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schrijverr · 2 years

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Miracle Worker 1

Chapter 1 out of 10

Mike has dropped out of High School at sixteen to take on a full time job as a bike delivery boy to take care of Grammy. He lies that he’s eighteen to get better hours and more pay, somehow ending up working for Harvey on a project that will get him Senior Partnership. Mike and Harvey becomes friends during the course of it, Mike looking up to Harvey as all he wants to be, but probably never will. However, when things go south with Grammy, he considers taking Trevor’s offer to do a drug run, instead ending up with Harvey offering to be his mentor. Offering him help.

On AO3.

Ships: none, pls don't

Warnings: declining health due to age, poverty

~~~~~~~~~~~

You

Mike dropped out of High School in his last year, told his Grammy he doesn’t want to anymore, that he can’t see himself have a future where he’d need that. She thinks he’ll get back next year. She thinks he just needs a break, that being younger than his peers has effected him so much that he just wants to stop for a while before he goes back to school.

He knows that he won’t do that. This is not an act of rebellion or trying to save himself from mental stress. But Grammy’s health has taken a dive for the worse. She isn’t able to work anymore, forgetting more and more, along with her movement getting more restricted. He knows her pension won’t last forever. If he’s going to afford the care she is going to need soon, he needs to build up some savings and fast.

So, Mike is sixteen, telling the world he’s eighteen and riding across New York to delivers messages on his bike. Not to put himself through college, but to care for his Grammy, who is getting too old to recognize the situation for the truth.

It’s not like he cares, he tries to tell himself in the rough moments.

He doesn’t want to go to school anyway. School is boring and easy. It sucks. Now he’s free to do as he pleases. That’s much better. Who would want to trade that for school?

In those moments he ignores how sore he is each day, coming home after many miles beneath his wheels for a small wage that he has to save up or put towards groceries, while the few friends he has contact with from High School buy the latest comics from their pocket money, talking about how much History class sucks.

Still, he takes some of the money for himself. He feels so selfish whenever he does, but each month he allows himself to buy a book.

He can also go to the library and does so often enough, but there’s something that can be said for owning a book. He likes making notes in the margins, underlining things and watching as his collection grows. He wants to own a collection worthy of the title library one day.

Before he dropped out, he wanted to be a lawyer. He still does, though it’s more a fantasy for the late nights than anything concrete. It’s a nice possibility that will never be, to keep him going when the world seems against him.

So, he has legal books. A copy of the Barbri legal handbook, a collection of old courthouse records, the Constitution and more.

Mike knows them all by heart already, but he likes having them. Likes reading about cases in the paper and going through them to see how he would argue them. He especially likes it when he reads about the case later and sees that he’s right (or wrong, though that doesn’t happen often).

All in all, life isn’t good, but it could be worse when he first delivers a package to Pearson Hardman, a famous law firm. He has read about it them the papers. Somewhere he’s excited he’ll get to go into the firm, even if he won’t make it past the mail room. He knows he will never be a lawyer, yet he’ll get to pretend that he belongs in those offices just for a few minutes.

He locks his bike and makes his way into the building, looking around at the sleek marble in the entrance hall. After he has taken in it, he goes over to the doorman, having done this song and dance many times already now. “Hey, I’m here to deliver a package?”

The doorman gives him a skeptical once over, which Mike is also used to, because he doesn’t look like the eighteen years old that he isn’t. So, he holds up the package and says: “It’s for a Mr. Soloff?”

At the name the doorman nods, apparently that name is familiar. He points him to the elevators and says: “Mail room is on the 21st floor.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mike says, having long since learned it’s best to be respectful no matter what, before getting into an elevator car.

In the elevator is a man in a suit, looking all sorts of intense as he barks into a phone. He gives Mike a quick glance as he enters frowning when he sees they will stop at 21 before going up to the 50 that’s also highlighted, before turning back to his conversation: “I don’t care what he says, Donna, I’m not letting him sign that deal.”

“I said keep him there,” the man says after the person on the other side, Donna, replies. “Do what you need to do, I’m on my way up.”

Mike is feeling a bit uncomfortable. This man is obviously important and in a hurry with something major about to go wrong at any moment. So when the doors slide open on the 21st floor, he scurries out as fast as he can. Within one elevator ride, he feels even less like he belongs in this place.

He sighs and looks around in the sleek halls. He knows he’s never going to become a lawyer, but having it confronted like that isn’t really the best feeling.

