Chapter Text
Mike's first few weeks must have been hectic, Donna knew; she remembered when Harvey moved up from Senior Associate to Junior Partner. He worked his ass off for two months solid just getting his feet under him, and she rarely saw him. She was in the middle of a transition herself, from office-pool admin to Executive Assistant, and training a new sucker -- er -- Partner to obey her laws was always a trial.
But Mike had an advantage, of course, that insane mind of his, which didn't cut down on work per se but did cut down on the time he had to spend working. He seemed to make a lot of excuses to come up and talk to her. For instance, Mike knew perfectly well where the courier envelopes were kept and anyway the office manager for his wing should have been doing that for him, but Donna understood and only gave him minimal shit about it.
Sometimes he'd look up and wave at Harvey before running off; sometimes he'd lean in the door and they'd exchange a few words, or Harvey would decide that it was a good time to get a cup of coffee and Mike would tag along.
Donna wasn't sure what was going on, but she resolved that she'd be the first to figure it out. And at any rate Harvey seemed happier now that the transition was done -- now that he had firm proof that not every professional parting of the ways ended painful and messy.
"Do you miss him?" Donna asked one Sunday, settled in on Harvey's couch. She'd come over to watch the Giants game, but Harvey had promised her a late brunch first, so he was in the kitchen, making omelettes.
"Miss who?" he asked, not looking up from the pan.
"That was almost convincing," Donna said.
"Why would I miss him? We work in the same building. I see him all the time."
"Not like you used to."
"No, and I relish the blessed silence when he's not around."
Donna got up and went to the kitchen bar, leaning on it. "Not even a little bit?"
Harvey expertly flipped the omelette. "It's better this way."
"You really think that?"
Harvey was about to reply, she could see, when there was a knock on the door. The knob turned before Donna could ask Harvey who that was, and Mike put his head in the doorway.
"You're early, Rookie," Harvey called, still focused intently on the pan. Probably, Donna thought, to hide the slight flush of embarrassment in his cheeks.
"Yeah, sorry. I brought beer -- hey, omelettes!" Mike said, coming into the kitchen. "Hi Donna!"
"Hi, Mike," she said, grinning wide. "Harvey, make Mike an omelette, would you?"
"You, quiet," Harvey said, pointing at her with his spatula. "You," and the spatula rotated to point at Mike, "put the beer in the fridge and sit quietly until spoken to."
Mike saluted, put the beer in the fridge, settled down next to Donna, and immediately started talking, rambling about his week and the stats on the likelihood of the Giants winning and how his Grammy, with his help, was cleaning up in the care home's football pool, where she was the only woman and the others had made the drastic mistake of underestimating her.
"Admit it," Donna said in an undertone, as Mike eagerly took the omelette Harvey grudgingly put in front of him and retreated to the windows to take in the view while he ate. "You missed the unending chatter."
"White noise," Harvey replied, putting a second one in front of her and pouring her a mimosa. He took his own, gave her a shut up look, and joined Mike at the windows.
Donna studied them from her seat at the bar, her brother and this man who had burst into their lives, both of them, and upset Harvey's balance so badly. They'd found some kind of equilibrium, whatever Johnny had done to help, and she liked that. It just wasn't all it could be, and it made her a little sad.
Harvey wasn't really a sit-and-watch-TV kind of guy, even with the game on, and she knew he'd scheduled his Saturday to clean out his bookshelf, weed his music library and do a little rearranging. Mike watched the game, keeping up a running commentary that was better than any professional announcer, and Donna watched Mike, who stole glances at Harvey every once in a while as he worked. There was a lot of stretching involved, stretching and crouching, and it made Donna smile to see Harvey showing off, to see Mike trying to take this in and process it.
At one point Harvey left the room to call his "vinyl guy" about bringing in some records, and Mike glanced at Donna.
"Is this weird?" he asked.
"Watching a football game? No," she said, just to screw with him.
"Watching it here. You know, with you guys."
"You're not the puppy anymore," she said. "Now you're a colleague."
"I bet he doesn't invite Louis over to watch the game."
"I hope not, I didn't disinfect the couch before I sat down."
"Donna, you know what I mean."
"You're a colleague," she repeated. "And you're a friend. So no, it's not weird. Just...new."
"Do you mind?"
"That you're here?" she asked, surprised now. "Why would I care?"
"You know. Family time. I get that, I mean I don't have siblings but I get it."
"You're cute, but Harvey and I spend all day together. Trust me, you're not interrupting some sacred sibling bonding," she said. Then, without looking, she called out, "How's vinyl guy?"
"He's good," Harvey said, coming back into the room as he hung up his phone. Mike made his usual how does Donna know everything? face. "He thinks he has a lead on a rare Charlie Patton pressing."
"Think you'll go for it?"
"It probably sounds like crap, but it might be interesting," Harvey said, dropping down on the couch next to Mike. "How's the game?"
"Pretty much like I thought it would go," Mike said absently, eyes raking down Harvey's tight white t-shirt. "I should have been a bookie."
"And give up the glamorous life of a Pearson Hardman lawyer?" Donna asked. Mike turned to her with a grin, then back to the game.
She left when the game was over and Mike went with her, offering to share a cab. She kissed Harvey, told him to be good, and caught up with Mike at the door. Downstairs, in the cab, with the silence stretching out between them, she looked at Mike and said, "Scaredy-cat."
Mike didn't even bother pretending to be surprised, just ran a hand over his face and said, "I know. I have my reasons."
"They're probably dumb."
"No, they're actually pretty smart," Mike replied. It was strange -- it had all been strange for a while now -- but Mike had been a kid, someone to push around and educate and tease for so long. Sitting there in the cab, listening to the easy way he admitted his flaws and contradicted her in the same breath, he looked like a grown man, like the young lawyer he was. There was a self-assurance in him that reminded her of Harvey. Which was only natural, really, but it caught her a little off-guard.
"I'm thinking of both our reputations," Mike added, looking out the window. "Mostly mine, true, but Harvey's always telling me I have to look out for number one."
"Harvey's full of bullshit sometimes."
"Not news," Mike said, and if there was bitterness there it was masked well with amusement. "Things are crazy now. Give it a little time."
"It's not me you have to worry about."
"Not news either," Mike sighed.
Donna has watched many interoffice relationships blossom over the years, and she likes to think she's something of a collector when it comes to dysfunctional romances. She could write a book about Harvey's.
