Chapter Text
Mike gets into work early on Monday morning to get handle on things that piled up over the weekend. Amazing how millionaires never seem to take a day off from being needy. He emerges from the copy room around 1 with an armful of drafts for Harvey to sign off on. But when he gets to his office, he finds it empty.
Turns to Donna, his question on his face.
“Jessica sent him home,” she says, amused and also very much not amused. Flips through a stack of paperwork in front of her.
Mike drops his files on the edge of her desk. “What? Why?”
A sigh from Donna. “Two years ago we had a routine audit. It would’ve been fine except everyone took turns catching the flu so the whole thing dragged out for months. A rumor got started that there was something rotten in the state of Denmark - long story short, it took another year for Jessica to polish the firm’s reputation back to its original spotless shine. So whenever someone does so much as sniffle, she doesn’t take chances.”
“So Harvey’s… sick?” Mike asks.
She gives him a look. “Brace yourself.” The phone rings and she answers it.
Mike’s left to wonder what exactly is coming. Stares into Harvey’s empty office like it’s some cross between a graveyard and a booby trap.
He leaves the finished drafts with Donna, heads back to his cubicle to find the phone ringing. Recognises Harvey’s cell number on the caller ID.
“Hey-”
“Where the hell were you?”
“Looking for you. I just talked to Donna. You okay?“
“I’m fine,” Harvey says. Sounds more frustrated than sick. “Did you read the paper this morning?”
“If you mean the article about the Renner manufacturing plant closing, yeah, I skimmed it.”
Even though he can’t see Harvey, he knows the short silence that follows is because he’s impressed the boss yet again. “Good. We’re going to need a plan for McKernon Motors annual board meeting, because if they can’t find another domestic manufacturer, they’re-”
“Going to get hammered with import taxes, I know.”
“Did you get the Miller paperwork started?”
“It’s done. It’s on Donna’s desk. Want me to-”
“No, I need you focused on McKernon and the Palisades merger.” A muffled cough comes over the line. “And if Louis tries to rope you into anything else, tell him he can go-” Another cough. Deeper this time.
“What about that new client?” The big shot Harvey’s been tight-lipped about.
“I’ll be good by then.” Meaning the dinner meeting on Friday night.
Mike’s silence asks You sure?
“Don’t make plans,” Harvey says, “You’re coming with.”
“Yeah, I know. You told me about it two weeks ago. But seriously, I need to get a jump on the research. Can you just tell me-”
“Shit,” Harvey says, “it’s Dominic.” The line goes quiet.
Mike’s left holding the receiver, wondering why the hell he’s so hung up on his boss when he could just as easily crush on anyone else in this city, and have an equal chance of it going somewhere. Somewhere being exactly nowhere. Sighs. Sets the phone back down. Puts his headphones in. Gets to work.
It only takes a few hours for Mike to learn that Work From Home Harvey is even more demanding than In Person Harvey because now he can’t just get things himself. He needs them sent. And because he doesn’t have eyes on what’s happening, he texts a hundred times an hour. Where’s this? Do you have that? Is this done? Well why the hell not?
It becomes crystal clear what Donna had meant by Brace yourself.
Mike moves into Harvey’s office. It’s easier to coordinate with Donna. Share the workload of scanning things for Harvey, play defense with anxious clients. It gets late. He’s staring at the sofa wondering if he should just save himself the ride back to Brooklyn and sleep here, steal Harvey’s spare suit in the morning.
“I should tell you to go home.” Donna says, coat on, bag in hand.
“But?”
“There’s a blanket and pillow in the corner cabinet.”
His smile says Thanks.
Her nod says You’re welcome.
Mike puts in another few hours researching options for McKernon motors. When he pulls out the bedding he finds a set of pajamas. Loungewear, really. Black long sleeve shirt. Black joggers. He sets an alarm. Settles in on the sofa. Savors every inhale until sleep claims him. Everything is scented with Harvey.
The alarm goes off at six and there are three texts from his exiled boss. The time stamps are all from around 2am which hopefully means Mike will have a few quiet hours while Harvey sleeps in. Wrong. The phone rings at 7:30. Harvey wants a status report. He sounds rough but Mike’s given up asking how he’s feeling. The only answer he ever gets is “I’m fine.”
A dense blanket of clouds hangs low over the city. The sun never rises so much as the city shifts through a thousand shades of gray. The morning brings freezing rain. The sky promises snow. Mike’s phone dings with a weather alert. It’s not a client and it’s not Harvey, so he swipes clear the unopened notification.
Donna summons one of the eager first year associates to help. Mike almost feels bad when she hands him the corporate card and sends him on a coffee run. When the guy comes back, hands Mike his six shots of espresso with a splash of milk, Mike takes pity on him. Hands him a stack of casebooks with pages flagged to be scanned and sent. Five minutes later Mike’s phone blows up.
Harvey: Why the hell are you sending me one page at a time?
Fuck.
He dismisses the associate.
A few hours later Mike stares at the sofa knowing he should go home tonight, unplug for a few hours, get some sleep. But Harvey needs him and there’s something addictive about Mr I Don’t Need Anyone leaning this heavily on him, even if all they do, all they talk about, is work.
His phone buzzes with a text: Scan over original Renner contract.
It buzzes again: Now.
Mike runs a hand down his face. The contract in question is over three hundred pages long. It’ll take an hour to scan and apparently asking for help just means asking for trouble. This would be so much easier if Harvey was here, if they could bounce ideas off each other like they usually do. Nearly everything Harvey’s asked for Mike’s already read. Which means if Mike just goes to Harvey’s… they could streamline this whole goddamn process. Throws up a casual prayer to whoever’s listening that the flu shot he got two weeks ago covers whatever Harvey has. Decision made.
Out the window. New York: a snow globe.
The weather alert from earlier only said 2-4” inches. No big deal. Mike’s ridden in worse conditions a hundred times. It’s still early-ish. He’ll get the contract from the file room, bike over to the condo. Hell, he’ll even grab some soup on the way, maybe score some points for his trouble. And then, hopefully, with a few hours in the same room, they can get back on track enough to meet their deadlines.
Leaves a note for Donna. Grabs his helmet. Heads out the door. He should’ve read the full alert: WINTER WEATHER WARNING: 2-4” of snow predicted to fall… per hour. More than two feet expected overnight. New Yorkers asked to not to travel. Black ice warning. Plows and salt trucks will be out in force.