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Did It Hurt When You Fell From Heaven?

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Did It Hurt When You Fell From Heaven?

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“I-I'm not lying! I swear to God!” their client's opposition shouts. His doughy hands begin fingering the cross at his neck, clammy with sweat.

Harvey smirks and Jessica shoots him a warning look. “And we're sure you take your beliefs quite seriously, Mr. Greyson, but the fact of the matter is, we can't know for certain. The evidence denotes otherwise,” she cuts in, to keep her senior partner from earning them an unwanted lawsuit. He wouldn't be nearly so tactful.

Harvey rolls his eyes, but behaves and lets her wow him for the rest of the meeting. She is pretty amazing. He wouldn't let anyone boss him around if they weren't. When she loosens her grip on his leash, however, he lets out a sigh of relief. Let Louis be her lapdog next time.

It isn't that Harvey doesn't believe in God. He didn't used to, but recent developments have convinced him, to put it lightly. He just isn't part of the Sunday morning crowd, that's all. And he's really glad to be getting home, for a somewhat unrelated but also relevant reason. It's complicated.

He waves at Ray without looking back when they reach his condo, and hears the town-car's engine whir behind him. “Mr. Specter, someone should be up to take a look at your ceiling soon,” the doorman informs him.

Harvey stiffens and dredges up a smile. “Yes, well...they can take their time. I know how busy work can get.” This inspires a more appreciative regard from the doorman, who's apparently surprised by Harvey's blasé charity. He ducks his head respectfully as Harvey lopes past, and seemingly doesn't notice his rush to get to the elevators.

Harvey lets himself relax inside one of the glass structures. The world seems so different within it. He wonders, the same way he's been wondering for the past week, if this is what it looks like for Mike? The sunlight broaching through his shattered ceiling, at the very top floor, does nothing to disperse his ruminations, but it makes it all too evident that his living room is empty.

“Mike?” Harvey calls out, his heart already starting to palpitate in his ribcage. With his injuries, caused by a sudden confrontation with the aforementioned ceiling, there was no way Mike would be running amok. Harvey runs into the hallway and begins tearing through the whole apartment, Mike's name a mantra on his lips.

There's no way Mike can survive all by himself. He's clumsy, he's afraid of the fire alarm and the stove, he thinks Harvey's two thousand dollar shoes are meant to wear on hands, that imported European treasures are shiny toys to juggle. He's pretty, with his glowing blue eyes and his small, birdlike mouth. Everything about him is beautiful, pure, and no one will nurture that the way Harvey tries to. The thought of anyone violating Mike is enough to run Harvey's blood dry.

And then another thought stops him cold. Mike doesn't speak, not while Harvey's awake. It was only in Harvey's dreams, the night Mike fell into his life, that he first revealed, ”Harvey Specter, righteous man, I am the archangel Michael.” He's an angel – the prince of goddamn Heaven, if Harvey remembers Sunday school correctly – so what if Mike is gone? What if he went back home?

He hears a rustle from another room. It's enough to send air back into Harvey's lungs, which strain when he rushes to the source of the sound: his bedroom. He enters and he's not so certain of that anymore.

His clothes are strewn all over the floor, so that he can't even see his plush carpet. He now notices that the cushions from his living room have been relocated to the bed, as has every blanket and sheet in his house, his Japanese silk robe, guest room pillows, and a few stuffed animals Donna gave him that he'd thought were hidden better – basically, anything and everything soft within a mile radius.

Amid the mess sits Mike, who stares at Harvey with his huge blue eyes, a sweet smile forming on his mouth, his ivory wings spanning throughout the entirety of the room and shedding delicate feathers that will be a pain to clean up tomorrow.

He cocks his head at Harvey's gruff, “You really scared me, puppy,” and doesn't protest when Harvey climbs up beside him, his careful hands reaching out to touch Mike's wings. Red spots blot the white of feathers and bandages alike, but less than the day before. “You made a nest, huh? Guess you're really here to stay?” Harvey asks.

Mike doesn't answer, does nothing but beam all the brighter, yet Harvey feels his heart elate in a way it hasn't for years.

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Fin!

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