Mike's have been fraught too. There's Jenny, who Donna's never met, and she knows better than to take Rachel at her word about Jenny. From various sources, though, she's picked up that Jenny was probably burned at least as bad as Mike was by Trevor, and couldn't trust Mike enough to make their relationship function.
Rachel, of course. Rachel doesn't like easy things, she complicates her own life seemingly for the sheer joy of drama, and she only wants Mike when Mike's not easy to get. When Mike's free, single, and amiable to the idea, Rachel gives him the cold shoulder. Mike's not drawn to drama, so he's stopped even trying with her. Which of course makes Rachel interested, and it's a whole cycle that really could have been solved by Rachel actually sticking to her "don't date at work" rule. Mike's not innocent, but his efforts have been in good faith, and Donna thinks Rachel's...haven't, always.
There was a lawyer, a while ago, a woman older than Mike -- old enough to be just a little scandalous -- but she apparently adhered to the age old May/December rule: leave 'em better than you found 'em. Mike was a toy to her but he knew he was a toy, he had fun, and as far as Donna knows, that parting was friendly. Just as well. Harvey quietly seethed the entire time they were together.
Neither Mike nor Harvey have great track records. They've learned how to function with one another and they're slowly learning how to be friends, almost-equals, so it could work. They could be great together.
Or they could self-destruct.
Either way, and with all respect for the feelings of her little brother...could be fun to watch.
Donna had a very specific vocal tone, one Harvey had known since childhood, which meant that both of them were in trouble.
It wasn't that it heralded her own anger. It was more that when she was about to do something that would plunge both of them and sometimes Johnny too into chaos, her voice took on this specific, indefinable tone.
"Look at you!" she said in that tone, and Harvey heard her through the open door of his office and glanced up.
"You like?" Mike was asking, arms spread, turning around in a circle. "I picked it up from Rene last night."
"Very elegant," Donna said approvingly.
Harvey couldn't argue; Rene always did good work. But elegant wasn't the word he would have used.
Oh, the suit itself was a work of art. Charcoal wool, three-button but high, modern and almost European, with narrow notched lapels and a white shirt with dove-gray stripes. Light blue tie. French cuffs on the shirt, with just a hint of cufflink glinting underneath.
It was more the way it sat on Mike's lean frame, the narrow collar making his shoulders seem broader, the cuffs accentuating his wrists, the perfect tailoring along the leg-line. It was like sex, in wool and silk.
"Hey," Mike said, leaning in the doorway. "What do you think? Rene's latest."
"Remember what I said to you about not sucking at gloating?" Harvey asked, sitting back. Mike swaggered in, preening.
"This isn't gloating. This is one hundred percent showing off," he announced. "Come on. I look good."
"You look like a grownup, finally," Harvey answered. "Mostly. Do you even own a hairbrush?"
"My hair is fine. You should have seen the jaw-drops I got on the walk up here." Mike shot one of his sleeves back, showing off the plain blue round at his wrist. "Vintage cufflinks. Bakelite. They belonged to my granddad."
"And I'm sure he'd be proud you're flashing them like an Amish hooker," Harvey said.
"Well, they are awfully sexy," Mike replied. "Come on, I'm taking the suit out on the town. You can join us if you want."
"Are you sure you don't want some alone time with your new friend?" Harvey asked.
"Aw, are you jealous?"
"Excuse me?" Harvey asked incredulously.
"Bakelite," Mike replied, pointing to his cufflink again. And, admittedly, retro was very in right now and it gave Mike a hipster edge that was unique, but Harvey would not be defeated when it came to fashion.
"Platinum," he answered, holding up his own wrist. "Oh, is that the time on my Submariner watch? I should get to the car club for my appointment with the new Koenigsegg."
Mike burst into laughter. "You are what's wrong with America."
"It's a hobby."
"See you at six, then. You can take me out in the Koenigsegg."
He left, and it took Harvey a full two minutes to realize Mike had just set them up for drinks without Harvey actually saying yes.
Damn. Maybe he'd taught him too well.
Still, never let it be said Harvey wasn't willing to play the one-upmanship game.
"Donna?" he said, picking up the intercom phone.
"On it," she answered, and turned to grin at him. "Mike looked cute," she added casually.
"Because cute is what we're going for, as lawyers," he replied, but she'd already hung up.
He came by Mike's new office at six, to find Mike and his office-mate Don tossing a hacky-sack back and forth, arguing the finer points of a contested will Mike was handling. Don shot to his feet and said, "Mr. Specter!" and Mike said "Hi Harvey!" and caught the hacky-sack, tucking it into a desk drawer.
"Are you ready, or should I come back when you're done primping?" Harvey asked. Mike shot Don a grin and locked up his desk.
They were quiet on the walk to the elevator, but when Mike reached out to push the lobby-level button, Harvey pushed the parking-garage button first. Mike shot him a curious look, and Harvey held up his car keys.
"Oh my God, did you actually go get the Koenigsegg?" Mike asked, eyes going wide.
"It doesn't have a bike rack, so I hope you took a cab to work today."
"Are you kidding? I'm not going to bike in this," Mike said, pointing to his sartorial glory. "But I was going to suggest Bungalow 8, and not to sound like an afterschool special, but I have a thing about drinking and driving."
"You don't down a scotch and then get behind the wheel of a Swedish sports car," Harvey replied. "The valet garage can keep it overnight. How's Don working out, by the way?"
"He's fine," Mike said. "Less annoying than I thought."
"He's lulling you into a false sense of security."
"I know that!" Mike said indignantly, as they reached the parking garage under the building.
"Just checking."
"What do you think I'm doing to him?"
"Atta boy," Harvey said, and then Mike saw their ride, and was struck pleasantly speechless.
Henry Specter may not have got a son for his oldest child, but he did get a very stubborn daughter.
Donna can remember being barely old enough to see over the hood of a car with the help of a wooden crate, staring into the mysterious machinery of the engine and watching her father tinker with it. She can remember pestering him until finally he stopped telling her to go make cookies with her mother and started teaching her the parts of the engine. She remembers, too, holding Harvey steady on the wooden crate, both of them peering into the car's depths while their father (less reluctant, now that he had a son to teach) inducted them into the mysteries of internal combustion.
