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schrijverr · 2 years

Text

His Job

Mike is good at his job and due to his intelligence, highly efficient. Efficient to the point that he is doing the job of multiple people. This is not sustainable and when he collapses from exhaustion and overworking himself, he scares Donna and Harvey into a protective setting neither knew they had, as they ensure that he is alright and won’t do that again.

@liar-or-lawyer I hope it lives up to the expectation! Sorry, it got a bit out of hand, haha XP

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: Mike collapses from overworking himself (he is fine, but look out if you have food issues or if you don't like fainting!)

~~~~~~~~~~

It all starts with those piles of boxes for the pro-bono case Harvey doesn’t want, which should have taken two to three days, even if the most motivated associate is working on them. The piles that Mike has read in a night, managing to find the discrepancy without issue.

Harvey realizes then that this kid, this random kid who he found by accident, can do the work of three associates. And that he, Harvey, will be reaping the benefits.

He smirks to himself and imagines Louis’ face when he realizes, imagines Jessica’s proud yet fondly annoyed look when she learns that he had found another Harvey, maybe even someone who will be better than him.

With that realization he moves on, the back of his mind whirring with all the things he can use Mike’s talents and work ethic for.

And for a long time that is all Mike is to him. He is a hard worker that Harvey can dump the cases and mindless search and/or paperwork he doesn’t want to do on. His own little miracle worker, whose findings he can flaunt with.

However, time does a lot more than Harvey remembers, since the most people he trusts and cares for now are people that he has known for such a long time that he has forgotten how they came to be the ones he made exceptions for.

Turns out that Mike is as little of a shit that Harvey was and the kid has managed to worm his way into Harvey’s heart, past his defenses. The little things stacking up.

It is the long evenings holed up in Harvey’s office, discussing strategy on their case, with their break consisting of stupid arguments about take out. Mike’s eyes lighting up as he proudly presents the loophole they need that he has found.

It is the mischievous twinkle in his eye as he manages to land a good insult against Harvey in their banter sessions. Or when he replays a glorious dunk he made on Louis when Harvey couldn’t be there to witness it.

It is how he’ll come stumbling in, all rumpled, having worked through the night. But it doesn’t matter, because he is grinning victoriously and even though he is out of breath from running there, his mouth is already running a mile a minute explaining what he found.

It is how Harvey knows that Mike will pick up if he calls, no matter what the time is. He will pick up and be ready to run where Harvey needs him to go. Reliable and trustworthy.

It is how he trusts Harvey to have his back. How he looks at Harvey when stumped, knowing Harvey will jump in. How he asks Harvey for advice about his clothes, not minding the insults as he accepts Harvey retying his tie into something more acceptable. How he collapses on Harvey’s couch after a grueling case, trusting that Harvey will wake him if something important comes up or if someone approaches that will scold him for the behavior. How he trusts that Harvey will understand.

In fact it isn’t until Mike falls asleep on his couch for the third time that Harvey realizes that he cares. He is watching Mike’s peaceful sleeping face when a quote from that stupid teen drama Donna loved (and he might have watched too, but shut up) comes to mind.

“One’s an incident, two’s a coincidence, and three’s a pattern.”

And apparently is has become a pattern for Mike to fall asleep on his couch. And apparently Harvey is at a point where he looks fondly at the sleeping associate instead of waking him up like he should, because he knows Mike has worked enough.

Louis would have woken him up, no matter how hard the associate in question had worked, he thinks. Especially Mike, since he is Harvey’s associate.

For a second he tries to convince himself he lets Mike sleep, because Louis wouldn’t have and he isn’t Louis. However, even with all his debate skills, he can’t convince the jury of his brain and heart that that’s the reason.

Harvey admits to himself that Mike is someone he cares for. It happened without his knowledge or consent, but now that it has, he can’t really bring himself to be upset about it.

Still, he gives himself a moment to take in the realization. In the process he meets Donna’s eyes, who raises a brow and smirks at him. Her looks conveys her thoughts: ‘Ah, so you’ve caught onto your feelings, finally.’

He sticks out his tongue at her, mentally deciding that conveys his own message of ‘fuck off’ perfectly.

Yet, he can’t stop his mind from realizing that Donna probably also cares about Mike, especially since she caught onto the fact that he cares before he did. Mike is her favourite snipe target, he is the only associate, who doesn’t think himself above her just because she is a mere secretary, he takes her shit with a grin, shows up in the morning with a coffee for her and always makes time to listen to her gossip or struggles.

When he thinks about it, Mike truly reminds him a bit of the puppy from the analogy he had used on the kid earlier. Happy, bounding around and brightening up days with his antics.

All of those thoughts run through his head as he looks at the thin chest of Mike moving regularly up and down.

Later, he will curse himself for not adding another thing to the realizations of that moment. For not noticing that he has become used to Mike doing too much work for one person, just because he always delivers and never gives Harvey a reason to question that reliability. Or the cost that work comes at.

Because what the kid does is insane.

Mike runs around each day playing fetch boy for Donna when he can, doing all the paperwork and research Harvey can’t be bothered to do as well as dancing to Louis’ tune. He is doing thre in the time most associates don’t manage to do one.

But Mike also knows how he got there. He knows that Harvey hired him for his brain, knows that Mike will work hard to prove himself worthy of being there, worthy of the chance Harvey has given him.

And somehow, the idiot internalized that to mean that if he doesn’t preform at top level all the time Harvey will let him go without hesitation. As if he doesn’t already have such a big soft spot for the kid that even Jessica and Louis have picked up on it. As if he can ever let Mike go over something like taking a bit of a break. As if Mike hasn’t proven himself a hundred times over.

But all those realizations don’t come when he’s watching Mike asleep on his couch for the third time since they’ve known each other.

Instead, it comes too late, as emotional things often do for Harvey. Though Donna will call him dramatic for it, though he denies ever being dramatic. The judgmental eyebrow he gets for that, takes him a week to recover from.

But to return to the point, it starts with Mike collapsing.