So, he looks around, having gotten used to finding the way in big offices and makes his way over to the mail room. The transaction is as standard as ever, with Mike feeling like he is the least important person on the planet before being dismissed and watched closely by the guard as he makes his way outside.

Typical Tuesday really.

And while Mike never forgets anything ever, he puts the delivery out of his mind pretty quickly, since it’s one of many with nothing truly interesting really happening.

In the following weeks, he makes a few more deliveries to Pearson Hardman. He learns the doorman’s name is Jose Morales and not as much of a hardass as Mike had first suspected. He isn’t a fun joke-y guy either, just takes his job seriously, which is highly important in such a prominent law firm. And now that he knows Mike, he’s allowed to pass with no problem.

The people in the mail room are still professional and do the bare about of interaction necessary, but Mike can’t really blame them. They get hundreds of deliveries a day, he can hardly expect them to spend social energy on every delivery guy that passes through.

During his deliveries, he sees many men in suits and women in expensive dresses, oozing power. Of course, he doesn’t dare to talk to them, or even meet some of their eyes and gets to know exactly zero of their names. He might from his deliveries, but he wouldn't know which face to connect to the names.

He sees the man from the deal on the phone a few times as well. The man always looks intimidating with his perfectly fitted suits and tightly gelled hair. Mike has seen him smile a few time, mostly when he’s talking to someone as he walks. He always looks like a shark.

Mike is fascinated with the guy. Which, granted, he knows is a bit odd, but he can’t help it. The man is what he imagines his life could have been like had the world dealt his cards differently. Besides, there isn’t much to stimulate his brain when delivering packages. He’s pretty sure the boredom is worse than the physical labor of this job.

A small bitter voice in his mind says: ‘Then you shouldn’t have dropped out, now should you,’ but he pushes that away. Grammy’s new meds are working and even though he doesn’t see her often with how busy he is, it is nice to come home to her remembering who he is.

So, he tries not to think about how strange it is that he made up a world for this one man to live in, imagining himself alongside him as he rides his bike through the busy New York streets, trying not to get run over.

It’s then that he gets another delivery for Pearson Hardman. This time he has to bring it right to the office of one Mr. Litt, apparently it’s urgent and should be top priority.

Mike often hears it’s top priority, which is a lie nearly equally as often. However, the fact that it is to be taken to the office directly instead of the mail room sets off a bell in his mind. He remembers hearing the man say a big case was coming up last time he ran into him on a delivery and wonders if he is Mr. Litt.

Fueled by curiosity he jumps on his bike and paddles first to Rand, Kaldor, Zane, where he picks up the package, before racing to the other side of Manhattan to deliver it. Jose is at the door, raising a brow when he sees how out of breath Mike is. Between deep breaths he asks: “What floor is Mr. Litt’s office?”

“The 50th, go to the left,” Jose answers and Mike thanks him as he hurries to the elevators.

He makes himself look more presentable in the elevator, though it’s a loosing battle. He is in jeans and a graphic shirt underneath a too big zip up, with beat up sneakers. On his head is his helmet, he’s sweaty and he knows he has a zit on his forehead. However, he’s at least no longer gasping like a man who nearly drowned as he exits the elevator and goes to the left.

White letters on the glass are not as easily readable as whoever designed them must have thought, but Mike scans all the names quickly until he sees an office reading: Louis Litt, Junior Partner. In front of it sits an ancient woman, who he greets politely: “Hi, ma’am, I have an urgent delivery for Mr. Litt from Rand, Kaldor, Zane. I was ordered to take it to his office directly.”

The lady looks up to him and takes in his appearance with a disdained look as he tries not to squirm under her gaze.

Behind her, the man sitting at the desk looks up. It’s not the man from the phone, he’s shorter and has dark buzzcut hair. When he hears the noise outside his office, he looks up and presses a button as the intercom crackles to life. “Who’s the charity case out there, Norma? I am too busy for this, alright?”

Norma, as the lady is apparently called, rolls her eyes while Mike ignores the sting of hurt at the description. He’s used to the insults from tense businessmen or associates who think they’re so good, because they went to a fancy school. Norma replies: “It’s a messenger, says he has a delivery for you from Rand, Kaldor, Zane.”

“Already?” Mr. Litt sounds surprised and Mike feels a bit of smug pride as he nods through the glass and holds up the parcel. Take that with your insults.

“Well then what the hell are you doing, Norma?” Mr. Litt snaps. “I needed that package yesterday, so why are you so incompetent that you can’t even let a messenger through.”