She remembers their mother dying, when Johnny was about a year old, and how Daddy stopped working on cars after that. Donna, if she has car trouble, puts on old grease-stained clothes and kicks some ass. Johnny, if he has car trouble, calls a mechanic.
Harvey doesn't have car trouble; cars wouldn't dare.
It's not that Donna was ever that interested in cars, but she liked knowing things other people didn't -- still does. Harvey loves cars, loves speed and power, but she doesn't know if he remembers their father teaching them the catechism: radiator, alternator, battery, fuel injection, oil reservoir, brake fluid, fan belt, front suspension, disc brake. Her arm around his waist to steady him, his hands on the edge of the housing, his round face peering curiously into the inner workings of power.
Since Johnny's departure and Mike's sudden promotion, Mike had thought about things a lot. Like, a lot. It was Mike's nature to skim the surface of everything he came into contact with, because he could process it all that way, but law had taught him that for the important stuff you had to dig deep, and Harvey had taught him how to figure out what the important stuff was.
But if it was at the point where Harvey's sister was telling him to grow a pair, probably the time for thinking had passed.
He almost flipped a coin before realizing what a super-douche move that was.
He'd bought the charcoal suit from Rene for the express purpose of pushing Harvey's buttons, but the tailoring took a while. When it finally arrived, Mike set it aside for about a week. But...he'd spent all this money and all this time and the more he saw of the other Harvey -- the one he really liked -- the more he thought it was worth it.
So he had a plan. It was a careful plan involving just the right amount of low-lit bar, alcohol, and coaxing.
Of course that was before Harvey said, "Drinks later -- fun first," drove them out of Manhattan, and opened the car up on a back-country rode, hitting a hundred and thirty without batting an eye. They blew past trees and fields, occasional buildings, and a couple of shell-shocked fellow drivers; eventually Harvey slowed to a decent pace (for Harvey) and turned them back towards Manhattan.
"I don't think I've ever gone that fast outside of an airplane," Mike said, excitement and terror battling it out for supremacy. "I think they'd skip the speeding ticket and send you straight to public-menace citations."
"Worth it, though, right?" Harvey asked.
"Yeah," Mike said, as they edged onto the turnpike and the northern tip of Manhattan began to loom in the distance.
"Speechless for once?" Harvey said, turning a little to look at him.
"My vocal cords are about a mile back. They'll catch up eventually," Mike replied.
"Look at that," Harvey said, as they crossed the George Washington Bridge. Harlem was lit up before them, and the Upper West Side beyond it to the south.
"And now look at them," Harvey added, a few minutes later.
As they zipped through the city, Harvey weaving in and out of traffic like he had a personal grudge against it, Mike saw what he meant. Pedestrians, partiers, other drivers -- heads turned when the Koenigsegg passed.
They pulled up to a red light, on a street crowded with bars and their patrons, and a trio of women wolf-whistled Harvey and his car. Harvey leaned past Mike and grinned at them, and Mike acted without a thought. He grabbed Harvey by the collar, pulled him up a little, and kissed him -- hard and possessive, awkward because of the angle. Harvey leaned into it, adjusting the tilt of his head, and caught Mike's lip between his teeth.
Horns blew behind them as the light changed. Harvey leaned back, tugging his collar out of Mike's grip. The car jumped forward, leaving behind shrieking, cat-calling women.
There was about ten seconds of the most awkward silence known to man, and then Harvey said, "You have one chance to tell me that was a joke to mess with those women."
"And if I don't?" Mike asked.
Harvey's fingers flexed on the steering wheel.
He made a sudden move, swerving across two lanes of traffic without signalling, pulled a right and then a left, taking them onto Riverside Drive. Dark, reflective water stretched away on Mike's side, past the highway.
"I thought we were going for drinks," Harvey said finally.
"You have drinks at your place," Mike replied, adrenaline making him brave.
Harvey risked a brief glance at him. "So...alcohol and flirting? Was that your plan?"
Mike scowled. "It was a good plan. It would have worked."
"I just put you in the passenger's seat of a car worth three quarters of a million dollars and got it up to over twice the legal speed limit," Harvey said.
"So?"
"So I aced you without even trying. Without even knowing."
"And yet you didn't have the guts to make the first move," Mike pointed out.
"Kid, I've been moving on you for four months."
"Funny, I thought you were acting like a teenager waiting for someone to ask him to the dance."
He saw a muscle twitch in Harvey's jaw. "Don't -- "
" -- go to court unless you can win," Mike finished for him. He sat back and stared out at the water. "Hint for you, asshole: you can win."
"I'm getting that," Harvey said quietly. He pulled another abrupt left.
"Turn signals, turn signals are good!" Mike yelped.
"Nobody was coming," Harvey replied. "So what was your endgame?"
"There was no endgame, this isn't a competition."
"I'm not sure if I should be insulted you think I'm that easy, or that you didn't put any work into this plan."
"Okay, one, I've watched you pick up women for almost two and a half years, and you are that easy. Two, you have no idea how much thought has gone into what a stupid plan of action this is, and three, I'm not on a quest for the ultimate one night stand," Mike said, even as part of him was screaming stop talking now. "You know what the plan was? I was going to kiss you. That's all. Enough to let you know I'm into you. Because I foolishly assumed you might want more than a quick fuck. But if you'll see the subclause relative to Harvey Specter being easy, I should have expected this."
Wow, said his little mental voice. You just had a whole fight with him all by yourself. Well done.
Harvey was silent, but he did use his turn signal as he changed lanes.
"If I wanted sex, it wouldn't be you," Harvey said finally.
"Thanks."
"You're not an idiot, don't deliberately misinterpret me. If I wanted sex, I wouldn't waste a functional professional relationship -- a friendship -- for that. It would have to be more."
"And?" Mike prompted.
Harvey stopped the car. Mike glanced out and saw the glass-walled lobby of his building.
"Coming up?" Harvey asked.
Inside the lobby, Harvey tossed the car keys to a bored-looking valet, nodding at the Koenigsegg double-parked outside. The guy gave Harvey the biggest grin ever.
"Gas her up if you take the long way to the parking garage," Harvey called.
An elevator slid open as they approached the big bank of gold-and-chrome doors; Mike was about to shove Harvey inside, up against a wall, and teach him a thing or two about being an arrogant prick, when he realized someone was following in after them.
"Marissa," Harvey said pleasantly.
