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I have done it. I have committed Suits fic.
Title: For the Record
Rating: PG, gen
Characters: Harvey, Mike
Summary: Mike is in an accident. Harvey witnesses it and takes action. UFT - Unresolved Friendship Tension. That's right, I made up a new thing. Don't know if it exists but it really should with this show.
For the Record
Harvey sometimes wishes he hadn't told Mike he's responsible for him. He is responsible for him, but saying it out loud is like a self-appointed jinx, opening up a line of cause and effect that has decided to test Harvey and see how far he's willing to take that responsibility.
Harvey stands there, his brain momentarily dead for what is probably only seconds but feels like hours. They were going home, Harvey one way toward the limo, Mike the other way on his bike. They'd talked, they'd argued, Mike bitching again how Louis was probably onto him and Harvey telling him to stop freaking out. Harvey saw Mike off with a jaunty little wave. Then he saw Mike get tapped by a car that didn't know how to break faster, then saw that car peel away.
Harvey's brain kicks into gear, from dead to a hundred miles an hour. He's moving, running, and reaches Mike before anyone else because they're still brain dead and gaping.
The car couldn't have been going that fast. Mike's body had pitched toward the hood instead of away, rolling all the way up to the windshield before sliding off and landing on his bike. He's either struggling to get to his feet, doing a remarkable impression of a new born foal, or trying to crawl away, doing a remarkable impression of a dying dog wanting a hole where it can lick its wounds. He's only able to lift himself onto one arm.
“Micheal, don't move!” Harvey calls, dropping to one knee next to Mike.
Mike croaks, “Ow.” It sounds small and mostly annoyed. He had his helmet on, his skull and that impossible brain of his aren't scrambled, and he has sense enough to do as told. Although Harvey suspects it has a lot more to do with finally being off the bike and decidedly too uncomfortable to keep going than obeying commands. Mike had taken his suit jacket off to better tolerate the warm day. It's folded neatly in his bag, the bag still around his shoulder, and Harvey would remove it but that would mean having to maneuver Mike's limbs, and that's a bad idea. Without the suit jacket, Mike's body had less protection. There's a little blood on his shoulder where it had scraped parts of the bike, a little more blood on his back under his shoulder blade, and that's as far as Harvey can see without moving Mike.
“Just lay still,” Harvey says, cell phone out and his thumb already dialing. “I'm calling an ambulance.”
“No, I'm fine. It's not that bad, honest. I've taken worse spills.”
“Just humor me,” Harvey snaps, a little harsher than intended. He wants to blame it on frustration over the jackasses who can't obey simple traffic laws but his heart's beating fast and he's feeling a little clammy in the palms. He just saw a man get hit by a car, a man he knows, a man who works for him, who he's responsible for and who his currently lying dazed in the street. If Harvey's a little scared, and he's pretty sure he is, it's not something he's going to admit to – not to himself and definitely not out loud. It's not a won't-cave-to-weakness thing, nor a pride thing, it's simply pointless to acknowledge. Fear won't do either of them any favors.
Harvey puts a hand on Mike's shoulder when he tries to get up. The kid is shaking, due to shock or adrenaline or maybe the realization of pain or the realization that he's just been hit by a damn car, Harvey doesn't know. But Harvey's mind is a mind that does not back down, and while he rattles off their location to the 911 dispatcher, he struggles out of his jacket and drapes it over Mike. That Mike doesn't say anything, only stares ahead wide-eyed and anxious, seems to increase the clamminess of Harvey's palms.
“How you doing there, Mike?” Harvey says calmly, because calm is second nature and he will always fall back on it even when feeling anything but calm. Maybe it's just a trick of the light or the creases of the shirt, but the bloodstain on Mike's back looks like it's gotten bigger.
When Mike swallows, it's audible, the wet click of saliva being shoved down his throat. “Um... probably a good idea that I'm not moving. My back hurts. But I can feel my legs,” he adds as though Harvey is the one who needs reassuring. This makes Harvey smile.
“Hang in there. Paramedics are on their way.”
A crowd has gathered, traffic backed up and making the world aware of their anger with impotent honking. Only the people at the front keep quiet, knowing what's going on. The paramedics arrive, accompanied by a squad car, and soon Harvey his gently shouldered out of the way to make room for a C-collar and back board. Harvey is close enough to see them handle Mike with kid gloves, getting the collar on then slowly, carefully, rolling him onto the board. Harvey knows a thing or two about medical procedure (he can't even begin to count all the malpractice suits he's headed) so knows this procedure is being handled properly.
