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Mike isn’t sure where he expected he’d end up after being dragged down the service stairs of the Chilton with blood on his face and the business end of a gun pressed firmly against his back, but the spacious condo they’re in—smooth strains of soul music filling the room, morning sun pouring in through the massive windows with top floor views of the city, polished hardwood under his shabby shoes as he’s marched further into the room—wasn’t even on his list of possibilities.
The whole place screams taste and expense, especially the man sitting in the centre of it all. He fits right into the room the way he does the suit he’s wearing—legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle, shoes shined and clothing pressed, one arm draped over the back of the black leather sofa, reading that morning’s Times with a cup of coffee in his hand and a laptop beside him. He’d look every bit the picture of a run of the mill businessman preparing for a morning meeting if it wasn’t for Mike standing roughed-up and restrained in front of him.
There’s no urgency to it as the man flicks his gaze up from the paper to meet Mike’s, eyes narrowing a bit at the blood that’s now dried in a trail from Mike’s hairline to his jaw.
“Thought I told you boys to play nice,” he says, and Kyle visibly flinches a little at the undisguised chill behind the words where he stands beside Mike, reflexively touching the still-forming bruise on his jaw.
“He had a little more fight in him than some of us anticipated,” Boone says to the other side of him.
It looks for a second like Kyle is going to argue the point—because Mike only landed that shot to his face thanks to his cohort doing such a piss-poor job of holding him in the first place—but the guy on the couch snaps his paper shut decisively and Kyle wisely keeps quiet.
"Any idea who I am, Mike?"
"You mean other than the guy with the gun to my head?" The man shrugs amicably, as if to say 'sure, why not?', so Mike continues. "You're Harvey Specter."
Harvey arches an eyebrow, looks almost impressed.
"My reputation precedes me."
Mike shrugs, looks a little sheepish as he brings his bound hands up to rub at his neck.
"Maybe, but not this time. The callbox downstairs says 'H. Specter' and these two argued the whole way over about whose fault it was that some guy named Harvey was going to have their asses for being late; pretty easy to deduce from there. You know, if you can afford to have breakfast in a thousand dollar suit, you should really be able to afford decent henchmen."
"Good help is so hard to find," Harvey says, deadpan but with an undertone of annoyance that makes the men on either side of Mike shuffle their feet. "And, please, this suit is easily worth three times that.” Mike just barely manages not to roll his eyes. “At any rate, all you really need to know is that clients come to me with their problems, and I make them go away. Know what you are right now, Mike?"
"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say 'a problem'?"
"Two for two; you're on a roll."
Mike ignores the patronizing tone. "Well, I've always been an overachiever."
Harvey quirks an eyebrow, gestures with an open hand to encompass the two briefcases full of pot and cash, and Mike's general circumstances—handcuffed and bloodied in a cheap suit in front of a man who could literally have him killed with a snap of his fingers—and, yeah, okay.
"What? You've never had an off day?" Mike says with a half-hearted grin, and he can see Harvey's lips twitch.
"Kid, I'm willing to bet you've had more than a few of those to wind up where you are," he says, taking a sip of his coffee. "You know, I'm beginning to feel a little offended by your nonchalance, here. Most people would have the common courtesy to at least feign a little terror."
"Most people aren't in the uniquely crappy position of being equally screwed whether you choose to keep them around or let them go."
"And that rock and a hard place dilemma has put your mind at ease?"
Mike shakes his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. "No, it’s making me question every shitty decision that led to this. But I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop, because if I'm such a problem, you could have had them take me anywhere but here to get rid of me. So there's something you want from me, and I'm going to save my panic until it's warranted."
Harvey does look impressed, then, looking at him with the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"What I need is a document–a ledger. One your friend Trevor would be keeping with the books he's been doing for the people you're working for. It's got enough information for my client to run that whole upstart operation of theirs into the ground before it even has a chance to threaten his own."
Mike is grinning openly now.
"And what if I said I could produce—or reproduce, at least—that document in 30 minutes, give or take, with just the use of that laptop?"
"I'd say you're full of shit," Harvey scoffs, and Mike holds out his bound hands with a shrug.
"If you're so sure, what's the harm in letting me try?"
Harvey studies him with narrowed eyes for a long moment before nodding, setting the computer from beside him onto the coffee table, and gesturing for Kyle to remove the cuffs. Mike rubs his wrists once they’re free, takes a seat in front of the computer.
He goes to lift the top of the laptop but stops short as Harvey’s hand covers his own and holds the lid down. His other hand comes to rest around the back of Mike’s neck, falsely casual with his thumb very deliberately pressed against the thrum of an artery just below the skin under his jaw as he leans in close enough that Mike can smell his cologne and feel his breath against his ear as he speaks.
“You try anything funny with this computer—anything at all—and I’ll snap your pretty little neck with my bare hands,” he murmurs, a threat that’s anything but idle in a voice that’s turned to cold steel, all pretense of levity from before seemingly vanished in an instant. It’s a stark reminder of the reality of the situation Mike’s in, and he can feel his pulse racing, knows Harvey must feel it, too, as he presses his thumb more firmly into Mike’s throat. “Do I make myself clear?”
