And This is What Panic Sounds Like In Your Head
Title: And This Is What Panic Sounds Like In Your Head
Author:
replacethekiss or nomoreskinnyties @ tumblr
Word Count: 2k
Pairing: S.W.A.T Harvey/undercover!Mike
Warnings: Violence, swearing, slash.
Summary: After recieving a phone call from his idiotic but brilliant undercover snitch, Mike Ross, Harvey gets the S.W.A.T. team together and for once in his life, he realizes that he cares about someone. That if this mission fails, there's no way he can continue. It's win or lose - and Harvey's specialty is winning.
Notes: I knew I had to write this after seeing this post on Tumblr, because holy shit I love the idea of Harvey saving Mike's sweet ass and trying to be indifferent about it, but he can't because the kid's almost just been killed. When faced with one of the hardest situations, people's true colours always start to interfer with logic and reason, and I feel that no matter how calm Harvey is, if he sees Mike in physical danger, his brain will scatter. Enjoy!
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And This Is What Panic Sounds Like In Your Head
“You can’t do this Harvey!”
“It’s ridiculous. You’ll get yourself killed.”
“Ever hear of a suicide mission? Yeah, this is one of those. Don’t go, you crazy motherfucker.”
“You know suicide missions are my specialty.” Harvey shrugs his shoulders as he yanks his gloves on, drops his helmet onto his slicked back hair, his hands cold on the cold, sleek, metal of the submachine gun, growing warm in his grip. He is going to get in that building if his life depends on it.
Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe he should be listening to his team behind him, jumping out of the van and rushing up to the run-down, front door - but he will be damned if something happens to that kid, who’s now a hostage in a high risk situation. But he has he has a plan, even if his team doesn’t think he does. The neighborhood is shabby and sketchy. It’s not a place Harvey would ever go if he had a choice, but he doesn’t right now. Mike is in there.
His voice sounded so desperate through the quick five second call that had only been thirty minutes ago.
Harvey hopes that he isn’t too late.
“Specter, why the hell are you so intent on this? It’s just a few drugged up civilians-” And Harvey recognizes it as Lance and immediately, he turns around, the corners of his eyes hardening as he speaks through gritted teeth.
“A few civilians? You got this job, on my squad, because you wanted to help people - to save them from the bad guys. That is exactly what we’re doing, even if it’s just a few civilians and you know what? Someone I know is in there.”
“I didn’t know you were capable of caring,” another man from Harvey’s group pipes up and they enter through cautiously, the gritty entrance already making Harvey’s skin crawl. It’s the perfect drug den, dark, small, a possible home but easily maneuverable and he can’t help but swear under his breath as he sees a hand in a doorway, unmoving and covered in bright red blood. And for a moment, this odd, uneasy feeling forms in Harvey’s stomach and he quickly steps his way over to the body, rounding the corner to see that thank God, it’s not Mike.
No. He has to stop caring - emotions get in the way of progress, which cause people to screw up. Harvey’s job allows no room for mistakes and if one were to be made - which has never happened - it could just very well mean the end of his life.
Stepping into the living room with two men flanking his sides, eyes on the dark window to his left, he hears a shout from upstairs, definitely male, then a series of gunshots. At once, he’s heading for the stairs. There’s desperation in the way he moves and fuck, he needs to be thinking clearly right now, but the idea that had been Mike’s scream - it scrambles every single thought he has.
And as he’s making his way up the steps, he has his sights aimed down. Instantly, a man jumps into his view and Harvey doesn’t have time to process it because he sees the gun, sees the man’s finger going for the trigger and Harvey beats him to it. The man falls down a few stairway steps before he’s stationary, dead, and Harvey doesn’t even need to take a quick breath as he makes it to the second floor, his shoes making the floorboards creak underneath. Yanking the magazine out to be on the safe side, he presses his back against the wall before he shoves the next round in, reloading as he turns the corner. All he sees are blood stains in the carpet. He hears more shouting a couple of rooms away.
