Archive of Our Own ^beta

~M~

“Stop,” Harvey groans.

Donna explains, “I'm setting the scene,” and she brandishes the bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand.

“I don't need a scene. I need to know whether or not to call in the big guns.”

“Harvey, I am the big guns.”

“That you are. Which means you got what you came for.”

“Damn right I did.”

He grins with that flirtatious comfort reserved just for her. “Alright, alright. Set the damn scene.”

Jealousy is pointless; Mike adores Donna and stands no chance with Harvey, so he sinks back into the fine print of the briefs he’s proofing, tapping the pen against his lip. He doesn't notice Harvey glance over half a dozen times. Then again, he’s never noticed Harvey's got a look for him, too - pride hidden behind humor, and affection not terribly well hidden at all.

Donna puts on an Oscar worthy performance for them right there in Harvey’s office, and Mike laughs along in spite of himself. When she finally takes a bow, depositing the flowers and the envelope containing evidence onto the desk with a flourish, Mike jumps to his feet, applauding.

“Alright, you’re the best actress on the planet,” he says.

“Why thank you,” she sniffs, not even trying to disguise her pleased glow, and excuses herself loftily back to her desk.

Mike’s cracking his knuckles and neck, relieved to be standing after hours hunched over, when Harvey says, “Goddamn these flowers are ugly.” He’s holding up a little white sprig with only a few spiky petals on it, and Mike laughs, extending a hand. Harvey’s fingers brush his as he offers it over.

“Leontopodium alpinum.”

“Bless you.”

Mike scoffs. “Edelweiss. It’s...kinda cool, actually.”

“Didn’t take you for a Roger’s and Hammerstein fan.”

“Oh. My. God.” Mike is pretty sure Harvey’s fucking with him on purpose, confirmed by a poorly concealed smirk. Chucking the blossom at Harvey’s chest he says, “First of all, that movie’s a classic, and second, I was referring to the symbolism. Asshole.”

Harvey plucks the flower from his lapel, grinning in earnest. “What symbolism?”

Mike shrugs. “Courage and devotion. You should appreciate that, with your boner for loyalty.”

Harvey stares hard at Mike’s face for too long, assessing, irked, curious. Mike thinks they might be having a moment, but then Harvey follows it up with, “If you want to talk about my dick all you have to do is ask.”

“Oh my god,” Donna and Mike say in unison, and he looks out to see her clap a palm to her forehead, adding into the intercom, “You’re the worst.”

Mike gives her a thumbs up through the glass. At least someone’s on his side.

--
~H~

“You've got mustard on your face.”

Mike thumbs the blob from the corner of his mouth and sucks it off with a pop. Harvey rolls his eyes."Your lack of manners is truly astonishing."

"We’ve had entire conversations with half a damn bagel wedged in your cheek. And you tried to bring peanuts into my deposition! Besides, I'd think you'd be used to it by now,” he adds, unruffled, and takes another huge bite of hotdog.

By now. Three years of this smart assed, blue-eyed boy fast talking his way into Harvey's life and work and, much to his chagrin, heart. "Jesus Christ. I deserve a medal.”

Mike snorts. "Old man, if anyone's earned accolades for putting up with someone, it's me.”

"Keep dreaming, Small Fry. I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you.” He means the job, but personalizing is better for banter.

Mike looks reflective for a moment as he washes down his hotdog with the dregs of a Redbull. "Can't argue that.”

Harvey crumples the foil and paper his lunch came in, and shoots it into a trash bin across from their bench. Mike's a fucking hazard and a half, and he has no clue about it.

Harvey's almost impractically independent life isn't an accident - in fact, it’s been hard won. Between Cameron and his mother the evidence piled up too high to ignore: caring is a weakness he can’t afford. And yet, without even trying, Mike has wriggled his way under Harvey's skin.

Those impossible eyes, that self-satisfied grin, the confrontational attitude and incredible mind. The skinny kid licking condiments from the space between his finger and thumb has accidentally become the most valuable thing in Harvey’s life and it’s set him more than a little off kilter - argumentative when he doesn’t need to be, rough where he could just be ambivalent, defensive where he wouldn’t have bothered before.

Mike’s standing, stretching, twisting his body around, too thin. Harvey keeps trying to feed him and the kid keeps getting sidetracked in his own damn brain. “I think I can get the briefs done by end of day today,” he mentions casually.

“End of business or when we actually leave? Because those are completely different.”

Mike chuckles. “Business. You want help with the fundamental analysis for Gary’s bullshit merger?”

“Bullshit?”

“Oh please. If he wasn’t fucking Vanna Carlton there’d never be -”

Harvey stands and joins him on the sidewalk. “I didn’t take you for a conspiracy theorist.” He’s fucking with him. Mike is absolutely right.

“Oh come on, Mr. I-Read-People, those companies -”

“Will make plenty of money once they’re a single entity.”

“I’m not debating the merits of the merger, I’m just saying the catalyst was less business and more pleasure.” He looks grumpy and pleased simultaneously, a look he wears often at the office. “So do you want help or not?”

He does, but Mike’s been spreading himself too thin lately and Harvey is personally offended by the bruises beneath his eyes. “Nah. Go home when you’re done. Get some sleep.”

“Ok.” Mike shoves his hands in his pockets and Harvey thinks he sounds a little disappointed despite the near constant bitching about being overworked, but when he looks back Mike gives him a sweet little grin that Harvey has to focus all his energy on ignoring.

--
~M~

It's four a.m. when Donna calls. “I need you in by six.”

Mike groans and smashes his face into the pillow. “Why?”

“Prep for the merger meeting.”

“Harvey wants me to sit in?” His excitement cuts through exhaustion and he manages to fall out of bed (off of mattress) in a quest for clean boxers.

“No. It’s your meeting.”

“Wait - what?”

“On your own, Rookie. Make Mommy and Daddy proud.”

Harvey would never give this meeting up. Not if he could help it. “Donna, what happened?”

He listens to the silence on the other end of the line with one leg jammed in his slacks and the opposite foot propped up precariously on the mattress, but he can’t seem to make himself move when even Donna, the queen of coverups, can’t think of an excuse fast enough.

“Family emergency,” she sighs at last, and Mike frowns. Harvey’s Dad’s dead, Mom’s out of the picture. What family?

“Who?”

“Oh,” she says more lightly. “That would be his None of Your Damn Business. On his mother’s side. Twice removed. Now get moving. And iron your damn shirt!” she adds before hanging up.

Vague worry dances around Mike’s head as he unlocks his bike, but it doesn’t get a chance to set in because he’s going to steamroll this guy, which means reviewing every iota of information they have on Richard Gary and his company and his mistress and her company and - Mike decides to call a cab.

The meeting is scheduled for 8:00 and there are a few files he hasn’t had the chance to look over yet, so when he gets to the office at 5:02, Mike bypasses his cube entirely and marches straight into Harvey’s office.

There’s a moment of hesitation - this space is sacred, Harvey’s lair, and even accompanied, Mike’s barely allowed to touch anything, much less go through files. But Donna called him in. This merger is important. Clearly Harvey trusts him enough to take this on.

Or he has no other option.

Either way, Mike needs to suck it up and get to work.

In addition to the company analysis, there’s digging to be done on the sector and industry, assessing how the companies’ stocks compare to the rest of the market. Trends, equity, endless financial statements - essentially, it’s a giant clusterfuck and Mike’s got three hours to get his shit together.

Which he does, of course. He powers through the information with a full night’s sleep in his brain and the focus of complete autonomy. Donna arrives at 5:57 with startlingly large cups of coffee for both of them. Mike smiles as the cup appears before him, but when he looks up his gut drops. She's impeccably dressed as always, but there are shadows beneath her eyes, and they’re red from crying.

“Donna,” he whispers.

“No questions, kiddo,” she says tiredly. “Not now. You got what you need?”

“Materials, yeah. Time...well, we’ll know at 8:00.”

She nods and turns to leave. “You’ll be great.”

He can't help but ask, “Is there anything else I can do?”

She shakes her head then thinks better of it and says, “If he calls, just act normal. Be quick and concise, and don’t take anything personally.”

“Ok?”

She’s already on the other side of the glass door, past her desk, and heading to the elevators. In lieu of worrying, Mike dives back in with gusto. If something bad happened, the least he can do is make sure that Harvey has nothing to worry about.

--
~M~

The meeting is perfectly adequate. Their client definitely gets the better end of the deal, ‘make both parties happy’ philosophy be damned, but there was a provision or two Mike thought he could wrangle that the other attorney stole out from underneath him. All in all though, not a wreck. Even better, Louis strides past the conference room, realizes Harvey’s not in there with Mike, literally backtracks to double check his suspicions, then send his eyebrows to the stratosphere. It’s almost as satisfying as the twenty-four ounce Redbull Mike chugs before returning to his cube.

He calls Harvey to tell him the news but it goes straight to voicemail so he hangs up and texts instead.

M: Turns out I’m not a disaster.

He wants to offer up some concern, or comfort, but Donna said act normal. Mike’s not even sure what that is for them, so he tucks his earbuds in and gets to work on all the shit he was actually supposed to do today.

Harvey texts him back almost immediately.

H: No, you are. Didn’t they name a hurricane after you? Nvm, that was Michelle.

Mike grins, texting back, “Fuck u, I’d make a beautiful Michelle.”

H: That you would

M: Soft features

H: Quit fishing

M: Y? I got u a fucking awesome deal with Gary

H: Well done, Michelle. Now get back to work.

Mike rolls his eyes at the phone, and just for good measure, leans back and takes a deadpan photo of himself, sending it one handed as he enters a search into a database he’s really not supposed to have access to. If Harvey’s not here to witness the fallout of his ridiculousness, then Mike will just have to remind him.

--
~M~

Harvey doesn’t come in the next day. But Jessica does.

“Harvey’s taking some time off.”

“I...what? How much time?”

She ignores him, continuing, “I’ve divided up most of his work between the other partners, but there are a few cases I’ll need you to continue overseeing, in addition to your regular duties.

“Oh god. Ok.” Just thinking about it makes him want to sleep for year.

“You’ll be fine. Donna can help with a lot of it, and, though it pains me to say, you are more than capable of fulfilling these duties.”

Mike is so fucking glad she came down to the bullpen for this so he has a good audience. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“If you fuck this up, you’ll wish you’d never been born. Clear?” The shark’s smile is unnerving but persuasive.

“Of course. Ma’am.”

“Good. I’ll have the files to you by noon.”

Ignoring the wave of whispering that breaks out across the room, Mike shoots Harvey a text.

M: How much time off?

Harvey hasn’t responded by the time the boxes of additional work are stacked in Mike’s cube, two deep and three across, nor by by dinner. At eight, he calls.

“Harvey?”

“Mike.”

He sounds awful, tired, or sick, and suddenly Mike’s concern is much more pointed.

“Dude, are you ok?”

“What did I say about calling me dude?”

“I’m serious, Harvey!” The impending mortality of the only family he has left is taking hold around his throat. “You’re not like...sick, right?”

A weighty sigh falls across the airwaves. “No, Mike. I’m fine.”

“Good.” He flops back into his seat. “Fuck. Ok. I mean, not good... Whatever’s going on, I’m sorry. But I’m glad you’re ok. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Fuck. Don’t tell Donna I said that.”

Harvey chuckles tightly. “She tell you not to bring it up?”

“Obviously.”

“Smart woman. Besides, you’re already doing everything you can.”

“Ok. But. If you -”

“Mike. Don’t bring it up.”

“Oh,” he says, irritated by how small his voice sounds. “Right.”

“I just wanted to check in. I’ll be taking a look at your notes from the meeting tonight and send you feedback by tomorrow morning. Work hard on the AllPharm case, they’re a powerful client, and see if you can go with Louis to meet Chris Caulville. He’d be a good person for you to know.”

“Thanks.” Mike wants to admit, ‘You’re freaking me out.’ He wants to prod, ‘Why don’t you trust me?’ What he says is, “I’ll take care of it.”

The warmth in Harvey’s voice makes everything worth it. “I know.”