"Harvey," the woman replied. She was fiftyish, maybe; sleek black hair, fine laugh lines around her eyes, and a poised air of confidence that Mike had come to associate with very wealthy, very dangerous women. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Mike, this is Marissa Blake, we're on the steering committee for the New York Theatre Ballet together," Harvey said, resting a hand on Mike's back. "Marissa, my colleague, Mike Ross."
Mike heard the slight pause before colleague; he wondered if Harvey had almost said associate.
"Pleased to meet you," Marissa said, shaking his hand, at the exact same time Harvey's palm slid down over Mike's ass. Mike fought a smile. "You two burning the midnight oil?"
"Briefs," Harvey said, and Mike suppressed a snort of laughter. This couldn't be good for his internal organs.
"Don't work too hard," Marissa said, then added, "And this is me!" as the elevator began to slow. "Nice meeting you, Mike. Bring him to the next fundraiser, Harvey. Might be a good way to make you show up."
"You know I'm always there in spirit," Harvey said. The door closed on Marissa's sardonic look of disbelief.
"The ballet?" Mike asked, not looking at Harvey. The elevator began its ascent again. "You hate ballet."
"I do hate ballet," Harvey agreed. The doors dinged and opened.
"Then why -- never mind," Mike corrected, as he followed Harvey down the hall. "Getting it."
"Yep." Harvey unlocked the door, held it and followed Mike in, caught him in the foyer and pulled him around into a kiss.
It wasn't what Mike had expected, which was half for Harvey to burst into laughter and tell Mike he was joking, half for Harvey to shove him against a wall and pull off his clothes. Instead it was -- just a kiss, two points of contact, their mouths and Harvey's hand on his cheek, steadying him.
Harvey's mouth was soft, lips a little roughened from the cold of New York in winter. There wasn't any hesitation in the kiss -- well, it was Harvey -- and it seemed like it took all the air out of Mike's lungs, made his thoughts loop and whirl in disorientation. Harvey's tongue traced over his, fingers tightening against Mike's jaw, and Mike heard a soft, satisfied noise, huh, like he'd hit expectations dead center.
It was approximately the same feeling as going a hundred and thirty miles an hour in a sports car.
"How about that drink?" Harvey asked, backing off just a little. His thumb swept up and over Mike's cheekbone.
"Can we skip the drink?" Mike replied.
"You really have no good opinion of my virtue," Harvey said, but his gaze drifted over Mike's shoulder, to the stairs that led to his bedroom. He kissed Mike again, inhaling like he was bracing for something. Mike hooked his fingers in the slick satin pockets of Harvey's vest, tugging him along until they both almost tumbled onto the stairs.
Harvey steadied him with an arm around his waist, then grasped Mike's shirt to pull him down as Mike backed up the stairs, still kissing him.
"New shirt," Mike murmured.
"Don't even pretend," Harvey growled.
"Pretend what?"
"That it wasn't made for the sole purpose of ending up on my floor."
"Caught that, did you?"
"I'm very observant," Harvey said, and Mike laughed; let Harvey kiss down his throat, let him strip off his clothes, worked at Harvey's until they tumbled onto the bed in a mess -- Mike in his underwear, Harvey in unbuttoned pants with his shirt hanging off his shoulders. Harvey squirmed up over him, bent his head and nipped at Mike's earlobe.
"You realize," Harvey said, as Mike shoved the shirt off his shoulders, fingers dancing along warm skin, "we could have been doing this months ago."
"Not my fault," Mike replied, digging his hands in as Harvey moved down, trying and failing to keep him where he was. Harvey shrugged off his grip, nuzzling against his stomach. "Are you saying if we started months ago we still would be?"
Harvey lifted his face, looking up at Mike with a curious expression. He looked like he was trying hard to keep some emotion from showing. Then, without a word, he tugged Mike's boxers down and off, and the world narrowed to a few dizzy impressions that even Mike's tidy memory had trouble sorting out later: Harvey's mouth, the slick glide of his tongue, the weight of his hands when Mike tried to move.
Harvey's hair, soft under his palms, and the catlike shift of his shoulders as he crawled back up his body, pulling Mike over on top of him. Rutting and gasping in the cradle of Harvey's thighs, salt skin under his mouth. Harvey's head tipped back and his throat working as he shouted. The almost physical press of quiet in the aftermath.
Eventually, Mike pushed himself up on an elbow, leaning over Harvey, studying the loose relaxation in his face. Harvey shifted to look up at him, dragging his knuckles down Mike's chest affectionately.
"Good?" Mike asked, bending to kiss the pads of his fingers.
Harvey nodded, eyes closing. "Good."
"Suit worked, then."
Harvey laughed, a quick bark, and opened his eyes again. "Yes, it did. Car worked?"
"Yes," Mike agreed, but concern was creeping in, worry now that they'd gone irrevocably forward. He looked up and away, out the darkened windows at the blurred lights of the city.
"How much trouble is this going to cause us at work?" he asked.
"More for you than me," Harvey replied, turning his hand, exploring the shallow lines of Mike's muscles with his fingers. "If it gets out."
"When it gets out."
Harvey shrugged, acknowledging the inevitability. "People are going to think it's the reason you got promoted so fast. Doesn't matter how much later it is."
"I thought about that. I decided anyone who would think I didn't deserve the promotion isn't going to be someone who calls the shots. But..." Mike hesitated. "What about fraternization?"
Harvey grinned, pulling back, tilting his head to look up at Mike amusedly. "Come on, really? You're not my subordinate anymore."
"There are still rules."
"Reminders, at most. Nobody pays any attention. The rules are just there to make sure people aren't blatant about it," Harvey said. "All the Associates are horny and stressed and screwing each other -- "
"What?" Mike asked.
"Come on, you didn't know that?"
"No! I never slept with any of them!" Mike gave him a discontented look. "I could have, too. Ericka Patterson was all over me at the holiday party last year. I was needlessly virtuous!"
"Just as well. It's not like it stops there, anyway. The Junior Partners are one big meat market, looking for future spouses so they can be the good, ideal successful couples. Maybe they don't sleep with each other as much, but they do with the opposition, which is potentially worse."
A shadow flitted over Harvey's face. Mike didn't say Scotty, but he thought it.
"And the Senior Partners are all bored with their spouses and looking for a little fun, and usually get trouble instead," Harvey finished. "One reason I never married. Wasn't for lack of candidates. I saw what happens when you marry a good fuck for political expediency. Wasn't interested. I made Senior Partner anyway."
