Chapter Text
Harvey Specter had a rule about working late.
Actually, Harvey had a rule about most things. Working late was simply one of the few that mattered enough for other people to notice.
The office was supposed to be empty by ten.
Not technically empty. There were always people somewhere in the building who had failed to grasp the concept of a reasonable workday, and Harvey had no intention of judging them for it. He had been known to be one of those people himself.
But his floor was different.
His floor was supposed to be quiet by now. By now, the conference rooms should have been dark, the glass walls reflecting nothing but the city beyond them. Donna's desk should have been abandoned, her stacks of paper left untouched until morning. The bullpen should have been nothing more than rows of polished desks and empty chairs basking in the faint glow of the security lights.
Instead there was one light still burning.
One associate still working.
Mike Ross.
Of course.
Mike was hunched over his desk, he looked like he was going to stare holes into whatever he'd been staring at for the last ten minutes.
Harvey leaned back in his chair, one hand curled loosely around the stem of the glass he'd poured nearly half an hour ago. The scotch caught the city light, amber and motionless.
He hadn’t taken a sip.
Beyond the windows, Manhattan glittered beneath him. Thousands of windows burned against the darkness, scattered constellations of people who were still awake for reasons Harvey would never know. Far below, headlights crawled through the streets in luminous ribbons, the traffic reduced to something almost peaceful from so far below.
Mike hadn't noticed the time.
That wasn't unusual.
Mike had a particular talent for becoming so completely absorbed in a problem that the rest of the world ceased to exist. Harvey had watched it happen over case files, deposition transcripts, legal journals, and, once, memorably–a crossword puzzle Donna had abandoned in the break room.
He'd spent forty minutes on that crossword. Forty.
Harvey had never let him forget it.
Tonight, Mike was surrounded by paper.
His jacket hung carelessly over his chair. At some point, his tie had vanished, the top button of his shirt undone. His sleeves were pushed to his elbows, and his hair stuck up in messy tufts—a sure sign to Harvey that he’d been raking his hands through it for hours.
Which meant he was stuck.
Harvey knew that look by now. He'd seen it enough times to recognize the signs before Mike ever opened his mouth. He knew the small crease between his eyebrows when he was chasing an idea that refused to cooperate. He knew the way he would stop tapping his pen whenever he was close to an answer, and the slight tilt of his head whenever he reread the same passage and refused to accept that there was nothing there.
Harvey checked the time.
10:44.
He should tell him to go home.
It was a simple enough thing. One sentence. Two words, if Harvey wanted to be particularly convincing.
Go home.
Instead, he reached for the file sitting open on his desk.
The case was already won.
Not officially, perhaps. There were still motions to file, paperwork to finish, and a hearing in the morning that would require Harvey to pretend he hadn’t already mentally dismantled the opposing counsel's entire argument twice over. The difficult part was over. That afternoon, the opposing counsel had walked into court with the smug certainty of a man who believed he'd found a crack in Harvey's case.
They hadn't.
Harvey had spent six hours proving it.
Mike, apparently, had spent another three trying to find one anyway.
It was irritating.
It was also, Harvey had to admit, exactly what made Mike good.
Harvey lowered his eyes to the contract and forced himself to read.
Two pages.
Then three.
He almost managed to convince himself he was paying attention.
Across the office, Mike shifted.
Harvey's eyes lifted before he could stop them. Harvey looked up as Mike stared at his screen for several seconds, reaching for the stack of papers beside him, flipping through them. One page. Three pages back. His finger traced a line of text before he turned the page forward again, faster now.
Harvey watched. Mike's mouth moved silently as he read. His brow furrowed. His pen tapped once against the desk, twice, then stopped. His hand flew to his hair.
Harvey sighed and looked back down at his own paperwork.
He lasted another thirty seconds before he put his pen down. Apparently, tonight, the rule was going to have to make an exception.
"You're going to wear a hole through that page."
Mike's head snapped up.
For a second, he simply stared through the glass toward Harvey’s office, clearly surprised. Or maybe like he was trying to determine whether he’d imagined it. That was until he pushed his chair back and stood, gathering the file beneath one arm. He crossed the bullpen, his footsteps muted against the carpet, and stopped in the open doorway.
"You've been watching me?"
Harvey gave him a look.
"I have eyes."
"That's not really an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Mike narrowed his eyes, unconvinced, but stepped farther into the office anyway. "You know, normal people don't monitor their associates from across the office."
"Normal people aren't paying you."