Mike startles at the harsh tone, but Norma seems to care as little as Trevor about his grades and just waves him through absentmindedly. He thought he could give it to her, but it seems not. With a little apprehension he walks into the office and hands Mr. Litt the package. He’s about to walk away again when Mr. Litt stops him: “Not so soon.”

“I’m sorry?” he replies, confused.

“This right here,” Mr. Litt points at the package, “can sink or close a multi-million dollar merger. I am not letting you go before checking if you did your job correctly. If a sheet is missing, you’re going back there and getting it, understand?”

“I have other deliveries to get-”

“No,” Mr. Litt cuts off his protest that he has other work. “This might get me my promotion and I’m not letting you screw this up. So, you are going to stand there and wait or I will sue the shit out of you.”

Mike nods quickly, nervously waiting as Mr. Litt flips through the pages. He fiddles a bit and looks around the office to distract himself. It’s a hub of noise and movement with everyone walking like they have the most important places to be, not stopping for a moment as they continue doing their jobs even on foot.

A multi-million dollar merger, Mike thinks. These people represent the most rich and powerful of New York, maybe even the USA. And in a way Mike is helping, though he feels the most out of place he’s ever been in the sleek office.

Mr. Litt is still checking when Mike sees the man from the deal on the phone walking down the hallway. His gait is as easygoing as always, but he’s looking serious and his forehead is crinkled as if something is bothering him.

At first Mike thinks he’s going to walk by, off to the probably important thing that’s on his mind, however, he stops at Mr. Litt’s office, frown deepening. Mike swallows as doesn’t dare to meet the man’s eyes as he brushes past Norma’s desk.

“What are you doing, Louis?” the man asks. “You’re not working on some pro-bono case, are you? Didn’t you hear Jessica, we need all hands on desk for this merger. Not busy ourselves with,” he gives Mike a judgmental one over, “teen boy band rejects.”

And of course, he knew the man would be like all the others, but with the world he build for him, it stings more than expected.

“I’m not working a pro-bono,” Mr. Litt replies, tension between the two men rising. “And I know what Jessica said. I’m looking over the paperwork from Rand, Kaldor, Zane’s office right now, this kid delivered them. I do my due diligence, so he’s not leaving until I know for certain that he didn’t screw up.”

Mike gives the man an awkward smile as the man’s look changes from misprized to intrigued. He asks: “It’s already here? What’s your name, kid?”

“Uh, it’s Mike, Mike Sorkin” he answers, giving the false name he’d used for work, stumbling after being addressed so suddenly. “I- I work for Fly Delivery. Look I-” he steels himself, “I get this is important, but I have more work. I’ve already wasted five minutes here, my boss will kill me. Can I please go?”

“Louis, come on,” the man says, seemingly ignoring Mike again. “I’m second chair on this case, you should have notified me the second this came in.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, so you can steal all the thunder, I think not,” Mr. Litt snaps.

“We’re working together on this, Louis, together. You know what that means?” the man asks, not waiting for an answer. “Turning this into a competition will only delay us. So stop being paranoid and let Mr. Sorkin here go so we can work this case.” Mike is surprised the man even takes it up for him, which is immediately undermined by: “We know his name and where he works. If it’s wrong, we can contact them.”

Of course, fucking lawyers. Mike can’t afford a lawsuit and these assholes are just talking about him like he’s not even there or worth their time.

“Whatever, Harvey,” Mr. Litt says, revealing the name of the mystery man Mike just lost interest in, great.

“Good,” Harvey replies smugly. “Get those copied.” Then he turns to Mike and says: “Chop, chop, you’re free to go and all that.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mike tells him without meaning, as is ingrained, before getting out of there and biking away at full speed, wondering how he’s going to occupy himself now that Harvey has become one of the many faces in the business world. He wonders what the multi-million dollar merger they’re working on is all about.

He puts the whole thing out of his mind, even though it keeps niggling at him. It’s frustrating, he is so smart, yet no one will ever know or see.

If he had stayed in school, he’d breeze through college all the way to Harvard Law, he’s sure of that, but it just isn’t his path. No instead his path is biking from office to office as people shit over him because they think he’s just a stupid messenger.

Well, he’s the best damn messenger out there. He has a lot riding on keeping that job and needs to excel at something again, to keep himself sane. So they can all stick it up their ass and be glad that he’s even doing this job, because they couldn't do it and Mike is pretty sure he could do theirs.

It’s a week later that his boss comes up to him, grinning. Mike knows a grin means good news, but he can’t help but be cautious as he greets: “Hello, sir, what can I do for you?”