"Sounds lonely, though."
"If I wanted sex I could pick someone up. If I wanted something more, I wouldn't have gotten it anyway from someone who was using me for their career. We give things up for the job, and I love this job. You have to weigh for yourself whether it's worth it. I think it is."
Mike settled back down in the blankets, curling into Harvey's shoulder. "You talk a lot after sex," he said, expecting a smart remark, but Harvey was silent. "Fair warning, I'm a cuddler," Mike added.
"Yeah, that's unexpected," Harvey replied. "Go to sleep."
"Mmhm." Mike nosed against his skin, threw an arm over his chest, and drifted off.
Their dad gave Harvey and Johnny the sex talk. Donna had to get the sex talk from Uncle Aaron's wife, who was nice enough but believed in the doctrine of abstinence, and didn't give her a sex talk so much as a box of pads and a wish of good luck. Donna had to get her information from health class and the most traditional of all teachers: school gossip.
Apparently Dad left some information out of Harvey and Johnny's education too, though this being Dad, that isn't terribly surprising. Which is why Donna maintains her composure when Harvey, all of fifteen and a half, hitches himself up to sit on the kitchen counter and asks her one afternoon, "How do you know if you're gay?"
Donna, who is making herself a sandwich, stops and frowns. "Why ask me?"
Harvey shrugs, looking down at his hands. "You know everything."
"You're cute," she replies, patting his knee. "I don't know. If you're attracted to women, you're straight. If you're attracted to men, you're gay. If you like both, you're bi." Since then, time and New York have taught her it's not quite that simple, but in the moment, she does the best she can.
Harvey looks thoughtful. "In the movies, when a guy's gay, he's always..." and he flops his hand over, limp-wristed.
"Harvey Specter, your manners are better than that."
"But he is!" Harvey protests.
"In the movies, aliens sometimes land and blow up America. Do you think that happens in real life too?" Donna asks.
"No." Harvey gives her a sullen scowl, looks away. "If I were gay, would you still love me?"
Donna sets down the knife and hugs him, and Harvey shrugs out of it because hugs are gross, apparently.
"Yes, I would," Donna says, poking him in the ribs. "Dad would have kittens, but I wouldn't care. Are you?"
"Don't know. I like girls. Guess not," Harvey replies, and hops off the counter. "Thanks Donna!" he calls, as he leaves the kitchen. Donna stares after him for a moment, frowning, and then goes back to her sandwich.
And that's the last they talk about it for years, until the one time Harvey introduces this gorgeous dark-haired guy as "Alex, my boyfriend," with a weird look, like he's remembering the conversation they had in the kitchen.
"Nice to meet you," Donna says to Alex, and shakes his hand. And that's that.
Donna's cellphone rang at six in the morning on a Saturday, and she vowed vengeance. But it was too early to be Mean Donna, so when she answered, it was with a muffled "What?"
"This is your fault," Harvey said down the line.
"Baby boy, I should have drowned you as a child. What's my fault?" she asked, brushing hair out of her face.
"Remember yesterday? Mike, nice suit, drinks after work, the car?" Harvey asked.
"Ugh, I hate you. What happened?"
"We didn't make it to drinks. And now I have to make him breakfast."
Harvey sounded almost panicked, which was too funny to resist.
"Well, I can email you a pancake recipe, or you could dig out the emergency box of Pop Tarts -- "
"You know what I mean," Harvey said.
"If you mean a boy you like took you out on a date and you were you and took him home and debauched him, yes, I do know what you mean. You do realize it's creepy and weird to be telling your sister about your sex life, right? I mean, even for us, that's creepy and weird."
"Donna!"
"Harvey, what are you actually expecting of me at this hour? Go back to bed. There's a cute man in it and he's chronically malnourished so he probably needs all the body heat he can get."
"This isn't..." she heard Harvey exhale. "This isn't good. This is stupid, we're both being stupid, and he's going to realize that. I've never been on the receiving end of the It Meant Nothing speech."
"Okay, listen to me, because after this I'm hanging up and going back to sleep," Donna said. "Mike Ross happens to adore you, and he asked you out because he likes you and you're not his boss anymore and some men, believe it or not, are emotionally available enough to form relationships. You are not about to receive the It Meant Nothing speech. He's probably going to propose marriage, knowing Mike, and I can think of worse men I'd like for a brother-in-law. I don't know where this sudden streak of debilitatingly bad self-esteem came from, but man up and cope with the fact that someone you are deeply unworthy of actually enjoys your company. If you call me back I will come through the phone and smack you. Goodbye, Harvey," she said, and hung up.
God, brothers. She wondered if normal peoples' siblings were this much work.
About a minute later, a textmessage came through. What did you mean, deeply unworthy?
If you textmessage or call me again before nine I'm disowning you, she replied.
The phone was gratifyingly silent. At least, for about ninety minutes, when it beeped again. Donna picked it up, ready to inform Harvey that he was a freak of nature and probably adopted, but she stopped when she saw the notification: Photo Message From: MIKE ROSS.
The photo was taken in Harvey's kitchen, covertly, and among the glasses of orange juice, the bottle of maple syrup and the butter dish, she could see Harvey at the stove, in a t-shirt and pajama pants, cooking. The text read, Thought you should be the first to know. Hope this isn't creepy.
Totally creepy, she texted back. Now tell Johnny!
Already on it.
Donna spent about half her morning expecting another panicked call from Harvey, and the other half trading electronic high-fives with Johnny.
You're next, she told him.
Why do I have to be next? You're on a roll. Get yourself a man.
Don't be a troglodyte, she texted back. Fine a nice southern belle and start providing me with nieces.
The insults and political incorrectness just mounted from there, until finally Donna got another text from Harvey, ordering her to play nice with Johnny and stop making Johnny interrupt his pleasant afternoon to tattle on her.
Can I come over and torment Mike? she asked.
No. If you're nice to me you can have lunch with us tomorrow.
Can I torment him then?
Mike is prepared to accept your challenge, Harvey said. Now leave me alone, I have important business to attend to.
Donna laughed. Oh Donna! What if he doesn't like me? What if he dumps me? Donna, I really like him!
I say this with all the brotherly love in the world: shut up, Harvey wrote.
