Brother from another mother

"Grief is the price we pay for love. "

Harvey poured a glass of scotch before settling on his couch and turning on the television. It was a rare night that he stayed in alone, but he was glad for the opportunity to relax. The more scotch he downed, the more he felt the tension leaving him.

And then his cell phone rang.

He debated for a minute about picking it up. He wasn't the only partner at the firm. Surely it could survive the night if he just stayed here and melted into his couch. But he was much too much of a type A personality to just let other people do his work. So he picked up, not even pretending to be happy about being called this late just as he was settling in to quite a nice night. "What?"

"Harvey..." That was all it took. Harvey was on his feet, already looking for shoes before Mike could get any more of that sentence out. The kid sounded broken. "Sorry it's so late."

"What's going on?" Harvey asked, thinking that this could be about Mike's grandmother again, or maybe those dealers had come back to collect, or another emergency room visit after a shoot-out.

"They stole my bike. And the money. I couldn't get a cab and I can't...No way I can walk back to my apartment. Can you just call a car? Or a taxi? I'll pay you back, Harvey."

"Where are you?" Harvey demanded, looking around for his keys. He rarely drove his own car (even if it was a gorgeous Ferrari Enzo) and could never remember to put his keys in the same spot. When Mike was quiet for more than a couple of seconds he barked. "Mike! Where are you?"

"I don't...I can't remember." There was a hitch in the breathing. "But there's a Pisa's Pizza down the street next to Two Fella's Pawn Shop."

Harvey cursed. He knew exactly where Mike was, in one of the worst parts of the city. He found his keys and flew out of the apartment, taking the stairs because there was no way he was waiting for an elevator. "I'm on my way, Mike, just keep talking. Are you hurt?" This should have been his first question, and the silence on the other end was loud to his ears.

"Please hurry." Mike's voice was barely a whisper, and Harvey found himself shouting uselessly as the line went dead.

Contrary to popular belief, New York does sleep. Not until much later than other cities, but past midnight the traffic is nothing like six or seven at night. Which is good, because Harvey could have never sat in traffic after that conversation.

By the time he was approaching where he thought Mike would be, Harvey was nervous about what he would find. He turned so that his headlights shone down the alley and at first he saw...nothing. Trash bags and fire escapes but nothing, nothing that would point him in Mike's direction.

And then he heard the groan, and he was out of the car like a gunshot, praying that there would be no severed limbs or bleeding belly wounds. Praying that this was just the kid getting scared of his own shadow, and there was nothing the matter at all.

As if he could be so lucky.

"H-Harvey?" Mike says, sounding so surprised to see him that Harvey had to wonder whether he'd hallucinated the whole conversation. The kid was bent over double, one arm cradling the other, and his suit was torn, revealing long scratches underneath.

"Jesus, kid, what happened to you?" Mike gives Harvey a look like what do you think? and Harvey just has to hope that maybe the younger man isn't going to die on him after all. "C'mon, let's get you up. It's okay. You're going to be okay."

He pulled Mike up, and the smaller man was dead weight in his arms. Lucky for him Harvey had gotten the work-out bug from a Junior High coach and had never quit, or he never would have been able to support Mike all the way to the car, where the headlights revealed injuries that made Harvey blanch. He pulled open the passenger door and used a method that was half-shoving, half-lifting to roll Mike in, trying to ignore the wince of pain, the hitch of breath. "Easy. You're going to be okay."