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PROLOGUE:
Push the Limits
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Summary: 'Harvey is so unqualified, it's not even funny. He's in a position of responsibility unlike anything else, ever. Nothing compares to this…It's the crash course in parenting he never envisioned himself taking. Yet…he is.' A sweet, light-hearted take on my story Can't Go Back. Teeny toddler AU. Can be read as a standalone. 1/10 approx.
A/N: So...I've finally caved and written a story that I'm pretty sure only me and my greedy little heart wanted. After all the difficulties I've been having lately, it was important for me to have something light and fluffy to focus on. Thus, this little fic was born. I have another five chapters mostly written, though they - and the story on a whole - won't be as long as others in the past (i.e. its predecessor). They'll be posted regularly over the next few weeks, so stay tuned and please do be generous with the reviews. I am so grateful for all of you lovely readers who have taken the time to leave one. Never doubt how much they mean to me.
So - without further ado...in light of the glorious end of hiatus, and, if, like me, you're craving a little sweetness, here we go...
Disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me. I apologise in advance for any foul language.
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It was his mistake.
A stupid mistake, beyond a doubt. And when it all came crashing down, it came down hard. It didn't take long.
His whole world was shot to hell and now he's scrambling to salvage it, only he's not sure how exactly to accomplish that; if such a feat is possible without a heck of a lotta good fortune and arduous labour on his end. But right now he'd be foolish to fixate on the likelihood of failing.
A milky, salmon pink colours the skies. Heart pumping, leaves rustling, brushwood snapping underfoot as Harvey pounds on the pavement past fellow runners, blithe dog-walkers, and largely stripped bushes, and wonders: where did it all go wrong?
It's his first time running alone in weeks. What was before a standard practice now feels alien, for sure, and unequivocally unwelcome. He would give anything not be running solo right now. To have his sidekick back where he belongs - by his side. Or, more accurately, held tightly in his arms.
The dying flame of the sun presses down on him, pushing him harder and harder, faster and faster - puffing out jagged, impoverished pants and ramming home that deafening tick, tick, tick of the clock that seems to swallow his every thought almost before Harvey even has a chance to form it.
Sunshine receding, disappearing, with the shadows lengthening to snag his ankles, all Harvey can think is how quickly he's running out of time.
The clock is tick, tick, ticking.
And he's afraid of what'll happen once it stops.
The wind whips around his ears, water blotches his vision, his lips are numb and the sound of the air hissing between his teeth makes it impossible to forget the formidable clench of his jowl, or the fury that keeps it sealed to his jaw.
Such intensity of emotion, he would have thought, is not so foreign for him - given his competitiveness and concentrated passion for cars, sports, winning, and his unwavering pursuit of pleasure - but Harvey was wholly unprepared for the flood of guilt and near-crippling terror that assaults him now. It's more than enough to keep him off balance and potentially hinder his shot at success.
Luckily, Harvey's been taking this route for years and could map it out in his sleep, so he has no problems adhering to his regular course. He's determined not to let something as remiss as needless distraction knock him off his game.
By this point, his legs should feel like lead, but they carry on through what must be muscle memory alone. For that, if nothing else, Harvey feels they deserve break, but he doesn't have the luxury of stopping for a little respite, or pausing to rehydrate. He'll press on in spite it.
Weariness tugs at his eyelids and the tendons in his feet forge ahead with rising strain. As the pressure of getting from here to there, A to B, easy as 1,2,3, grows more and more imperative, Harvey's agitation and smouldering over-protectiveness become an ever-more compelling force to be reckoned with.
He's always been a strong-minded man to begin with, but Mike is - by far - the greatest incentive he's ever had in his life, though the results of such stubborn perseverance certainly fall a tad short of positive. If he'd had his pedometer on him to keep track, he wouldn't be surprised to learn he's beaten his previous standing record twice over.
Thrusting against his insides is a deep, glacial burn as Harvey's famished lungs work overtime to gulp down what little air he has to offer and a shuddering cramp works its way across his torso. Yet, neither of which slow him down in the least.
Any whisper of breathing technique has gone out the window, along with his ingrained, natural tempo and any and all trace of basic common sense.