"Technically, the firm pays me."
Harvey lifted an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Do you want to discuss your compensation package at eleven o'clock at night?"
Mike considered that.
"No."
"Then we're done here."
Mike stepped into the office anyway, the file now tucked stubbornly against his chest
Harvey glanced at the file. "What?"
"I found something."
"Congratulations."
"Page thirty-seven."
That got Harvey’s attention.
He held out his hand.
Mike crossed the remaining distance between them and placed the file on Harvey's desk. He opened it to a page marked with a yellow tab, flattening the corner with his thumb.
"The indemnification clause."
Harvey looked down.
He read the paragraph once.
Then again.
The casual expression on his face disappeared. His eyes tracked slowly across the page and back, finally catching the inconsistency between the indemnification provision and a limitation buried several pages later in the agreement.
It was small. Easy to miss. The kind of consistency most attorneys would skim past without ever realizing they’d seen it. However, it was still significant enough that if used correctly, it could change the entire trajectory of the argument tomorrow,
Harvey looked up.
Mike was watching him with a barely concealed, satisfied smile of someone who had just discovered a particularly entertaining way to prove his boss wrong.
Harvey read the clause a third time and finally looked up to meet Mike’s eyes.
"How long did it take you to find that?"
Mike shrugged, trying to feign indifference.
"Not that long."
Harvey flicked his gaze to the glass wall, zeroing in on the mess covering Mike's desk.
"You're lying."
"Okay. A while."
"How long?"
Mike's expression turned sheepish.
"Three hours."
Harvey stared at him.
Mike's grin widened.
"Maybe four."
"Jesus Christ."
"I knew it was there."
"You had a feeling."
"I had a very strong feeling."
"You had a feeling."
Mike nodded as though this was a perfectly reasonable defense.
Harvey leaned back in his chair with an imperceptible sigh and studied him.
There was something almost ridiculous about Mike's ability to find patterns where everyone else saw noise. Harvey had learned very quickly, the hard way.
Mike's memory wasn't the only thing that made him exceptional.. He noticed things. . Connections buried underneath layers of irrelevant information, Contradictions hidden in pages of legal language. The tiny shifts in people’s expressions that most attorneys didn’t even register. He didn’t just see people. He understood them.
Sometimes too well. He understood them in a way that made Harvey occasionally uncomfortable.And every once in a while, he would find a way to find something Harvey had missed.
Harvey hated those occasions.
He also enjoyed them more than he was willing to admit.
He closed the file.
"That's not bad."
Mike's eyebrows rose, his face contorting as he tried to conceal his shock
"Not bad?"
"Don't get excited."
"You think it's good."
"I think it's usable."
Mike leaned against the edge of Harvey's desk, his smile becoming impossible to hide.
"That's Harvey for ‘good’."
"That's Harvey for ‘stop fishing for compliments’."
"You could just say I did a good job."
Harvey picked up a pen and rolled it between his fingers.
Mike waited.
Harvey could see the expectation in his face. Mike was trying to play it cool beneath that infuriatingly casual expression, but it was clear that he wanted the compliment. More than that, he wanted it from Harvey.
Harvey wasn't sure why he'd noticed that.
He set the pen down.
"You did a good job."
The words landed more softly than Harvey expected.
For once, Mike didn't immediately have something clever to respond with.
The smugness vanished from his face, replaced by something softer. Quieter. Genuine.
"Thanks."
Harvey nodded toward the door.
"Now go home."
Mike blinked.
"What?"
"It's eleven."
Mike turned and glanced toward the clock on Harvey's wall as if he'd somehow expected the numbers to rearrange themselves while they'd been
talking.
"Wow."
"Yeah. Wow."
"I'll finish the rest of the paperwork."
"No."
Mike looked back at him, a small frown forming as he started to protest
"But—"
"The case is done."
"There are still motions—"
"Tomorrow."
Mike completed his frown.
"I can finish them tonight."
"I know you can."
That stopped him. For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Harvey watched the question form in Mike's expression before he finally voiced it.
"Then why are you telling me to leave?"
Harvey closed the file and pushed it toward the edge of his desk.
"Because you look like you've been awake for three days."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I'm fine."
"You're exhausted."
Mike folded his arms, frowning even more
"You're one to talk."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Harvey's mouth.
"Difference is, I know when to stop."
Mike’s eyes drifted around the office as Harvey followed his gaze.
"Really?"
