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1.
One of the few certainties Mike has in life is that Harvey deeply hates pro bono work. He gets bored out of his mind when he’s not engaging in a vicious battle between rich people trying to tear each other down, and he doesn’t seem to be particularly concerned with the emotional aspect of the cases that Mike is more affected by.
This means that whenever Jessica dumps some pro bono case on him, most likely ordering him to not leave it to Mike, Harvey gets rid of it anyway. Mike doesn’t really mind, because as much as he loves the thrill of corporate law the reason why he got in the business in the first place is to help people.
He’ll gladly let Harvey take advantage of his ‘bleeding heart’, as he’d say.
So, when Harvey comes to him with a folder, announcing that they are about to help a single mother on the verge of homelessness, pro bono, Mike gets stuck on the ‘we’ in Harvey’s statement.
We. As in he and Harvey together. As in Harvey working a pro bono.
Then it occurs to Mike that technically they aren’t even on speaking terms at the moment: they had a fight because of the last pro bono case that Harvey had been assigned and that he had dumped on Mike. It was a lawsuit against a drunk driver, and it hit a little too close to home for Mike. Which is why he didn’t show much patience in front of Harvey’s lectures on the importance of not getting attached, and his snappiness escalated into a fight.
“You coming or not?” Harvey prompts, raising his eyebrows.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Mike mutters, quickly getting up and gathering his things scattered around the cubicle. “Why are you working on this?” he asks, as Harvey looks at him impatiently.
“Jessica,” Harvey mutters. And well, he does look deeply unhappy with the arrangement, but Mike doesn’t buy it for a second. There’s no way Harvey would do a pro bono completely against his will. Not to mention that Jessica doesn’t assign them to Harvey that often, and Mike just closed the last one.
“What are you grinning at?” Harvey asks, as Mike takes the folder from him and starts walking by his side.
“Apology accepted,” Mike declares.
2.
“I really can’t believe him,” Mike rants, feeling his stomach turning in rage as he thinks back to Harvey’s dismissal.
“Yeah, you’ve told me,” Rachel replies, her tone flat and her eyes not leaving the documents she’s reading. “Five times.”
“I was just trying to help,” Mike insists, and he knows that he’s being whiny, but he is under an insane amount of pressure, he doesn’t remember ever working this hard in his whole life, he had to cancel dinner with Grammy two times – plus being late the third time, because he fell asleep –, and in spite of all that when he saw Harvey surrounded by boxes of documents and looking pretty on edge he stopped by and tried to help— only to be dismissed as an annoyance.
Well, fuck him.
“You know how he is,” Rachel comments, and she still doesn’t look very interested in his rant, but at least she’s listening. “You complain about him every other day.”
“I know, but he could have— I don’t know, just said that he got it and that he didn’t need help,” Mike replies. Harvey was often harsh, and it never felt good, but having him snap at him like that when he’s this tired and he was just trying to help him— Donna has told him that he’s just stressed because there’s some personal history with opposing counsel, but Mike doesn’t really care. He’s not up to being the guy’s emotional punching bag, thank you very much.
“Because Harvey is such a tactful guy,” Rachel points out, this time tearing her eyes off the documents to shoot him a pointed look.
“Well, that was out of line even for him,” Mike mumbles.
He makes it a point to not seek further contact with Harvey that day.
Harvey, on the other hand, doesn’t come to apologize – as if that’d ever happen – or to give him work, he doesn’t even send Donna as a messenger. Mike ends up working through the pile of work that Louis stashed on his desk the previous day and going home at a pretty decent hour.
After a good night sleep, he finds that he’s only slightly less pissed at Harvey. He’s still angry enough that he doesn’t venture to his office, sitting in the bullpen for the whole morning instead, because he doesn’t want to always be the one to take the first step and, hell, he might even finish Louis’ work if Harvey keeps ignoring his existence.
Mike’s confidence in his silent treatment begins to crumble a bit at lunch time, when he’s eating a hot dog with Harold and he notices that, even if this is his usual lunch break time, Harvey is nowhere to be seen. Has he even been eating? He knows that he can go on without food for longer than humans, but still, working non-stop is unhealthy.
Mike doesn’t check on him, though, when he is hit with the clear image of Harvey shouting at him to get out of the way. He reacted poorly when he was offering to actually help, no way he’s not getting snappy if Mike starts mothering him. And he’s not up to it.
It’s way past eight pm when Harvey enters the bullpen. He’s fully dressed, briefcase in hand, and Mike can’t tell if he came from outside or from his office.
“Are you hungry?” Harvey blurts out, as soon as Mike opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing there.
Mike blinks. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Good,” Harvey replies, nonchalantly. “I have a reservation that I don’t want to waste.”