--
~M~

The next two days disappear. Mike takes a break from sleeping in his cube to run home, crash for a few hours, shower, and get back before the start of the business day.

Turns out there’s been a fair amount of bullshit that Harvey’s been shielding him from, monotonous paperwork that’s definitely below Harvey’s pay grade, but until now Mike has never seen. In addition to that, he has three of Harvey’s clients, and Caulville - equal parts pawned on him by, and begged off of, Louis. It takes Mike days just to get acquainted with all the case material.

Harvey’s job and his own have become one, creating the excuse Mike’s been using for completing his evening work in a certain senior partner’s corner office. It has nothing to do with the fact that Mike fucking misses Harvey so badly it’s starting to ache, and the pillow on the couch still smells faintly of his cologne.

Which is where Mike’s passed out a week later, when a noise startles him.

“Fuck!” He jerks upright, losing his suit coat to the floor.

“Jesus Christ!” Harvey shouts, and clutches his chest. “What the fuck are you doing in here? It’s three a.m.”

Mike drops his head to his palms as his heart rate starts to descend and says, “Working on the Caulville case. And AllPharm wants a conference call tomorrow so I was prepping for that, and then Gina Kay - Kay industries? Who’d’ve thought their CEO would be so tiny? She's like four feet, tops… Anyway, I wanted to get her contract drafted but some shit wasn’t adding up with the ROE calculations -”

“Caulville? That was supposed to be Louis’s case.”

“Yeah. He pawned it off on me, and I let him. You said Caulville’d be a good person to know and he seems like a cool dude. Might as well get in with him.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Kay Industries?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re on that too?”

“Yes Harvey. Kay and Caulville and Gary and AllPharm.”

“You were only supposed to have AllPharm. Louis was supposed to take Caulville, Kay was assigned to Dockins, and Gary was going to that weird Junior Partner with the creepy mustache since you basically gift wrapped it. No wonder you look like shit,” Harvey grunts and Mike flips him off. “That’s more than most Senior Partners could handle.”

Simultaneously stung and flattered, Mike grumbles, “I told you I’d take care of it.” He finally looks at Harvey, really looks, and questions crop up immediately. His boss is visibly thinner than he was a week ago, cheekbones sharper in his face, and he’s dressed casually, like he hadn’t anticipated being seen. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Eyes averted, Harvey moves behind the desk and begins rummaging around. “Picking up some paperwork.” His clavicle rises and falls in the vee of the Henley beneath his jacket and Mike is momentarily distracted.

“I could've brought it over.”

“It's fine.” He sounds bone tired and strangely young, and his hands tremble almost imperceptibly as he pack documents into a file.

“Harvey.”

Something cracks in the older man’s composure - Emotions flooding across his face as he holds Mike's gaze for just a breath too long, and then he's suddenly very interested in the documents on his desk.

Mike works up the guts to say, “I think Louis misses you.”

Harvey smirks - he must know what Mike's doing - and says, “Of course he does.”

“He asks about you constantly.”

“What'd you tell him?”

Mike shrugs then stretches. “Depends on the day. Today you were vacationing in Ceylon.”

“Which doesn't exist anymore,” Harvey deadpans.

“Well neither does Louis’s wife, but that's who you're traveling with, so…”

It works. Harvey laughs and Mike wants to crow joyfully, rub it in somebody's face. He made Harvey Specter laugh.

Noticing the file currently in Harvey’s grasp, Mike says, “Oh don't worry about that one. Unless you're looking for some heavy reading. I finished it last night.”

“Aren’t you a busy little bee?” Harvey sneers, and it isn’t until that moment that Mike realizes how absolutely ‘not enough’ sleep he’s been getting. He’d wanted Harvey to be proud, maybe even grateful. Bitterly, he laughs at himself, far more audibly than intended.

“Mike-” Harvey starts to say, pissed and rough and pleading, but it’s three in the goddamn morning, and the sole motivator for Mike’s hyperactivity just fell through, and he’s suddenly more drained than if he’d pulled a dozen all-nighters. Which he has.

He’s gotten better at a lot of things under Harvey’s tutelage, but lying is at the forefront. “Fuck off, Harvey,” he says lightly, standing and collecting his things.

“What did you just say to me?”

The attempt at levity is wearing, even after a single sentence. “I said, Fuck Off. You haven’t been here. I’m doing the best I fucking can.”

“By taking on a million fucking projects!”

“I’m handling them!” Mike shouts, shrugging into his suit jacket. “Maybe not with the manipulative grace of the great Harvey Specter, but my billables don’t suck, I’m not embarrassing the firm, and you know what? I’m learning a thing or two! Which I’m pretty sure is the whole point of being your associate. So. Fuck off.”

“It’s my fucking office,” Harvey says coolly, but there’s something off about the way he’s holding his face - not quite as naturally ambivalent as usual.

Exhausted, Mike sighs, “You’re right,” and starts to leave.

“Aren’t you going to catch me up on these cases?” Harvey interjects.

“Are you gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“You're supposed to be some fucking genius and you can't remember I told you not to bring it up?” he growls.

“Then no,” Mike spits. “Read it your damn self.”

The elevator takes forever, and instead of feeling relief as the distance stretches out between them, Mike feels his lifeline pulling almost too thin to survive. He cries in the cab. He needs to get some fucking sleep.

--
~M~

Donna frowns at him sharply the next morning, but she doesn’t ask, just forwards him some updated information on a few of the cases, and leaves him alone until four, when she pokes her head over the wall of his cubicle.

“What brings you here to mingle with the peasants?”

She throws a paper wrapped sandwich and a bag of chips onto the stack of papers he’s just finished flipping through before leaning in to avoid the prying of the other associates, observing him hawkishly.

“Harvey told you he ran into me,” Mike guesses.

“Maybe,” she shrugs.

“He tell you he was an asshole?”

“Would he do that?”

“No,” Mike sighs. “He wouldn’t.”

She puts a soft hand to his cheek, and the gentleness of the gesture is so surprising that Mike drops all three of the writing utensils he’s holding and gapes up at her. “I'm gonna say this just once. He needs you and he knows it. Think about how uncomfortable that would be for a man like him.”

With anyone else Mike would've argued but Donna doesn't say shit she doesn't mean, so instead he gulps, attempts a smile, and says, "Thanks for the food."

She grins at him, leaning back to physically dismiss him from the weight of the conversation. "Of course, puppy. It's not like you're going to feed yourself.”

He sticks his tongue out at her. She flipped him off and heads back upstairs.

"Jesus, Mike,” Kyle says. "How many of your bosses are you sleeping with?”

Mike just winks and takes an impressively large bite of sandwich.

--
~M~

Mike is another week and two cases from when he last spoke to Harvey when he realizes he's not quite as independent as he thought.

Embarrassingly enough, it's information he could almost certainly find on his own but he's too fucking tired, and there's no time to go digging through the library, even at the speed he reads. If he's going to be any good at the deposition tomorrow he needs to get at least four hours of sleep.

He sends Harvey a text around noon and by dinner, still hasn't heard from him. He tries calling, from his cell as well as a few other phones in the building just in case Harvey's avoiding him. He asks Donna. She shrugs.

"You’re the genius, Rookie. Figure it out.”

It's a little after seven when Mike raps on Harvey's door, adjusting his bag across his chest and shifting uncomfortably. After a week of missing his boss and inconvenient best friend, he’s surprisingly nervous. It doesn't help that it's taking what feels like forever for the door to open, preceded by strange scraping and what sounds like extreme difficulty with the deadbolt.

Mike wonders if Harvey's drunk, or half asleep, and has half a dozen smartass greetings on the tip of his tongue when the door opens.

Mike hasn’t slept in so long he’s hallucinating. There's no one there.

He blinks at the empty space between the frame and the door for a whole 10 seconds before a tiny voice in the vicinity of his knees says, "Who are you?”

He wants to holler into the apartment about the legal ramifications of kidnapping, but he figures it be pretty rude to ignore the person speaking to him, so he says, "Hello, I'm Mike. Is Harvey home?”

The little girl gives him a stink eye worthy of a cartoon villain and says, "Are you Uncle Harvey's friend?”

‘Uncle Harvey?’ Mike mouths, then considers the question. "Yeah. I guess I am.”

She steps back to let him in. There’s a baby crying somewhere in the condo. Mike contemplates having fallen through a wormhole and into an alternate universe.

The girl wrinkles her nose. “Lily’s so noisy."

Mike sets his bag down on the couch. "Who is Lily?"

"My sister," the kid says like she surprised Mike's too dumb to figure it out.

"Of course.” He’s too tired for this shit. “What's your name?"

"Rowan. Uncle Harvey!" She bellows out of nowhere. “Mike's here.”

"You can't possibly have said what I think you just said." Harvey calls from what Mike thinks might be his room.

"I didn't think you had any other friends besides Daddy and Donna,” Rowan observes as Harvey enters the room with a tiny, wriggling lump on his shoulder.

He startles, like he hadn’t really believed his ears until now. Mike, for his part, can’t stop gaping at the sight of Harvey in jeans and a v-neck with a spit-rag draped over his shoulder. He looks weary, but soft and unpolished, and the sight of it scrapes out Mike’s chest. For a moment, he misinterprets the expression on Harvey’s face as vulnerable, as open, like maybe for once he’ll let Mike in, but when he speaks, his voice is cold.

“What are you doing here?”

Mike sighs, trying to ignore the fussy infant and his own protesting heart. “I need help with the -”

“You have a whole freaking library at your disposal.”

“I haven’t slept in two days. Your brain is faster.”

“Fine,” Harvey grunts. “What?”

“A bunch of the companies Gary’s trying to invest in aren’t indexed, no S and P or anything -”

“If they’re private, they won’t have any. There’s no legislation requiring them to report their financials to the public.”

“Damn.” Lily’s still crying, angry whimpers just loud enough to interrupt his train of thought. “So what do we do?”

“If Gary’s looking to buy out a portion of the company, it’s basically their word for it.”

“Oh hell no.” Smiling grimly, Harvey nods, and Mike realizes there’s more to it. “But?” he murmurs over the gradual crescendo of wailing.

“If he buys the company outright, then they have to disclose the financials as part of the deal. Individual investments are liquid, but if Gary buys them out, it’s fixed, less volatile. Play it smart, you can leave an exit clause in the contract so he can back out if their numbers end up being shit.”

“Great. I’ll do some digging, I just hope he - Oh my God, give me the kid.”

--
~H~

"What?" Harvey hears himself grunt.

Mike literally taps his foot, like a stubborn kindergartener. "Give me the goddamn kid, Harvey,” then steps in close, more at ease than an associate should be with his boss, but it's never been simple like that between them.

He scoops Lily from Harvey's shoulder in one smooth gesture and begins adjusting her in his hands, continuing with shoptalk as if this isn't one of the most bizarre situations in Harvey's adult life.

“I’m guessing it won’t be a hard sell though,” Mike continues. “Vanna’s been pushing him to expand, and no matter how much I dislike her, she’s not wrong.” As he speaks Mike folds Lily’s arms across her body, curling a large palm across her chest and turning her face down. With the other hand he takes her diapered bottom and begins wiggling her around - bouncing, stirring, figure eights. “What do you think? Expand his portfolio? It’s not a bad sector for investment…”

Lily promptly falls asleep.

“What the fuck did you just do?”

Mike rolls his eyes and leans against the counter. “I can only think over one person's bitching at a time and you’re irritating enough already. Hey Rowan, Can you get the green folders out of my bag and give them to Harvey?”

Though she heads to her room immediately after, his niece obeys without complaint, another surprise because Rowan Sophia Specter likes a grand total of three people in the world, and Harvey's standing right here. Donna’s at home. And Marcus is dead.

Grief grips him again, great crashing waves of anguish. Thankfully this one is less manic, just cloying and heavy in his throat.

Folders appear in his hands and Mike blinks at him. “There’s the overview. What do you think?”

--
~M~

The little one has finally gone completely lax in his grip and Mike treats himself to the couch as Harvey pours over the documents. He keeps her cradled over his bouncing knee just in case, but he's pretty sure they're in the clear.

