Work Text:
When Mike hit the big age of 30-something and landed a position in Pearson Hardman, he's hard pressed to admit that this is his first job.
His first real job. As in benefits, (somewhat) predictable hours, an email address with his name on it. A boss you have to report to every day. A boss you like and respect. And, regrettably, a boss who you respect enough to want to like you.
"I'm going to need you to take someone out."
"Throwing a bomb at the motorcade okay with you?"
"To lunch, Mike." Harvey puts down his phone to level him with a look. "Did you actually make an assassination joke about one of our clients?"
"It's also a compliment," he rolls his eyes. When Harvey makes a bad joke, it's funny. When Mike does it, it's inappropriate. "I'm comparing them to a royal family. You know, World War 1."
Mercilessly, Harvey doesn't even pretend to smile. "Regardless, it's childish and immature. Don't do that again."
And another thing—Harvey has the tendency to double down on everything. Work ethic, obviously, the hard-ass that he is. Rigor in detail, standard habit for a lawyer to have especially with paperwork. But also, jokes.
To be completely honest, Mike's not sure what's a joke and what isn't.
"Yes, sir," Mike replies, letting his voice lilt a little into sarcasm but a little into sincerity. This gives him leeway into being a funny associate that knows how to riff, but gives him an out in case he really was being tactless.
"Good." Harvey looks back down at his screen. "And while you're at it, do you mind stabbing me 23 times?"
"Oh, see—"
"Yeah, it was a joke, Mike."
"No, I knew it was, I just—"
"Couldn't pick up on it? I can tell, and odds are, a future jury can figure out your bullshit, too."
"Okay, relevance much—?"
"This is plenty relevant." Harvey gets on his feet, buttoning his lapel with a steady hand in a move that Mike has come to associate with being in court, and even now he finds himself straightening his posture in response to it. "It's easy to think that something like this doesn't matter in the long run. That I'm just giving you a hard time. But if you don't think that being able to pick up on nuances matters—especially when some dickhead attorney sees right through it—you've already lost half the game."
Mike looks sideways, shame burning hot in his chest. "You're right. I'll work on it."
"You better," he says. "And, hey, look at me."
At the shift in tone, Mike looks up, steeling himself.
Harvey's face is morphed into infinite patience. "If you're going to make a motorcade assassination joke, at the very fucking least make it about Kennedy." And just to top it off, he points a finger gun at Mike's forehead and makes a loud pop!, mouth spreading into a shit-eating grin.
"Alright—"
"What? Come on, rookie, that was funny and I wasn't even lying!" Harvey's solemn demeanor fades immediately, in its place an expression that's fit for a schoolyard bully. "I'll give you a signal when I make a joke so you can actually join in someday."
"You are such an arrogant, self-serving—"
"Master of comedy?"
"Master of being an asshole."
Immediately, Harvey sobers up, eyebrows furrowed. "Michael, that is inappropriate behavior in—"
Instead of gracing him with a response, Mike storms out, Harvey's laugh echoing down the hallway.