“You’re taking me out to dinner,” Mike echoes, his lips twisting into a slight grin, because this is— pretty amusing, to be honest. The fact that Harvey is bringing him out to dinner screams apology from a mile away. At least, if you are used to translating from ‘Harvey’ to English.
“Unless you want me to ask Donna and let you eat some left-over pizza at your shitty little apartment,” Harvey confirms.
“That’s rude,” Mike comments. “But if dinner’s on you, I’ll forgive you.”
Harvey rolls his eyes, biting back a grin, which is to be taken as a yes.
They are sitting in the back of Harvey’s car, when Mike decides that he wants to address it, even briefly. “I was just trying to help,” he says. “Yesterday.”
Harvey doesn’t answer immediately. “I know,” he finally lets out, staring straight ahead and looking slightly troubled, which is probably the closest thing to guilt that he can stomach to show.
It’ll do, though.
3.
They didn’t exactly fight. Mike merely expressed his unhappiness with the fact that Harvey, in spite of his promise to get some take-out with him after they’d wrapped up the case, has been putting it off for a week. To work on more cases.
Mike may even have mentioned something about how Louis tried to win him over with lunch a couple of times and how he’s tempted to switch sides, since Harvey is clearly way less generous. Needless to say, Harvey wasn’t too happy with the implication that Louis might be better than him at something.
Which Mike is sure is about half the reason why Harvey is standing at his door.
“I brought take-out,” he announces, showing him the bags as he gets in. “Chinese.”
“Better late than never,” Mike comments, grinning. He doesn’t even put much of an effort into not being noticed. “Make yourself at home,” he adds, sarcastically, when Harvey starts removing clothes from his couch, shooting him disapproving looks.
“You do know that you could hang them, right? Or wash them,” he comments. How exactly is the guy a who-knows-how-many-years-old demon? He looks like a pretentious upper-class punk who’s afraid that he’ll catch some exotic virus just by touching his clothes.
“I just dropped them there temporarily,” Mike replies, defensively. Harvey hands him the clothes and Mike heads for his bed to drop them there. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“First you pester me with this goddamn take-out and then you complain when I do home-delivery,” Harvey comments, taking off his jacket – did he really need to wear a suit? – before he sits on the couch and takes possession of the remote.
Turns out, the food was totally worth the wait. They end up watching Top Gun, but Mike is way too distracted by the piece of heaven that he’s tasting.
“Where exactly did you get this?” he asks. “You need to show me.”
Harvey raises his eyes on him and he looks totally pleased with himself. His ego definitely doesn’t need the boost, but he deserves it. “In China,” he replies.
Mike blinks. Of course he did. Of course Harvey would make it up to him for being late in keeping his word by getting him food from actual China.
Mike scoffs, shaking his head slightly. “Alright,” he states. “You win, I don’t think I’ll ever even consider dropping you for Louis again.”
4.
Harvey really isn’t the sentimental type, Mike knows this, but he’s also come to discover that sometimes he can be strangely— attentive.
The guy still has an hard time wrapping his head around why exactly emotions are all that important, and he can often be an insensitive jerk. Mostly to people he doesn’t give a crap about, which makes Mike suspect that he completely understands socially acceptable behaviour, at least on a theoretical level, he just chooses not to bother.
With Mike, he’s generally— friendly. If he realizes that he has done something that hurt him, he’ll do something to make it up to him, even if seems to be allergic to directly apologizing. If he senses that Mike needs help, whatever kind of help, he’ll provide it.
With snarky remarks and while rolling his eyes every five seconds, but he will.
Which is why Mike is pretty sure that Harvey genuinely didn’t notice. He does have the tendency to get a little caught up in cases sometimes – apparently demons aren’t too good with half-measures –, and if he had realized what was going on he probably would have sent him home or something.
But the fact is that he didn’t notice, not when Mike started coughing and couldn’t stop for a full minute – Harvey did shoot him a couple of annoyed glances, but he probably thought that something got stuck in his throat, considering that he wordlessly handed him some water –, not when he started feeling dizzy and seeing double, his eyes fighting not to stay open in spite of the ridiculous amount of coffee he had drunk, not even when Mike started having difficulties following the dynamics they were discussing.
Well, again, he did notice that Mike was distracted, he just didn’t think much of it. They had been on the case for a long while, after all, and it was late, tiredness was to be expected.
Basically, Harvey stayed oblivious to how much Mike was feeling like shit until he got up to get himself another cup of coffee and he stumbled on his own feet, faceplanting on the floor like an idiot.
“Mike!” Harvey protests, sounding more annoyed than concerned.
Mike knows that he’s supposed to get up, get some coffee and go back to work, but he’s tired and his head hurts and his muscles are relaxing a bit now that he’s lying, even if it’s on the floor, and fuck Harvey anyway, he can work on his own, doesn’t he see that he feels like he’s about to die?