Mike nods shakily, breathes, “Yes,” in a voice that’s smaller than he intended. He clears his throat and tries to sound more confident than he is as he follows it up with, “Crystal clear.”
“Good,” Harvey says, back to the lighthearted voice from before, patting Mike on the back like nothing even happened as he flips the laptop open for him. “Guess you’d better get to work, then.”
Mike hesitates with his fingers hovering over the keys, heartbeat still pounding in his throat, and figures if he’s in for a dime, he might as well be in for a dollar.
"If I do manage it—and I will—I want the cash I should’ve left the hotel with this afternoon. All $50,000 of it."
Harvey laughs, leans back against the sofa with his leg still so close to Mike’s that their knees are nearly touching.
"You got a pair on you, I’ll give you that. Y’know what? It’s a deal. But if you fail? You'll owe me the same."
"If I fail, I'll pay you double," Mike says off-handedly, fingers already flying across the keys.
"Pretty confident for a kid they barely trusted with what should have been a simple hand-off this morning."
"Yeah, well, they trusted Trevor when he said he could handle their books himself," Mike says, sparing a moment to smirk over his shoulder at Harvey. "The guy can't even file his own taxes."
Harvey lets him work and sure enough, 26 minutes later Mike knows he’s given him everything he needs and then some. Greg is sent off to verify the information and account numbers with some guy named Louis, but the look on Harvey’s face says he knows he just lost his money. He knows and doesn’t seem too upset about it.
Harvey fires off a couple quick texts, snapping his fingers to get Durant’s attention as he tucks his phone in his jacket pocket and instructs, “He doesn’t leave. I’m going to see Jessica, and if he’s bleeding again when I get back, I’ll give you a lot worse than a bruised jaw.”
Kyle swallows hard before nodding.
Mike sprawls out in the spot Harvey just vacated, pleased enough with his accomplishment that he dares to roll his eyes when Harvey points a finger at him and orders, “Sit. Stay.”
“Fetch. Roll over,” Mike adds sarcastically.
He shivers just a little when Harvey slides his fingers into his hair and tugs it none too gently as he passes behind the couch, says, “Maybe later. If you’re a good boy, I’ll even teach you how to beg.”
Mike can feel himself blush, trying to stammer out a response, and Harvey looks pretty pleased with himself as he leaves before Mike manages one.
——
Jessica is already seated at a booth in their usual spot, sipping bourbon from an old fashioned glass when Harvey arrives. She greets him with a wide, sweet smile full of teeth as she says, “Cut him loose, Harvey.”
Harvey just grins, slides in across from her as the server comes by, places an order for a scotch, neat, then says, “You told me I needed to find myself a protégé. I found one.”
“What I said was that you needed a pet project, not some shelter case with puppy eyes.”
Harvey brushes the difference off as irrelevant with the wave of his hand.
“The kid has potential. Wasted potential, but I can fix that.”
“His ‘wasted potential’ has already cost us 50 grand.”
Harvey shrugs, “So take it out of my end.”
Jessica smiles against the rim of her glass, says, “I intend to.”
The waitress brings his scotch, and they sit in comfortable silence for a while before Harvey says, “I know I can make him into something, Jessica.”
She stares at him with shrewd eyes, taps her nails slowly against the table.
“You know, I said almost the same thing to Daniel about you, once.”
He doesn’t look away and eventually she sighs almost imperceptibly, and he knows he’s won.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were just scared of a little wet work.”
“Then it’s a good thing you know me better,” he says with a smirk. She gives him a look that prompts him to hold up one hand and add, “Scout’s honor, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll put one right between his baby blues myself.”
Her lips twitch a bit at that.
“For the money, he’d better prove useful at something other than warming your bed, Harvey.”
“I’m kind of hoping he proves useful at both, actually,” he says with a grin, and she shakes her head as she finishes the last of her drink and stands, Jeff materializing at her side to slip her coat over her shoulders.
“If that boy has any sense at all, he’ll run far and fast before you get the chance to find out.”
“No one runs from me,” Harvey says, standing to kiss her cheek as she leaves. “Not for long, anyway.”
She just raises an eyebrow in response.
“One week, Harvey. Show me something useful in a week, or solve the problem.”
——
Durant is waiting near the door as he walks in, takes Harvey’s coat and starts stammering explanations about how he hadn’t been able to stop him as Harvey gets closer to the kitchen, to where the smell of tomatoes and oregano is coming from. He stops his babbling and gratefully and quickly lets himself out when Harvey waves a hand at him.
There’s a couple pots and pans on the stovetop that Harvey only rarely uses himself, Charles Bradley playing through the speakers as Mike sips at a glass of red wine poured from one of the few bottles Harvey actually owns. It’s one that Jessica ostensibly gave Harvey as a gift, once, but is really just for her to drink when she drops by unannounced. He’ll have to replace it, but he finds himself surprisingly unannoyed.