Harvey is forever going to remember the horrid moment when he saw Mike go down. And he is reasonably certain that Donna is going to as well.

They are working on a huge case for a huge client. Money has gone missing and needs to be located, logs need to be compared, culprits and the people to blame must be found and the reputation of the company has to be maintained, while press and competitors are circling them like vultures.

All in all, it has been a week. A very very stressful week. Harvey has Jessica breathing down his neck and even Louis has decided that this is too important and lend some of his associates to Harvey. It is that big of a deal.

However, Harvey knows that none of those Harvard clones can pick up on the intricacies that Mike can (it is the whole reason he hired the kid, despite his lack of credentials). So, he has ordered Mike to check their work and get as much of it done so that they can’t mess up.

Mike nodded seriously when he was given the order and Harvey has been satisfied in seeing him work diligently ever since.

What Harvey doesn’t know is that Mike has been home once since the start of the case and that was to pick up suits and toiletries. Now he has everything to maintain a professional look without leaving the office and he is determined to find what they need.

He has been functioning on the minimal sleep needed that he gets on the floor of the file room or in his desk chair, even Harvey’s couch has been a target on a few nights when the letters started to blur too much. If it weren’t for Rachel bringing him lunch and coffee before she left, he wouldn’t have made it as far as he did.

She has expressed concern many times, but it always goes a bit like this: “Mike, I’m serious, you have to go home and get some rest. This is not healthy.”

“I will,” Mike assures her then. “Just after I find this detail. I know it’s in there, but it keeps slipping through my finger. If I can just find the missing link…”

“Mike, please,” Rachel begs. “I will go to Harvey.”

“Tsk,” Mike laughs, humor scarcely found in his tone. “Harvey will laugh you out of his office and tell you he worked a hundred hours a week when he was an associate. This is just par of the course, Rachel. Things will cool down and I will stay home a Sunday to sleep in. It’ll be fine.”

And then Rachel will concede. She smiles and tells him to take care and stop before it gets out of hand. He promises to do so and turn back to his work as she walks away.

It’s not a promise Mike keeps as Harvey finds out on that faithful day. He is seated at his desk, not looking up as he hears Donna say something, which he will later learn was a concerned ‘oh my god, are you okay,’ as Mike passes her in a zombie-like state.

When he hears the door swish he looks up, frowning for a moment at his associate, before dismissing the horrid way he looks. They’re all stressed he tells himself, willing to believe the dark circles and soft swaying don’t worry him. He starts to speak: “Ah, Mike, do you have the files from the-”

He never gets to finish his sentence, because as he talks Mike lifts his hand, showing the requested files. However, as he attempts to hand them over, the final steps to Harvey’s desk prove to be too much for the overworked kid and he collapses to the ground.

Harvey will swear it happen in slow motion and at two times speed, if asked.

It goes too fast for him to do a thing. To help. He’s not even out of his seat when Mike hits the ground with a sickening noise. Yet at the same time, he witnesses every single second of that horrid fall. Taking in every detail against his will.

Mike doesn’t go down like a stumble. It’s more of an arcing descent. His leg buckles from under him and for a moment all hangs in the balance, but he doesn’t get himself back up. And it’s only until he’s halfway there that Harvey realizes what is happening.

The worst part of it all, is that Mike doesn’t even move to break his fall. To ease the hit. He just makes a soft surprised noise and drops the file, before closing his eyes then hitting the floor with a dull thud.

For a moment, the cliché of a puppet with its strings being cut flashes through Harvey’s mind, though he can’t focus on the thought, too worried about his associate.

He is rushing forwards, before he can even think of doing anything but running at a pace he would usually deem undignified. Donna is meeting him from the other side, her heels clacking loudly. He practically slides onto his knees and feels Mike’s pulse.

… Thump … Thump…

A relief he didn’t know before washes over him. Mike is at the most basic level alive. The fear that gripped him earlier subsides a bit and he would be more uncomfortable by being confronted with how much he cares for Mike, if he isn’t so relieved that he isn’t just flat-lining.

Still, despite the happiness at Mike having a heartbeat, there is still the concerning aspect of him not reacting to Harvey’s fingers in his neck or Donna’s hysterical: “Mike? Mike. Oh my god, Mike? Are you okay? Please, say something.”

Harvey eases his hands under Mike so that he can roll him over. He looks peaceful. Asleep. If not for the dark smudges that line his eyes, turning Harvey’s hair gray before it’s allowed. His cheeks are also sunken and he is pale, too pale for this time a year, especially for someone who bikes to work each day.

It’s just all wrong and Harvey doesn’t like it on any level. Mike is lively, Mike is energetic, Mike runs around and smiles, talks a mile a minute and never stops. He shouldn’t be lying on the floor, knocked out. So still.

He ignores that his hands are trembling as he grabs Mike’s shoulder and shakes him. It’s gentle, too gentle for the great Harvey Specter, but he can’t live with himself, if he accidentally hurts the boy more.

Donna rolls her eyes at him, but he can see that there are tears threatening to fall as she violently shakes Mike.

“Wha?” Mike groans, blinking blearily.

Mike looks a mess, but Harvey doesn’t care about appearances, he would thank god if he believed in the man, if he could right now. However, he fails to play it cool as he asks: “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I feel like that should be my line,” Mike comments as he struggles up into a seated position with their help.

“You fainted,” Donna informs him gently.

“Huh? Are- are you for real?” Mike asks, frowning, but sounding more disbelieving than surprised.

“Yes,” Donna confirms.

“Holy shit,” Mike says in a tone of voice that Harvey doesn’t appreciate.

“What are you not saying right now?” he demands. “You sound like you know something. What is it?”

“Nothing,” Mike quickly says, but there is a crack there that gives him away.

“Mike.” Harvey says sternly, backed up by Donna’s glare.

“Well…” Mike starts, trailing off as he looks away. He seems almost embarrassed and if Harvey wasn’t so worried for the kid, he would be teasing him about it. “It’s stupid and nothing, really. You should just let it go.”