His own desk was hardly a convincing argument. Files were spread across the polished surface, some open, some abandoned halfway through. His jacket hung over the back of his chair. The glass of scotch sat untouched beside his laptop, catching the low light from the city.
He finally looked back at Harvey.
“Really?”
"Don't push it,” Harvey scoffed in response as his expression hardened
Mike smiled.
There it was again—That irritating little grin that somehow managed to make Harvey want to throw him out of the building and keep him there at the same time.
Mike picked up the file.
"Fine."
"Good."
"But I'm finishing this tomorrow."
"That's generally how tomorrow works."
Mike turned toward the door.
"Good night, Harvey."
Harvey watched him go, his expression softening.
"Good night."
Mike made it halfway across the bullpen before Harvey looked up again.
He was still there.
Still moving slowly.
Still tired.
Harvey watched him as he stood beside his desk, gathering the loose papers scattered across its surface and shoving them into a folder with considerably less care than he'd used when arranging them earlier. He glanced at the clock once more.
11:12.
Harvey stood and slipped into his jacket, reaching for his phone.Mike snapped his head up.
"You're serious."
Harvey glanced toward him.
"About what?"
"You're leaving."
"Yes."
Mike gestured vaguely toward the nearly deserted office around them.
"I didn't think you knew how."
Harvey slipped his phone into his pocket.
"Funny."
"I try."
Harvey walked toward the elevator. He heard Mike’s footsteps fall into rhythm behind him after a moment's hesitation.
The hallway was quiet now. Without the usual hum of phones, conversations, and hurried footsteps, the building seemed to have settled into itself. The air-conditioning whispered through the vents overhead. Their footsteps echoed across the polished floor as they passed dark conference rooms, their glass walls reflecting two solitary figures moving through the dimness.
Mike shoved his hands into his pockets.
"You ever think about going home?"
Harvey pressed the elevator button.
"Frequently."
"You just don't do it."
"I do."
"When?"
"When you're not around."
Mike laughed.
The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Mike pressed the button for the lobby.
Harvey watched the floor numbers begin to change.
"You know," Mike said eventually, "you could've just told me the case was done."
"I did."
"No, you told me to go home."
"Same thing."
"It really isn't."
Harvey glanced sideways at him.
Mike was looking at the elevator doors, but there was a faint, soft smile on his face.
"You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Tell people what you want them to know instead of what you're actually thinking."
Harvey's expression didn't change.
"You've been working too late."
"That's not a denial."
"That's because I don't owe you one."
The elevator opened and they stepped into the lobby
Mike reached for his phone.
"I'll call a cab."
Harvey was already pulling his own phone from his pocket.
"Don't."
Mike looked up.
"Don't what?"
"Call a cab."
Harvey unlocked his phone and found Ray's number.
Mike's eyebrows lifted as he caught a glimpse of Harvey’s phone screen
"You're calling Ray?"
"Yes."
"For me?"
Harvey looked at him.
"You're coming with me."
Mike stared, flabbergasted
"Harvey, you don't have to have your driver take me home."
"I know."
"I can get myself home."
"I'm sure you can."
"Then why—"
"Because it's almost midnight, you're exhausted, and I'm not letting you get into a cab half-asleep,” he interrupted, his tone hinting at no room for
further arguments or protests
Mike opened his mouth.
Harvey held up a hand.
"Don't argue."
Mike shut his mouth.
Harvey looked back down at his phone.
"Miracles do happen."
Mike shook his head, but he was smiling.
Outside, the pavement still gleamed from the rain that had passed earlier. The streetlights stretched in broken reflections across the wet concrete, while taxis slipped through the intersections in flashes of yellow. The city was quieter than it had been a few hours ago, but it wasn't asleep.
It never really was.
A black sedan pulled up to the curb.
Ray stepped out.
He looked at Harvey.
Then at Mike.
Then back at Harvey.
Harvey gave him a look that said there would be no commentary or questions
Ray's expression remained perfectly neutral.
"Evening, Harvey."
"Ray."
Ray opened the rear door.
Mike hesitated beside the curb.
"Seriously, Harvey, this isn't necessary."
Harvey looked at him, his tone sounding exasperated. "Get in."
Mike sighed.
"You know I hate when you do that."
"Do what?"
"Make something sound like it isn't a choice."
Harvey's mouth twitched.
"That's because usually it isn't."
Mike rolled his eyes and climbed into the car.
Harvey followed.
The door closed behind them with a quiet, solid thud, sealing out the noise of the street.
Ray pulled away from the curb.