“Hey, Mike,” Harvey calls again, and this time his voice is softer. It makes Mike’s annoyance lessen a bit. Harvey touches his shoulder to get his attention, and when Mike just mumbles something in return, he’s not even sure what, Harvey just sighs and pulls him up forcefully.
Mike lets himself be manhandled until he’s lying on Harvey’s couch, which is way more comfortable than the floor. Harvey is an angel, an heavenly miracle, not certainly a demon, a demon wouldn’t put him on such a nice and comfortable couch.
“You are ridiculously hot,” Harvey says, sounding slightly pissed off.
Mike realizes that he has closed his eyes, but he forced them open just to look at Harvey as he grins: “Hot as in attractive?”
Harvey isn’t amused. “Hot as in why didn’t you tell me that you were running a fever?”
“Soldiering on?” Mike offers, allowing his eyes to close once again. His head is killing him, but it’s a bit better if he shuts out the light. “You could have noticed on your own, though, jerk,” Mike adds, without thinking. “Instead of working me to death.”
Harvey doesn’t answer immediately. “Humans are ridiculously fragile,” he finally mumbles.
Mike wakes up the next morning at his apartment with only a slight headache and his whole body aching. His attempt to take a deep breath results in a coughing fit, and his bed smells like he has spent the whole night sweating. Awesome, really.
He somehow got into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s a bit fuzzy on the details, but when he finds his suit neatly folded, an assortment of meds on the table and some chicken soup that just needs to be heated, he kind of imagines who bothered to tuck him in the previous night.
He smiles, figuring it’s Harvey’s way of apologizing for not noticing that he was sick. Hell, at the light of a new day Mike doesn’t even really blame him for that, since he could have just spoken up instead of going on with his work as if nothing was wrong, but he still appreciates it.
He quickly has breakfast and he takes some painkillers for his headache, he makes sure that he’s not running a fever anymore and, figuring that Harvey will let him take the day off – and that he’d probably murder him if he tried to show up for work, because Harvey either overlooks or is an overprotective mother, no in-between –, he decides to watch some TV.
Which is when he notices that someone has definitely spent the night on his couch. Mike grins, and the feeling of warmth is still there when, in the late afternoon, Harvey drops by to ‘make sure that tomorrow he’ll be able to carry his ass back to work’.
5.
“Oh, stop whining,” Donna reprimands, but her voice is gentle and she’s handing him some ice.
“Hey, I just had some serious hellish fury unleashed upon me, it hurts,” he replies, leaning back against the couch in Harvey’s office.
Mike knows that getting in the middle of Harvey and whomever he’s pissed at is rarely a good idea, that his boss is an actual, literal demon and that getting in the way when he’s working through his anger issues can’t possibly be considered a smart move.
Still, Mike has developed this crazy idea – which is supported by facts though, alright? – that Harvey wouldn’t really lay a finger on him. Like. Ever. Which is probably the reason why he’s made it an habit of trying to talk some sense into Harvey when he’s pissed but he’s never been brutally murdered for his trouble.
What happened this time doesn’t actually dispute his theory. Mike is fairly sure that he was collateral damage, that Harvey sending him flying across his office, only to collide with the corner of his desk, was anything but intentional. Really, Harvey’s face when he saw the blood was pure horror.
For the brief second it took before he stormed out of the room, at least.
“You might want to get your story straight, you will have one hell of a bruise,” Donna comments, looking anything but sympathetic. Sometimes Mike thinks that that woman is a robot and that that is half the reason why Harvey tolerates her presence. The other half has to do with the inhumane amount of work that she gets done. Which actually supports the robot theory.
“I was defending a poor girl in a bar?” Mike offers, because it’s the first thing that came to mind. He’ll probably end up saying that he fell or walked into a door or something. Right now he’s really more interested in knowing where exactly Harvey disappeared to.
He knows that apologies aren’t his thing, but his face hurts and it’d feel real nice if Harvey at least was there to worry about his well-being. Or offer a ride home, since he’s feeling dizzy and he’s not sure he could keep his bike straight. This assuming that his injury means that he gets the rest of the day off.
“Oh, don’t bother,” Donna warns, probably noticing how he was scanning the corridor to see if Harvey’s anywhere in sight. “He’s probably run off somewhere to get over himself.”
“Well, an apology would be nice,” Mike mumbles, reasoning that if he just took his stuff and went home Harvey probably wouldn’t give him too much of a hard time tomorrow, considering the circumstances.
“Keep dreaming, kid.”
It’s eleven pm when someone knocks at his door. Mike has spent his half-day off – which he himself decided he deserved, with Donna’s blessing, since Harvey didn’t bother to make an appearance – on the couch, watching movies and eating left-over pizza from the previous night.