“Micheal James Ross,” Donna says sharply in her ‘don’t fuck with me, I’m Donna’-tone. “You just collapsed right in front of my eyes and a corpse would look alive compared to you. If you know something, just start talking right now, or face my wrath as I force you.”

At that, Mike swallows. He then answers: “Well, uhm, Rachel said I was overdoing it with the work, but it’s not that much more than I usually do, so I ignored her and told her I would watch it and stop if it got too much. But apparently I’m not as good at estimating when it’s too much as I thought I was.”

“How much-” Harvey starts a question, then another, better, and much scarier question pops into his mind, which he asks instead, suspicion in his voice. “When is the last time you went home?”

The fact that Mike has to think about it, especially with his memory, causes Harvey and Donna to share a look over his head, filled with concern. He says: “Gimme a sec. We got this case a week ago, that was Friday. I went home Sunday to grab some stuff and I’ve been here since.”

“Mike,” Donna says emphatically. “It’s Saturday now.”

“I know,” Mike replies, before launching into a rambling speech, “but we have the appointment with the CEO next Tuesday and something was bothering me about the financial statements they gave us. And I was right! I dug and the numbers aren’t adding up – and yeah, we already knew that – but I mean they aren’t adding up in a different way then we were told. So we have to know what’s going on there first, so we don’t face any surprises. But I can’t find anything and I was coming to talk with Harvey about it, but there is also literally all the other moving parts with the employees and all the contracts and I haven’t been keeping an eye on that as well as I would have liked, because I was distracted by this. So, I didn’t have the time to go home or, you know, sleep… or eat… sometimes.”

He trails off as he realizes what he is saying, his eyes staying firmly on the ground.

“Fucking hell, Mike,” Harvey finds himself muttering, having to look away from Mike because it makes it hard to concentrate. He looks so dejected and tired. And the guilt is overwhelming (though he is ignoring that). He clears his throat and says: “This is not a floor conversation. Can you stand?”

“Probably,” Mike says, not sounding very confident.

Harvey decides not to comment on it. Instead he gets up along with Donna, holding out a hand to Mike, who doesn’t even protest as he accepts the help.

Once he is on his feet, he stumbles and Harvey barely catches him before he goes down again. He rubs his forehead and chuckles humorlessly: “Ah, a bit lightheaded I think.”

“I’m getting you an ice-pack,” Donna says. “You hit your head pretty hard.” At that Mike does protest that he’s fine, but Donna won’t hear it and leaves the room anyway.

For a moment they just stand there, Harvey’s arm wrapped around Mike’s side with Mike putting more weight on him than he’s probably intending. Mike stares at the spot she just vacated as if his mind isn’t up to speed at what happened yet, while Harvey just looks at Mike in concern.

Wanting the feeling to fade (something that feels impossible in that moment), Harvey gently but forcefully drags Mike to the couch in his office.

He is reminded of the revelation he had a while ago with Mike on the very same couch. Only back then, Mike was asleep and looked ten times healthier than he does now. And instead of realizing that he cares about Mike, Harvey is confronted with the fact that he didn’t notice as the kid, his own associate, his friend, was working himself to death.

With Mike seated and not in immediate danger, Harvey isn’t sure what to do. He wants to give the dejected and upset looking kid a hug, but it’s not really their style and he isn’t sure if it will be welcomed.

After a moment of deliberation with himself, he gets a few granola bars, which he keeps in his desk for long days, and a glass of water.

He hands both to Mike, who takes them gratefully, practically inhaling the food. The action does nothing to decrease the guilt as Harvey plops down next to him. He watches as Mike eats and drinks, looking a little less like he’s going to kneel over.

Before he’s done, Mike is talking again: “The number don’t add up at the executive/CEO level, Harvey. Either I missed something, or they’re not telling us something and that something can come back to bite us. You need to put them under pressure and find out what it is.”

“Mike-” Harvey wants to cut him off, tell him to take a goddamn break after all that.

“No,” Mike goes on without listening. “I’m serious. And I know you told me to check the others’ work and I haven’t done that as well as I should, but I’m onto something here. You can get mad at me later.”

And he suddenly realizes that Mike thinks Harvey wants him to work as hard as he does. And that Harvey is angry at him for not doing the work of an entire team by himself.

“What?” The disbelieving exclamation is out of his mouth, before he can even think of it.

Naturally Mike interprets it in the worst way possible. “I know I messed up. I’m so so sorry, Harvey, I swear it won’t happen again,” he says, the exhaustion lowering his defenses to the point where his voice is cracking and tears are welling up.

“No, that’s not-”

“You told me to check their work – and I did read all their summaries and findings – but I could have checked it better. And then I had to be all dramatic and faint like I’m some sort of damsel or something, which is highly embarrassing and-”

“Mike, stop!” Harvey finally manages to end the barrage of words. Mike looks up like a deer in headlights and Harvey immediately softens his tone as he goes on: “I’m not angry at you. Jesus Christ, kid, you just collapsed on me, of course I’m not angry.”

“Y- You’re not?” Mike sounds horridly confused and the tears he has been attempting to stop finally begin to fall.

“I’m not,” Harvey assures him. Hesitating for a moment, before the truly sad picture Mike makes wins him over and he throws an arm around the kid, letting him cry into his 10.000 dollar suit. “I’m not,” he repeats quietly.

Mike can’t reply through the tears, so Harvey just hushes him and tells him to let it all out, desperately waiting for Donna so she can help. Because he is not used to all these emotions, nor how to deal with them. While also trying not to look too much, because he can feel his reputation in the firm go down the drain as passing people see the scene.

After what feels like an eternity, Donna comes to save both of them. Mike’s crying has subsided to a mere sniffle and Harvey is 99% sure the kid is halfway to sleep when Donna enters with the ice-pack.

With her eyes she asks Harvey what the hell happened between her leaving and returning. Harvey hopes his eyes convey ‘I’ll explain later,’ as he takes the bag from her and gently holds it against Mike’s forehead, ignoring the look he can feel Donna giving him.

Mike flinches slightly at the cold, before he struggles and fails to take the ice-pack for himself, muttering: “It doesn’t hurt so bad. Here, I can take it. Promise.”