“Urgent delivery,” his boss tells him. “Pearson Hardman, for one H. Specter. Apparently he requested you specifically. Good work, Mike. These people pay well for this to be there within two hours. You’ll get a bonus if you manage.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mike says, internally wonder if the H. stands for Harvey and why on earth the man would request him after being a dick last time. Though he was pretty fast.

“I have all the details right here.” His boss hands him a piece of paper that Mike scans quickly. The address he needs to collect the package from is in Brooklyn. It’s one hell of a trip to make, but Mike knows the way.

Alright, he thinks, this man is clearly asking for a miracle, but Mike will show him. He’s not going to give the man a reason to be angry with him and he does need that bonus. “I will get on it right away, sir,” Mike says, already hurrying to his bike.

He’s pretty sure the lady he gets the package from thinks he’s a maniac, but it help her rush along and he needs every minute he can get.

Jose nearly offers him a chair when he gets to Pearson Hardman. Mike is panting, but determined to deliver it himself, so he waves away the chair and gasps: “Specter’s office?”

“50th floor,” Jose answers dutifully. “Corner office if you take the left.”

Okay, yeah, Mike had been in that direction before with Mr. Litt. He knows the layout. “Thanks,” he huffs, collapsing into the elevator and pressing the button.

This time he’s probably looking even more out of place than last time. He is drenched in sweat, still slightly out of breath, but he’s managing and not letting the curious frowns get to him as he quickly makes his way to the corner office as Jose had said.

He still has five minutes to get there. So, he just keeps walking, one eye on his watch the other on the name plates.

When he spots the name plate with Harvey Specter, Junior Partner, on it. He almost cheers, two minutes left. He makes his way over to the redhead who is giving him a concerned look and leans heavily against her desk and says: “Can you please sign this off quickly, ma’am? I get a bonus if I do it under two and I have two minutes left before that disappears.”

“Of course,” she signs it off quickly, noting the time before anything else, which he is incredibly grateful for. Once she’s finished, she asks: “Are you okay? Can I get you some water?”

He hasn’t stopped to drink yet and he can feel his dry throat. “A bit of water would be nice, ma’am, but not if it’s an inconvenience.”

“With how fast you got here, you should be asking for liquid gold, young man,” she smiles kindly at him. “I’m giving this to Harvey first, alright. Just wait here for a second.”

“Yeah, take your time,” he says, happy to be still for a moment.

She hurries into the office and he hears her say: “Harvey, your files are here. I think you nearly killed a messenger.”

“What? Are you serious?” he hears a familiar voice reply as Harvey comes into view, just as he had been in Mr. Litt’s office. Their eyes meet and Mike straightens out, rubbing his nose awkwardly, stubbornly holding the man’s gaze for a moment, before looking away.

“Did you really say he’d get a bonus if he got it here in under two hours?” the secretary asks, sounding judgmental.

“I didn’t think they would actually get here this fast,” Mr. Specter defends himself. “I was going to give the bonus anyway. I was asking for a miracle, I knew that. But later, alright, Donna, I have to get to my meeting right away.”

Mike is pleasantly surprised that Mr. Specter knows he’s asking for a lot and was going to give them money anyway. A lot of these hot shots think the world will bend to their will and will punish anyone who can't deliver on ridiculous demands.

“Don’t forget your meeting with Dreibach Accounting at 4:00,” the secretary, Donna, calls out after him.

“I won’t,” Mr. Specter replies, sweeping out of the office with hurried steps. Mike scrambles out of his way, not expecting him to take a second and say: “Thank you, Mr. Sorkin,” before disappearing down the hall, the package Mike just gave him in his hands.

Right after Donna appears next to him and he startles again. She smirks at that, then says: “You got a thank you. That’s high praise from Harvey. Do you want something with the water?”

“Oh, uhm, no, thank you, ma’am,” he answers, not wanting to overstep and a bit off balance about the whole thing. So, Mr. Specter isn’t a complete asshole, interesting.

“Are you sure?” Donna asks. “Jessica’s secretary, Wendy, brought donuts. I could get you one.” He has to admit that sounds really tempting, but it would be more professional to refuse. However, it seems Donna has read his hesitation and conspiratorially she whispers: “I won’t tell.” Then walks away, leaving Mike to awkwardly wait in the halls.

She returns quickly with a glass of water in her hands and a donut. Mike drinks the water like a man lost in the desert and nearly falls to his knees in thanks when Donna reveals she also has a water bottle tucked under her arm for him. Between a sip and a bite from the donut, he says: “You’re the best, thank you so much, ma’am.”