The day Harvey lands McKernon Motors, the first client of his career, he and Donna go out to the swankiest, most overblown lounge in town and have a drink. They toast Mr. McKernon, who likes "that slick kid in his cheap suit" because Harvey is the first lawyer he's ever met who actually understands how his engines work. They endure the stink-eye of the maitre'd and the superior looks of the other patrons and the expensive drinks for a few minutes, and then Donna leans over and says, "This sucks. Let's get a burger."
So they go to the trashy diner near her place and have burgers and fries and watery Cokes, and it's great.
The day Mr. McKernon dies, Harvey gets the call around four in the afternoon. Donna puts the call through, because when a VP from McKernon calls, Harvey takes it. But she watches through the glass as Harvey answers, and then goes so still, and then bows his head. She knows what it means. Mr. McKernon has been sick for a while. But it's still a shock.
Mr. McKernon used to take Harvey out for drinks at the end of a good contract negotiation; he used to send Donna a little box of expensive coffee every Christmas. He used to beg Donna, jokingly, to ditch Harvey and come work for him. He adored Harvey, from his ever-more-expensive suits to his devious mind to his real passion for the McKernon Motors engines. He once took Donna driving in one of his new test vehicles, and he was always a gentleman; even in front of a high-performance racing coupe, he held the door for her. He also introduced her to Dominic Barrone, who she dated for six months and she suspects would have married her if he weren't already married to his job.
Harvey doesn't cry or get upset, just gets out McKernon's file, makes the necessary calls, and sets a date for the will to be read. He sits there for a long time, though, one hand flat on the will, the other clasping the back of his head, fingers threading in the short hair.
Finally, around six, Donna leans into his office.
"This sucks," she says. "Let's get a burger."
If Harvey grieves Avery McKernon, he does it in private. He's sympathetic and soft-spoken with the family, but he's everything a lawer should be. The only time Donna sees that grief is sitting in an uncomfortable plastic booth, over burgers and fries and watery Cokes, watching Harvey's lips press together tightly, watching him try to keep the control he's worked so hard to build.
"To Avery," she suggests, holding up her paper cola cup. "He was good to us."
"To Avery," Harvey agrees.
Harvey woke on Sunday to movement -- Mike, shifting around in the bed, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair. It couldn't be too early, because light was edging its way in through the windows, but still he sensed too early for moving.
He wrapped an arm around Mike's waist when he started to move to the edge of the bed, pulling him back down, and Mike yelped in surprise.
"Sleep ninja!"
"Quiet," Harvey ordered, pinning him down firmly. Mike wriggled and twisted around to face him, but apparently his escape from the blankets was thwarted. He leaned into Harvey's body like it had been too long since anyone touched him enough, which it probably had.
"At some point I have to get dressed and walk-of-shame my way home," Mike said, making no attempt to move.
"Sunday. Day of rest," Harvey murmured.
"We spent all of yesterday resting," Mike pointed out. They had, too -- a slow breakfast, watching clouds drift over Manhattan, and a quiet day spent together. Talking, not much, not really anything more than they'd established Friday night; Mike curled up against him on the couch, reading contracts for Monday on Harvey's laptop, while Harvey listened to music and made occasional comments over his shoulder. It had been...reassuring, the way Mike so calmly accepted this new thing. They'd gone out to dinner, Mike in his only slightly rumpled suit, and when Harvey had offered to take him home, like a gentleman, Mike had looked reluctant.
And so here they were.
"We have to go to work tomorrow," Mike continued. "I have to stop at Gram's to see her, go home and get all my stuff together for Monday, put out a suit that hasn't spend the last two days being roughed up by you, charge my phone, do my dishes -- Harvey -- "
Harvey, who knew that the best way to shut Mike up was to ignore his babbling, had started working his way down Mike's throat and into the dip of his collarbone, teeth just barely dug into the skin, his hands firmly holding Mike's hips.
It occurred to him that together they were one big mess of character flaws, ceaseless talk and stunted emotion, repression and lack of tact, bad manners and defensiveness. He hadn't counted on Mike's total misunderstanding of personal boundaries, though, and it was like Mike had just ducked under the fence and up into Harvey's space. He hadn't counted on his own intensity to match it once he was there. It wasn't like he was new to the concept of relationships. He'd had more than a few, and more than a few different kinds. Mike just...blew all the rules away.
"I have to buy groceries," Mike said, but it came out more like a groan. Harvey pressed a thumb into the line of his thigh, slid his hand over and cupped Mike's cock.
"This afternoon," Harvey said, stroking lightly. "We have lunch with Donna and I have to prove to her that I'm capable of showing human emotion."
"You have to prove to me first," Mike managed, arching his back. "Don't talk about your sister right now."
"Then stop reciting your to-do list," Harvey answered. "What should I talk about?"
The thing about Mike was that he was always in motion (even in sleep, restless little blankets-stealer), but when something got under his skin, there was a moment of stillness, a surprised instinct reaction to stop moving, stop talking.
Harvey grinned against his skin, shifting up a little to fit their hips together. "What do you want to hear?" he asked in Mike's ear, not much more than a whisper, and Mike turned his head away, flushing. There was a certain charm to it, as there always was with uncovering someone's hidden kinks, no matter how tame this was in comparison to some.
And it made sense. After all, this was Mike, who had practically screamed a need for approval when they'd first met. He was better now -- more confident, more self-assured -- but needs like that never completely went away, not when they were so deeply held.
"You want me to tell you how much I want this?" he continued, as Mike twisted under his hands but made no effort to get free. "Michael, do you want me to tell you how much I like your body? Because I do. Very much." He nipped the skin behind Mike's ear. "I like your hands, I like your ass -- "
"H - Harvey!"
" -- like your dick -- and your mind," Harvey continued, as Mike began to buck into his touch instead of twist away from it. "I like your mouth," he added, and leaned over Mike's body to kiss him.
"Dirty talk's not a problem for me," he said against Mike's mouth. Mike made a soft, desperate noise and his fingers dug into Harvey's back. "Good boy," Harvey growled.
There was an art to this, saying filthy things without sounding like an idiot, keeping Mike listening even when his voice and his hands were pushing him towards the edge. He kept up a quiet, constant litany while he slicked and stretched him slowly, voice a low reassuring murmur as he urged Mike over onto his stomach, pulled up his hips and pressed a palm flat on his back to reassure him. Neither of them were new to this, but Harvey -- well, he suspected Trevor had played a part in Mike's education, and that mess of a human being was the kind to go roughshod, and Mike was always so desperate for affection that it wasn't like any other man would necessarily care...