After that, it's nothing but frustration for Harvey. He's more than happy to answer the police's questions but he's itching for answers of his own. As soon as the cop is finished with him, Harvey does his own, albeit far more charming, interrogation of those who'd been gathered around the scene. He learns from one of the drivers in the cars up front the make and model of the car that hit Mike, and from the other driver the license plate number. Armed with this information, he picks his suit jacket up from the asphalt and heads back to the office.
Letting the police handle the matter in its entirety isn't enough. The car that hit Mike was a sports car, brand new and psychotically expensive said the one driver. A witness on the street said they heard the driver of the car cuss at Mike as the car sped off. It's simple math: expensive sports car plus self-centered driver equals someone who gets into hot water without getting scalded. There will be an arrest and a court date and set bail but it won't be enough. It won't teach them a lesson, and Harvey wants to teach them a lesson. Which sounds incredibly comic-book vigilante of him, except he has no intentions of donning a costume and beating up criminals. Too crass and it would ruin his reputation. Besides, who needs vigilante justice when you've got lawsuits? Nice, legal and minus tights and a stupid cape.
“Wow, you're really taking this personally,” Jessica says when Harvey tells her. He had no choice after running into her in the hall and she eyed him in that way that politely demanded an explanation. Harvey only burns the midnight oil when he absolutely has to, and he's pretty sure his suit jacket is looking uncharacteristically disheveled.
“Kind of hard not to when I'm a witness,” Harvey says easily. He means it in every legal and responsible sense, doing his job as a good citizen and all that crap. At least that's what he tells himself. It doesn't feel that way. It does feel personal, like Mike really is his responsibility, and Harvey had just watched him get hit by a damn car. It feels oh so very wrong not to do something about it when he could do so much.
Jessica translates it as the latter. Her hand is on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Need any help?”
They research, make calls and learn everything they need to know with time to spare for Harvey to check on Mike in person.
“You don't have to do this,” Mike says from his hospital bed.
“Yeah, actually I do. The guy who hit you is named Ben Cormac--”
Mike's eyes widen. “Of the Cormacs?”
“Robert Cormac's son. Don't let all that financial gain fool you, they're all pricks, the son especially. You'll be his fourth 'alleged' non-lethal hit and run, which means Mr. Cormac may be paying you a visit to try and pay you off. Let him and you're fired. It's about time someone nailed these people.”
“You know I can't... um... exactly afford you guys or... anything,” Mike says lamely. His eyes are still wide, still full of anxiety. Combine it with the paper-thin hospital gown, the cast on his wrist and one hell of a bruise climbing down his neck to his shoulder, and it makes him look small verging on breakable. “I mean, maybe I could now but it would still mean cutting back on a lot of needed expenses--”
Harvey can't tell if Mike is really that obtuse or simply uncomfortable with the fuss and scraping for a way out. Or more accurately that impossible brain of his is being smothered by pain killers. Harvey holds up his hand, stopping Mike. “It would be pro bono, Micheal,” even though Harvey would rather gouge his own eyes out than do pro bono and everyone knows it. “But right now you're mostly just evidence and a witness. We've got others more than willing to take up this suit.” Those Mr. Cormac hadn't been able to pay off his lawyers had made short work of, flipping and twisting until Cormac Junior was the victim and the real victims were lucky Mr. Cormac was kind enough not to demand a settlement. They were out for legal blood.
Mike relaxes, but it only makes him seem tired and more breakable. The hospital gown isn't tied properly, part of the collar having slipped a few inches down Mike's swollen shoulder, exposing a little collarbone, a lot more bruise and a vicious looking scrape. A large percentage of the populace hate hospitals but each for their own reason. Some hate the smell, some hate needles, some hate the reminder of mortality. This is what Harvey hates: the way it whittles you down to your bare minimum, like you really are something small and breakable.
The doctors had told Mike who then told Harvey that something, the bike or a windshield wiper, had punched a small hole in his back, not big but deep. Somewhere within the impact against the car then the asphalt, Mike had cracked a bone in his wrist and a rib in his back. The rest is bruising, lots of bruising, several more scrapes and a mild case of whiplash that likely feels anything but mild. None of it is serious, but Mike is going to hurt for a while and have a hell of a time moving like normal.
“This is oddly... considerate of you,” Mike says , like he's testing the water before going in, and watches Harvey closely for his reaction. He's trying to figure out what the angle is – if there is an angle – because, yes, on the outside one could almost accuse Harvey of acting out of the kindness of his heart.