He feels like he has grown a second head on his left cheekbone, but at least he doesn’t have as much of an headache anymore thanks to the painkillers. The medicines though make him sleepy, so it doesn’t even occur to him that dragging his feet to the doorstep in boxer and t-shirt probably isn’t considered decent.
When he opens the door, he finds Harvey staring at him sternly. The hard look on his face makes Mike assume that he’s about to scold him for taking the rest of the day off without clearing it with him first – which would be totally fair, hadn’t Harvey brutally injured him -, which is how Mike ends up defending himself before Harvey has even opened his mouth.
“Look, Harvey, if this is about the day off, my head really hurt and I—”
“Shut up,” Harvey cuts him off. His eyes trail off somewhere over Mike’s shoulder.
He’s about to ask what the hell he’s doing at his door if he doesn’t want to lecture him, but before he can Harvey reaches for his inside pocket and hands him— a knife?
Mike blinks. “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asks, without accepting it. “You do know that if you need to kill someone you are probably more qualified to do it than I am, right?”
Harvey rolls his eyes. “It’s a demon knife. From hell. It hurts demons,” he explains, as if it was obvious. Which it isn’t, by the way. It surely is one weird knife, but all the decorations could be for aesthetic as far as Mike knows. “Take it,” Harvey adds, his hand still extended to offer the knife, handle first.
Mike frowns, backing off slightly. “What do I need it for?” he asks. “I have the anti-possession tattoo, I don’t need to stab any demons.” God, if this is Harvey being paranoid again—
Harvey rolls his eyes, sighing in theatrical exasperation. “It looks to me like you do need it,” he comments, and his eyes eloquently rest on the bruise on his face.
Mike blinks. One, two, three times. And then he keeps staring, because there’s no way that Harvey is suggesting— “Are you trying to give me means to hurt you?” Mike finally lets out, his voice raising a little. Which is when he realizes that they are still on the doorstep, and he doesn’t really want his neighbours to find him and his demon boss arguing over a knife.
So he steps aside, gesturing to get in. When Harvey hesitates, it’s Mike’s turn to be exasperated. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he mumbles, as he grips Harvey’s arm and he pulls him in. Harvey lets him do it, but then they are stuck in the same position as they were before: looking at each other, a knife between them. It’s a bit ridiculous, if you ask Mike.
“It’s for protection,” Harvey finally says.
“From you?” Mike replies, trying to put as much scepticisms as he can in the last three letters. Because really? “I don’t need protection from you, come on.”
“You absolutely do,” Harvey replies, glancing at his face, again. “Just take it, Mike.”
“No,” Mike snaps, crossing his arms. “It was an accident, it happens. You can’t seriously think that I’ll start keeping that on me just to be sure that I can stab you if I feel like it.”
“You need to defend yourself—”
“From you?” Mike highlights again, chucking in disbelief. “Because if you want me to treat you like you are dangerous, maybe you shouldn’t be here worrying about my personal safety. Kinda makes you look less like a threat and more like a concerned friend.”
Harvey glares at him the way he does when he thinks he’s being stupid. Probably the fact that he called him his friend didn’t help matters. “I am dangerous,” he stresses. “And I am just being logical.”
“No, you are acting on impulse because you are a guilty mess,” Mike shoots back, and he’s sure that he’s nailed it when Harvey seems taken aback for a moment. And really, when you are dealing with someone like Harvey micro-expressions are everything.
“I don’t feel guilt,” Harvey states, his tone flat. “Ever,” he adds, more fiercely.
“Sure you don’t,” Mike scoffs. “Listen, take it from someone who’s more in touch with his emotions than you are: when you feel guilty, the best solution is to apologize. Not to offer people to murder you.”
“I’m not offering you to murder—”
“No, you are just trying to give me the means to do it if necessary, right?” Mike interrupts. Harvey stares at him for a couple of seconds, then he nods. Mike inhales briefly. “Well, it won’t be necessary, I assure you.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Harvey sighs, but his arm has by now dropped, resting by his side.
“Don’t be an asshole, I wouldn’t kill you even if you were actually trying to hurt me,” Mike replies. “Not that you would.”
“That’s reassuring,” Harvey mutters, sarcastically, but after a couple of seconds he seems to actually accept his defeat, as he puts the knife back in his jacket.
Mike feels his muscles relaxing a bit, and he grins slightly. “Oh, you need reassurance? Does that mean you are worried?”
Harvey glares at him.
They end up on the couch together, watching some TV even if Mike is pretty sure that he won’t last long before falling asleep. He’s already half-gone when he makes it a point to remind Harvey to keep the damn thing locked somewhere, because God knows how many people he’s pissed off only in the last few months and there’s no need to hand them an anti-demon knife on a silver platter.