He meant to keep it up, to keep Mike if not distracted then at least entertained, but his voice abruptly left him when he slid in -- "...tight, and I want..." and he was done talking, couldn't have formed words if he'd wanted to. There was a way they fit which had nothing to do with bodies, but here together it was skin and sweat, the bow of Mike's back, the tension in his own muscles unfurling and falling away.
This was going to get him into trouble, this was going to complicate Mike's life and play havoc with Harvey's careful if vague plans, the never-really-considered wife and children and nanny and the McMansion in the suburbs and --
And he didn't care, wanted this so badly it didn't matter, pushing and fighting and tipping over the edge when Mike keened in desperation, collapsing messily into the sheets.
When he could think clearly again, he pulled Mike against him, pressed his face into his neck, and wondered how long he'd have to wait before Mike wouldn't freak out if Harvey asked him if he hated the suburbs as much as Harvey did.
After a few minutes, Mike shifted, snuffled a little and said, "I've decided your argument has merit."
"Of course it does," Harvey answered, muffled, into his shoulderblade.
"But I'm feeling kind of damp."
Harvey groaned, but he let Mike go this time when he moved to get out of bed.
"At least I know how to shut you up now," he remarked, as Mike stretched and padded to the bathroom. He could see faint marks on his hips, lines that would fit the stretch of his fingers if he pressed them there. Mike looked at him over his shoulder, then down at his hips, and made a face.
"There's no need to be so smug," he said, disappearing into the bathroom.
"There's no need, it's just fun," Harvey called back, and rolled out of bed to see about breakfast and whether he had enough of anything in the kitchen for a decent lunch.
By the time Donna arrived, they were washed and dressed and proper; Mike was answering email on his phone at the kitchen bar and Harvey was working on a kind of mutant pasta salad for lunch. She walked in, set down her purse, wrapped an arm around Mike's shoulders, and said, "If you hurt him, I'll kill you. I know how to bury a body."
"She does," Harvey added, mouth full of pasta. "And she owes me one."
"I'm the innocent here!" Mike protested, giving her his best wide-eyed bambi gaze, the one that hadn't fooled either sibling in years, though Mike probably didn't know that. "Besides, it's two against one."
"Three, technically," Harvey said.
"Johnny might come down on Mike's side, he's always been weird," Donna pointed out. Harvey grinned at her.
"Just you wait," Mike said. "I have Gram on my side and you're no match for an angry Brooklyn septugenarian."
"Okay, treaty," Donna said, kissing Mike's temple and sitting down. "I just wanted to get that out of the way. Also you should wear one of your high collared shirts tomorrow."
Mike slapped his hand to his neck, where absolutely no hickey was visible, and Donna started laughing. Harvey smiled indulgently and went back to his cooking.
Donna watches. She's done a lot of watching, over the years; she has her own life and her own concerns, her own romances, but she's looked after Harvey in one way or another since he was four years old, and it's become habit.
Harvey is hesitant with Mike in a way she hasn't seen since he was very young. Even she wouldn't have thought Mike would be the one to lead, but she sees how Harvey waits, how he looks to Mike for cues. At work everything's mostly the same, though they have lunch together more often, leave together more often. At home, when she's over for a Saturday or an evening dinner and Mike's there, she can see it.
And, slowly, she watches as Mike takes over duties she should long ago have given up: Mike is the one to reassure now, the one to taunt Harvey when he's being intractable and kick his ass a little when he needs it. There's a parting and a growing distance for her and her brother which isn't entirely pleasant, but in the long run this will be better. They can be just brother and sister, instead of two people fighting the whole damn world together.
She watches Mike, too, sees the way he glows when Harvey is affectionate, the way he unfolds around people he trusts, because it's not like Mike has had an easy life either. She envies his ability to throw himself into something, not knowing the outcome, especially because of his past. She can't do that nearly as well, and neither can Harvey, but Mike has a certain fearlessness -- like a core he knows will always be his no matter how many times he gets hurt.
"If you want my advice," she says one spring weekend, sitting on the couch with Harvey while Mike is across the room on the phone to his grandmother, promising he'll be there that afternoon, "this one's a keeper."
"I don't think it's up to me," Harvey replies, looking vaguely pensive.
"Well, then my advice is not to be an asshole to him and hope for the best," she says.
"Page one of the Specter playbook," Harvey agrees. "It's working so far."
"Okay, all done," Mike announces, returning. "But I have to go in like, half an hour if I want to get to Grammy's on time," he adds, and then pauses. "Um, unless I...take a cab. Or, or if you want to come, we could drive," he says, turning the phone over and over in one hand, nervously. Donna glances at Harvey, telegraphing don't be an asshole with perfect clarity.
"I'll drive you," Harvey says. "Sit, stop fidgeting."
When he went to Jessica, it felt like his first few days at Pearson Hardman all over again. Harvey had to remind himself of rules he hadn't needed to even think about in years: confidence, swagger, calm. He had to remember to own it, and that was something he hadn't thought about consciously since Harvard.
"Got a minute?" he asked, leaning into Jessica's office.
"I have exactly nine," she said, setting aside her e-reader and gesturing him into the chair across from her desk. He settled into it, leaned back and crossed his legs, and reminded himself: own it.
"I'm seeing Mike Ross," he said.
Jessica tilted her head. "I assume you don't mean you're seeing him in visions."
"No." Harvey rested his hands in his lap. "And this is a courtesy, not a confession."
"Mmhm." Jessica gave him a look that said she'd decide what exactly this was. "How long?"
"About five months. I thought we should be sure it was serious before we brought it up."
"Did you two flip a coin for who had to come here and tell me?"
"No, oddly enough he gave me this one," Harvey said with a slight grin.
"I imagine so." Jessica stood up and came around the desk, leaning against it. "I'm not going to stoke your ego by talking about your value here, so let's put it this way: Mike is our top billing attorney of anyone below the junior partner level. He is ripping through this firm like a comet and nobody is more surprised than me, but I took a chance on him -- several chances -- because you told me it would be worth it. People are jealous. People are petty and vindictive and ambitious. You know what they're going to say."
"I'm not sending engraved announcements," Harvey said.
"But?"
"Mike says he doesn't care. That's his decision. If and when this becomes public, despite it being nobody's damn business, he's willing to put up with what people will say."