But Harvey just smiles like he always does whenever Mike attempts to pin him as just another human being.
“Having you out of commission is going to set me back. That's not exactly something I can simply let slide.”
“And I'm sure the clients you'll get from this will be a bonus.”
“Hell yes.”
Mike nods sagely (and gingerly, with a small wince) but otherwise looks as though he doesn't believe a single word.
“Don't read too much into it,” Harvey warns.
“Yeah, sure, fine, whatever you say,” Mike says innocently. “Although if I didn't know better I'd swear you were defending my honor.”
“Mike.”
“Sir Harvey.”
“Stop being an ass. I'll see you tomorrow.”
As he's heading out the door, Mike calls, “You were totally worried about me.” Harvey rolls his eyes and keeps going, but he's smiling. A Mike who can be an ass is a Mike who'll be fine.
------------------------------
Every case won is an immense satisfaction for Harvey; an understatement but Harvey refuses to refer to it as a high or any other derogatory term. He has more respect for the profession than that. This case is no different, except for that little extra kick of Cormac senior unable to lend his lawyers to defend Cormac Junior. He needs his lawyers right now to decide on a settlement that will keep the pissed-off plaintiffs satisfied, leaving Junior to fend for himself. Cormac Junior flounders, because he has no idea what he's doing and hires someone from a firm Harvey knows for a fact is full of incompetents and assholes.
When Mike comes in to testify at Cormac Junior's trial, Harvey is there, at the back, observing. The kid looks pale, tired, and a little in pain. Harvey would bet good money Mike has cut back on his pain pills in order to be clear-headed for this very day. He sits in the stand, hunched forward and still looking small and frail – which will go a long way with the jury. But when he talks, he's clear, concise and more than a match for Junior's dime store attorney. He impresses the court when they test his stellar memory by having him read a couple of documents and recite them word for word. That he's able to still access that memory while currently uncomfortable and looking on the wrong side of nauseas goes even further. But Harvey knows what to look for and sees the stubborn resolve, hears the undertone of “bring it on,” recognizes a man who's doing more than seeing something through but standing his ground, and he's proud of the kid. Mike Ross is a tough little SOB. That's why Harvey hired him, the ability to absorb knowledge like a dry sponge and think on his feet icing on the cake.
The sentence is a joke – several long hours of community service - but knowing that Cormac Senior is too pissed to ever come to his son's aid again makes up for it (Cormac had declared, in conference room A, to all and sundry after a settlement of well over a million, that he was done – Junior could fight his own damn battles from now on).
Maybe it's in a fit of triumph, or a fit of weakness, that Harvey gives Mike a ride home. What the hell, he supposes the kid deserves it. And if it makes Harvey feel a little more comfortable to ensure the kid makes it home without falling on his face, it's not like he has to admit it.
“Confess, you care,” Mike says, smiling despite his exhaustion.
“Responsibilities, remember? I can't exactly stand by and let some random rich asshole run down one of our associates. Think how it would look for the firm.”
“Yeah, sure, uh-huh. You just go right on telling yourself that.”
“I would do the same were it anyone else.”
“Even Louis?”
“Yes, even Louis.”
Mike shakes his head. “Not buying it. You would dump it on someone else if it were Louis.”
Touche.
Mike is dropped off and Harvey lingers until he sees the light of the kid's window come on, then he leaves.
Jessica had accused him of taking this personally. In the quiet of the limo, the case no longer cluttering his brain, a small voice that sounds remarkably like Mike says that she's right, he did take this personally. It is personal, because it was one of their own that had been hurt, because Cormac Junior thought he could get away with it, because seeing a body slam into a car and tumble lifeless to the ground had been the most frightening thing Harvey had ever witnessed in his life. He's responsible for the kid, and saw him almost get killed.
If Harvey's stone-cold and devil-may-care persona is just that, a persona, and deep down he actually likes the kid, likes seeing him succeed, seeing him make something of himself, and hopes only the best for him... well... it's not like he has to admit it.
The End
A/N: Though I really enjoyed writing this I can't promise that writing Suits fic will become a regular thing for me. I'm currently struggling with a second fic that is giving me trouble left and right, and that right there tells me the muses aren't all that game. Just a heads up to Suits fans because I really don't want to be hounded to write more Suits fic. It all comes down to what inspires, and for me some shows inspire more story ideas than others, even if I love the shows equally.
