I've Got Questions, You've Got Answers, and I Need Them

It had been three months since Mike had left, and not so much as a phone call had passed between them. No emails, text messages, letters, no sign that Mike was doing alright at all except for what Jessica told him after she'd checked in on the firm's best protégé. It made him sick – both physically and emotionally. He'd been losing sleep – well, more so – and he'd barely been eating. He'd caught the flu twice since Mike's departure, and had more or less felt like hell even when he wasn't hung over a toilet.

Donna was worried, Jessica, Marcus, Louis, hell, even Travis Tanner was worried. Harvey had still beat him, but barely. There had been attempts at talks, bar nights, movie nights, days off, anything to get Harvey back, but they were to no avail. The man was quickly losing himself, and there was nothing anyone could do. He was drowning and without a lifeline. Mike was supposed to be that lifeline. He wasn't the rock he had once been. Instead of keeping Harvey grounded, he was dragging him into the depths of the ocean and he couldn't breathe anymore.

That's why, he'd decided to take a couple extra pills before climbing into bed that night, chasing it down with a glass of scotch, and praying as hard as he could to whatever god could hear him, that he'd finally get some sleep – and hopefully a dreamless one at that. It was a surprise that Harvey would go to such dangerous extremes to escape his pitiful reality, but it was even more of a surprise when, on that night of all nights, the phone rang painfully loud at three a.m.

His head seemed to be exploding when he rolled over in bed, instantly regretting his choice of sleep aid, and glanced at the too-bright screen of his phone. He didn't recognize the number, but it was the area code that had him shooting up straight in bed and choking out a "Hello?" into the phone before he could so much as clear his sleepy voice.

"Harvey?"

"Mike." His voice was rough and barely recognizable, but the other man paid no attention.

"Hi, I… Sorry it's so late, I…"

It was silent for a few minutes. Harvey was scared to chase off Mike again. He was so nervous around him. If he said the wrong thing, the conversation would end before it began, and Harvey couldn't have that. Not after so long. Mike's voice was like a siren's song calling him, and the thought of the other man hanging up made him feel like a crack addict about to lose his stash.

"Is it ok that I called?"

"Of course." He relaxed back into his pillows, closing his eyes and focusing on the soft, anxious voice speaking into his ear. "I told you, you can call me at any time. Any reason, Mike."

There seemed to be a sigh on the other end before the voice spoke again. Was that relief or defeat? "It's just… I've been having these dreams…"

"Tell me about them." Harvey urged when again Mike seemed lost for words.

"They're about you mostly." The voice was thick. Confused. Unsure of how to proceed or if he even should. "I was hoping you could separate the dreams from reality."

Something inside of Harvey squeezed and the ill feeling left by the drugs and alcohol was replaced by the flu-ish feeling again as his fretfulness reached new peaks. "By all means."

There was a pause again, until with newfound confidence, Mike began again. "Ok, uh, so the first one is us walking through Central Park with Grammy, and we're eating ice cream and making dinner plans."

Harvey swallowed and nodded to himself. "Dream."

"Ok, how about this one?" Mike seemed a lot less fazed by the word than Harvey was. "We're at the beach, we went away over Christmas. You're lying on your stomach tanning, and I come out of the water and soak you."

"Dream."

"This one's a little weird… I hope you don't… I mean… Ok, just… We're at work, and I pull you into a room where there's no other people and we…"

"We what?" He knows this never happened either, that he would never have dared touch Mike in the workplace, but the idea that Mike had thought about him in that way at all gives him a strange feeling of hope.

"You know… things."

Not wanting to push the issue, Harvey concedes. "Dream." Mike lets out a frustrated sigh, probably around the same time Harvey gives into the first set of tears he's lamented since right after Mike had woken up. He still didn't remember.

"Please don't think this one is too weird. I know it's a dream but maybe there's something in it that's connected to something."

Harvey has to swallow a few times before he can trust his voice enough to respond. "Shoot."

"We're walking, it's winter time, we're looking at the lights around Time's Square. You take my hand and pull me over to one of the street musicians where people are dancing, and you make me dance with you. You were a great dancer in the dream by the way. The song ends, and you get down on one knee." Harvey doesn't respond. "Sorry, I know it's—"

"Memory."

"What?"

Harvey can't respond. He feels like he's choking. Of all things for Mike to remember…

"Harvey?"

"I'm sorry, I'll… Call me if you have anymore," he swallows again. "Dreams. Hope you're doing ok." And he hangs up. He can't do anything else. He's falling apart and Mike's probably freaked out enough now and definitely does not need Harvey weeping through the phone at him.

He's not staggered in the slightest when he finds himself rushing to the washroom again – frankly, he's amazed he'd even lasted that long after his pill cocktail earlier that night. He jumps in the shower once he's recovered, and hopes he'll be able to make it in to work the next morning. Being alone is probably not the best thing he could do, it seems.

A/N: Sorry, it's been a while! I've been working seven days a week *sob*… Tuition bills came in. And this is only undergrad! I can't even begin to imagine what a master's will cost… I'm going to do my best to start posting regularly again, so don't give up on me!