The couch dips as Harvey joins him, flipping into the next file. “It's not a bad idea,” he says. “There's some risk involved -”

“As with everything,” Mike interjects and Harvey tosses him what feels like an unnecessarily sour look. “Jesus, sorry.”

“But all in all, I feel comfortable recommending it. Draw up the contract tomorrow.”

Mike flops back, nodding and mentally processing his next steps. It’ll take a few days, but it's a straightforward process, something he should be able to do on his own.

“Where'd you learn that magic trick?”

Confused, Mike blinks. Harvey's eyes are fixed where Lily is passed out against his forearm. “Oh. Growing up.”

“I thought you were an only child.”

He nods. “Gram and I lived in a building with a bunch of families. Helped each other out when we could. Food, hand me downs, watching the kids… anyway, one little guy had a cough and I didn't sleep for a week trying to get him to pass the fuck out. His ma taught me the secret weapon,” he grins. “Here. I'll show you.”

Mike scoots over across the leather, extending the sleeping infant and turning her just slightly so they can peer between his hand and her chest. “Cross her arms and hold them against her body with your hand. Get her butt in your other hand and shake her around a bit. Doesn’t really matter how. And game over.”

He shifts Lily into a one-armed hold and slumps into the couch, but when she starts to fuss from all the movement, he slips her up to his shoulder where she burrows into his neck. Nostalgia and affection hit him so hard that a little whimper creeps out. He blushes but doesn’t open his eyes.

“So you’ll set up a meeting with Gary?” Harvey’s voice sounds tight and tired but the couch is too comfy for Mike to check his expression.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” he sighs.

“You gonna make it, Rookie?” He’s teasing.

“‘Course. Wish you were back though.”

Harvey huffs. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Hell no. You taught be better than that.”

Harvey’s smiling, soft in a way that Mike recognizes, but after a few weeks without it, it's easier to note the intimacy, the surprising fondness from a man so guarded. It disarms him, and without thinking Mike reaches up to brush his fingers along Harvey's cheekbone then down the sinew of his neck.

A hand shoots up and circles Mike's wrist, jerking him away.

“Shit, sorry,” Mike breathes. “I -” For a breath, the overwhelming longing for things to return to normal - where Harvey took care of him, where they had each other’s backs - almost shoves an embarrassing sound from his gut, but Mike’s learned some control over the past few years so he wrenches his wrist free and passes the baby over, gently but without touching Harvey at all.
“Gotta go. Thanks for the -”

His throat starts to close so he stops talking, stumbles up, and throws his coat on before darting out the door.

Harvey doesn't try to stop him.

--
~M~

“Baby boy.”

“‘M not a baby.”

Donna’s look is 99% pity and 1% irritation. “Then quit fucking acting like one and take me out to lunch.”

Mike sighs up at her. “I’m supposed to take you? You probably make more money than I do.”

“Of course I do, but it’s the sentiment that’s important. I’m about to do you a huge favor. It’s the least you can do.”

Supremely suspicious, Mike pulls on his jacket and follows her from the bullpen.

He’s waiting for her to drag him to some fancyass restaurant with four courses and a wine menu worth more than his apartment, but they end up huddled on the same side of a bench in a BBQ joint, the entrance of which is literally in an alley. The food is perfection, and dirt cheap to boot and they both get a beer because it'd be sacrilege not to, while she refuses to talk to him about whatever's so important until they're three quarters of the way through a pound of brisket.

“Heard you have the magic touch.”

“What?”

“Lily.”

“Oh. Nah. Anybody's ma would know about it. Why’s he babysitting? He doesn't seem like the type.”

She watches in thinly veiled horror at the size of the bite he takes then says, “You'd be surprised. And I don't think it's called babysitting when they're yours.”

“Those are Harvey's kids?” Mike spits.

Donna shrugs. “Legally.”

“What?” He's done grasping for answers.

“His brother Marcus died.”

The meat drops from Mike's fingers with a splat. “What?”

Donna doesn't bother responding and Mike doesn't taste the beer he knocks back, just swigs til it's gone, then crumples the empty can.

“You ok?”

“Yeah.”

He's not, of course, hadn't been for years before Harvey, and the idea that this man he loves is hurting in the worst way, his way, the way that still claws into his lungs and threatens to drown him from the inside out, very nearly kills him too, right there at a fucking picnic table.

He survives though, always does. Sucks in shaky breath after shaky breath until Donna's voice comes back into focus.

“Mike? Deep breaths hon’… there you are.”

“How's he doing?”

“How do you think he's doing?”

“No,” Mike clarifies. “I mean specifics. He's not eating enough, almost certainly not getting enough sleep…”

Everyone grieves differently. It's one thing for Mike to self destruct, another entirely for someone as powerful and remarkable as Harvey.

“Right on all counts,” Donna murmurs sadly. “None of them are sleeping much and Rowan was a picky eater to begin with. Harvey's tried just about everything but I'm worried for both of them. Lily's fussy but it's kind of a blessing she's so young. She won't remember.”

“What happened to the brother?”

“Seizure. Hit his head. Aneurysm out of nowhere.”

“Jesus Christ. Where's their mom?”

“Left, right after Lily was born,” she bites out. Her knuckles are turning white against the table.

“Donna.” Mike puts his hand over hers and she offers a weak smile in response, shaking her head. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?”

She uses her free hand to fuck with the paper spilling over the lip of her aluminum tray, the restless, absent gesture connoting uncertainty Mike hadn’t known her capable of. What a humanizing experience this has been - for all of them.

“I am absolutely not saying this to you - ”

“Obviously.”

“ - But it's impossible not to give a shit about you, Mike. Even for Harvey. He's known me too long, he knows what I think, he knows what he can get away with. But if you tell him to sit the fuck down and eat, or whatever…”

“Donna, Harvey never listens to me.”

The soft light from the rafters skips across her smile, tired and sweet. “Actually, he does.”

Mike nods. Pays. Goes grocery shopping.

--
~M~

When Mike shows up on Harvey's doorstep with a backpack and four bags of groceries, there isn’t much of a plan. He has few perfected recipes in his brain and vague, nebulous nervousness dancing through his stomach. And hope. Just enough to be dangerous.

Harvey, not Rowan, gets the door this time, sees Mike, and goes to close it again. Mike hip checks the door back open and rolls his eyes, muttering, “Rookie,” as he gathers the groceries from the floor.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Rookie move, Harvey. You know I'm wily.”

There's a moment while he's moving through the foyer that he's absolutely sure he's just screwed the pooch, but then Harvey grunts, “That's one word for it,” and there's a husk of a ghost of the fondness he used to use with Mike all the time.

Mike makes sure to hide his grin.

There's not another sound until half the groceries are put away and the other half are neatly laid out on the counter, and it doesn’t come from Harvey, slouched at the island, adamantly ignoring Mike.

Rowan tugs on the hem of his sweatshirt as he's washing his hands.

“Hi, Rowan,” he says softly.

“Hi, Mad Mike.”

“Mad Mike, huh?”

“Like Max.”

“Oh I see. It's a compliment then.”

She nods solemnly.

“Why thank you. Would you like to help me make grilled cheese?”

Another serious nod and Mike has her swept up onto the counter.

The first order of business is to get them fed, but Mike’s not complaining about the buffer Rowan provides. He knows he's doing the right thing but Harvey's still terrifying.

He shows her how to spread the softened butter, and lets her peel apart the slices of cheese. She doesn't talk much, but eventually there's a series of sandwiches frying in the pan with Rowan assigned the task of flipping them. It's easy. Sweet. He's in the condo, level one achieved, but something is still very wrong.

Other than Lily gurgling softly in the baby monitor, and the sizzle of butter, it's silent.

It's a bigger risk than kicking his way through the door but it's as good a place to start as any. Mike washes and dries his hands thoroughly and doesn't look back as he heads to the shelf.

Minutes later the needle skates gently over the Neil Young record. It's been years since he heard this song (1), remembers his dad playing it late at night after Mike's mom was asleep. “Your grandad loved this record," he’d say as Mike curled up on the floor at his feet. “Said it reminded him of the sky and the road and feeling at home in himself instead of a place. What do you think about that, Mikey?”

A hand closes rough around his arm, pulling him back, and then Harvey's lifting the needle away. “No,” he rasps.

The anger in his grip is tempered by the pain in his eyes and Mike is so, so fucking glad Donna shared what she did because he knows this: music too close, too intimate to the place where your heart is breaking, so he doesn't move, just says gently, “Ok. Then pick something else.”

There's a fire, rage that might've spilled out to burn them both, but Mike turns his hand over to wrap around Harvey’s wrist in return, medieval handshake, men in new territory. “Harvey. Something else. Something good.”

Time rests a moment as they watch one another. When it rushes back in, Harvey lets go like he's been burned, but he goes to the shelf and pulls down a well-worn record.

It's the Spinners. Mike laughs, broken and genuine. It’s almost too soft to be heard, but Harvey joins him.

--
~M~

Mike falls off the couch.

5:45 a.m. He left a suit at the office, so he showers quickly, inhales half a pot of coffee, and checks his calendar while he tugs on shoes with the other hand.

“You're up early.”

Harvey's voice is guarded and Mike chooses not to read into it. There's no way he'll get it right.

“Work. Jessica'll kill me if I don't finish this contract today and,” he adds, brandishing his phone in Harvey's general direction. “My boss is fuckin’ nuts, so…”

Harvey rolls his eyes, but says, “Thanks for the grilled cheese. Rowan hasn't been eating.”

Mike can tell his smile is too shy, but Harvey doesn't call him on it. Maybe he doesn't notice. “Good. Spaghetti’s on the menu tonight but I’ll make some salad too. Wouldn't kill you to eat a goddamn vegetable.”

“You cannot possibly be lecturing me about healthy eating. You think caffeine is a food group.”

Mike shrugs, grateful for the teasing. Harvey looks grateful for something, too.

--
~H~

The kid books it out the door with what would've been only a minute to spare if he'd been riding his bike but Harvey insists Ray take him. Mike’s already too damn clumsy and Harvey's not about to lose anyone else.

That fucking kid. Marcus’s death was a reminder of how fucking useless it is to get attached, and then here comes this blue eyed boy with his giant brain and even bigger heart, and the worst part is, Harvey wants to let him in.

“It’s so dumb,” he says to the grass. “You’d laugh.

“Actually, you’d tell me to get a grip, and ask the guy out.” He sighs. “I can’t. He’s my employee for christ sake, and he’s too goddamn dumb to say no. So fucking eager to please,” Harvey adds, fond and sad.

The wind meanders lazily through the stones, ruffling the bouquet of flowers on Marcus’s grave - (2) lavender maybe, but there are white as well as purple blossoms, tied with blue twine. He’s got no clue who’d have left them, but it’s not a surprise. Marcus’s heart was bigger than anyone he’s ever known.

“You’d’ve liked him, Marc. Two peas in a pod. You guys could’ve bonded over how emotionally repressed I am, and good beer. You -” he chokes a little, but doesn’t stop. “You’d probably understand him better than I do. He’s...There’s so much there, man. He’s so fuckin’ brilliant, but he’s so naive, too. He’s been kicked a million times and keeps getting back up. He yells at me; Can you believe that? Someone with the balls to yell at me?”

Tears tickle the stubble on his jaw and he dashes them away roughly. “Yeah, man. You’d’ve loved him.”

--
~M~

“Whoa,” Rowan says quietly, observing the process with fiery focus.

Mike nods. “Good job. Keep turning.”

“You babysit the noodles?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I’ll babysit them.”

Harvey appears from his office, sweater sleeves rolled up, hair soft and undone, Lily wriggling on his shoulder, and Mike has to leave Rowan to her own devices for a moment and get himself a glass of water. He can’t have anyone looking at his face as he sorts through this bullshit mess of feelings.

“Hey Lil’,” Rowan croons, abandoning her job to scoot across the counter and smush her face between Harvey’s shoulder and her sister’s arm. “Mad Mike is showing me how to make noodles. You wanna see?”

Lily gurgles happily and gives Rowan’s head a clumsy, overly enthusiastic pat, but Rowan just smiles and crawls back.