"His feelings aren't my concern, Harvey. He's an asset and if that asset is damaged by gossip, that affects the firm. And if that asset leaves -- "
"Hey, whoa," Harvey said, holding up a hand. "Let's not put the car crash before the horse here."
"Your track record isn't stellar."
"They weren't him."
Jessica crossed her arms. "Mike told me it wasn't his intention to leave the firm. You had better make it clear I'm holding him to that verbal contract regardless of your personal relationship."
"Your faith in me is inspiring."
"Do you really want me to count up the number of times you made fake-wife jokes to Louis?"
"Aw, you kept track? I'm flattered," Harvey said, and uncurled, sitting forward. "Five months, Jessica. Two and a half years before that. He's not going anywhere as long as I have anything to say about it."
Jessica let her arms fall, propping them on the edge of the desk. "That bad, huh?"
Harvey glanced away. "I wouldn't be putting you in this position if I didn't think this was it for me. He doesn't know that yet."
"What does Donna think?"
"She approves. She pushed for it to happen."
"Well, far be it from me to argue with sisterly goodwill," Jessica sighed. "Don't make me regret giving you my blessing."
"I wasn't asking for your blessing."
"I know. You have it anyway." She checked her watch. "I now have three minutes. Go make a mess somewhere else. Harvey," she added, as he stood and made his way to the door. He stopped on the threshold, turning expectantly. "Bring him along to the next partner dinner. I love it when their jaws drop so far the cigars fall out of their mouths."
Donna remembers her mother, though she suspects down the years her mental design of her has been idealized. She's okay with that, mostly. After all, who does it hurt?
Harvey barely remembers her, and doesn't talk about it; Johnny never knew her, which in some ways, Donna thinks, would be preferable.
She had good role models, growing up. Uncle Aaron's wife and her tenth grade drama teacher, women who mentored her in school and at work, and of course Jessica. But there's something about Mike's grandmother that carries more weight. The first time they meet, long after Harvey has become a fixture at Mike's Saturday Gram-visits, Donna understands why Harvey sometimes looks envious when he talks about her.
Gram is kind of crazy and hardcore and clearly has spent her whole life not taking shit from anyone, but when Donna bends to hug her, she puts her hands on Donna's cheeks and affectionately announces, "I knew Harvey's sister would be beautiful," and there's a surge of desperate homesickness Donna can't explain. She's used to finding family where she can, but she's never found someone who could stand in her mother's shoes.
"Sit, talk with me while Michael yells at the doctors," Gram says, because Mike isn't happy with some medication or other and he and Harvey have already left to go intimidate the medical staff. Donna doesn't know what to say, but they find some kind of common ground -- Donna helped Harvey send her those flowers, when Mike got promoted -- and by the time Mike and Harvey return, they've been talking for half an hour. When they leave, later that day, Gram grasps Donna's hand and says, "Come back soon?" and Donna gets now why Harvey, stiff unemotional Harvey, comes with Mike every week to see her now.
"So?" Mike asks, when they're on their way to dinner, after saying their goodbyes. "Looks like you got along with her okay."
"I told you," Harvey says, steering through traffic.
"She's great, Mike," Donna assures him, and holds onto the happy, settled feeling for days.
The wedding was small. Only vows, really. Nobody walked anyone down the aisle (which didn't exist anyway) and nobody gave anyone away.
They held it in the conservatory of Mike's grandmother's care home: Mike and his grandmother, Harvey and Donna and Johnny, and the chaplain to marry them. Mike wanted his grandmother to be there, and Harvey didn't want to stand up in front of a million people and recite vows, so it worked for them.
The reception afterwards, at a downtown hotel that evening, was huge. Harvey might not like people intruding on the private moments of his life, but he definitely liked showing off his accomplishments. And he liked a good party.
More than that, though, the reception was an event. Half of Harvey's clients and probably most of Mike's were there. New York politicians, stockbrokers and sports stars, the wealthy and willing of Manhattan. Anyone at Pearson Hardman who was worth knowing by name was there. Donna had an Armani gown for it. Johnny bounced around like he'd suffer if he didn't talk to absolutely everyone.
It was gorgeous and glittering, with champagne and expensive snacks. If Mike was a little shy of all the attention, Harvey drew enough of it (basked in enough of it) that nobody noticed how quiet and still Mike was. Well, Donna noticed, but he seemed okay, so she didn't bug him.
As the party wound down, Harvey and Mike disappeared without fanfare or goodbyes. Donna didn't think anything of it -- assumed they were circulating around the room or maybe stealing a kiss in the kitchen -- until she got the picture message. It was from Mike, and the subject read The honeymoon begins.
The picture showed Harvey, tie undone, cuffs loose, out cold asleep on the couch in their condo like a toddler after a birthday party. He was still in his tux, one arm stretched over his head, jacket riding up and wrinkling. The room was dark, lit mainly by the glow of Manhattan through the glass, and half of Mike's face was visible in the edge of the image, grinning at her.
Don't look at me. He's your problem now, she texted back.
"Hey!" Johnny said, coming up to her with a glass of champagne. "Have you seen Harvey? I can't find him or Mike."
"Oh, they're probably on the plane to Borneo by now," Donna replied.
"Borneo? I thought they were going to Venice."
Donna smiled. "Who knows where they went? They probably wanted somewhere they wouldn't be disturbed."
Her phone buzzed with a return text from Mike.
Don't worry, it read. I promise not to break him.
"Who's that?" Johnny asked.
"Nobody. Come on, let's close the party down," she said, tucking her phone away, and went off to find some good-looking millionaire investment banker to dance with.
Donna likes to take credit for all of it.
If she hadn't given Harvey the wink that day 'Rick Sorkin' barged in five minutes late for his interview, she claims, none of this would have happened. Mike wouldn't have been hired, and Harvey would have got some boring Harvard Clone, ending up a bitter old bachelor taking out his frustration on his subordinates.
Harvey blows it off, or if he's feeling expansive he chalks it up to his own magnetic charisma. Johnny points out that he had a hand in it too, thanks very much. Mike just grins and butts his head against Harvey's shoulder, but she can tell he's thinking it was all him.
Donna knows the truth. Someday, if they have kids, when she's Cool Aunt Donna and they're old enough, she'll tell them how their daddies really met.
After all, she's still Harvey's big sister. She has to do something to keep him humble.