For the first few minutes, Mike kept looking out the window.
The city slid past in fractured reflections. Buildings rose and disappeared in the glass in streaks of reflected light; headlights stretched into pale streaks across the wet streets. Every few blocks, the glow of a storefront washed briefly across the back seat before fading into darkness again. Harvey opened his phone and scrolled through the messages he'd accumulated while they'd been in the office.
Three emails.
Two missed calls.
A reminder for an eight-thirty meeting tomorrow morning.
Normal things.
Things that needed answers.
Across from him, Mike shifted in his seat.
Harvey glanced up to gaze at him, but was met with the sight of him resting his head against the window.
His eyes were closed.
Harvey looked back at his phone.
He fought to not look up again as a moment passed. Then another.
He gave up and finally, he glanced up again.
Mike was asleep.
It had happened so quickly that Harvey wasn't entirely sure when the moment had come. One second Mike had been watching the city go by; the
next, all the tension had drained from his body. His hands rested loosely in his lap, and without the constant movement of his fingers or the crease between his eyebrows, he looked younger.
Much younger.
Harvey stared for a moment longer than he intended.
Mike was always moving.
Always talking.
Always asking another question, chasing another answer, trying to prove that he belonged in a world that had spent most of its time telling him he didn't.
Harvey had gotten used to it.
The questions.
The arguments.
The ridiculous confidence that somehow survived every terrible decision Mike made.
He'd even gotten used to Mike appearing in his office without knocking.
What Harvey hadn't gotten used to was how strange it felt when Mike wasn't doing any of those things. The silence was different when it belonged to him.
Harvey looked toward the partition.
Ray caught his eye in the rearview mirror.
Neither said anything.
Harvey glanced back at Mike.
His own jacket was still folded beside him.
Harvey reached for it, his hand stopping halfway as he hesitated
It was a stupid thing to hesitate over.
And yet, he got over it and picked up the jacket, carefully draping it across Mike’s shoulders.
Harvey settled back into his seat.
He told himself the gesture meant nothing.
The car was cold.
Mike was tired.
That was all.
There was always an explanation.
There had to be.
A few minutes later, Mike stirred.
He blinked awake, looking around the car with the vague confusion of someone who had forgotten where he'd fallen asleep.
"Are we almost there?"
"Yeah."
Mike rubbed a hand over his face.
"Sorry."
Harvey lowered his phone, his breath hitching imperceptibly
"For what?"
"I fell asleep," he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.
"You say that like it was a crime,” Harvey responds dismissively
"I wasn't planning on it."
"I gathered that."
Mike glanced down, and only then did he seem to notice the jacket around his shoulders.
He looked at Harvey.
Then at the jacket.
Then back at Harvey.
"You gave me your jacket."
Harvey shrugged. "You looked cold."
Mike studied him, the lights filtering through the window illuminating his face every few seconds
"I'm not cold."
"Then you're wearing it for no reason."
Mike smiled faintly.
"You're weirdly nice sometimes."
"Don't tell anyone," Harvey huffed, but there was no real annoyance or animosity behind it.
"Your secret's safe with me."
The car slowed as they approached Mike's building.
Mike straightened, folding the jacket carefully before handing it back.
Harvey took it.
"Thanks."
Harvey nodded.
"Get some sleep."
Mike opened the door, then paused.
He looked back into the car.
"Hey."
Harvey raised an eyebrow as if to tell him to spit it out.
"Don't stay here all night."
Harvey’s expression softened as he smiled.
"No promises."
Mike shook his head.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
He closed the door.
Harvey watched Mike cross the sidewalk, his silhouette passing briefly beneath the lobby lights before the glass doors swallowed him. For a second,
Harvey could still see his reflection moving inside.
Then the doors closed.
Harvey didn't tell Ray to leave.
He sat there for another few seconds, watching the reflection of the city move across the window.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message.
Thanks again.
Harvey stared at it, his thumb hovering over the keyboard tentatively as he thought of a response
After a moment, he finally typed out Anytime.
He looked at the word.
Then deleted it. It was too easy. Too honest.
Instead, he wrote:
Get some sleep.
The reply came almost immediately.
Yes, dad.
Harvey let out a sharp laugh under his breath.
The sound disappeared into the quiet car.
He put the phone away and finally leaned back against the seat.
It was nothing.
Just Mike.
Just another late night.
Just another choice that didn't mean anything.
At least, that was what Harvey told himself.
For now.
It was just another exception.