Harvey doesn’t let him take the ice-pack. Instead he holds it himself and softly yet sternly orders: “Just go to sleep, Mike. I got you.”

And for once, Mike doesn’t argue and does as he’s told, the exhaustion catching up and dragging him under in seconds.

Once he is off in dreamland, Harvey lets him sleep on his shoulder for a good ten minutes. He wants to make sure that Mike is dead to the world and won’t wake up if he moves him. Inside his own mind, he also willing to admit that the steady breaths are keeping him calm.

When it gets to the point that he can’t justify him hugging Mike any longer, he eases Mike into a horizontal position. He loosens his tie and takes off Mike’s shoes to get him comfortable, before rolling up his own suit jacket as a pillow, not dignifying Donna’s knowing hum with a response.

With Mike comfortably oblivious, the two settle at Harvey’s desk, studying the sleeping associate for a minute, before Donna breaks the silence: “Did you know?”

“That he was working himself to death, because he thought I wanted him to?” Harvey replies. “No. I knew he was working hard, we all are, but I didn’t think he would be an idiot about it.”

“What even happened?” Donna wonders out loud. “I know this case has been rough, but there have been others like these.”

And Harvey has pieced it together with Mike’s rambled words. He sighs and says: “I told him to keep an eye on the other associates working on this. His eye for detail is needed for this case, but I should have known he would interpret it to mean: do the work all by yourself.”

“God, he works too much,” Donna says. “I never thought I would say that about an associate. I’m going to ask around about his working habits, starting with Rachel. He can’t go on like this.”

Harvey wholeheartedly agrees and sets her to work on that, before reading through Mike’s discovery.

Personally, he would like nothing more than to join Donna in figuring out how much Mike is actually doing. However, he knows he’s not as good as Donna in that area and it wouldn’t do for Mike’s efforts to go to waste. Besides, Mike would be even more guilty (idiotically as that might be) about the whole thing, if his fainting spell messed up the case.

In the end, Harvey gets the right wheels turning in the case and Donna comes to report shocking news. They have only noticed that Mike is used to working three jobs, when he is quite literally buckling under the pressure of preforming the job of an entire team.

They decide something has to change and they’re going to change it, or so help them god.

When Mike wakes up, Donna has pizza (with a stuffed crust!) waiting for him and he’s groggy enough that he just inhales it without questioning it. Only once the pizza is gone does Mike remember the situation that lead up to him being on the couch in Harvey’s office at 1 PM with a pizza.

Harvey knows that Mike realizes, because he pauses with a slice of pizza halfway to his face, before he blushes and quickly stuffs the bite in his mouth. Harvey also hates that he knows the embarrassed bite won’t stop Mike from talking, if he wants to. And although he would love hear Mike talking and alright, but he hates it with a passion when Mike does that.

So, he starts talking instead. “You were right. Jake Lemmin is a fucking idiot, who has no control over his own board. We now have to quietly fire most of the Lemmin Inc. top without anyone noticing, but there are already horrendous merger offers from rivals. They’re smelling blood out there.”

As he talks Mike nods along, sending Harvey a suspicious look as if he isn’t sure why the man isn’t yelling at him yet. He swallows his food and says: “We still have the employee records. If we can find competent internal replacements, then no one has to know. But how are we charging those guys if we want to keep it quiet?”

“I’m still working on it,” Harvey says, having successfully lulled Mike into a sense of security as he strikes, “but you aren’t.”

“What?” Mike exclaims, not taking the bite he was planning on. “Why not?”

“…Mike,” Harvey states, unsure why he has to explain this to someone who could probably qualify as a genius. “You’re going home to sleep.”

“But-” Mike starts, “but I’m right in the middle of this. You can’t do this, Harvey. I just slept, like literally, I just woke up. The meeting is Tuesday, none of the others know enough about what’s going on to back you up then and it’s too sort notice to get them caught up. You need me, you can’t send me away.”

Harvey now is confronted with the fact that he might have underestimated how much Mike had misinterpreted the whole issue. He sighs, rubbing his brow, for once stumped how to debate someone into doing what he wants.

Mike takes that silence and runs with it. “I mean, I have read most of the employee records, I know these people. You know how many people work for Lemmin Inc.? I do. 8.500. Well, 8.463 to be exact. If you want to find the best people, you need me. And you know that’s the best option.”

“Yes, I know,” Harvey replies. “Mike, I’m not sending you home because I don’t want you on this case, but because you collapsed in my office due to overworking yourself. So here is what’s going to happen. You’re going to go home, sleep some more, eat more, not do any work and relax for a moment.”

Mike gives him a disbelieving look, like Harvey is the one who is being unreasonable.

“And then I’m going to find a solution with your work and the help of the thousands of other employees at this firm and then if I really can’t do this without you, I’m calling you,” Harvey continues on. “I’m not excluding you to be an asshole here, you would have noticed if I did, but you can’t go on like this without taking a break.”

“What happened to working a hundred hours a week as an associate?” Mike shoots back.

“No, it was making others think I worked that much,” Harvey shuts that down. “Actually working that much would mean I would have worked myself into a nervous breakdown before making partner. I’m not throwing you off the case, I’m send you home until Monday. You’re probably not even missing the meeting. Why are you arguing?”

“Because how else am I keeping this job?” Mike exclaims, throwing his hands up. “We both know you hired me for my brain. If I can’t keep up now, how will I keep up in the future? I need this job, I can’t loose this, just because I can’t handle a little overtime.”

“Mike, we’re far past ‘a little overtime’ here,” Harvey says. “You passed out. And I’m not planning on firing you. Ever. You’re doing more work than anyone else in this company. You’re burning out, because you’re trying to do the job of an entire team right now. That is what will make you unable to work.”

“What?”

In that one word Mike sounds so horribly confused that Harvey is going to admit something, he would have likely taken to the grave otherwise, because Mike has become like a brother to him. He has filled a space, Harvey didn’t even know was there. And here this bright kid, who has so much potential and had so much shit from life, is sitting and thinking he isn’t good enough.