“I don’t- ah!” And that voice is so easily recognizable that Harvey rushes down the hallway, without any of his team in sight. He can hear them calling for him downstairs, but he’s gone. He’s so close. He can hear something being slammed around behind one of the closed doors and Harvey has to make a decision quickly. The minute he kicks in the door, he has to act faster than he has ever in his life.
He’s worried yet terrified, for one split second, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed by emotions and he’s wasting time but fuck - this is Mike. The stupid little shit that’s wormed his way into his life. And how is it that someone he met on the streets became such a big deal to him? Sure, he’s helpful in naming the local dealers, in finding huge drug deals for him and his team to bust, and in helping him name the people involved in the shootings; he’s a huge book, filled to the brim with vital criminal information, that often ended up with Harvey pocketing huge bonuses - a moderate fraction going to his little underdog. After all, the things he chases are far from petty - these are drug lords, people who commit mass murder and dangerous crimes.
Gripping his gun tighter, he can hear Lance running up the stairs, possibly Jack in tow. He knows now what he has to do. The instant his foot collides with the door, it falls down and he has to aim quick. He watches as if the scene unfolds in front of him in slow motion.
There’s Mike in the middle of the room, struggling with his dumb noodle arms against a thicker and stronger man which, Harvey recognizes, as their number one target. He sees the knife in the enemy's hands. He watches as Mike turns around and sees him. There’s hope in his eyes, that he’ll make it out of this failed mission alive but there’s also livid fear, cuts in his suit, blood dripping down his nose, and bruises forming on his face. In the fucking moment of faltering, the taller man grabs Mike and yanks him back, gripping his fingers tightly into Mike’s shoulders, knife pressing against his throat. Mike’s hands fly to the man’s arm, trying to pull it away with his feet kicking wildly, but Harvey can see the blade almost pressing hard enough to break the skin.
And Harvey will be damned if this son of a bitch doesn’t go down for the things he’s done to Mike.
It’s obvious who’s faster as Harvey lines up his sight and the dealer doesn’t have a chance before the bullet flies right between his eyes, causing him to stumble back and fall to the ground with a big thud. They stand for a moment, silent, both processing what has happened and when Harvey finally looks at Mike, the kid is stumbling over towards him, arms outstretched and finally, when he’s close enough, he flings himself onto Harvey. It’s awkward, with the amount of gear Harvey’s got on but, without a second thought, Harvey lets his gun fall to the floor. He wraps his arms tightly around Mike, not giving a fuck about anything else.
“You came. Fuck, you came. I was… I…” And Mike’s choking to get the words out as he forcefully buries his face into Harvey’s shoulder, shaking violently, his composure breaking down because he finally feels safe.
“Hold on.” Harvey mumbles as he pulls away, but he feels Mike hold onto his arm, like a scared child. Hastily, he bends down to pick up his gun. Foolish. What if there had been another guy around the corner? With Mike right behind him, he peeks out the door to see Lance kicking down another, hearing the scream of a young woman and child. Harvey turns his head away to see Jack come out of the room at the end of the hall, a quick thumbs up to signify that they’re clear.
“It’ll be alright, ma’am! Just come with me. Hey Specter, one in there.” Harvey looks back to see Lance escorting the mother and child out down the stairs. Harvey shakes his head then glances around, glancing subtly at Mike.
“Six dead downstairs!” He hears a man yell from the bottom of the steps.
“Two in that room,” Lance groans and frowns as he walks up behind Harvey, his eyes looking over the man beside him. “Enemy or friend?”
Mike turns around, looks at the muscular man, decked out in SWAT gear just like Harvey, eyeing him with intensity and he’s struggling to find his tiny voice. “Friend.” Mike manages to get out, and when he sees Harvey look at Lance and begin to say something, he can’t help but talk out of turn.
“There were nine. Nine men.” Mike blurts out frantically. Harvey looks at Mike, perplexed for a moment until he realizes that someone is still alive in the house and, most likely, fucking everything up - destroying evidence, or either getting ready to blow their brains out. Suddenly, something catches Harvey’s attention over Jack’s shoulder and he takes notice of a lanky man and immediately recognizes the AK-47 in his hands.