His stride is all over the place, dreadfully sloppy and thoroughly uneven as the hard thwack of his soles thunders along the asphalt. In the back of his mind, Harvey's inner running-guru tsks at him to relax his fists, slacken the solid set of his shoulders, focus on the ease of his gait and don't forget to keep his weight centred.
Years of experience and past mishaps are screaming at him that this is how people mess up; this is when people get hurt. It goes against every day he's spent hiding a limp at work, every pad of gauze slapped over another pesky blister, every icepack melting over a swollen ankle. Everything he's done, everything he's learnt - all of that has been wiped clean in an instant, all because somewhere out there there's a scared, weepy Mike and there's no way in hell he's leaving him out here alone for one more goddamn second than he absolutely has to.
Only an idiot would go running clad in the kind of classy business attire appropriate for the likes of Wall Street and week after week of endless meetings. But if there's one thing this evening has proved, it's that he must be the biggest idiot on the planet, so Harvey'll let that one slide, considering.
There are way more urgent matters to attend to than the smarting friction triggered by the collar of his shirt rubbing against his neck, or the grey flannel pants chafing his thighs, flapping around his calves and catching on the heel of his shoes - the fine, Italian leather shoes, which, for the record, are no match for his usual comfy sneakers.
Where usually he would be blessed with the luxury of luminous-lined, breathable fibres, now Harvey's stuck with ever-dampening pit stains and cotton sticking to his skin. He'd forgotten what a pain in the ass something as fundamental to the human experience as sweat can be, without the benefits of advanced technology and an unfairly disproportionate amount of money for an incredibly selfish, single guy of his age.
But, as fanciful as it may sound at first, there are at least ten other, more pressing concerns weighing on the senior partner in that moment than how stupid he must look running in such colossally inappropriate clothing. For once, Harvey has something - someone - a helluva lot more important to prioritise over work and keeping up appearances. He'd stake his entire reputation on it.
He'd stake his entire reputation on Mike.
Has done a thousand times, right from the beginning, for a million different reasons. Excuses and borderline delusions that just don't, well - just don't cut it anymore.
He might possibly be the single most pathetic excuse for a guardian in the universe, but there's no denying the changes wrought by the experience, or the things he's felt along the way. Harvey has undergone a drastic transformation in recent weeks - hell, you could say overnight - and he simply can't imagine a better place to be than lounging across his leather couch, scared to twitch, scared to breathe, in fear of disturbing the sleepy little boy tucked beneath his chin.
But of course, self-professed bonehead that he is, Harvey just had to go and screw all that shit up.
Keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary, Harvey's breath catches with each false alarm and unidentified object or darkened profile that, more often that not, turns out to be nothing more than a young sapling, or some weird rock. Not for the first time, he replays the events of this afternoon and wonders what he could have done differently, what on earth possessed him, why did it all have to come to this, and Harvey's never considered himself a failure or anything of the sort, but right then, it's all he can think about.
He failed.
Harvey failed, and now Mike's gone, and it's all his fault.
Throat closing up, eyes stinging and chest aching for a whole other reason, he slows to a brisk jog, bends over, hands on his knees, breath misting in the bitter chill, panting harshly and begging, please. Please, let Mike be okay. Please don't take him away.
What the hell am I doing?
What the hell has he done?
I rushed into it, and now I'm seriously wondering if I even want this.
Yes, he wants it. Of course he wants it! It's Mike. He wants the whole damn lot, of course he does. All that dumb, soppy shit that comes with raising such a loveable tot.
I don't even like children.
No. He doesn't.
But he loves him.
This was a mistake.
He screwed up. He screwed up real bad, and if he doesn't fix this…if he can't make this right…
Harvey doesn't know if he could ever forgive himself.
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Thanks for reading.
If this feels repetitive, I apologise. I'll do my best to put a different spin on things to keep it fresh, switch it up a bit or whatever, but, well, similarities will be made. That's inevitable. I hope you enjoyed this, all the same. I'm aware this is more of a teaser than an actual beginning to the story, but I promise you, you won't have to wait long for the official first chapter.