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whumpdoyoumean · 6 months

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Whumptober #21

“What are your choices when someone holds a gun to your head? You do what they say or they shoot you, right? Wrong! You take the gun. You pull out a bigger gun or you call their bluff or you do one of another 146 other things.”

146 other things.

The words echo around in Mike’s mind. It seems a little ridiculous now, as there is an actual gun pointed at his head and he can’t think of a single damn way out of it. Harvey also appears to be at somewhat of a loss, his hands above his head in a fashion similar to Mike.

The armed man is calm, casual. He glances over toward Donna’s desk. She’s crouching behind it, and Mike guesses that she’s calling 911 right this second--if she hasn’t already. The man doesn’t seem concerned.

“Your issue is with me,” Harvey is saying. “Let Mike go. He has nothing to do with this grudge of yours.” His voice is calm, too, but forced. There’s an edge of desperation to it.

The man looks over at Harvey now and smiles.

It freezes Mike’s blood.

“’This grudge of yours,’” the man repeats. “Funny, you say it as though you actually remember me.”

“I do,” Harvey says, voice as level as ever. “I do remember you. Harrison. Joe Harrison. Your case was back when I worked with the DA’s office. Put you away for robbery and attempted murder, isn’t that right?”

Harrison’s face flickers, just for a moment. Then he nods slowly. “You do remember me, then. You remember what you did to me?” His tone is losing its measured steadiness.

“I seem to recall the judge and jury sentencing you to a fair bit of prison time. Why don’t you put the gun down and we can talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you,” Harvey says slowly, reaching forward.

“Don’t move!” Harrison barks, turning the gun on Harvey. Mike starts to move forward, but Harvey gives him a warning look, shaking his head just slightly. “You think I wanna talk to you? Hm? You think I got this--” He waves the gun for emphasis. “--to talk? You think I killed my parole officer to talk? No. No more talking! My brother is dead. I didn’t even get to go to his funeral!”

Mike feels the blood drain from his face, and his stomach turns. This guy’s already killed today. There’s no coming back from that. But Harvey, ever his Harvey self, doesn’t seem phased.

“Your brother,” he says, his voice taking on a gentler tone. “Devin, right?”

“Shut up!” Harrison’s voice is pitched up, and loud, the facade all but gone as he steps forward and holds the gun under Harvey’s nose. “Don’t you say his name! You don’t get to do that!”

Harvey’s remaining remarkably calm, staring at Harrison. All Mike can look at is the gun. He wants to move, but he can’t.

“Well, you obviously came in here with something in mind, Harrison,” Harvey says. The gentleness is gone. There’s poison in his words. His face is hard. Mike wants to tell him to shut up but he’s terrified that anything he does will set Harrison off.

“I’m getting tired of standing here,” Harvey continues, “and my shoulders are sore, so either do what you’re gonna do, or leave.”

Harrison stares. His hand is shaking. He stands quietly for a long moment, long enough for Mike to think that maybe things are going to turn out okay, before he snaps.

“You arrogant son of a bitch!” he shouts, bringing his gun down against the side of Harvey’s head. Harvey goes down, holding his temple as blood starts pouring from the cut.

“Harvey!” Mike cries, shaken from his fear-induced paralysis by the need to make sure his mentor--friend--is okay. He’s hardly taken a step before there’s a deafening crack, and suddenly he’s back against the wall, sliding to the ground. Donna is screaming and Harvey’s shouting his name and it isn’t until he feels the warmth of blood spreading over his thigh that he realizes what’s happened. The pain comes a second later, and he gasps, black spots swimming in his vision.

“Shit! Mike!” Harvey’s yelling, and Mike can’t see him because Harrison is standing in the way.

He answers the moment he catches his breath enough to speak. “I-I’m okay. H-Harvey? I’m okay,” he calls, hoping the pain doesn’t come out in his words.

“Don’t worry, Mike. I’m gonna get you out of this,” Harvey responds. There’s movement behind Harrison, and Mike sees Harvey get slowly to his feet. Harrison is breathing heavily.

“That’s your fault!” he shouts. “I didn’t want that!”

“What did you want?” Harvey asks. He’s holding his head with one hand (a bloody hand), and the edge of his desk with the other. For the first time on this hellish night, he looks scared. His perfectly sculpted hair has fallen partially, hanging down over his forehead, and there’s blood running down his face and neck and settling on the collar of his shirt. Mike has heard that head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but the amount of red is unsettling.

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Harrison is running his free hand through his hair. The other hand holds the gun. “I had a plan, I did, I did, but you--” He points the gun back at Mike. “--weren’t supposed to be here, and neither was she! You mixed me all up!” He stops talking at the sound of sirens, looking up.

Mike’s not a religious guy, never has been, but he finds himself praying that the sirens are stopping outside the building. They do, and Harrison and Harvey make eye contact.

“They’re coming up here,” Harvey says. “No matter what you do, they’ll be here in the next minute or two. This doesn’t have to end with anyone dying.” He straightens up from the desk and puts himself between the gun and Mike. “Joe--”

There’s another gunshot, and Mike can’t stop the scream that rips from him.

“No!”

xxx

Donna watches as Harvey crumples to the ground and wants to scream, but Mike is in hysterics, and she can’t afford to be. Harrison is standing over Harvey, pointing the gun at his head, and yelling incoherently. Donna has no idea what he’s saying, but he’s waving the gun around and there’s no way she’s going to let him kill Harvey.