“Twelve o’clock!” Harvey shouts and raises his gun, but as he fires his shots he hears another loud round echoing in his ears. As he watches the thug fall down to his knees, something feels wrong. And it’s not until he hears Mike asking him if he’s alright that he looks over to his shoulder; he sees the blue material of his uniform turning darker and wet and he groans in pain as he begins to slump down onto the floor. He’s made a mistake.
A dumb mistake.
“Harvey! Hey, I’m right here, alright? I’m right here for you.” Mike follows him down, gripping his other arm, and squeezes, reminding Harvey that he’s still there, -- that he isn’t going anywhere. He faintly hears another thud and Mike’s terrified yelp, along with more steps running up the stairs. There’s the muttering of someone saying something about an ambulance, Jack’s name shouted in a scared tone and something is in his hand - oh, Mike’s hand. Mike’s squeezing tighter and tighter until Harvey turns his head and looks at the kid.
“You’re gonna make my hand explode, Mike. But hey, we got him. We got the-- the son of a bitch,” he mumbles and watches as Mike’s eyes fill with dread. He’s not squeezing as tightly as he was before.
When he feels as though Mike’s hand isn’t there anymore, he lets go.
“Harvey - wait!”
***
Sometimes he feels as if it were his fault, for distracting Harvey with that one critical moment that cost a man his life. That if he hadn’t gone into that drug den unprepared, none of this would have happened; the seat next to him at the funeral wouldn’t be empty and he wouldn’t feel this shitty. Sitting here in his black suit made things all the more uncomfortable; he tried picking one that didn’t look like the one he had worn to the deal but it was impossible. They all looked the same on the rack, and on him. He hadn’t been in a mood to buy suits. He doesn’t think he ever will be again.
He has to move on, finish with the drug business. Every day, he’s risking his life. Every day, he’s fighting forces that he can’t control or manage. He can memorize names, locations, the things he reads, and it’s amazing. But it’s useless when he’s staring down the barrel of a gun or having a sharp knife pressed against his jugular, blood daring to spill all over the gritty floor of whatever shady apartment he’s in this time.
“Hey, pup. Move over.”
Mike looks up to see Harvey frowning and instantly, his heart skips a beat and he shuffles onto the empty seat. They both sit in silence, listening to the priest at the front of the room before the spotlight is handed to Jack’s brother, who then begins to read a long eulogy, losing both of their interest. Harvey’s supposed to be in the hotel, but it doesn’t surprise Mike that he would leave for his comrade’s funeral.
“I’m sorry, I let you down--,” Mike began.
“You let me down? I don’t… think so.” Harvey frowns, rolling his shoulders and grimaces. Albeit there are a few stitches and scars, but it wouldn’t hinder his abilities. Instead of going on about how he truly feels, he shuts up. Because this is a funeral and people around them care, just like he does right now.
Mike watches the older man at the podium, taking a deep breath before he continues, voice shaking and wavering. Mike’s not so sure he would be able to say anything if it were Harvey's funeral. It’s a thought he pushes away quickly, replaced by Harvey’s whisper.
“Jack was a great man.”
“Yeah?” Mike whispers back, then looks to Harvey, surprised. He never expects him to talk about how he feels, only expecting him to dish out the facts of the mission, or what he wants, sometimes, when they’re alone together. It was silly of Mike to think that there was more to that statement but Harvey doesn’t continue on. He sits quietly, like the rest, and Mike looks back to the front. Out the corner of his eye, he sees a woman sobbing, two kids to her right. It makes Mike’s throat tighten and he has to look away, look at Harvey instead because he’s lucky.
He’s selfishly lucky that it was Jack, and not Harvey.
***
“I should go talk to the family,” Harvey murmurs as he looks tiredly at Mike, and Mike has to fight every fiber in his being to suggest they just head home. But he loses against himself anyways.
His words seemed rushed, in case he feels like he might change his mind halfway through the sentence. “No. You’re tired. Let’s go home, you can talk to them tomorrow. Let’s go.” Mike takes Harvey’s hand in his own and gives him a quick squeeze.