“I care about you, Mike,” Harvey says, ignoring how uncomfortable he must look. “And at this point, I’m more concerned about your well being than this case. Do you even know how scared I was when you suddenly dropped like a fly?”

Mike is speechless, a look Harvey honestly thought he would never see on him. Yet there it is. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, before he looks like he is unable to decide whether he is touched or about to give Harvey a teasing, shit-eating grin.

Finally, he settles on teasing, as he goes: “Do I hear the great Harvey Specter care, right now?”

Harvey rolls his eyes, but doesn’t even pretend to protest. With what he has seen, Mike can use the confidence boost, so he just gets out of his chair and says: “You can eat the fucking pizza in the car. Put on your shoes and lets go. You need another nap.”

“You say that like I’m a toddler,” Mike pouts, but still does as he is told.

Not letting the moment to step back from the weird emotional outburst pass, Harvey shoots back: “Maybe think about why, kiddo.”

“Don’t,” Mike whines as he pulls a face. “I literally can’t take any more daddy jokes if anyone here hears that.”

“What the fuck,” is the only response Harvey can find for that.

“Yeah, you’re so lucky the associates are too scared of you to say anything when you’re near,” Mike tells him. “It’s brutal out there. Don’t you recall your associate days? Or too long ago?” he adds, shit-eating grin still in place as he takes a cheeky bite from his pizza.

“I do,” Harvey replies. “We were just more dignified. Also, please, never say anything like that to me again.”

They get some odd looks as they walk through the halls of Pearson Hardman.

On one hand you have Harvey, as put together as always (barring his slightly rumpled suit jacket that had functioned as a pillow), yet looking too fond for him to be the person everyone there knows him to be.

On the other hand, there is Mike, who has his suit jacket over the arm that is also carrying a pizza box, from which he is eating as he gestures with the hand holding a slice while talking. His hair is a mess, there are bags under his eyes, his laces are stuffed into the sides of his shoes and his tie is crooked. Neither of them really care and Mike is trying to make the most of these last moments by telling Harvey all the details he noticed, but hasn’t put together yet, even though they’re niggling at his brain.

Once downstairs, Ray is waiting for him. Harvey pushes him into the car. He then gives Ray the instructions: “Take him straight home. Except if he wants to pick up food. If he comes close to anything that looks like work, you have my permission to physically drag him away.”

There is an indignant ‘Hey!’ from the backseat, but both men ignore it as Ray nods gravely, before giving Harvey a reassuring grin.

Harvey waits until they’re safely out of the parking lot, trying to let go of the worry and wondering when he turned into this person, before putting on his game face and heading back upstairs.

At his office Donna is waiting and gives him all the information he knew on a basic level, but never really examined. If it weren’t so terrible, the realization of the amount of work Mike can do is truly astounding.

However, at this point all it does is scare Donna and Harvey, who make a pack to look out for the kid. Which involves a lot of teasing on Donna’s part and a lot of avoided eye contact on Harvey’s part.

“This is literally the worst,” he says at one point. “If this fucking kid just took care of himself I wouldn't have to go through this.”

“And you could pretend you were as apathetic to him as you are the rest of the world even though you are secretly a marshmallow,” Donna fills in the blank. “I don’t know whether to pity your underdeveloped emotional skills or laugh at you.”

“You can do neither,” Harvey suggest, knowing she isn’t going to listen.

Indeed, as expected, she snorts and goes: “You’re a grown man. I know you have emotions, you even acknowledged these before, I don’t know why you’re like this.”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Harvey says. “You just keep an eye on Louis and I’ll keep Jessica off his back.”

“I still feel like you have the easier part in this deal,” Donna says. “Jessica doesn’t really care what Mike does.”

“One, you definitely do, but she also keeps an eye on him since she doesn’t truly think I am capable of mentoring,” Harvey says. “Two, do you really want me on Louis duty?”

Donna is quiet for a moment, then just turns away and resumes typing with a soft, muttered: “God no.”

Harvey takes that as his clue to get to it and retreats to his office and thinks over today. It isn’t that he can’t acknowledge that he cares for Mike – he has in the past – but he just doesn’t like being confronted with the fact that he cares. He has always seen caring as a weakness and seeing what his own carelessness can do, has knocked him off balance for a second.

He sits in his office for a moment, then gets back to work. He just has to watch Mike’s back for when Jessica or anyone else (thought that is unlikely, except for Louis, but he has Donna for that) comes asking where he is.

In the end, Mike comes back Tuesday morning without issue. No one has really noticed, except for the other associates, but they’re too scared of Donna, especially after she tore Louis a new one for even daring to ask.

They kick ass at the meeting and Harvey suspiciously accuses Mike of working when he had been placed under house arrest.

“I appreciate that you said house arrest instead of grounding, even though that is worse legally,” Mike informs him cheerfully. Then adds: “But I’ve just read all the files before you send me home. I can’t help that they’re stuck up here now.”

“So, you did work,” Harvey counters.

“But only after I slept for another million hours and swung by Grammy,” Mike promises. “She says hi, by the way. I don’t know why, she has never met you, but I think she likes you more than me at this point.”

“All ladies like me,” Harvey tells him smugly, deciding not to push.

Mike guffaws a bit at that, before asking about the new case, because there is always more work at Pearson Hardman.

Not for Mike, however! Within reason that is.

The pact Donna and Harvey made extends beyond the Lemmin Inc. case. They aren’t sure if Mike knows, but if he does, he isn’t saying anything about it.

Together they keep Louis off his back when there are bigger cases, they intimidate associates trying to pawn off work and at one point Harvey even pulls up the spread sheet Donna has made about all Mike has done for Pearson Hardman to show to Jessica when she comes in demanding Mike’s services for Louis after he had complained to her about it. They also get Rachel on their payroll, with Donna trading the good, blackmail-level gossip for ensuring Mike eats and takes an actual lunch break.