“Ahw, I know,” she replies, which should sound arrogant, but she makes it work. “And just Donna is fine. Could I maybe write down your contact information so that we can call on you quicker should we need a speed delivery?”

Mike hesitates for a second. He’s allowed to do that, it would actually be good for him, because those usually include extra fees and he can use the money. It’s a good idea, he likes working for deliveries for Pearson Hardman, even if the urgent ones have been tiring. He decides the extra cash won’t hurt and grins: “Course, but I don’t have a fancy business card. Do you have a piece of paper?”

“Yes, here you go,” she produces a pen and some paper easily and Mike eats his donut as he writes down his contact information.

When he is done, he smiles at Donna and says: “I have to go now. I have to get to Queens before three o’clock.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Donna tells him. “Have a good day, Mr. Sorkin.”

“You too. And Mike is fine,” Mike replies, then he’s off again, a rush of giddiness going through him.

He helped with something important for a case, if the reactions are anything to go on. He also just ensured that there is a big company that knows his service good. They want to ask him for more jobs that include better money. He might be able to buy two books for himself this month, or get a new messenger bag.

Mike can’t wait to tell Grammy about it, but first a delivery to Queens, then relaying to his boss that the delivery was a success and they have his number, doing a few more deliveries, before getting groceries and going home to see her.

While he does his deliveries, Mike wonders what the case was about. He picked up the package at the office of a big software company, though he has read they’re struggling in the economics section of the paper. Probably a hostile take over or something.

By the time he gets back to apartment, he is still in high spirits. He opens the door and calls out a greeting, his good mood disappearing when his Grammy replies with: “Hi, James, dear, there you are. What were you out so late for? Was school okay?”

This has been happening more often now. Usually she’ll snap out of it and not even realize it has happened, but some days he’ll play his dead father for an evening.

He knows he should be looking for better care for her, however, if he tries to hire a nurse, CPS will surely be on their doorstep in days, same for trying to get her placed in a care facility. Not to mention the expenses that all comes with. If he wants them to survive, wants to stay near her and not risk all he has built, this will just have to be his life.

So, he replies: “It was good. I had to run some errands for a friend, you know. After basketball practice.” He himself never had much with the sport, but his dad used to say how he nearly went pro, something Mike didn’t believe, but liked hearing about when he was younger.

He’s putting away the last of the groceries, when Grammy enters the kitchen and sighs: “You don’t have to do that, Micheal. I can still get groceries.”

And he can’t help the relief at the fact that he doesn’t have to pretend to be his father tonight. He hides it behind a smile and asks: “But how else would you know to get cupcakes?”

“Cupcakes?” Grammy repeats.

“Yes,” he confirms. “I got a delivery done extra fast today, practically a miracle. The company got my contact info, so I’ll be able to run more deliveries for them. It’s extra money, since they ask for me specifically.”

“That’s great, honey,” his Grammy smiles. “I’m still surprised they let a sixteen year old do this sort of work, but I’m glad you’re doing well. Even if you really should consider going back to school, dear. You’re such a smart boy.”

Mike hates how he’s always lying these days. To his Grammy about his job and why he left school, to Trevor as well, how he lies at his job about his age and name. How he lies when Grammy is out of it, or simply by introducing himself to people when he’s working.

But it’s all he can do to maintain what he has always known, so he pushes it away and says: “I might, Grammy, but I can go back to senior year whenever I want. Right now I’m two years younger than everyone there, might as well save some money for college now and graduate when I can get into college with other people my age. Or do you want me between the parties now?”

“Of course not, Micheal,” his Grammy shakes her head and drops it, again convinced of his lies. He sighs and goes to make dinner, listening to Grammy talk about her chess game with the neighbor, Mrs. Brenda.

They eat on the couch and spend the evening watching TV, until Grammy starts struggling to stay awake and Mike helps her to bed despite her protests. Once she is under the covers, he tidies up, before reading the book he picked up from the library yesterday.

After that life goes back to normal. Not that Mike expected anything different. In the paper he reads about the take over he had suspected would happen when he delivered those files. The line about last minute evidence, makes his chest puff out in pride.

He might not be a lawyer, but he’s sort of part of that world in a sense. He isn’t Robin, but maybe he’s pulling off Commissioner Gordon.

Still, as time passes he starts to wonder if he’ll ever hear from Donna again. His phone stays quiet and his deliveries to Pearson Hardman are all for the mail room to be delivered through the internal system.