“Turn her around, Uncle Harvey.”

Harvey rolls his eyes, good-naturedly and only so Mike can see, and they both chuckle. Now supplied with a sufficient audience, Rowan explains in detail how to mash the pasta through the cutter and turn the crank, and Harvey listens indulgently for all of two minutes before he notices the boxes stacked next to the door.

“What’s that?”

Stilling the knife on the cutting board, Mike flicks his eyes up then returns to slicing onions. “Oh. Jefferson Power.”

“I went through their case today. That their files?”

“Yep. Figured I’d get you guys fed then try ‘n’ tear through those before tomorrow.” Cautiously, he adds, “If you don’t mind me doing some work here.”

Harvey shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He eyes Rowan gleefully mashing balls of dough into pancakes. “You have a pasta cutter just lyin’ around?”

“Yeah...kinda.” The onions are suddenly very interesting.

“Care to elaborate?”

“It was my mom’s,” Mike exhales, quick and sharp, the uncovering of a wound. But now that it’s out there… “I don’t use it much. Too many memories... but I loved it as a kid. Figured Rowan might, too. At the very least it’d keep her occupied.

“Yeah, Mike. Thanks,” he says, softly, brown eyes too warm in the light of the kitchen.

“This your mom’s?” Rowan asks, and Mike has to shake off the spell Harvey put him under before answering.

“Yeah.”

Turning the little handle she adds, “What if she needs it? You borrow it?”

“Oh. Sweetie. No. My mom isn’t alive anymore.”

Her hand stills.

“You have a dad?”

“I have one, but he’s dead.”

Rowan nods somberly. “Mine, too.”

“I know, honey.”

She considers him for a long moment before saying, “My daddy made the best pancakes.”

Mike’s jaw aches, but he’s smiling as he says, “My dad loved to celebrate everything, nothing, stupid little things.”

“My dad was a bad dancer.”

“Mine, too. Didn’t stop him from trying though.”

“I know! He dance everywhere.”

“My dad loved to listen to music.”

“My dad,” Harvey adds quietly. “Was a musician.”

“Grandpa,” Rowan murmurs.

“Mm-hm.”

“He was your dad.”

“That’s what that word means, Rowan.”

“And Daddy was your brother.”

“Yeah.”

“You can tell me about him?”

“I -” A panicked look shoots across Harvey’s face, fear and pain in terrifying unison.

“Hey Rowan,” Mike interjects. “We have to hang these noodles up so they can dry. You wanna help me?”

“Yes,” she replies, easily distracted. “How?”

By the time he’s finished explaining, Harvey’s disappeared to put Lily down for a nap. It takes a little longer than it should, but Mike doesn’t mention it.

They eat, and Harvey and Mike share the last of a bottle of wine. Rowan makes them laugh with impressions of characters from the movies she’s been watching lately, and it feels easy and safe. Mike wants it to be real so goddamn badly he can hardly breathe, so he doesn’t, just lets the breathless longing wash over him until he can’t bear it anymore, and has to get up to do dishes.

Once the girls are both asleep, Mike and Harvey end up on the couch, pouring through the files together.

“You’re a pretty decent cook.”

“Thanks. Lots of mouths to feed growing up.”

“Always surprising me, Rookie.”

Mike grins at him. “Really? I thought not much surprises you.”

“It doesn’t. Why do you think I hired you?”

“Oh, right. ‘Cause you like life ‘like this’,” he teases, holding his hand up near his face.

“Exactly. I was getting bored, so I bought a puppy.”

“A puppy who makes you look good.”

“I don’t need any help in that department.

“There he is,” Mike groans. “Harvey Specter - back to normal.”

Harvey eyes him pointedly. “Normal is an illusion.”

It’s a challenge, and Mike’s never backed down from one of those. “What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly. Addam’s Family, yeah?”

“Very good, Rookie.”

Mike blushes. “Thanks.”

“Now get to work.”

Rolling his eyes, Mike groans, “Yes, sir.”

--
~H~

Mike is curled in the corner of the couch. His jeans are have a grass stain on one knee, and it should be irritating that the kid takes so little care of his clothes, but Harvey finds himself endeared instead. Maybe it’s because Mike’s tee is a little too big, exposing that soft stretch of skin behind the clavicle and beneath the throat.

“Oh my god, these notes are infuriating. It’s the twenty first century. Don’t they have them typed up?”

“I’m sure they do,” Harvey replies. “But they know we’re on a time crunch, and they’re trying to stall.”

“Uh. Nice try, fuckers.”

Harvey laughs. “Amen.”

Mike wriggles down a little deeper and sighs heavily.

“You gonna make it, killer?”

“Yeah, I’m just…” Frustrated, he squirms for another second, then resigns himself to something. Harvey’s wondering what it is when ice cold toes worm their way under his thigh.

“Jesus christ, your feet are fucking icicles.” Embarrassed and pretending he’s not, Mike shrugs. “We have blankets, you know.”

“Blankets are for your body. My body isn’t cold.”

“Mike. There’s this crazy new invention, stop me if you’ve heard of it, but they’re like little blankets … for your feet. They call them - what is it? Right - socks.”

“Shut up,” he grunts, sighing as his toes start to thaw, and Harvey doesn't really want him to move, so he complies.

The first box goes in no time, but about halfway through the second they start to decelerate. Mike’s head bobs every few minutes, startling him back into consciousness, and despite his griping about not being cold, Harvey tugs a blanket over the both of them, balancing a few files on the fabric spread between their bodies. He just wants Mike to be comfortable and tries not to think about why he needs that so damn badly.

The kid leans over to plop a few more folders on the coffee table, moving the small vase of violets from the danger zone of being knocked over in a document-related avalanche. “These are nice.”

Harvey nods absently. “Yeah, one of Marcus’s old co-workers sent ‘em.”

“Violets signify loyalty.”

He looks up. “Loyalty, hm?”

Mike’s studying the file left in his lap with unnecessary focus. “Yep.”

“You send me these, Rookie?” he prods. “Show me you’re loyal?”

Startled, Mike’s eyes find his own, searching and curious, then he takes a shallow breath and asks, “Do I really need to send flowers for that?”

Harvey’s stomach clenches. “Nah, kid. You don’t.”

--
~M~

“Oh, and Mr. Sands? You’ll be billed for the two hours you made me wait, as well as the consultation.”

“That’s - ”

“Non-negotiable. This is one of the top firms in the city and you will not waste our time.” Mike glares at him from across the hardwood table with perhaps unnecessary intensity. “Are we clear?”

The guy scoffs, nods, and leaves the room in a huff.

Mike immediately pulls out his phone. “Hey, sorry Harvey, I’m gonna be late. Sands just left.”

“That’s one hell of an introductory meeting.”

“He was two hours late.”

“I hope you billed him for it.”

“Damn right.”

“Good boy.” Mike tries desperately to ignore the smile in Harvey’s voice and the way it’s making his pants a little tighter. “Are those veggies you really unsubtly pre-cut supposed to be for dinner tonight?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Saute in garlic, boil the potatoes, put the meat in the oven.”

“I’ll get it started.”

“Thanks, Harvey.”

It’s been a long day, but only because Mike’s got mad codependency issues. The morning had flown by in a gust of paperwork, but waiting for this Sands guy therefore making him late to Harvey’s has him on edge.

For the first time it occurs to him that maybe he’s in over his head.

He has a few errands to run, but then he’s tearing through the last miles to Harvey’s condo with Flogging Molly’s Queen Ann’s Revenge stuck in his head, humming it absently into his scarf.

The doorman unlocks the elevator without comment when Harvey doesn’t answer his phone. As the glass cube ascends, Mike wrestles with his bags, resigning himself to strangulation when the door slides open and everything else falls away.

Lily is having a dance party in her bouncy seat in the center of the island, gurgling happily along to the music floating from the record player, and Harvey is swaying at the stove with Rowan balanced on his hip as he tosses vegetables around the pan.

Mike makes a noise - God knows what it is, strangled and joyful and desperate at the sight of them, and Harvey turns around, grinning and bouncing Rowan with one arm. She’s got her little hand fisted in his collar, tugging it down and it’s probably the sizzling garlic, not the sight of his boss’s tanned chest, that’s making his mouth water.

“Mad Mike!” Rowan crows. “You camed!”

“Of course I came, baby girl.” He kicks his bags and shoes off to the side before joining them. “Wouldn’t miss the chance to make fun of Uncle Harvey’s cooking.”

“Uncle Harvey a good cook.”

“Is he now?”

“Yup!”

“Better than me?”

She mimes zipping her lips. Harvey chuckles and kisses her cheek. “Good call, honey.”

Mike needs distance from this dream, but as he passes the island Lily whines at him. “Come on,” he murmurs, plucking her from her seat. “Help me set the table.”

She squeals, delighted to carry silverware, brandishing forks dangerously close to Mike’s eyeballs but it’s so cute he doesn’t stop her.

As they eat Harvey grills him about work.

“So Sand’s paid?”

“Of course.”

“I’m impressed, Rookie. He’s not an easy man to deal with.”

“Well, neither are you, but I make it work,” Mike says through a mouthful.

“Charming.”

“Fanks,” he says, grinning wide enough to push mashed potatoes through his teeth for everyone to see. Rowan shrieks. Harvey fakes a gag. Mike’s heart settles.

They’re polishing off the last of the chicken and Rowan has joined Lily on the playmat when Harvey says out of nowhere, “I’m coming back to work next week.”

“Oh!” There’s joy - he misses his mentor, and it’ll be a relief to have someone to share the workload, but he’s also nervous. Things are different between them here, now. Will they be different there, too? Does he want them to be? “Cool.”

“Cool?” Harvey raises a brow.

“Yeah. That’ll be awesome. Are you gonna go back to your old schedule?”

“My old schedule was showing up after nine and leaving before five because my associate did all the heavy lifting, so yeah, that shouldn’t be too hard to adjust to,” he says wryly.

“Ass,” Mike mutters. “Who’s watching the girls?”

“I interviewed some nannies.”

“You mean you scared the shit out of some nannies.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Are you nervous?”

Harvey turns his glass in his fingers, thoughtfully. “Yeah. I hate it, but I am. Haven’t left them for more than a few hours since they moved in. They’re…”

“Yours.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a good…” Mike’s not sure what word to use. Uncle? Dad? “You’re good with them.”

“I’m not Marcus,” he says bitterly into the tumbler.

“No one’s asking you to be.” Dark eyes flick up to his. “Harvey…” Mike’s voice fades to air and it would've stayed there if Harvey hadn’t asked, “What?” all deep and sincere like his heart depends on Mike’s answer.

“When my parents died...I didn’t want new ones.. What I needed was to know I wasn’t alone, even though I knew they were never coming back. That’s what you’re doing for the girls. And you’re good at it.”

Harvey huffs pain into the back of his mouth. “How do you know?”

Mike shrugs. “‘S what you did for me.”

--
~H~

“Mike…” God, the kid looks like home sitting there in his unbuttoned collar, tousled hair from the bike ride and red cheeks from the wine, earnest and beautiful. Harvey shifts forward to say what he should’ve said years ago when Mike looks over to where the girls are playing on the floor.

“Oh, holy shit, Harvey, look.”

Lily is pulling herself up by the crossbar of her little activity center, one of her favorite activities, and she’s getting more steady every day.

“Lily-girl,” Harvey coos. “Look at you, honey. So strong!”

She blows a spit bubble and faces him, wobbly and joyful, and Harvey slides out of his chair to kneel on the floor so they’re eye to eye. “Yeah, you’re getting so big, honey.”

“Ee!” she says. “Ee-bee!”

He hears Mike laugh from behind him, sweet and warm.

She totters to the end of the walker, trying to get to Harvey, and where there’s nothing else to hold onto, she just lets go.

Mike gasps but Harvey holds his breath. She gets one step in… two-ish… she starts to fall but before she can, Harvey’s sweeping her into his arms, breathless and ecstatic. “Look at you, big girl! Walking all on your own! I’m so proud of you! And Mike’s so proud of you, and your Daddy’s so, so goddamn proud of you…”

Lily’s happily wriggling in his arms and he kisses the top of her head. Why is her hair wet? Mike slips to the floor next to him, accepting Rowan into his lap, and wrapping an arm around Harvey’s shoulders.