And this time, Harvey doesn’t let go.
Author:
replacethekiss or nomoreskinnyties @ tumblr
Word Count: 2k
Pairing: S.W.A.T Harvey/undercover!Mike
Warnings: Violence, swearing, slash.
Summary: After recieving a phone call from his idiotic but brilliant undercover snitch, Mike Ross, Harvey gets the S.W.A.T. team together and for once in his life, he realizes that he cares about someone. That if this mission fails, there's no way he can continue. It's win or lose - and Harvey's specialty is winning.
Notes: I knew I had to write this after seeing this post on Tumblr, because holy shit I love the idea of Harvey saving Mike's sweet ass and trying to be indifferent about it, but he can't because the kid's almost just been killed. When faced with one of the hardest situations, people's true colours always start to interfer with logic and reason, and I feel that no matter how calm Harvey is, if he sees Mike in physical danger, his brain will scatter. Enjoy!
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And This Is What Panic Sounds Like In Your Head
“You can’t do this Harvey!”
“It’s ridiculous. You’ll get yourself killed.”
“Ever hear of a suicide mission? Yeah, this is one of those. Don’t go, you crazy motherfucker.”
“You know suicide missions are my specialty.” Harvey shrugs his shoulders as he yanks his gloves on, drops his helmet onto his slicked back hair, his hands cold on the cold, sleek, metal of the submachine gun, growing warm in his grip. He is going to get in that building if his life depends on it.
Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe he should be listening to his team behind him, jumping out of the van and rushing up to the run-down, front door - but he will be damned if something happens to that kid, who’s now a hostage in a high risk situation. But he has he has a plan, even if his team doesn’t think he does. The neighborhood is shabby and sketchy. It’s not a place Harvey would ever go if he had a choice, but he doesn’t right now. Mike is in there.
His voice sounded so desperate through the quick five second call that had only been thirty minutes ago.
Harvey hopes that he isn’t too late.
“Specter, why the hell are you so intent on this? It’s just a few drugged up civilians-” And Harvey recognizes it as Lance and immediately, he turns around, the corners of his eyes hardening as he speaks through gritted teeth.
“A few civilians? You got this job, on my squad, because you wanted to help people - to save them from the bad guys. That is exactly what we’re doing, even if it’s just a few civilians and you know what? Someone I know is in there.”
“I didn’t know you were capable of caring,” another man from Harvey’s group pipes up and they enter through cautiously, the gritty entrance already making Harvey’s skin crawl. It’s the perfect drug den, dark, small, a possible home but easily maneuverable and he can’t help but swear under his breath as he sees a hand in a doorway, unmoving and covered in bright red blood. And for a moment, this odd, uneasy feeling forms in Harvey’s stomach and he quickly steps his way over to the body, rounding the corner to see that thank God, it’s not Mike.
No. He has to stop caring - emotions get in the way of progress, which cause people to screw up. Harvey’s job allows no room for mistakes and if one were to be made - which has never happened - it could just very well mean the end of his life.
Stepping into the living room with two men flanking his sides, eyes on the dark window to his left, he hears a shout from upstairs, definitely male, then a series of gunshots. At once, he’s heading for the stairs. There’s desperation in the way he moves and fuck, he needs to be thinking clearly right now, but the idea that had been Mike’s scream - it scrambles every single thought he has.
And as he’s making his way up the steps, he has his sights aimed down. Instantly, a man jumps into his view and Harvey doesn’t have time to process it because he sees the gun, sees the man’s finger going for the trigger and Harvey beats him to it. The man falls down a few stairway steps before he’s stationary, dead, and Harvey doesn’t even need to take a quick breath as he makes it to the second floor, his shoes making the floorboards creak underneath. Yanking the magazine out to be on the safe side, he presses his back against the wall before he shoves the next round in, reloading as he turns the corner. All he sees are blood stains in the carpet. He hears more shouting a couple of rooms away.
