Brother from another mother

Faith AU

"Jessica, please," Harvey says. "You've given up everything for this firm. It's time someone gave up something for you."

The walls cave in until it's just the two of them. A mentor who threw a kid in the mail room a bone — recognized the glint in his eyes from her own mirror, and gave him the chance to build himself up — and the dog without a leash, who finally feels like he has done something to begin repaying her for everything she has done for him.

They live in the silence for a few moments, until their glasses are empty. The world, ever-moving in their existence, seems to have quietened down to a murmur. The lights are dim, the laptops have shut down. Somewhere a vacuum cleaner starts, but it's far enough away that it almost blends in with the vibrating quiet.

It's the perfect song to end the record of this life that Harvey has built, and unlike every other time it almost came to this, he doesn't want to fight it anymore. At least not now.

And yet.

"Jessica..."

"Not now, Harvey."

"You don't know what I was going to say," Harvey says, a little indignant at the fact that she knows him better than the back of her own hand. Because the truth is that there is only one other person who knows him better than her and he's the whole reason Harvey has to push forward on this regrettably ill-timed conversation.

Jessica looks up at him, glass of scotch midair, and raises a tired eyebrow.

"I know the next two things you're going to say," she says and lifts up three fingers while still holding onto her glass and brushing her hair back with her index finger. "One: You're going to make some movie-related quip about me predicting your words like this. Two: You were going to make your case to let Mike Ross stay on."

She gives him a second to argue — he won't because, well, he didn't just fall off the turnip truck — before she continues, "And that is, frankly, a conversation that I am too tired for at the moment. Right now, I just want to share a drink with my partner before... Well, before."

She looks exhausted. Harvey's never seen her like this — a shaking hand, pronounced bags under her eyes, and a look of near-despair that almost has Harvey wanting to jump up and find another solution. Any solution that doesn't require putting that expression on her face.

But, Harvey just sips his drink. He did what he should have done. For once, he did the right thing.

When his drink is finished and there is no good reason to linger anymore, he places the glass carefully on the table and gets up. Fastens the button on his suit, wipes a hand inconspicuously along a crease on his right, and straightens his shoulder. He looks down at Jessica, her eyes still fixated on a point far away, exhaustion only seeming to settle deeper into her. He takes a few steps until he's standing next to the back of her armchair and gently places a hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you," he chokes out in a whisper while squeezing lightly. The words are not enough. Nothing will ever be enough. But it would be worse if he never said anything at all.

Jessica's hand comes up to his for a quick pat, an almost maternal or sisterly gesture that they're both unfamiliar with, and then it's gone.

It's a shorter walk to his office than it usually is. He doesn't have any profound feelings about his time walking the halls or any nostalgic memories with Sheffield's secretary or the stupid vent in Conference Room D. He's sure if he tried, he could come up with something. But he's too busy swirling a glass of dread in his mind.

Harvey's been dreading telling Mike about his resignation. Sure, there's questions about how he'd react and what he'd say, but Harvey was more concerned with voicing his fate to the one person he can't take it back from and the wave of shame that swept him up when he thought about leaving Mike vulnerable at the firm.