In the end, they don’t get him down to a one man job. With Mike’s brain that is almost impossible, since they can’t justify him doing nothing during work hours. However, they do get him to two jobs, one and a half during slow times.

Harvey gets him a hotdog when leaving the court houses or clients and Donna always sends water bottles with his new paperwork.

Mike never comments on it, but both see the little smile he gets whenever they do those things, which is encouragement enough.

It’s weird, Harvey reflects, to think that it all started with a drug run gone bad. Or right. Now here he is, with an associate he cares for like family and a bond he never thought he could have after that faithful day he caught his mother cheating and gave up on relations, familial or otherwise.

Yet, here they are and he finds it’s not that bad to care, especially when Mike is asleep on his couch after a work bender. The empty take out cartons littering the office along with the finally finished paperwork.

He himself toes off his shoes and slides down in his chair, uncaring of how he is going to look when he wakes up in the morning. He’ll have a crick in the neck, but Donna will have coffee for the both of them and Mike will laugh at him for being an old man, before demanding a ride home so he can freshen up for a new day. Mike will nap in the car and Harvey will tease him.

It’s good. It’s nice. He has forgotten how much he loved being a big brother, being protective, caring for someone who needed it.

Honestly, he had mostly forgotten that last part. What it was like to be needed. And he isn’t giving it up.

Mike snores in the background and he chuckles softly to himself. Not that Mike will let him give it up, the kid thrives under the attention, he thinks, right before he drifts off.

A peaceful moment in the usually busy office.

A safe haven.

A home.

For both of them.

A/N:

Harvey’s guilty pleasure is teen drama’s, change my mind.

Also, Mike, u fuckin idiot, I know I’m writing u, but I wanna slap u on the head, but softly,,,, with a lill kiss, bc u need it

By the way, I know it’s only been like amonth and a halfsince I last wrote Suits fanfic, but I got happy when writing Lemmin Inc. again, like memories lmao (also I know this means nothing to people, but I’m having fun with my little shitty blorbo company)

#RR writing #suits tv show #suits fanfic #suits tv #suits #mike ross #harvey specter #donna paulsen #tw: fainting #tw: food issues #tw: overworking #request #harvey and mike

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isaac-morey · 1 year

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Task 10 -- Love Is Stored In The Garlic: Write about 10 significant meals that your character has had in their lives. Is it their favorite pasta dish? Is it the meal they were broken up over? Up to you to decide! Bonus points for images.

TW: child neglect, food issues/childhood trauma from them, abusive relationships, blood (not graphic but mentioned)

Peanut butter sandwich (Chicago, age five)

He didn't know where his parents were. There was some assumption they were both at work, but he didn't know exactly what work was; just some place people went, like school was where his older siblings disappeared to; and he was too young to do either so he stayed at home.

Was supposed to stay inside, but inside was cold, the heater wasn't working again, and he liked sitting at the big window at the end of the hallway, near the stairwell; he could see the city streets below from there. People were never home that time of day. It was safe, quiet.

"What're you doing out here?"

He froze, fingers resting on the dirty glass, eyes wide under hair that needed a trim but nobody was going to bother fixing. He said nothing.

"Seen you before," the owner of the voice was just a bit taller than himself, bundled up in a jacket and holding tight to a plastic box decorated with a castle on the front. "You live over there," she pointed, "don't you go to school yet?" She must have been a little older, he decided, as he shook his head no.

"I don't haffta go today, mommy said so, cause my sister is sick." She continued, studying him as if not sure what to make of this odd, scruffy little kid before her. "Where's your mommy? She at work? Why'd she leave ya out here?"

He swallowed hard at the questions, at being caught. And she must have figured out he didn't want to answer because she shrugged and walked past him.

"Don't talk much, do'ya?" And that was that, until she sat down on the wide sill of the window and opened her little box, shifting around the contents. "Well, I'm gonna have lunch out here; you gonna stay?"

He blinked, head tipped to watch as she set her drink upon the ledge, followed by her chips, and finally a sandwich wrapped in plastic. He glanced away, his mom's voice ringing in his ears.

Don't stare at people, it's rude! You want them to think we ain't got anything? They're going to if you stare so much. They didn't, but people knowing that must have been the worst thing in the world given much his mom yelled at him about it.

The silence stretched out and she took it in stride, only catching him right as he was about to go back across the hall to the cold apartment with a wave of her hand as she plucked the plastic from around the bread.

"Here, you wanna share?"

The question perplexed him, so openly that it stopped him in his tracks as she continued.

"What's your name anyway?" She thrust her hand out, offering up half of the sandwich, faintly sticky from the peanut butter tucked between the bread.

He couldn't find his voice and he wondered if it was fair; everyone else was gone though and it maybe wasn't fair that they had lunch at school or work or whatever else, without him. So it wasn't okay, he knew with a hint of guilt, but if nobody knew? Maybe just that once?

And he was hungry, it was hard not to be; sometimes that feeling went on all day, or, when dad was gone too long and mom was busy, longer. He couldn't find his voice though, it got drowned out by yelling so often he didn't even like the sound of it, but in a panic he realized that she might rethink her offer if he didn't answer.

But it wasn't much of an answer, just a hesitant, soft murmur "Isaac." Was it enough?

"Isaac, huh? Okay." Satisfied, she pushed the half sandwich at him and motioned to the spot next to her, and in a numb daze he sat down, nodding at her confirmation.

She smiled, taking a bite of her half and he was careful to match the motion, right down to the smile that he offered after; it happened so naturally he was surprised.

Chicken Makhani (first meal with the Moreys)

He didn't know how to fit in there; it wasn't much different from all the other foster homes, still better than the group ones; but someone else's home. It was always someone else's home and he was just passing through, a temporary visitor.

He had a bedroom to himself though, all to himself for once, and spending most of his time there seemed like the best way to get through it until things changed again.

He dreaded going downstairs when Mrs. Morey called him for dinner; he still dreaded that every place he ended up at. He was never sure what to do with himself while everyone else talked and carried on. And he was hopeful maybe she'd just forget he was there; sometimes they did. Sometimes he knew it was on purpose. But he never blamed them, the tired strangers and the dismissive ones; he wasn't really supposed to be there. But that call came, so he couldn't ignore it.