“Hey.”

The sharp breath that escapes Harvey’s teeth surprises him as much as anyone else. Or maybe not because Mike doesn’t even flinch, just cuffs his cheek gently with a shirtsleeve, the fabric coming away translucent with tears.

“I -” Harvey starts in on an excuse.

“No. Be where you are, Harvey. Be here.”

But ‘here’ hurts. Here burns like his chest is exploding with raw love and untempered grief. Here feels like the eye of a hurricane and if he doesn’t run, the storm’ll catch up with him.

“Harvey. It’s ok. We’re not going anywhere.” Mike tugs on him, pulling them all into an ungainly embrace.

They sit on the floor so long that Lily and Mike’s legs fall asleep, and Harvey is not the only grown man crying stealthily into his own shoulder.

--
~H~

“Lily took her first steps last night. Haulin’ ass, just like her daddy.”

He toes the bouquet of lacy white flowers tied with blue twine at the foot of the headstone. (3)

“Mike was there. He’s...man, they’re all growing up. He’s gonna be a damn good lawyer some day. Maybe even better than me. Not for years, obviously, but…”

He sighs.

“I cried in front of him, or - on him? And you can keep your smart-ass comments to yourself.”

The air turns to dense fog before his mouth. “Going back to work next week. Miss the girls already. Don’t know how you did it. I guess you break your heart when you have to, huh?” He laughs but is completely unsurprised when it turns into a sob.

--
~M~

“Oh, thanks, puppy,” Donna smiles as he hands her her caramel syrup with a dash of coffee.

“Of course.”

He disappears promptly into Harvey’s office to begin clearing out his shit. Donna follows him in.

“So. Harvey’s first day back.”

“Yep.” He’s going to need another box for all these files.

“That’ll be nice.”

“It will.”

“Load off your back.”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not happy about that?”

“I am!” Mike whirls around. “I’m -” Donna’s side eye is bone-chilling. “I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

“It’s just...different. A month of an alternate universe, and now...what? It’s he just gonna ignore the fact he’s been gone for a month? Is everyone supposed to act like he never left? Am I supposed to pretend I don’t -”

“Love him?”

Mike splutters, “No. That wasn’t what I -”

“But it’s what you meant.”

Suddenly cold, he says, “Donna, you can’t tell him.”

“The hell I can’t.”

“Please don’t. Please!” He must be more tired than he thought, the panic is naked in his voice.

“Ok,” she replies softly. Surprised. “Alright Mike. If you’re sure.”

“Without a doubt.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think I don’t want my boss knowing I'm in love with him?” he spits. It hurts to say, but she shakes her head.

“No. Why are you so sure he doesn’t love you back?”

“Ha,” Mike croaks. “Very funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

He stares at her. She’s wonderful, but maybe she’s lived in this world for too long and forgotten how things really work, so he explains without explaining.

“Cyclists should always wear a helmet. It’s a ridiculous hazard not to. Because you spend so much time in your helmet, and your life literally depends on it, it’s super important that it fits your head and your habits. You have to be sure of it’s stability, you have to know it hasn’t sustained any structural damage...”

“Are you high?”

“Bike frames are fine second-hand, or seats, handlebars, it’s all good used. But if you’re a pro, you rely heavily on that one silly piece of gear. Only you use it, and only for riding.” He pauses to gather his heart off the floor. “A truly competent cyclist would never buy a second hand helmet. It’d never even occur to him.”

The quick exit barely hurts. He’ll ask Harold to come up and get the rest later.

The bullpen is soothing in its noisiness, and Mike loses himself in paperwork deeply enough that the dip in sound doesn’t even register, so the solid three pounds of files dropping onto his desk scares the shit out of him.

“Gah!”

Harvey rolls his eyes.

“What is this?”

“AllPharm.”

“We closed them.”

“They liked us.”

“Us?” Mike echoes coyly.

“Jesus. So needy. They liked you. Better?”

“Much. So what do they want now?”

Harvey gestures to the mountain of folders. “You tell me.”

--
~M~

“So. How long you been working for Pearson Hardman?”

Mike shrugs and swigs his beer. “Couple years. How long have you been at Jones?”

“Ten months?”

“You like it?”

“Yeah. No. Yes, of course, but -”

Mike nods at the poor guy. “I know. Too much, all the time.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Exactly.”

Donna, coming back from the bathroom, leans down to kiss his cheek. “Having fun, Rookie?”

“Free food, open bar, beautiful women kissing me out of nowhere? I’m in heaven.”

She laughs, free and easy. “You learn fast, kid.”

“I am a genius, you know,’ he teases.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the bee’s knees. Try the amber ale, it’s gorgeous.”

“You’re a beer person?” he squawks, but she’s already sashaying down to her seat.

“Who was that?” Cam asks breathlessly.

“Donna Paulson. She’s...my boss, kind of.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She is.”

A sharp whistle rips across the dining room, but apparently only Mike hears it, searching til he sees Harvey. Cam notices, gasping, “Who is that?”

“My actual boss. Harvey Specter.”

“That’s Harvey Specter? God. He’s gorgeous, too. Is that Jessica Pearson next to him? Why is everyone at your office so hot?”

Mike laughs so hard he pulls something as he’s pushing his chair in.

“Who’re you flirting with over there?” Harvey mutters into his ear.

“First of all, I was not flirting. That’s Cam Davis, associate at Jones. He thinks you gorgeous.”

“Good taste.”

“If you say so.”

Mike feels Harvey’s chuckle in his spine as they turn shoulder to shoulder to face the crowded room together.

Cam is right, of course. Client dinners are exhausting, but Party Harvey is a better stimulant than cocaine. His hair is neatly parted, a weird contrast for Mike after weeks of seeing it soft and brushed away from his face, but it looks good on him, obviously, strong and clean and powerful. The jacket of his suit tapers to his waist and his pants are just a little tighter than usual. Mike doesn’t recognize them.

“Rene’s on point with this one.”

“You saying I look good, Mike?”

“No. I’m saying Rene is a god with a sewing needle.”

“Mm. No argument there.” He hands over the tumbler he’s cradling without explanation, and Mike takes a sip, swishing the scotch over his tongue.

“Delicious.”

“It is.”

“And you do. By the way,” Mike admits, handing the glass back.

“Do what?”

“Look good.”

Harvey doesn't let go of his hand and when he realizes why, Mike's embarrassed but Harvey doesn't give him shit, just brushes feather-light fingers over his palm, dusting away the smudge of dirt there.

The room is full of light and sound and delicious cuisine too rich for Mike’s wallet or pallet, but when Harvey speaks, his whole world shrinks down to those three soft words. “You too, Mike.”

The smile blossoming across his face must be contagious, because when he chances a glance up, Harvey’s echoing it so brightly he can hardly bear to watch.

“Specter! Good to see you!”

“Jameson. How are you?” Harvey’s posture hardens as he shakes the guy’s hand, and Mike thinks he recognizes him from somewhere. The AllPharm team, maybe.

“Better than before. I was wondering if you had a minute.”

“I have several. What can I do you for?”

“We need someone to represent us.”

“You do.”

“You heard.”

“I’ve heard a lots, lately. Why don’t you tell me your version?”

Mike watches in awe as a bumbling millionaire stumbles right into Harvey’s clutches, and gets played at his own game. It turns into a series of conversations that Mike’s not invited to, but he doesn’t mind, rejoining Cam for another beer. The kid looks over his shoulder at Harvey a dozen times in the half hour they sit there, repeating, “Wow. He is something else.”

Mike can’t be bothered trying to explain how “something else” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

--
~H~

“You know any doctors?”

The kid looks good. Must be a new suit. “Is this a kinky thing? Because I know a girl -”

“No, Harvey, a real doctor. A good one.”

He leans back at his desk, asking the real question this time. “Finished with the AllPharm files?”

“Most of them. Figured I’d finish the rest in the time it took us to procure an expert.”

“Donna?”

“On it,” her voice says through the speaker.

“Can I finish the rest of this shit in here?” Mike asks, already heading to the couch.

“Absolutely not. You have a whole cubicle to yourself. I’ll have Donna call you when we’ve got a doctor you can poke at.” He can’t have that kind of distraction lurking around his office, especially when he’s spent the morning feeling like the place is already missing something.

“Oh...kay…” Shakily, Mike leaves the room.

“That was rude,” Donna says.

“He’ll survive.”

“I suppose,” she replies. “For now.”

--
~M~

AllPharm wants Pearson Hardman to sue the American Medical Association. And Harvey’s ignoring him. No big deal.

It’s taken Mike a full day to finish the additional material Harvey keeps sending down, and another one to juggle his administrative duties and track down a doctor from Donna’s list. He’s not sure if Harvey’s purposely burying him alive or if it’s just a byproduct of getting back into the swing of things.

The patent on AllPharm’s most lucrative painkiller expired last year, and in an effort to insulate their product from competitive generic drugs, they added a new feature to patent - a delayed release that’s supposed to make one pill last twelve hours. The AMA is alleging that the drug doesn’t actually last that long, that AllParm is marketing with false claims, and gouging insurance prices for a benefit that doesn’t really exist. (6)

“Thanks for meeting with me.”

The doctor shakes his hand and gives him a once over. “Are you twelve?”

Mike ignores the patronizing attitude, unbuttoning his jacket as he sits down and making sure the camera is on. “I’ve got a few questions about AllPharm’s painkiller.”

“The new one? AllPrax?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about it?”

“Do you think the AMA’s lawsuit is valid?”

Dr. Hayes narrows his eyes. “Who’s side are you on?”

“The side that’s telling the truth.”

He laughs. “You are twelve.”

“I’m also serious. If this company is killing people, I need to know. And if the AMA is stonewalling a drug that could improve people’s quality of life, I need to know that, too.”

“Look,” the doctor sighs. “All I can tell you is my own experience.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

An hour later, Mike’s pretty sure he’s going to puke, but all least he knows what side he’s on.

--
~H~

“You talk to your doctor?”

“Yeah, and we can’t take that case.”

Harvey looks up, dangerously slow. “Because?”

“AllPrax isn’t safe.”

“There’s a fuckton of data says it is.”

“I know, but -”

“Are you turning down this billion dollar client on the word of one doctor?”

“No! I wouldn’t do that. He’s a key witness, but I’ve got - ”

“And spearheading an attack on the pharmaceutical company that gouged you for your grandmother’s medication coverage is just a convenient side benefit.”

“This has nothing to do with that!”

“I’m just telling you what the opposition is going to say.”

“Harvey, we should be on the AMA’s side, if anything.”

Considering his computer screen coolly, he says, “Prove it.”

“What?”

“If we’re dumping AllPharm after I told Jessica we’d take it, you better have some damn good reasons.”

“You told Jessica we’d take it?”

“Lower your voice,” Harvey commands. “I’ve been away. We owe her some billable hours.”

“You owe her some billable hours,” Mike spits. I’ve been right here.”

“Watch your tone. The real question is what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know! AllPharm is...huge. You said it yourself - a billion dollar company. And I’m -”

“A genius fake lawyer with the best mentor on the planet? You’ll be fine.”

“So we don’t take their case.”

“And lose the firm tens of thousands of dollars?”

“So we take it.”

“And defend murderers?”

He eyes Harvey suspiciously. “What are you getting at?

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “It’s your call. But whatever you do, you’d better make it worth it. Wanna come over tonight? I’m ordering Thai.”

Mike gapes. “You are infuriating.”

“Aw, Rookie. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

It’s exhausting being a dick to the kid, but he needs some tough love, and Harvey’s been too vulnerable lately, especially now that they’re working together again. It’s important to reestablish that dynamic.

Then why is he coming home with you?