“That’s probably about a seven hundred dollar bottle of wine you’re using for spaghetti.”
“And I’m sure the dusty can of tomatoes at the back of your cupboard cost a small fortune, too. Besides, you don’t even have plain spaghetti, so we’re having it with,” he glances at the package of pasta in his hand, which is labelled entirely in Italian, and eventually just shrugs and says, “Whatever this is,” as he dumps the bucatini into boiling water.
“Italian’s a bit on-the-nose, given the circumstances. You know this isn’t actually Goodfellas you’ve stepped into, right?”
“Yeah, well, for a guy who wears expensive suits and drinks expensive wine, your pantry sure didn’t leave me with many options. Here, taste this,” he says, holding out a spoon laden with sauce with one hand and cupping his other hand below it to catch any drips.
Harvey shakes his head in amusement, because honestly, the man he had abducted this morning is in his kitchen, offering him a taste of the meal he cooked for him, and it is probably the most domestic situation Harvey’s ever been in; he definitely didn’t see his day going this way.
“You made this?” is all he manages to say once he’s tasted it. It’s on-par with food he’s paid no small price for in restaurants. And knowing the contents of his fridge and pantry, he’s even more amazed.
“With my own two hands,” the kid says with a small grin.
Mike piles pasta and sauce into bowls as Harvey shrugs out of his jacket and unbuttons his cuffs. They sit down to eat around the coffee table, and Harvey’s halfway through his when he looks over at Mike, really looks, and notices with a squint that–
“Is that my shirt?”
Mike looks up from where he’d been endlessly twirling a long strand of pasta onto his fork, glances down at his chest like he needs to confirm before he sheepishly says, “Oh, yeah. I cut my hand dicing the onion and bled all over myself. Kyle was pretty sure that you’d think it was his fault.”
“And he thought the solution was to show you to my closet?”
“No, I offered to change. Your clothes were kind of the only option since it’s your place and all.” He tugs at the too-long sleeves, shrugs a shoulder in a way that highlights how the whole shirt’s too big on his frame, makes him look small wrapped up in it. There’s a mischievous look in his eyes and a grin on his lips as he says, “Figured if you were just going to take it off again, you probably wouldn’t mind if it was yours.”
“Well,” Harvey says as he sets his bowl down, a bit more carelessly than he’d planned, if the way it clatters against the glass is any indication. “I did say if you were good—”
“Did everything but bring you your slippers, didn’t I?” Mike says, crawling up into his lap with a knee to either side of Harvey’s thighs, and Harvey smirks and slides both hands up to grip his ass.
“You were a very good boy,” he agrees in a murmur, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Mike’s throat where his shirt hangs open.
Harvey gets a hand in his hair to bring their lips together, harder than he’d intended, sloppy by his standards, but still so good. Mike’s lips are soft and his mouth pliant, letting Harvey lick into him with a small, pleased moan. He tastes like red wine and not at all like pasta.
It might be minutes or hours that Harvey kisses him, sparks against his lips until they start to go numb, his hands slipping up under his shirt to feel the line of Mike’s spine, drowning in the taste and feel of him until he’s dizzy with it. Mike makes the sweetest little sounds as he clings onto him, and Harvey doesn’t even notice that they’re no longer sitting up until Mike pulls back with a nip of his teeth at Harvey’s lower lip.
Harvey’s on his back, frowning up at Mike whose eyes are just unnaturally blue, lips kiss-swollen pink and wet; colors seem so bright. Mike grins as he gets off the couch, and Harvey reaches for him, but his arms feel heavy.
“Probably best to just go with it,” Mike says as he runs a hand through Harvey’s hair, then grips Harvey’s wrist and clicks one cuff closed around it.
He has the second cuff attached, connecting chain looped around the leg of the sofa, before it finally clicks in Harvey’s mind what’s happening.
“You drugged me?” Harvey says, accusing and disbelieving. He's almost proud of the kid.
“To be fair, you kidnapped me, first.”
“So what you’re saying’s that I started it?” Harvey says with a roll of his eyes. His tongue feels thick around the words. “How’d you even—”
“Get the drugs?” Mike holds up his hand to show the bandage on one of his fingers. “Durant practically forced me into the bathroom to clean up before he’d let me touch the shirt to change. So I took a look through the medicine cabinet while I was in there.”
Harvey groans and tries to run a hand down his face in annoyance before he remembers the cuffs. Fucking Durant.
“Hate to leave just as things were getting good, really I do, but I’ve got someone who needs this and it can’t wait.” Mike picks up the briefcase full of cash with a vaguely guilty look. “I’ll call the doorman and get him to check on you once I’m far enough away. You’ll be fine, Harvey. Just rest.”
“I’ll find you, y’know,” he says. Or tries to; it all sounds a bit slurred, now.
“I hope so,” Mike murmurs, and Harvey is pretty sure he feels lips against his own as he drifts off.