He couldn't find a corner in the kitchen to put himself out of the way in though, the space was endlessly busy and Isaac was sure he was going to panic trying to. Then something was pushed into his hands and his brain registered it as a bowl, but he had no idea why and simply stood there staring down at the large wooden object filled with rolls. He may have stood there a while, if not for Mrs. Morey's hand resting on his shoulder and guiding him over to the dining table.

He had little idea what many of the dishes spread across the table were in their grayscale unfamiliarity but it didn't matter, he'd never had a chance to learn the luxury of being picky.

The rolls joined the rest as he pushed the bowl in with the others and waited to be motioned to one of the chairs. He sat quietly while all the conversation happened around him, nodding at times but training his attention on his plate to make certain he wasn't eating too slowly. Eating too quickly was a reflex, one he couldn't help. Eating too much still was too, but that wasn't usually a problem, it wasn't usually an option.

When the questions came about if he liked the meal he wasn't sure why they had asked, but the answer felt like it should have been yes so he nodded as he idly chewed on another roll, falling silent and sitting with his eyes roaming from person to person around the table as they talked. He wasn't quite part of it, the moment, but it felt like he almost was. It was the closest he had gotten before.

Rogan Josh (first cooking lesson)

She was teaching him how to cook, Mama, she was Mama now, and he had asked so she was teaching him to cook. He had her recipes on the counter, a set resolve to doing it mostly himself, and a mess on his hands.

And it wasn't going well at all. The rice was wrong, he'd stared in utter dismay at the scorch marks on the pan as he'd dumped the sauce out of it; he couldn't put a name yet to the shade of orange it was but it didn't look like the one she made. Everything was wrong.

He sighed, eyes drifting towards the trash bin near the sink, gripping the bowl tightly; he probably needed to start over. But the thought of it made his stomach tighten, a wave of nausea washing over him at the very idea of doing that, of throwing away even that mishap. There was an anxious feeling there that made him dizzy, still.

Well, he didn't have to make anyone else eat it, he could though; that thought eased some of the tension in the pit of his stomach that was trying to tie itself into a knot.

Mama breezed into the kitchen and took quick stock of the scent of faintly burnt spices in the air, the seemingly frozen boy clutching that pot with a weary determination, and smiled as she placed a hand lightly upon his back. She might have suggested starting over, any other time, but it felt important not to.

"I messed it up," he got the words out but barely above a breath, it was his eyes he couldn't lift though.

It could be fixed, she confirmed, guiding him back to the counter to tend to the problem at hand, smiling rather than let her thoughts dwell too much over how he looked so relieved at her words, more relieved than any small child should have been.

Dinner was still not great, they all knew it, but they smiled regardless and let it be what it was. Isaac didn't say much, he was grateful nobody did either; the next time would be better, he hoped. Mistakes could be fixed; he hadn't believed it before.

There would be a next time, there would even be a day where he'd end up enjoying the process of figuring out how to adjust and fix his mistakes, plenty more meals he would cook for mama.

But that first one, mistakes and all, she would always say was still her favorite.

Airport Food Court (leaving after graduation)

"I'm not sure this counts as real food," he laughed, elbows resting on the narrow table and eyeing the edge of the plastic container. The faintest scent of airport faire drifted upward, hanging in the air around the table like a cloud.

Papa huffed, pushing the container forward with a nod of agreement.

"Not like anything your mother would have made," he commented in regards to the pale yellow liquid that, as far as Isaac could assume, was intended to be some manner of soup that was too nondescript for him to really make sense of.

Papa was right, Mama would have been nothing less than appalled if she knew.

"Best we not tell her," the older Morey added, as though it were some conspiracy between them. Isaac laughed and nodded, the messy crest of his bangs falling into his eyes.

He was going to miss her cooking; nothing else was going to be as good, nothing would feel quite like home. But home would still be there; Isaac was ready to see what lay beyond it.

"You look after yourself," Papa reminded him, the board on the wall behind them proclaimed in illuminated letters the arrival and departure of flights and every so often his head would lift, eyes towards it as he kept check of the minutes.

"I will," Isaac promised, the same way he had promised Mama, and Dian, Mads, Elli, Seb, even Gem and Devyn; had promised he would be okay so they didn't have to worry. So they could be excited for him instead about his new job, new life; so he could keep them with him but still find his own way.

They would worry a little, regardless, and he would miss them; that was all a part of distance. Absently, he grabbed the spoon for a bite of his own meal, cringing at the terrible idea that turned out to be. "Oh, yeah, no; that's terrible."

A moment of shared stillness among the rush of people on their way from terminal to terminal, shared laughter among all the other busy noise.

Rigatoni with Vodka Sauce (the breakup)

He didn't bother to clean up the broken mess, the splash of red across the tile had spread outward into runny streaks, jagged shards of colorless glass spiked upward from it and, in the back of his mind, he considered the risk of leaving it there.

But he was just so, so very tired.

Just tired, an empty, emotionless gray that seeped into the edges of everything around him. And, not for the first time in the last month, Isaac just wanted to close his eyes and block out even that.

He'd stopped trying to see the colors in the apartment weeks past, everything remained the same hues of stark, tense crimson and sickly swampy yellow-green and when it never changed it felt suffocating. It gave him less warning though at the sharp words as they brushed past him, making him bristle.

"I'm not cleaning that up; I don't have time to deal with this anyway." Max was a blurry, shrill tone as Isaac felt as though everything was out of focus.

He watched the sticky line of sauce drip downward from the edge of the counter, a puddle of inky darkness to his eyes; oily at the edges. A disarray of bits and pieces, a dull, shattered plate fanned out in chunks married with the splatters. He was so very tired.

"Isaac, wake the hell up; did you ever hear what I said?"

He hadn't, he hadn't even been trying to that time; most of the questions never felt like questions and the demands all sounded the same. He wondered, idly, if there was going to be a stain across the tiles later.