Mike is about to write it off as him being a back up or forgotten or something when his phone dings as he’s eating a hotdog by a stand in between deliveries. He checks it and nearly lets his hotdog drop as he scrambles to reply.

The text he has received reads: Hi, this is Donna from Pearson Hardman. Please come ASAP, highly urgent.

On my way!, he texts back, stuffing a last bite of his hotdog in his mouth, before throwing the rest away, jumping on his bike.

He happened to be in the area, so not even five minutes later he’s walking through the hallways towards Donna’s desk. He doesn’t see Mr. Specter through the glass and wonders what sort of delivery this will be as he greets her.

“Oh my, you are fast,” Donna says, reaching for a file on her desk.

“I was already in the area,” he disputes, not wanting to feed into unrealistic expectation unless he has to.

“Well, it’s good that you are,” she tells him. “Harvey just left for the Tweed Courthouse, do you know it? It’s 52nd Chambers Street. He forgot his motion. He just left with Ray, his driver, when he texted me. I need you to get it to him before trail.”

“Of course, where can I find him there?” Mike asks, taking the file and putting it in his messenger bag. New, bought from Mr. Specter’s bonus, which had been generous.

“Harvey be waiting for you in the lobby, unless it’s nearing trail, then he’ll be in room 5,” Donna tells him. “Don’t be afraid to walk in and hand this to him, that sort of thing happens.”

“Okay, I’ll be fast,” he promises, before hurrying away, determined to get to Mr. Specter in time. It is a bit of a game with himself, a little race to see how fast he can go. With this traffic, he might be able to beat Mr. Specter to the courthouse if he calculated right with the time of the text.

So, he paddles with all his might past the busy roads filled with traffic jams. It’s kind of fun. He might hate why has to do this job, but he loves barreling down a road with top speed, wind in his hair.

He skids to a halt in front of the Tweed Courthouse and locks his bike. He’s just about done when a voice makes his head snap up: “Jesus, is your name Barry Allen or something?”

In front of him is Harvey and by the looks of it, he has just gotten out of the black car parked at the curb. It seems Mike beat him there. Then the comments catches up and surprised he states: “You know comics?”

“Of course I know comics, I have some self respect, you know,” Mr. Specter huffs, though he seems more amused than offended.

Just to be safe, Mike says: “Sorry, Mr. Specter,” as he hands him the files Donna gave him.

“No need for that,” Mr. Specter says. “I wasn’t too serious about it. And call me Harvey, Mr. Specter makes me feel old.”

Mike just about clamps down the ‘you are’ as he nods: “Okay, Harvey. Uhm, and, uh, good luck with your motion.”

That also seems to amuse Harvey and he grins: “There is no such thing as luck. And if there were, I don’t need it.”

“Sure, Obi Wan Kenobi,” Mike snorts, unable to help himself, despite the fact that it’s highly unprofessional.

Still, before he can apologize for it, Harvey laughs. Mirth is still in his eyes when he says: “You’re a good kid. Thank you for bringing me my motion, Mike, right?” Mike nods. Then Harvey hands him some money. “I prefer giving cash tips, hope that’s okay. Buy something to eat, you’re gonna need it if you keep going everywhere in a flash.”

Mike smiles and takes the money. It’s a twenty, score. And Harvey seems nice enough. Not as much of a stick up his ass like his colleagues as he assumed. Still, just because Harvey knows movie quotes and comics is no reason to be unprofessional, besides Mike doesn’t know him and he’s secretly a kid, so this could get weird really fast.

“Thank you, sir,” he settles on, before unlocking his bike as Harvey makes his way into the courthouse, while Mike picks up where he left off before his lunch break. However, he does buy a sandwich around three as a snack from the cash, the rest he uses to buy Grammy some flowers on the way home as well as laundry detergent.

He wonders if Harvey’s motion went well and what the motion was about. He also wonders if he can ask next time or if it is weird. Then he wonders if there will even be a next time. Mike hopes there is, Harvey tips well.

A/N:

Btw I have no clue how bike messengers or anything in the business/law world works, I am but a humble archaeology student, I know nothing, but the vibes are there.

#RR writing #suits fanfic #suits tv show #suits tv #suits #mike ross #protective harvey specter #harvey specter #OCs #donna paulsen #louis litt #Miracle Worker #Miracle Worker Part 1 #bike messenger mike ross #young mike ross #suits alternate universe #edith ross

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