The second they walk through the door, Mike kisses the girls and dives face first into research. He doesn’t ask for help, and Harvey doesn’t offer, instead catching up on his own work. The girls entertain themselves for an hour or so, but Mike ends up tucking Lily against his side when she falls over and won't stop whimpering, and Rowan crawls up not long after. The kid makes do, reaching around the girls to type, and its painfully sweet but mostly fine until Harvey looks up around midnight and all three of them are passed out.

Lily is sprawled like a starfish, one little fist poking Mike in the face. Rowan has tucked herself against Mike’s chest, a tiny, sleepy barnacle, breathing deeply into his shirt. And Mike - Christ.

Dreams flit behind his eyelids but his arms hold strong around the girls, protective and gentle and Harvey can’t stand it. He rescues the laptop, wraps the three of them in a blanket, and kisses each foreheads in a row. Mike smiles in his sleep.

Back pain be damned, Harvey slides onto the couch, tangles his legs with Mike’s beneath the fleece, and falls asleep.

--
~M~

“Michael,” Carrie Allan gushes, rising from her seat across from Jessica. “So good to see you again!”

“Hello, Carrie,” he says quietly, setting the stack of boxes near the door.

“I was so pleased when Jessica said you’d take our case. You did such a wonderful job with the -”

“Ma’am,” he interrupts quietly. “We won’t be representing you. The best I can is offer my word that we won’t pursue a counter suit on behalf of the AMA, as a gesture of good faith from our previous partnership.”

She laughs incredulously. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not. We may have sold our souls to corporate law, but we don’t represent murderers.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her shrill response is nothing compared to Jessica’s cold warning. “Ross. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do. Mrs. Allan. Your drug is killing people. You and your VP Jameson know it.”

“I have endless numbers that indicate the safety of AllPrax.”

“That’s because you buried the studies that contradict it. The medication is being marketed at a hugely inflated rate due to the delayed-release formula, but it’s no different than it’s competitors, functionally. According to one study, 87% of users were taking the medication more frequently than recommended because the pain returned within a few hours.”

“I can’t control how people use this drug,” she scoffs.

“Then why did you advise doctors to prescribe larger doses?” he snaps. “Oh that’s right, because if you asked for more frequent doses you’d be admitting your wonder drug is no better than aspirin.”

“How dare you?”

“Yes. Why don’t we talk about all the things I’d dare to do.” He grins, sharklike. “You’re going to pull your drug from the market.”

“Like hell I am.”

“Then your dirty, data-burying laundry is going public.”

“That information is already publicly available, no one cares enough to read it.”

“That may be true. But you know what’s not public yet? This compilation of obituaries.”

The room stills. “What?”

Mike rolls his shoulders, preparing for battle.

“Because you allow your clients to take outrageous dosages instead of admitting your opiate is flawed, there is a slew of death certificates following your company. The words ‘accidental overdose’ have serious connotations, don’t you think?”

“You can’t link us to that.” She’s whispering.

“I can. But I don’t have to.” He opens the file and tosses a page from a newspaper clipped to a copy of a death certificate. “Jennifer Darwin. Cause of death - overdose of AllPrax.”

“That’s -”

Another paper, another certificate. “Owen Jones. Cause of death - AllPrax overdose.” Another. “Damian Mortimer. Alena Mills. Jorie Kim.” He drops the rest of the files on the chair beside her. “Those boxes by the door are full of more of these, plus all that ‘public information’ you mentioned, but organized. It's amazing the narrative you can build from numbers, isn't it?” He watches her face fall before finishing. “You have two weeks to pull your drug before this goes thoroughly, artfully, viciously public. Am I clear?”

“But -” When she realizes she’s outnumbered, Mike and Jessica have the privilege of watching a Fortune 500 CEO storm out of the office. “You just cost us some money, Rookie.”

“But not our reputation. A much better long-term investment, don’t you think?”

She nods approvingly. “Get out of here.”

Harvey’s leaning across the hall, eyes crinkling, bemused and completely unsurprised.

“Nice,” he says, walking with Mike back towards his office.

“Thanks.”

Without a breath he continues, “We’ve got court tomorrow morning, I just emailed you some shit to proof -”

“For the Rogers family? Cuttin’ it kinda close don’t you think?”

“Mm?”

“You had like a week to prep for that and you were banking on your wunderkind having time to do your last minute paperwork?” Mike stops in the middle of the hallway. “But you plan everything. You gave me all that shit, and the whole time, you knew I wouldn’t take them.”

Dark eyes dance across his face with frightening focus. “I’d have fired you if you did.”

“You conniving, manipulative -” He follows Harvey into his office.

“Watch yourself, kid.”

He doesn’t. Instead walks right up into Harvey’s space, inches from his face, and murmurs, “Why?”

Hands in pockets, Harvey lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “Honestly?”

“Always, please.”

“So polite,” he teases.

Mike shrugs. “You asked.”

“You’ve been working on some next level shit the past few weeks. I wanted you to know you’re allowed to kick ass like you could when I was gone. I trust you to make those calls.”

Mike’s pretty sure Harvey’s holding out, that there’s something else he’s not saying, but he doesn’t have the strength for a fight right now, and his chest is about to explode with the joy that Harvey trusts him, so he lets it go.

--
~M~

Lawyers visiting lawyers is always interesting. This instance does not deviate.

Mike is elbow deep in an old case when he hears, “Can I help you?” Harvey’s voice is ice, probably because this dude barged in without so much as a hello.

“I’m here on behalf of Gwen Specter.”

Harvey drops his pen.

“What?”

“She’s filing for sole custody of Lily and Rowan Specter.”

Standing slowly behind his desk, Harvey growls, “On what grounds?”

“That she’s the mother,” the guy drawls, like Harvey’s touched in the head for asking.

“She fucking disappeared!” he shouts. “She’s been gone for years! She left those beautiful girls and their dad all on their own to -” He’s coming around the desk but Mike hasn’t taken his eyes off his boss since the other guy walked in, so when Harvey tries to strangle the other lawyer with his ugly tie, Mike jumps in the way, locking strong arms around Harvey’s waist.

“Dude, drop the file and leave,” Mike snarls over his shoulder. “NOW.”

There’s a flump of paper onto carpet, and then silence.

As soon as they’re alone Harvey shoves Mike off of him and retrieves the file. “Harvey.”

“Get out, Mike.”

“Let me help.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“Let me help you!” He’s begging and doesn’t even care.

“This is a family matter. You need to leave.”

It hurts so bad Mike actually follows instructions for once.

--
~H~

“She’s back, Marc. She wants the girls.”

Whoever’s been leaving these fucking flowers left violets this time, and a purplish daisy thing (4), with that goddamn blue twine binding them together. Harvey kicks them to the side.

“What do I do?” The wind wonders if it’s worth it, this fight. “I want them! I want that family.”

What the fuck did you kick Mike out for, then? the grass chastises, and he sighs. “I got scared.”

He’s seen you, you know, the stars remind him.

“I know. But this…”

Isn’t any different. He’s yours, whether you like it or not.

“God.” Harvey rubs his face with a cold hand. “I’ll be back soon, Marc. I won’t let anything happen to them. I promise.” Before he leaves, he puts the violets back atop the grave. Loyalty. He wonders what the mauve daisy means. Wonders if it’s enough.

--
~H~

He knew it was coming, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

“I don’t understand,” Rowan whispers into his shoulder.

“You and Lily are gonna go with this nice lady for a little while.”

“Why?”

“The court needs to make sure I’m the best person for you to live with.”

“You are, you are!”

Lily wriggles in his arms. “I know, baby. But they don’t. Not yet.”

“You and Mike gonna tell them?”

“Yeah,” Harvey replies brokenly. “We will.” If Mike ever talks to him again.

“I’m scared.”

“Me too, but we have to be brave, now, ok? You trust me?”

She nods. “Lil does, too. She told me.” Like she heard, Lily gives a chirp of agreement, which is of course when the case manager says, “Mr. Specter? It’s time.”

Frantically, he looks back down at Rowan. “Brave girl, right? You take care of your sister.”

“I will,” she says solemnly as he hands Lily to the woman he’s never seen before, this could-be-any-person. He watches as Rowan refuses to hold the woman’s hand, walking on tiptoes to hold Lily’s instead and he grins, fierce pride, and even fiercer love.

He waits until they’re gone.

--
~H~

God he misses them, and they’ve only been gone a day.

This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. He hasn’t missed anyone since his mom left and he got wise.

Except that’s not true. Because there’s a certain pain-in-the-ass associate who makes his office feel safe and his mind steady and his heart whole, and he definitely misses that kid so badly he’s giving himself a migraine.

Or maybe that’s guilt, because Harvey’d gone straight for the jugular, ripped it open and left Mike to bleed out alone. It wasn’t what he wanted. He always wants Mike around, but he wouldn’t blame the kid for never speaking to him again.

Which is why it’s such a shock when that’s exactly who knocks. Harvey can’t face him, so he leaves the door open and retreats back into the condo. His heart is beating too fast, but his ribs loosen their grip on his lungs.

“Hey,” he croaks.

Mike sets his bag down on the counter. “It’s so quiet.”

“They’re gone.”

“I know.”

Harvey nods, tightly, suddenly realizing what the apartment must look like.

There are papers everywhere, on the counter, the table, the couch, the floor, and a broken glass in the corner near the fireplace. Something’s spilled on the counter, Harvey doesn’t even remember what, and he’s waiting for the kid to turn tail and leave. It’s the only reasonable response, really.

Mike does that exact-opposite-of-what-you-expected thing that he does, and in spades. He surveys the damage, turns to Harvey, cuffs him solidly on the arm, and goes to find a broom.

His first attack is launched on the corner with the broken glass, sweeping up the shards then wiping the floor to catch any slivers or drips. While he washes the dishes, Harvey does a load of laundry, and they share the task of wiping down the counters.

When the room is covered only in paper, not blood or glass or scotch, Mike turns to glare at Harvey.

Exhaustion bruises the kids eyes. He’s got dirt on one shoe and his hair is a mess and Harvey feels better just for looking at him, so before the kid can say anything, Harvey blurts, “I’m sorry.”

That manages to genuinely surprise Mike. He scrubs at his face a few times like maybe he’s going to shout or cry, but instead he grunts, “I’m going to help you, and you’re going to shut up about it.”

“Mike -”

“Nope. Shut up. When’s your hearing?”

Harvey raises his eyebrows. “Well, which is it? Shut up, or answer your question?”

Mike throws the dish towel at him.

He grins and relents. “Tomorrow.”

“Good,” Mike says. “Let’s get to work.”

--
~M~

There a metric fuckton of information to go through. They need documentation that Harvey is financially stable, that he’s of sound mental health (Mike thinks they might have to fudge that one a little), that he’s already a part of the girls’ lives. It takes hours and a large pizza to get everything compiled and organized, but it feels easy: Mike and Harvey doing what they do best.

They’re thorough. They get the info together then sit back to talk strategy. Custody hearings are tricky. Proving Harvey the better guardian should be easy. The mom ditched, Harvey’s been there for the girls all their lives, but the courts, as Harvey put it, “have a boner for mother figures,” throwing another hurdle their way. Plus, juries don’t trust guys, single especially.

Which is when Mike gets an idea, and they’ve been sitting for hours, and it’s been years since he’s slept properly so he just spits it out.

“Dude. Marry me.”

--
~H~

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Marry me! The chances of you getting the girls increase significantly if you’re married. The data is actually really clear on this one -”

As Mike rambles, Harvey’s heart sinks. He’s going to have to say ‘no’, and for the most ridiculous reason, literally the definition of irony.

“Mike,” he cuts in. “It’s ok. You don’t have to do that.”

“But, I…” The kid is clearly startled, jarred from his thought process. “We should,” he continues. “Seriously. Things are statistically way more likely to go in our favor if you’re hitched.” He sees Harvey’s face, the ‘no’ written right there in his eyes, but he keeps trying. “We can split after, once you’ve got the girls…”

“Mike,” he says tenderly. “I can’t marry you.”

“Wh -”

For a second it seems like maybe Mike’s going to push it, ask why or why not, serve Harvey a piece of his remarkable mind, but instead his perfect boy with that tell-all face resigns himself, looking completely unsurprised. “Oh. Of course.”