Title: For the Record
Rating: PG, gen
Characters: Harvey, Mike
Summary: Mike is in an accident. Harvey witnesses it and takes action. UFT - Unresolved Friendship Tension. That's right, I made up a new thing. Don't know if it exists but it really should with this show.
Harvey sometimes wishes he hadn't told Mike he's responsible for him. He is responsible for him, but saying it out loud is like a self-appointed jinx, opening up a line of cause and effect that has decided to test Harvey and see how far he's willing to take that responsibility.
Harvey stands there, his brain momentarily dead for what is probably only seconds but feels like hours. They were going home, Harvey one way toward the limo, Mike the other way on his bike. They'd talked, they'd argued, Mike bitching again how Louis was probably onto him and Harvey telling him to stop freaking out. Harvey saw Mike off with a jaunty little wave. Then he saw Mike get tapped by a car that didn't know how to break faster, then saw that car peel away.
Harvey's brain kicks into gear, from dead to a hundred miles an hour. He's moving, running, and reaches Mike before anyone else because they're still brain dead and gaping.
The car couldn't have been going that fast. Mike's body had pitched toward the hood instead of away, rolling all the way up to the windshield before sliding off and landing on his bike. He's either struggling to get to his feet, doing a remarkable impression of a new born foal, or trying to crawl away, doing a remarkable impression of a dying dog wanting a hole where it can lick its wounds. He's only able to lift himself onto one arm.
“Micheal, don't move!” Harvey calls, dropping to one knee next to Mike.
Mike croaks, “Ow.” It sounds small and mostly annoyed. He had his helmet on, his skull and that impossible brain of his aren't scrambled, and he has sense enough to do as told. Although Harvey suspects it has a lot more to do with finally being off the bike and decidedly too uncomfortable to keep going than obeying commands. Mike had taken his suit jacket off to better tolerate the warm day. It's folded neatly in his bag, the bag still around his shoulder, and Harvey would remove it but that would mean having to maneuver Mike's limbs, and that's a bad idea. Without the suit jacket, Mike's body had less protection. There's a little blood on his shoulder where it had scraped parts of the bike, a little more blood on his back under his shoulder blade, and that's as far as Harvey can see without moving Mike.
“Just lay still,” Harvey says, cell phone out and his thumb already dialing. “I'm calling an ambulance.”
“No, I'm fine. It's not that bad, honest. I've taken worse spills.”
“Just humor me,” Harvey snaps, a little harsher than intended. He wants to blame it on frustration over the jackasses who can't obey simple traffic laws but his heart's beating fast and he's feeling a little clammy in the palms. He just saw a man get hit by a car, a man he knows, a man who works for him, who he's responsible for and who his currently lying dazed in the street. If Harvey's a little scared, and he's pretty sure he is, it's not something he's going to admit to – not to himself and definitely not out loud. It's not a won't-cave-to-weakness thing, nor a pride thing, it's simply pointless to acknowledge. Fear won't do either of them any favors.
Harvey puts a hand on Mike's shoulder when he tries to get up. The kid is shaking, due to shock or adrenaline or maybe the realization of pain or the realization that he's just been hit by a damn car, Harvey doesn't know. But Harvey's mind is a mind that does not back down, and while he rattles off their location to the 911 dispatcher, he struggles out of his jacket and drapes it over Mike. That Mike doesn't say anything, only stares ahead wide-eyed and anxious, seems to increase the clamminess of Harvey's palms.
“How you doing there, Mike?” Harvey says calmly, because calm is second nature and he will always fall back on it even when feeling anything but calm. Maybe it's just a trick of the light or the creases of the shirt, but the bloodstain on Mike's back looks like it's gotten bigger.
When Mike swallows, it's audible, the wet click of saliva being shoved down his throat. “Um... probably a good idea that I'm not moving. My back hurts. But I can feel my legs,” he adds as though Harvey is the one who needs reassuring. This makes Harvey smile.
“Hang in there. Paramedics are on their way.”
A crowd has gathered, traffic backed up and making the world aware of their anger with impotent honking. Only the people at the front keep quiet, knowing what's going on. The paramedics arrive, accompanied by a squad car, and soon Harvey his gently shouldered out of the way to make room for a C-collar and back board. Harvey is close enough to see them handle Mike with kid gloves, getting the collar on then slowly, carefully, rolling him onto the board. Harvey knows a thing or two about medical procedure (he can't even begin to count all the malpractice suits he's headed) so knows this procedure is being handled properly.