“I don’t- ah!” And that voice is so easily recognizable that Harvey rushes down the hallway, without any of his team in sight. He can hear them calling for him downstairs, but he’s gone. He’s so close. He can hear something being slammed around behind one of the closed doors and Harvey has to make a decision quickly. The minute he kicks in the door, he has to act faster than he has ever in his life.
He’s worried yet terrified, for one split second, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed by emotions and he’s wasting time but fuck - this is Mike. The stupid little shit that’s wormed his way into his life. And how is it that someone he met on the streets became such a big deal to him? Sure, he’s helpful in naming the local dealers, in finding huge drug deals for him and his team to bust, and in helping him name the people involved in the shootings; he’s a huge book, filled to the brim with vital criminal information, that often ended up with Harvey pocketing huge bonuses - a moderate fraction going to his little underdog. After all, the things he chases are far from petty - these are drug lords, people who commit mass murder and dangerous crimes.
Gripping his gun tighter, he can hear Lance running up the stairs, possibly Jack in tow. He knows now what he has to do. The instant his foot collides with the door, it falls down and he has to aim quick. He watches as if the scene unfolds in front of him in slow motion.
There’s Mike in the middle of the room, struggling with his dumb noodle arms against a thicker and stronger man which, Harvey recognizes, as their number one target. He sees the knife in the enemy's hands. He watches as Mike turns around and sees him. There’s hope in his eyes, that he’ll make it out of this failed mission alive but there’s also livid fear, cuts in his suit, blood dripping down his nose, and bruises forming on his face. In the fucking moment of faltering, the taller man grabs Mike and yanks him back, gripping his fingers tightly into Mike’s shoulders, knife pressing against his throat. Mike’s hands fly to the man’s arm, trying to pull it away with his feet kicking wildly, but Harvey can see the blade almost pressing hard enough to break the skin.
And Harvey will be damned if this son of a bitch doesn’t go down for the things he’s done to Mike.
It’s obvious who’s faster as Harvey lines up his sight and the dealer doesn’t have a chance before the bullet flies right between his eyes, causing him to stumble back and fall to the ground with a big thud. They stand for a moment, silent, both processing what has happened and when Harvey finally looks at Mike, the kid is stumbling over towards him, arms outstretched and finally, when he’s close enough, he flings himself onto Harvey. It’s awkward, with the amount of gear Harvey’s got on but, without a second thought, Harvey lets his gun fall to the floor. He wraps his arms tightly around Mike, not giving a fuck about anything else.
“You came. Fuck, you came. I was… I…” And Mike’s choking to get the words out as he forcefully buries his face into Harvey’s shoulder, shaking violently, his composure breaking down because he finally feels safe.
“Hold on.” Harvey mumbles as he pulls away, but he feels Mike hold onto his arm, like a scared child. Hastily, he bends down to pick up his gun. Foolish. What if there had been another guy around the corner? With Mike right behind him, he peeks out the door to see Lance kicking down another, hearing the scream of a young woman and child. Harvey turns his head away to see Jack come out of the room at the end of the hall, a quick thumbs up to signify that they’re clear.
“It’ll be alright, ma’am! Just come with me. Hey Specter, one in there.” Harvey looks back to see Lance escorting the mother and child out down the stairs. Harvey shakes his head then glances around, glancing subtly at Mike.
“Six dead downstairs!” He hears a man yell from the bottom of the steps.
“Two in that room,” Lance groans and frowns as he walks up behind Harvey, his eyes looking over the man beside him. “Enemy or friend?”
Mike turns around, looks at the muscular man, decked out in SWAT gear just like Harvey, eyeing him with intensity and he’s struggling to find his tiny voice. “Friend.” Mike manages to get out, and when he sees Harvey look at Lance and begin to say something, he can’t help but talk out of turn.
“There were nine. Nine men.” Mike blurts out frantically. Harvey looks at Mike, perplexed for a moment until he realizes that someone is still alive in the house and, most likely, fucking everything up - destroying evidence, or either getting ready to blow their brains out. Suddenly, something catches Harvey’s attention over Jack’s shoulder and he takes notice of a lanky man and immediately recognizes the AK-47 in his hands.