“Of course?”

Mike shrugs and stands from where he’s been hunched on the floor. “Yeah. Ok. Well. Maybe Donna then. Somebody. You should -”

“‘Of course’, what?”

With a huff, Mike goes to the fridge. “Beer?”

“Mike!”

“Of course you don’t want me!” he snaps, popping the cap of his beer off on the counter and knocking his bag down in the process, spilling it onto the floor.

“Don’t want you?” Harvey bellows, and it’s as Mike sighs himself into a ball to collect his belongings from the floor that he sees it amongst the books and pens and receipts and nickels and granola bars.

A spool of blue twine.

Harvey didn’t know he was moving, but he finds himself crouched next to Mike, reaching out, plucking the cylinder from the wreckage. Realization ignites in Mike’s eyes, but then Harvey’s got his face between his palms, kissing him so roughly they fall backward into the island.

--
~M~

Harvey kisses like he’s drowning, like time is fading around them and they’ll never get it back. It’s so wholly consuming that Mike clings to his boss’s biceps and gives as good as he gets, just in case this is a fluke and he has to live out his days with the memory of this and nothing more.

“It was you,” Harvey finally gasps.

Mike’s in a daze - he can feel his heartbeat in his bottom lip and he’s not sure what they’re talking about. “Me...what?”

“The flowers on Marcus’s grave.”

“Oh.” That sobers him up. “Yeah. I wanted him to know…” There’s no way he’s admitting to that. “He’s good company.”

Harvey nods. “The best.”

One hand creeps to brush hair away from his temple and Mike sighs into the touch.

“Jesus, kid.”

Suspiciously, Mike opens one eye to say, “If this is some crisis rebound situation, I’m fucking quitting immediately.”

Harvey barks a laugh. “That would be fair. And it very much is not. But I’m also going to stop this right now, because when I kiss you again, I want every cell and fibre of my being to be focused on you, the way you taste and smell and come apart for me…”

Mike shivers and he can feel his pupils dilate. “Now that’s just mean.”

“You love it. Come on, Rookie. We’ve got coup to orchestrate.”

--
~M~

Mike’s not allowed in the courtroom so he stations himself on a bench right outside, more nervous than he’s been in his life. He jumps a foot in the air when the doors slam open and people begin spilling out and is frantically searching the crowd when someone taps him on the shoulder.

Harvey looks solemn.

“Well?”

That beautiful face breaks into an even more glorious grin. “We won.”

Mike whoops and jumps at him, a tangle of arms and laughter and then he hears the best thing in the world, a tiny voice saying, “Oh there you are.”

Harvey scoops Rowan up off her feet and she shrieks gleefully. The case manager hands Lily to Mike and disappears with an alacrity that makes Mike wonder if Harvey didn’t pull some strings to get the girls released to him early, which would be wholly unsurprising.

“Hey, Rookie,” a voice murmurs over the chatter.

“Donna, hey, what are you doing here?”

“He needed a character witness he’s not fucking.”

“First of all, we’re not, and second of all, don’t even try to tell me you two haven’t -”

“Too smart for your own good, I tell ya,” she cackles.

Mike shrugs, ignoring the jealousy. “Or something.”

She looks like she could conquer a nation in that black dress, but her tone is affectionate as she says, “He loves you, you know.”

Mike goes to protest when he remembers her observation all those months ago. “He needs you and he knows it. Think about how uncomfortable that would be for a man like him.”

Harvey let him into everything - his work, and his family, and his humor, and his music. He’s been telling Mike he loves him for years.

“Oh,” Mike whispers.

“Yeah, ‘oh’. You did good, Rookie. Better than anyone could’ve dreamed.”

“Even you?” he prods, laughing. “Ms. Omniscient?”

She doesn’t look away. “Even me. You’re something else.” Patting his arm, she adds, “I’ll see you, but not tomorrow, ok? Take the day.”

“Ok.”

“I mean it.”

“I will!”

She rolls her eyes, kisses them all, and disappears into the crowd.

“I was brave, Uncle Harvey!” Rowan is explaining. “Just like you said.”

“Good girl,” he says, hugging her close. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you,” Mike adds to Harvey. “You didn’t get arrested for assaulting any ex-sister’s in law.”

Harvey scowls. “She’s lucky I was on my best behavior.”

“I didn’t know you had a best behavior. I just assumed it was various shades of cockiness and lechery.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” Harvey replies, but he can’t quite keep the fond grin off his face.

“We’re going home, right?” Rowan asks Harvey’s chest

Harvey murmurs affirmations into her hair, then buries his face into Lily’s neck, breathing deeply. The sweet expression on his face as he pulls back to touch noses with his niece undoes Mike right there in the courthouse. Utter and complete love, rapt adoration, and Mike knows without a doubt that Harvey Specter will be the best dad the world’s ever seen. Finally, those dark eyes flick up to Mike and he echoes Rowan. “We’re going home, right?”

‘We.’ As in, all of them. Home.

Mike nods. He doesn’t trust his voice.

--
~M~

“Back so soon?”

“Donna slapped me.”

“Ooh,” Harvey winces. “Sorry about that. She’s got a mean back hand. She did tell you to stay home, though, didn’t she?”

“Ugh. You’re the worst, both of you.”

“On the bright side, you’ve got the whole day ahead of you. What are you doing?”

“You’re right. It’s awful early,” Mike drawls, smiling at the way Harvey’s pupils blow wide. “The girls won’t be up for at least another hour…” He pulls his tie slowly from his collar and pops the top button. “Come on, old man.”

Harvey’s bedroom is clean and cozy, but best of all, the door locks, which Mike takes care of the minute they’re through it.

“Eager?” Harvey smirks.

“You have no idea,” Mike breathes, and tackles him backward. Harvey cradles his head, kissing him with increasing desperation.

“I might, actually,” he replies with a bitten off gasp.

As they take each other apart, Mike can’t help but find this all maddeningly surreal. He’s pined after this man for years, only to find out it was never one-sided at all. Harvey wants him, always has, this lightening bolt of a man, and Mike might not believe it if he weren’t excruciatingly aware of Harvey’s cock pressed thick against him. Strong fingers dig into his hips, holding them flush so Mike can feel every tremor and breath of Harvey’s body, sturdy, carved from sinew and bone, which makes it even sexier when he hisses at what Mike’s doing to his neck, licking up the line of Harvey’s throat to suck just below his ear.

“Christ, kid.”

Mike pulls back and Harvey drags a thumb over his lip.

“You look awfully pleased with yourself.”

--
~H~

The wicked look Mike gives spells danger for Harvey.

The kid sinks to his knees.

“Shit, Mike.”

“What, complaints already?” he grins, working Harvey’s sweatpants down his legs. “You’ll have to direct those to my boss. He’s a kind of an ass, but - ”

“No complaints at all, just -”

“Jesus christ, Harvey!” Mike exclaims.

“What?”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit unfair looking like you do, and then -” He keeps muttering, something about a goddamn beautiful cock, but then that smart mouth is full, and Harvey’s eyes roll back in his head.

Mike is talented in all manner of ways, not the least of which is the ability to really get after a great blowjob. Busy hands, slick lips, and he’s completely self-assured, gagging prettily on Harvey’s cock while blinking up at him as if daring him to come.

Harvey’s always had a hard time saying ‘no’ to Mike.

--
~M~

Harvey’s just barely finished coming down Mike’s throat when he yanks him back to his feet.

“Like that?” Mike pants as Harvey breaks the kiss to breathe. “Taste yourself on me?”

With a growl, Harvey shoves him into the door, unzipping Mike’s slacks as he goes. “You know I do.”

“Why?” God, he needs to come now.

“Because you’re mine, Mike.” Long fingers close around his dick and he has to stifle a shout against his arm. “You belong to me.” The other hand creeps up as Harvey speaks, circling the base of Mike’s throat and pressing back, pinning him to the door.

“Harvey,” he whimpers. Arousal has destroyed his last semblance of coordination, and Harvey blows that all out of the water as he leans in, licking along the shell of Mike’s ear. It’s too much, the hand on his cock and the fingers on his throat, and then Harvey whispers, “My perfect boy. God, I’m so fucking lucky to have you.”

Thankfully he has the good sense to lean in, giving Mike a shoulder to sob into as he comes so hard he has to cling to Harvey for support, barely able to stand.

Harvey nuzzles the side of his face. “Shower?”

Mike scoffs weakly. “If you’ll hold me.”

Harvey smiles, small and adoring, with just a touch of irritation. “If you’ll let me.”

--
~H~

Rowan wakes an hour later. Thankfully Mike and Harvey are both clothed by then, though they’re sprawled on the couch, Mike reading a newspaper with his feet in Harvey’s lap.

“Mornin’, Sweetheart.”

She makes a snuffling sound and crawls up to wedge herself against Harvey’s chest in a pool of sun that’s splashing in, warming the room from the outside in.

“Missed you,” she whispers.

“I missed you, too,” Harvey replies, combing his fingers through her hair and letting the strands fall silky across Mike’s ankles. He’s so fucking grateful to have her back.

“Miss my Daddy.”

Grief claws out of him in an ugly noise.

“What do you ‘member?”

“About your dad?”

She nods against his chest. He can feel Mike’s eyes on him, supportive rather than invasive, so he drops his lips to the top of her head and tries.

“We fought a lot, when we were kids, but we laughed a lot too. He’d do these voices...Cracked me up. He was kinder than me, always, not just thoughtful, but empathetic. Cared about everyone.” He pauses, fighting for control. “We were on the baseball team together, and swimming. When our mom left we got closer. He forgave her, and I couldn’t, and he never held that against me. Just said ‘How you grieve is how you grieve’ and let me be.” He sighs. “I miss him, too, Row. God. So much.”

She sniffs and says, “Can we make pancakes today?”

“Of course.”

“And play games?”

“Sure.” He gives Mike a watery smile. “I should warn you, though, Mike’s a sore loser -”

“I am not!” He protests, voice is a little froggy, eyes suspiciously bright. “Uncle Harvey’s the one who’s a sore loser.”

Rowan shrugs and sticks out her tongue. “It’s ok. You can be sore losers together.”

The men crow at her clapback loudly enough that it wakes Lily up.

Harvey makes pancakes, and Mike fries bacon with one hand while holding Lily’s and her bottle with the other until she falls back asleep in his arms. Rowan carefully slices strawberries with a butter knife. Harvey puts on Neil Young, and when Mike hears he looks up with seafoam eyes, adoring and proud, and Harvey kisses him right there in the kitchen.

Rowan, from her perch on the counter, mutters, “Told you so.”

--
~M~

“Hey,” Mike murmurs against Harvey’s mouth. “Girls asleep?” His boss/boyfriend left work early, but he’d had to stay until one of the interns finished some phone calls.

“Yeah. Um.”

“Harvey?”

The apartment is clean for once, shockingly so. They do their best, but the girls really know how to disassemble the sanity of a grown person, so things like putting toys away get left til the last minute, which means mostly, it never happens. The condo is gleaming now, though there’s no erasing the reality of a family here.

Two huge tubs of toys occupy a corner of the living room, and Lily’s playpen sits against one wall. Rowan has a tiny art studio set up beneath the end table by the couch so she can “work” with her uncles. Some records have been left off the shelf because Mike and Harvey had fallen down a rabbit hole of ‘which drummer’ and ‘when did that album’ and then realized it was three a.m. and they had to be at work in a few hours. It’s nothing like the pristine ice castle Mike first saw all those years ago, but Harvey doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, the whole thing seems to be doing him a world of good. A month into legal guardianship has him tired, but looking healthier than Mike’s ever seen him, strong and well-fed and … happy.

“So, I owe you an explanation,” he says.

Mike laughs, setting his bag down by the door. “This should be good. Is this about those briefs under my desk?”

“No.” Harvey’s wearing an expression Mike doesn’t recognize.

“Did you put Louis up to cornering me in the bathroom and talking my ear off about Wagnerian Opera, because let me tell you -”

“Jesus, no. That sounds awful.”