After that, it's nothing but frustration for Harvey. He's more than happy to answer the police's questions but he's itching for answers of his own. As soon as the cop is finished with him, Harvey does his own, albeit far more charming, interrogation of those who'd been gathered around the scene. He learns from one of the drivers in the cars up front the make and model of the car that hit Mike, and from the other driver the license plate number. Armed with this information, he picks his suit jacket up from the asphalt and heads back to the office.
Letting the police handle the matter in its entirety isn't enough. The car that hit Mike was a sports car, brand new and psychotically expensive said the one driver. A witness on the street said they heard the driver of the car cuss at Mike as the car sped off. It's simple math: expensive sports car plus self-centered driver equals someone who gets into hot water without getting scalded. There will be an arrest and a court date and set bail but it won't be enough. It won't teach them a lesson, and Harvey wants to teach them a lesson. Which sounds incredibly comic-book vigilante of him, except he has no intentions of donning a costume and beating up criminals. Too crass and it would ruin his reputation. Besides, who needs vigilante justice when you've got lawsuits? Nice, legal and minus tights and a stupid cape.
“Wow, you're really taking this personally,” Jessica says when Harvey tells her. He had no choice after running into her in the hall and she eyed him in that way that politely demanded an explanation. Harvey only burns the midnight oil when he absolutely has to, and he's pretty sure his suit jacket is looking uncharacteristically disheveled.
“Kind of hard not to when I'm a witness,” Harvey says easily. He means it in every legal and responsible sense, doing his job as a good citizen and all that crap. At least that's what he tells himself. It doesn't feel that way. It does feel personal, like Mike really is his responsibility, and Harvey had just watched him get hit by a damn car. It feels oh so very wrong not to do something about it when he could do so much.
Jessica translates it as the latter. Her hand is on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Need any help?”
They research, make calls and learn everything they need to know with time to spare for Harvey to check on Mike in person.
“You don't have to do this,” Mike says from his hospital bed.
“Yeah, actually I do. The guy who hit you is named Ben Cormac--”
Mike's eyes widen. “Of the Cormacs?”
“Robert Cormac's son. Don't let all that financial gain fool you, they're all pricks, the son especially. You'll be his fourth 'alleged' non-lethal hit and run, which means Mr. Cormac may be paying you a visit to try and pay you off. Let him and you're fired. It's about time someone nailed these people.”
“You know I can't... um... exactly afford you guys or... anything,” Mike says lamely. His eyes are still wide, still full of anxiety. Combine it with the paper-thin hospital gown, the cast on his wrist and one hell of a bruise climbing down his neck to his shoulder, and it makes him look small verging on breakable. “I mean, maybe I could now but it would still mean cutting back on a lot of needed expenses--”
Harvey can't tell if Mike is really that obtuse or simply uncomfortable with the fuss and scraping for a way out. Or more accurately that impossible brain of his is being smothered by pain killers. Harvey holds up his hand, stopping Mike. “It would be pro bono, Micheal,” even though Harvey would rather gouge his own eyes out than do pro bono and everyone knows it. “But right now you're mostly just evidence and a witness. We've got others more than willing to take up this suit.” Those Mr. Cormac hadn't been able to pay off his lawyers had made short work of, flipping and twisting until Cormac Junior was the victim and the real victims were lucky Mr. Cormac was kind enough not to demand a settlement. They were out for legal blood.
Mike relaxes, but it only makes him seem tired and more breakable. The hospital gown isn't tied properly, part of the collar having slipped a few inches down Mike's swollen shoulder, exposing a little collarbone, a lot more bruise and a vicious looking scrape. A large percentage of the populace hate hospitals but each for their own reason. Some hate the smell, some hate needles, some hate the reminder of mortality. This is what Harvey hates: the way it whittles you down to your bare minimum, like you really are something small and breakable.
The doctors had told Mike who then told Harvey that something, the bike or a windshield wiper, had punched a small hole in his back, not big but deep. Somewhere within the impact against the car then the asphalt, Mike had cracked a bone in his wrist and a rib in his back. The rest is bruising, lots of bruising, several more scrapes and a mild case of whiplash that likely feels anything but mild. None of it is serious, but Mike is going to hurt for a while and have a hell of a time moving like normal.
“This is oddly... considerate of you,” Mike says , like he's testing the water before going in, and watches Harvey closely for his reaction. He's trying to figure out what the angle is – if there is an angle – because, yes, on the outside one could almost accuse Harvey of acting out of the kindness of his heart.