“Twelve o’clock!” Harvey shouts and raises his gun, but as he fires his shots he hears another loud round echoing in his ears. As he watches the thug fall down to his knees, something feels wrong. And it’s not until he hears Mike asking him if he’s alright that he looks over to his shoulder; he sees the blue material of his uniform turning darker and wet and he groans in pain as he begins to slump down onto the floor. He’s made a mistake.
A dumb mistake.
“Harvey! Hey, I’m right here, alright? I’m right here for you.” Mike follows him down, gripping his other arm, and squeezes, reminding Harvey that he’s still there, -- that he isn’t going anywhere. He faintly hears another thud and Mike’s terrified yelp, along with more steps running up the stairs. There’s the muttering of someone saying something about an ambulance, Jack’s name shouted in a scared tone and something is in his hand - oh, Mike’s hand. Mike’s squeezing tighter and tighter until Harvey turns his head and looks at the kid.
“You’re gonna make my hand explode, Mike. But hey, we got him. We got the-- the son of a bitch,” he mumbles and watches as Mike’s eyes fill with dread. He’s not squeezing as tightly as he was before.
When he feels as though Mike’s hand isn’t there anymore, he lets go.
“Harvey - wait!”
***
Sometimes he feels as if it were his fault, for distracting Harvey with that one critical moment that cost a man his life. That if he hadn’t gone into that drug den unprepared, none of this would have happened; the seat next to him at the funeral wouldn’t be empty and he wouldn’t feel this shitty. Sitting here in his black suit made things all the more uncomfortable; he tried picking one that didn’t look like the one he had worn to the deal but it was impossible. They all looked the same on the rack, and on him. He hadn’t been in a mood to buy suits. He doesn’t think he ever will be again.
He has to move on, finish with the drug business. Every day, he’s risking his life. Every day, he’s fighting forces that he can’t control or manage. He can memorize names, locations, the things he reads, and it’s amazing. But it’s useless when he’s staring down the barrel of a gun or having a sharp knife pressed against his jugular, blood daring to spill all over the gritty floor of whatever shady apartment he’s in this time.
“Hey, pup. Move over.”
Mike looks up to see Harvey frowning and instantly, his heart skips a beat and he shuffles onto the empty seat. They both sit in silence, listening to the priest at the front of the room before the spotlight is handed to Jack’s brother, who then begins to read a long eulogy, losing both of their interest. Harvey’s supposed to be in the hotel, but it doesn’t surprise Mike that he would leave for his comrade’s funeral.
“I’m sorry, I let you down--,” Mike began.
“You let me down? I don’t… think so.” Harvey frowns, rolling his shoulders and grimaces. Albeit there are a few stitches and scars, but it wouldn’t hinder his abilities. Instead of going on about how he truly feels, he shuts up. Because this is a funeral and people around them care, just like he does right now.
Mike watches the older man at the podium, taking a deep breath before he continues, voice shaking and wavering. Mike’s not so sure he would be able to say anything if it were Harvey's funeral. It’s a thought he pushes away quickly, replaced by Harvey’s whisper.
“Jack was a great man.”
“Yeah?” Mike whispers back, then looks to Harvey, surprised. He never expects him to talk about how he feels, only expecting him to dish out the facts of the mission, or what he wants, sometimes, when they’re alone together. It was silly of Mike to think that there was more to that statement but Harvey doesn’t continue on. He sits quietly, like the rest, and Mike looks back to the front. Out the corner of his eye, he sees a woman sobbing, two kids to her right. It makes Mike’s throat tighten and he has to look away, look at Harvey instead because he’s lucky.
He’s selfishly lucky that it was Jack, and not Harvey.
***
“I should go talk to the family,” Harvey murmurs as he looks tiredly at Mike, and Mike has to fight every fiber in his being to suggest they just head home. But he loses against himself anyways.
His words seemed rushed, in case he feels like he might change his mind halfway through the sentence. “No. You’re tired. Let’s go home, you can talk to them tomorrow. Let’s go.” Mike takes Harvey’s hand in his own and gives him a quick squeeze.
And this time, Harvey doesn’t let go.