No way in hell.

She takes her heels off and straightens up from where she’d taken refuge behind her desk, slowly, quietly. She picks up the vase from her desk. Mike eyes her through the window, still in tears, but he quickly looks away to avoid drawing Harrison’s attention.

Atta kid.

Her bare feet don’t make a sound as she takes a few quick strides into Harvey’s office.

Harrison doesn’t turn before she brings the vase down on his head. It shatters (which is definitely going on the company payroll), and the man falls bonelessly to the ground beside Harvey, the gun clattering to the floor. She quickly kicks it toward Mike.

“Mike,” she says, dragging the unconscious Harrison out of the way so she can get to Harvey easier. Mike is staring at the blood spreading across the carpet beneath Harvey. The kid’s face is white as a sheet and shiny with sweat, and his leg is bleeding all over, and he’s gasping and saying Harvey’s name, begging and swearing and saying please be okay over and over like a prayer. Donna had been about to tell him to pick up the gun and hold it on Harrison until the cavalry arrives, but she isn’t sure he could even hold a gun, much less aim or use it if the need arises. Plus he needs to put pressure on that leg and besides, she can hear them coming up the stairs.

“Mike!” she says again, louder, and Mike looks up at her, eyes wide.

“Huh?”

“You need to try and slow down the bleeding in your leg.” She drops Harrison’s arms. He doesn’t move or make a sound, and she wonders vaguely whether she killed him. Not that she cares.

She returns to Harvey’s side and she knows for sure.

She wouldn’t give a shit.

Harvey is splayed on the floor, his white shirt no longer so, and he’s gasping for air. Donna loosens his tie, then moves her hand up to smooth Harvey’s hair back from his forehead. His eyes are open, but they’re glassy and roaming.

“Harvey,” Donna says, only her voice cracks and it ends up being more of a whisper. She clears her throat, swallows.

“How is he?” Mike asks, and Donna flashes him a tight, fake smile (not her best one, but still maybe convincing?).

“He’ll be fine, Mike. How are you?” Her hands are over the wound now, and she hates the feeling of his blood on them. She wonders vaguely if it’ll ever wash off.

“I’ll be fine,” Mike responds.

They both look up as SWAT gets to the floor. The one in the lead looks around the room and lowers his gun partway.

“This the shooter?” he asks and Donna nods. He says something into his earpiece that Donna doesn’t catch, and two other SWAT guys come in and whisk Harrison away. While they do that, he gets down on his knees next to Donna, pulling a pair of rubber gloves out of his pocket and putting them on. “Sir, can you hear me?”

Harvey’s gaze slowly shifts to the man and he nods slightly.

“My name is Pat, I’m gonna help you while we wait on the paramedics to get here. Can you tell me your name?”

“H…Harvey. ‘s Mike okay?”

“My buddy Jimenez is helping Mike right now,” Pat says. “I’m just gonna get your shirt open, get a better look at that wound.”

“Where are the paramedics?” Donna says as Pat yanks open Harvey’s shirt.

“There was a big pile-up, things are a little backed up...they’ll get people here as soon as they can, ma’am.”

“That’s bullshit!” Donna cries, and she can feel the panic she’s been pushing down all night threatening to erupt.

“S’okay, Donna.”

She looks down in surprise. Harvey is smiling up at her. Well, grimacing, really. He’s trying to hide it, but she can see the pain--in his eyes, the way they crinkle at the corners, in the slight downturn of his eyebrows, the tiny ridges between them, in the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

“I’m-” Harvey continues. He swallows, blinking hard. “‘m alright.”

“Of course you are. I know that,” Donna says. She looks back at Pat, who’s rifling through a pouch at his hip. He pulls out a clear circle of plastic with a tab on one side. “What is that?”

“This is a chest seal. This is going to keep air from entering the chest cavity and collapsing his lungs.”

Donna has to blink back tears as Pat pulls the backing from the chest seal and presses it over the bullet wound. Suddenly Mike lets out a loud cry, and Donna turns sharply, heart hammering.

“Mike?” Harvey says, eyes widening as he slowly cranes his head, trying to look at him. “Mike?”

“Jimenez?” Pat calls over to the officer next to Mike.

“Had to apply a tourniquet to his leg, sir,” Jiminez says, and Pat grimaces a little.

“Those can hurt,” Pat says to Harvey, “but it’ll get the bleeding stopped.”

“I’m okay, Harvey.” Mike’s words are strained with pain, but Harvey relaxes a little at the sound of his voice.

“Are you okay, Donna?”

Donna looks up at Pat, a little startled at hearing her name. “I’m fine.”

Pat is eyeing her closely. “Are you sure? You’re looking a little pale.”

Donna’s not sure why that’s what does it, but suddenly there are tears streaming down her face. She takes a shaky breath. “I’m fine,” she repeats a little louder.

“If you need to take step away for a minute, take a breather--”

“I’m not leaving him,” she says firmly. Pat nods.

“I understand.”

“Sir?” someone says from the doorway. “The paramedics are here, they’re on their way up now.”

Donna looks down at Harvey and tries to smile. “You hear that, Harvey? Help is here. You’re gonna be okay.”

xxx

#whumptober2023 #no.21 #“don't move”#suits #fic #gun tw #shot #blood #mike ross #harvey specter #suits fic #whumptober #my writing #my fic #whump #whump fic

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