"Isaac."

He couldn't bring himself to care, not about the stain anyway, or the broken dishes, the ruined meal or even the fight that had caused it all. He couldn't remember what the fight had been about; that too just ran all together those days. Work? Maybe it was that. Maybe it was nothing at all; there were more of those lately.

Max had made it all the way into the living room, a trail of accusations heavy in the air that felt like he was only hearing it muted, from a distance.

Isaac sighed, retrieved a cloth from one of the drawers and knelt to pluck piece by piece the broken glass from the puddle. If he didn't do it Max definitely wasn't going to, and the argument later would be worse than just a few broken dishes; he was too tired for that, to even consider it.

He flinched, feeling the bite of glass and drawing his hand back sluggishly, the line of swelling blood the same indistinguishable gray as he held the fabric to the shallow wound.

Too tired.

"I'm leaving," he left the cloth in the sink, the glass scattered across the floor and the spreading red to sink into the tiles; more of a mark than he wanted to have there anymore.

Max scoffed, disinterest obvious in the eye roll that accompanied the words, "Yeah? And go where? You'll just come back anyway." The sneer, cold, turned into a mocking laugh.

It was a good point though, a point that felt like a weight on his shoulders, a dragging sensation; did he have anywhere to go? Friends? Anything that hadn't been poisoned from the inside out by Max? No, he didn't, not anymore.

"I don't know," he answered, honestly. He didn't care either, so long as it was anywhere else but there.

Chinese Takeout (the night after)

It shouldn't have felt so strange to be alone, shouldn't have felt like such a relief.

The too-oily, too spicy noodles in the white carton weren't even good; the plastic menu tossed on the bedside table argued otherwise but was clearly a poor judge of such things. The ugly carpet blanketing the floor was the distinct mix of red, brown and gold that made up the hotel room standard but he didn't mind; it was better than grays.

His phone had been buzzing for a good hour, bouncing and humming on the bed with missed calls, texts and voicemails but that time he had made his mind up not to answer. That time he was sticking by his decision. He didn't even notice when the battery finally died and the phone went blissfully silent.

The glow of infomercials on the television lit up the space in soft tones of saturated blue as he took a bite of the weakly flavored Chinese takeout and thought, again, that there in the quiet of the tiny room it was just about the best meal he'd had in months.

Pizza Planet delivery (Dian's disappearance)

"You need to eat," she reminded him in that tone both kind and resolute; giving no room for argument. And he had plenty of them to offer, not the least of which was how he couldn't bring himself to care about those things when everything else felt so out of place. The knot was back in his stomach in a way he hadn't felt since before Swynlake, before home and family.

Because family was the reason for it, wasn't it? Every day that tumbled into the next he felt the space where his brother should have been get a little larger, the ache settled a little deeper; Isaac didn't want to mourn someone he knew was still there, just too far for him to reach. But it felt that way, like he was standing vigil over an empty grave.

He couldn't find much reason to manage many meals lately that weren't only something to dull the worries; alcohol had taken the place of anything more substantial on his worst days, indifference had taken over the rest.

"Sorry Jess, I don't feel so great is all." The excuse felt weak, true, but that didn't make it less shallow when he offered it. The couch around him was soft enough that he just wanted to stay there, pretend it was all okay, and count the days.

"I can see that," she agreed, but gave him little choice as she pushed the plate into his hands, "but you promised me a movie night and we can't have one of those without pizza." As though it were some rule, some dire truth that the entire evening hinged upon. It wasn't that, but she would make it be, if it swayed him into the idea of doing just a little better job of taking care of himself.

Isaac started to protest but lost the determination, knew she was right; but that didn't make it any easier. Didn't make the first bite more appealing, nor the second, but nothing was going to taste very good while he was so resolved to disconnect from that simple pleasure. It was a purposed motion, an effort.

But an effort he had to make, bite by bite, so he could get through that evening, the next, and a few more difficult ones still to come.

It would get better, it just couldn't yet.

Eggplant Parmesan (first date, the second time around)

He moved around the kitchen with what was fast becoming practiced ease; only a few months in the house, his house, and Isaac had spent enough time inside that brightly-lit, sunshine yellow space to navigate it without having to devote his full attention to watching his step. And there, even more than most of the house, he felt in his element.

A splash of red spilled across the counter and something in the back of his mind shifted with an old discomfort that had been buried for years. He stared for a moment, then took a breath and shook his head, reaching for the cloth by the sink to wipe it away. And if it stained, well, he could fix that too with just a hint of the magic that ran through his veins, couldn't he? That was all that mattered; even stains could, like mistakes, be fixed.

The oven door stood open, the glass dish retrieved and set up the counter, and his hands didn't shake that time. They could have, but they didn't.

There were so many could haves and might haves in his memories; all greytone and stale and so far away in that moment. He wasn't certain they would be, in a way it was like a test again, for himself.

It would be different this time, he told himself, let himself believe it; years since he had ever thought things might get better but maybe they could. They were starting over, starting better; starting with more honesty between them.

He didn't feel giddy over the possibility the way he assumed he might, he felt something better than that; Isaac felt grounded. He felt like the maybes weren't just hopeful notions because he needed something to hold onto; they were possibilities that gave him something to work towards. And he didn't have to do that alone.

He admired his efforts as the kitchen filled with the warm scent of oregano and garlic, wiping his hands on the cloth; he hadn't forgotten the faint scar across his fingertips, no, it just didn't really hurt as much anymore. He still needed the scars, and what he had built from them, but the apprehension came and went, good days and bad ones.

The knock at the door pulled him away from his thoughts and left them behind there within the sunny walls. Good days and bad ones; it was a good one. He reached for the handle when he reached the end of the hallway, knowing that Nick was waiting on the other side; the smile had already reached his lips.

Of all the places he could have, there wasn't anywhere else he would have rather been.

#swynwrimo #swynwrimoz #i didn't make it to ten #but this was so long already #so #tw: child neglect #tw: food issues #tw: domestic abuse #tw: abusive relationships #tw: blood

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