. This is fine, he is fine. He is walking out of the FBI building. He is dropping on the steps and burying his face in his hands. But that's fine. He is fine.

Fuck.

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Neal drops into a chair and buries his head in his hands. That was Mike. Mike who just walked out, who he has just seen after years.

"What the hell just happened?" The lawyer, Harvey, demands.

"Neal," Peter's voice is much more controlled. "Who was that?"

He opens his mouth to say something, to say something, anything but there's nothing. There's nothing to say. He wishes there was because the silence filling up the room is awkward. Everyone is staring at him and he doesn't know what to do.

Eventually Diana seems to take pity on him. She whispers something in Peter's ear, and he nods.

"Go home," He orders.

And well. Neal can't find it in him to argue.

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Mike sits on the steps outside the FBI building. This. This is something that he doesn't know how to deal with.

There's a hole in his chest. A hole that Neal left in his chest when he left Mike. The thing is, he understands why Neal never contacted him during prison, or asked him to visit. He never wanted Mike to have to be involved at all with the feds. Doing so would have painted a target on Mike's back for the FBI to exploit.

But he doesn't understand why Neal never contacted him when he got out. He had every chance. Mike even tried to reach out to him, to send a message. All he got was confirmation that his brother was still alive but nothing from him. Not a word.

Now, seeing Neal is like the hole is opening again. Except this time is been sewn messily back and opening it up again hurts twice as much. He wants... god, he wants Harvey. He wants to be held. He wants to sob into Harvey's shoulder. Except he can't. He ruined the best thing he had going for him. And now no matter how much he wants to go sprinting back into Harvey's arms he just can't.

Get up, he tells himself. Get up. It's just you. No more knight in shining armor. So he does. He stands and turns back to the FBI building. He steels himself, preparing to walk back in with an excuse and an apology. Then he promptly loses his nerve because he can see Neal. Neal who is walking towards the doors. Neal who is thankfully stopped by someone.

Mike turns and sprints to Ray's car. He taps on the window frantically.

"Christ, Mike, what the hells wrong?" Ray says, rolling down the window.

Mike spares a glance to the doors. Neal is almost out of them, but he thankfully hasn't spotted Mike yet.

"Can't explain right now, just let me hide in the backseat," He manages.

Ray looks like he wants to argue, but he must see something in Mike's face because he hears the click of the lock and then he's nearly diving into the backseat.

He pulls the door shut and drops down to the floor of the car, ignoring Ray's spluttering as he kneels, peeking out the window to see where Neal is.

"Mike, what the fuck?" Mike has never heard Ray sound so unprofessional, but he understands that the situation isn't all that great.

He has never been more thankful for tinted windows in his life. Neal glances around, clearly looking for Mike. His gaze catches on the car, and his brow furrows slightly. Mike swears as Neal makes his way over, ducking beneath the window and pressing himself into the car floor. Ray notices, and picks up the book he was reading before Mike came barreling out of the building. Neal taps on the window. Ray doesn't even spare a glance for Mike, just rolls down his window.

"How can I help you?" Ray says with a practiced smile.

"Hi," Neal starts. Mike has burrowed himself so far down the backseat so there is no chance either of them could see each other, but he hears the nervousness in Neal's voice. "I'm looking for someone who came out of that building." Mike assumes he points back towards the FBI. "He has blonde hair and blue eyes, and he's about five eleven. He would have been wearing a suit, carrying a messenger bag. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

Ray, to his credit, doesn't even bat an eye. Side effects of working for Harvey Specter, Mike guesses.

"No, sorry," Ray says. "I've just been reading my book. Haven't really paid attention to anything."

"Right," Neal says slowly. Mike shuts his eyes and prays that it works. "Are you sure you haven't seen anyone like that? He probably--"

"Look," Ray cuts in smoothly, though not unkindly. "It's New York. I drive all around the city and probably see a million people every day. I wasn't even paying attention. I've never seen your guy."

"Right," Neal says again. "Right, well have a nice day."

He walks off, and Mike waits until Ray nods at him to peek out the window. He sees Neal, for a flash, before he disappears around the corner. He drops back on his ass and lets his head fall against the window with a small thunk, eyes falling shut as he breathes out a sigh. Ray just watches, confused.

Mike can't face Neal. In all honesty, he hasn't had any contact with anyone from his past life since Neal got out. Before it was the occasional drink with Alex when she was in town or running a small con with Mozzie for the hell of it. After, when neither of them gave him an explanation, he'd stopped talking to them. And he was fine. It had been years. He'd got his job, even if he'd had to pretend he'd went to Harvard instead of NYU, and he'd fallen steadily into love. Except now that had all imploded in his face, with Daniel fucking Hardman he was probably going to lose his job because of his loyalty to Harvey. And anyway he'd exploded his relationship with Harvey. Even if it was for the greater good.

Maybe he wants to say fuck the greater good. Because even if Daniel Hardman would weaponize his and Harvey's relationship, at least they'd have each other. At least they'd have that. But Mike is too much of a do gooder, pushes for justice all that he can, and that isn't it. And Harveg couldn't anyway. Mike wouldn't force Harvey to walk away from all this. He knows Harvey might have done it, he might have (would have) walked away for Mike, and he wasn't letting that happen. So there. Fuck Mike, not the greater good.

Mike is too lost in thought to notice anything happening. The car door opens with a soft whoosh and he's falling. (How fucking symbolic. He's falling.) And then because the car is parked close to the curb he isn't bashing his head out on pavement, no, he's falling onto leather shoes and soft, perfectly pressed pants. He blinks, and raises his hand to block out the sun that's suddenly in his eyes. Harvey stares down at him.

"Mike." Harvey's voice is smooth as always. "Why the fuck are you on the ground?"