Mike digs through the fridge for the orange juice.“I wouldn’t put it past you,”

“I wouldn’t either but that’s not -”

“Oh, Donna’s birthday is next week!” He takes a long drag from the carton, only pausing for breath and to figure out why Harvey’s stopped talking. “It that what this is about?”

“No,” he says quietly, and Mike realizes why the expression’s unfamiliar.

Harvey Specter’s doesn’t get nervous. Or at least, he didn’t.

Mike sets the juice down. “I’m listening.”

Harvey nods to something wrapped in light blue tissue on the counter, pulling his lip between his teeth in worry, and Mike goes to inspect it.

“Before the custody hearing, you asked me to marry you.”

He freezes. “Harvey -”

“And I said no. That I couldn’t.”

Leaning on the counter, Mike says, “Yeah.”

“You let it go. You weren’t surprised.”

The one-shouldered shrug conveys the necessary sentiment. He’s not wrong. Harvey’s...Harvey. And Mike’s a fake lawyer with a big mouth and a smartass attitude.

“You thought I said ‘no’ because I didn’t want you.”

“You don’t have to justify that decision, Harvey,” he says softly.

Harvey rubs his face. “Goddamn, you’re irritating. Would you open the damn thing?”

Mike peels back the paper, and inside lies one glorious, sunshine-yellow tulip.

He stumbles back. “You -”

“Mike.”

“But you -!” he accuses.

“Do you see why, now?”

“You’re a fucking idiot!”

“I wasn’t going to go off half-cocked agreeing to -”

“Half-cocked?” Mike giggles. “That’s the word you’re going with?”

“Are you serious?” Harvey shouts, completely fed up.

--
~H~

The kid throws back his head and roars with laughter. Harvey can’t help but join him.

“You’re ridiculous! You wouldn’t marry me because you - you -” The laughter, and the words, taper off as emotion begins to overwhelm him and Harvey watches those blue eyes grow wide.

“Because you deserve the real thing, Mike, not some slapdash, say-one-thing-and-mean-another kind of bullshit.”

“Oh,” he whispers.

“Eloquent,” Harvey teases, but only because he’s terrified. “So?”

“So?”

“Will you?”

“Oh my god. You’re a closet romantic,” Mike realizes with a growing grin. “Oh my god. The great Harvey Specter… what’s next? Heart shaped chocolates? Diamond necklace? I do declare, Mr. Beauregard -”

“That’s it. I take it back. Fend for yourself, you lunatic.”

Poking him in the chest Mike grins. “You like me!”

“More than that, kid,” he admits. “Since the moment you dropped weed all over my shoes.”

Mike wraps his arms around Harvey beneath his cardigan and presses up for a kiss, gentle and chaste and reverent. He’s warm from the suit jacket, so Harvey slides it off and lets it fall to the ground, following the lines of lean muscle in Mike’s shoulders down to his wrists. When Harvey looks back up, those blue eyes are focused, unwavering, on him.

God, those eyes.

Mike doesn’t even know how gorgeous he is, how absolutely intoxicating. He’s been stealing Harvey’s breath away for years, and somehow still believes he’s a fuck up, some sidekick instead of the center of the universe. Well. It’s time to show him otherwise.

Harvey backs him against the bed, cradling Mike’s body against his own, taking time to lick across his tongue, nip at his lips, drink him in. When the kid starts making pained noises against his mouth, Harvey pulls back and unknots the tie before popping the buttons of Mike’s dress shirt. He’s still lithe, but they’ve both been eating better so the space between Mike’s ribs has filled in and there’s muscle beneath the skin of his stomach, cutting gentle lines at his hips. It’s too much not to have his mouth on, so Harvey drops to his knees and laves his tongue across the bone.

Mike groans in the back of his throat. “Jesus, Harvey.” He watches, rapt, as his slacks and socks are stripped away, and still manages to be caught by surprise when Harvey pushes him backwards onto the bed.

Mike Ross lying in nothing but his dress shirt and boxer briefs is a dream come true. He looks fucking edible, and Harvey says as much then presses Mike into the mattress. It’s a dominant move, pinning the him down, but the kid’s eyes roll back and his hands come up, dragging Harvey’s mouth to his own.

Like sugar in water, his sweet boy dissolves for him, all that attitude and fire simmering into something desperate and addictive, kissing back until he’s too impatient to stand it. Mike kicks Harvey’s clothes off, then pushes him down onto the bed, straddling his hips and letting teasing fingertips trace the lines of Harvey’s body. At the disbelieving huff of breath Harvey grunts, “What?”

“You’re so fucking hot. I’d be pissed if you weren’t about to be my husband.”

--
~M~

Harvey’s eyes go round and bright, like maybe he’d thought Mike would say no, like Mike could ever say no to him. “Harvey…” he breathes, but he doesn’t get any farther, because Harvey’s pulling away to retrieve a bottle of lube and a condom from the bedside table.

Mike grabs the condom. “You clean?”

“Yeah, but -”

He throws it across the room. “Great. Me too.”

“Mike -”

“I wanna feel you. And I wanna make damn sure you feel me.”

“Jesus Christ, kid. Ok. Yeah.”

“Good.” He pulls Harvey back down, gasping into his mouth as a cool finger swipes over his hole. “Come on, Harvey.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“Fuck virtue.”

Harvey chuckles. “True,” and sinks his finger into Mike all the way up to the first knuckles.

Mike’s spine arches so immediately it gives him a tiny charlie horse in his ass and he has to relax. It works in his favor as Harvey twists his hand, slicking up Mike’s insides. “That’s it. Beautiful.” Mike rolls his hips. Harvey chokes out, “Fuck.”

Harvey’s hard enough that it has to be painful, but he’s in no rush, taking long minutes to scissoring two fingers while the other hand explores Mike’s body, over his clavicle, down his ribs, behind his knees, around his ankles. By the time Harvey’s got three fingers sunk into him, Mike’s trembling in earnest. He doesn’t even notice the noises he’s making until Harvey whispers, “Shh. Hey. I got you.”

Desperate and hoping Harvey will have mercy, Mike grips the strong shoulders above him and pants, “Please.”

--
~H~

Mike begging politely is absolutely the last straw, all red mouth and bright eyes, and Harvey focuses on not tearing the kid apart as he fucks into him for the first time. He’s tight but trying so hard to open up, to let Harvey in, that slim chest struggling to fill and empty evenly until he’s completely full.

“There you go, kid,” he breathes.

“Fuck me, please, god, Harvey -”

“I know. I got you. Hey. I got you. Breathe.”

A shallow roll of hips has them both gasping, and Harvey’s control snaps. Everything shatters into independent senses, time slowing to a crawl, highlighting the pressure on his cock, the smell of Mike’s hair, and delicate bones of his wrist where it’s thrown back on the pillow. Magnifying the sounds he’s making, joyful and astonished, and how he’s staring up at Harvey like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

So Harvey fucks him slow and forceful, making sure Mike feels every ounce of wanting, of waiting, that he’s worth it, all of it, that Harvey’s his, always.

Those pale hands dance over Harvey’s skin, down his back, up his sides, drawing his attention in a hundred directions, overwhelmed by sensation and longing. Mike gasps, “I’m not gonna last very long…”

Harvey shakes his head since his voice has apparently taken the day off, too, but Mike understands (of course he does) and shoves Harvey up the bed so he’s leaning against a tangle of pillows, then climbs over his body, kissing him before sinking down on his cock.

He looks like heaven, lifting himself up with strong legs to fuck himself on Harvey. Muscles roll beneath lamplight gilded skin, the lines of his body rippling. He looks desperate but absolutely trusting, like he knows Harvey’ll take care of him.

“That’s right, baby,” Harvey says, gripping his slender hips. “God you’re so beautiful.”

Mike whimpers, and Harvey smiles at his reaction. “You like that? You like hearing how perfect I think you are?”

“‘M not,” Mike protests.

“You are,” Harvey whispers, sinking his hands into that blond hair to draw him close. “You’re gorgeous and you’re brilliant and you have always been mine.”

Mike coming so hard he tenses every muscle in his body tips Harvey over the edge, and they cling to one another through the aftershocks of three goddamn years of sexual tension.

--
~H~

Mike sleepily mouths along Harvey’s jaw then rolls off with a huff. He places one finger on his nose and gives a shit eating grin. “Towel? Nose goes.”

Harvey tries, and fails, to frown at him. “You’re such a nuisance.”

“A real thorn in your side,” he calls amiably as Harvey gets up.

They’re clean (ish) and sated and teasing each other sleepily when a gurgly whimper comes through the baby monitor. The cry crescendos, and though Mike can’t hear her through the thick walls, he’s come to trust this weird little one-way radio unquestioningly.

“I’ll go,” he sighs, rolling out of bed and pulling on a sweatshirt.

The sound of a yawn and shuffling covers comes next, then Rowan’s sleepy voice. “‘S ok, Lil’. Go to ...ah… sleep.”

Harvey pulls on a pair of flannel pants. “I’ll come with you.”

Compared to the normal decibel level, Lily’s being downright peaceful, but the second Mike scoops her up, she settles for real, sucking on his shirt.

“There you go, baby girl.”

Rowan holds out her arms to Harvey. He’s as powerless against her as everyone else in the damn house, so he slides into bed wraps her up, scooting over so there’s room for Mike to join them, wedging himself beneath Harvey’s other arm, cool as you please.

“Mike?” Rowan whispers. “You can sing the ‘Open Your Eyes’ song?”

“You and Me?”

“Yeah. From the man on the record.”

“You got it, darlin’. But you gotta close your eyes, even though the song says different, ok?” She nods, smiling, and he takes it down the octave so it’s more of a lullaby. “Open up your eyes,” he breathes, smiling down at the sweet sisters. “See how lifetime flies, open up and let the light back in.” (5)

“You have a beautiful voice,” Harvey murmurs, and Mike beams up like the sun, like that yellow tulip waiting in the kitchen.

--

“Nice job today.”

“Why thank you.”

“Looked good, too.” Harvey’s Kicking Ass in Court attire is devastatingly, deliberately sexy, not a single item of clothing unplanned. “Turned on the charm.”

“I don’t need charm,” he retorts. “I have facts.”

“I guess, but aren’t you glad I got you that witness statement?”

“Sure.”

“Especially since it turned out to be a key piece of evidence…I mean, it’s almost like I won the case for you.”

“You absolutely did not.”

Mike shrugs. “You’d be singing a different tune if I’d left it alone like you said.”

“Are you looking for kudos on having disobeyed a direct order?” Harvey asks incredulously.

“I’m looking for credit where credit is due!”

“Ok, Short Stack - I did a great job antagonizing you into getting that witness statement.”

“Hey, newsflash, Top Gun, you didn’t do fuck all. It’s called initiative. I took it.”

“Initiative, huh?”

“Yeah. Which is why the Bain-Bridge briefs are proofed, the depo for Clarence has been moved up a day, and I got a reservation at Eleven Madison Park for tomorrow.”

Harvey stops in the hallway. “Our anniversary.”

“Tomorrow, so you’ve got a whole day to have Donna to find something I’ll actually like.”

Harvey scoffs. “Hey, you knew when you married me - I’m not one for sentimental gestures.”

“Sure,” Mike smiles, sliding one hand around his husband’s neck to pull him close and the other up his left sleeve. “I’m not worried.”

Harvey’s voice is softer now, intimate, but still stubborn. “Just so long as we’re clear.”

“That you’re a huge fuckin’ sap?” Mike tugs the single strand of blue twine knotted around Harvey’s wrist into view and quirks a brow. “Crystal.”

Harvey blushes, rolls his eyes, and kisses his husband in the middle of the hallway. Donna throws a stapler at them. “Down boys. We can’t have Louis getting jealous.”

“Tell him to get his own damn associate!” Harvey gripes

Neither he nor Donna mention the giant bouquet biding its time in Mike’s cubicle, though they’re all about to head to lunch and Harvey’s crawling out of his skin with excitement for Mike to see it.

He’s always been worth the wait.

--

“To give a yellow tulip was to declare your love, hopelessly and utterly.” ~ From The Meaning of Flowers by Gretchen Scoble and Holly Lindem.

~The End~