But Harvey just smiles like he always does whenever Mike attempts to pin him as just another human being.
“Having you out of commission is going to set me back. That's not exactly something I can simply let slide.”
“And I'm sure the clients you'll get from this will be a bonus.”
“Hell yes.”
Mike nods sagely (and gingerly, with a small wince) but otherwise looks as though he doesn't believe a single word.
“Don't read too much into it,” Harvey warns.
“Yeah, sure, fine, whatever you say,” Mike says innocently. “Although if I didn't know better I'd swear you were defending my honor.”
“Mike.”
“Sir Harvey.”
“Stop being an ass. I'll see you tomorrow.”
As he's heading out the door, Mike calls, “You were totally worried about me.” Harvey rolls his eyes and keeps going, but he's smiling. A Mike who can be an ass is a Mike who'll be fine.
------------------------------
Every case won is an immense satisfaction for Harvey; an understatement but Harvey refuses to refer to it as a high or any other derogatory term. He has more respect for the profession than that. This case is no different, except for that little extra kick of Cormac senior unable to lend his lawyers to defend Cormac Junior. He needs his lawyers right now to decide on a settlement that will keep the pissed-off plaintiffs satisfied, leaving Junior to fend for himself. Cormac Junior flounders, because he has no idea what he's doing and hires someone from a firm Harvey knows for a fact is full of incompetents and assholes.
When Mike comes in to testify at Cormac Junior's trial, Harvey is there, at the back, observing. The kid looks pale, tired, and a little in pain. Harvey would bet good money Mike has cut back on his pain pills in order to be clear-headed for this very day. He sits in the stand, hunched forward and still looking small and frail – which will go a long way with the jury. But when he talks, he's clear, concise and more than a match for Junior's dime store attorney. He impresses the court when they test his stellar memory by having him read a couple of documents and recite them word for word. That he's able to still access that memory while currently uncomfortable and looking on the wrong side of nauseas goes even further. But Harvey knows what to look for and sees the stubborn resolve, hears the undertone of “bring it on,” recognizes a man who's doing more than seeing something through but standing his ground, and he's proud of the kid. Mike Ross is a tough little SOB. That's why Harvey hired him, the ability to absorb knowledge like a dry sponge and think on his feet icing on the cake.
The sentence is a joke – several long hours of community service - but knowing that Cormac Senior is too pissed to ever come to his son's aid again makes up for it (Cormac had declared, in conference room A, to all and sundry after a settlement of well over a million, that he was done – Junior could fight his own damn battles from now on).
Maybe it's in a fit of triumph, or a fit of weakness, that Harvey gives Mike a ride home. What the hell, he supposes the kid deserves it. And if it makes Harvey feel a little more comfortable to ensure the kid makes it home without falling on his face, it's not like he has to admit it.
“Confess, you care,” Mike says, smiling despite his exhaustion.
“Responsibilities, remember? I can't exactly stand by and let some random rich asshole run down one of our associates. Think how it would look for the firm.”
“Yeah, sure, uh-huh. You just go right on telling yourself that.”
“I would do the same were it anyone else.”
“Even Louis?”
“Yes, even Louis.”
Mike shakes his head. “Not buying it. You would dump it on someone else if it were Louis.”
Touche.
Mike is dropped off and Harvey lingers until he sees the light of the kid's window come on, then he leaves.
Jessica had accused him of taking this personally. In the quiet of the limo, the case no longer cluttering his brain, a small voice that sounds remarkably like Mike says that she's right, he did take this personally. It is personal, because it was one of their own that had been hurt, because Cormac Junior thought he could get away with it, because seeing a body slam into a car and tumble lifeless to the ground had been the most frightening thing Harvey had ever witnessed in his life. He's responsible for the kid, and saw him almost get killed.
If Harvey's stone-cold and devil-may-care persona is just that, a persona, and deep down he actually likes the kid, likes seeing him succeed, seeing him make something of himself, and hopes only the best for him... well... it's not like he has to admit it.
A/N: Though I really enjoyed writing this I can't promise that writing Suits fic will become a regular thing for me. I'm currently struggling with a second fic that is giving me trouble left and right, and that right there tells me the muses aren't all that game. Just a heads up to Suits fans because I really don't want to be hounded to write more Suits fic. It all comes down to what inspires, and for me some shows inspire more story ideas than others, even if I love the shows equally.
