Brother from another mother

Harvey as a dad. [Part-1]

Mike Ross had built his - admittedly short - career in trying to anticipate the needs of his boss. Harvey tended to be rigorous and exacting, he had methods that he expected Mike to follow when it came to anything from filing a motion or a subpoena to dealing with any of the various issues Harvey's clients had that didn't involve the law. Mike knew the things Harvey had no tolerance for: Mike's emotional involvement in cases, family issues, and ballet; Mike also knew the things that Harvey ate up with a spoon: being right, winning, and ragging on Mike in a manner that often bordered on mean. All of that gave him very little context for the phone call he got while he was sitting at his own desk proofing briefs.

"Get your a-- My office, now." And then he hung up.

Mike actually stared at the phone for several seconds while he tried to determine if his boss had actually not cursed, because as far as Mike could remember - and he could remember quite a lot - that didn't usually happen. He tucked his phone in his pocket took the short journey from his desk to Harvey's office, where he found Donna sitting at her desk with the look of a very alarmed and startled animal. Mike's sense of dread grew with each passing second.

"Something wrong?"

Donna didn't even answer, just waved him in. Inside Harvey's office there was Harvey, sitting at his desk, looking irritatingly attractive as always, and there was a kid, a boy, ten, maybe eleven years old, on the wrong side of a growth spurt that would hopefully happen soon. The kid's dark black hair was cropped short, styled in a messy sort of mop, and his eyes were bright blue. He wore an expensive pair of jeans and a slim fitting t-shirt, and sat awkwardly perched on Harvey's couch. Client's kid maybe.

"Mike, Hunter Davis, Hunter, Mike Ross, my Associate."

The kid mumbled a relatively soft: "Hello, Mr. Ross."

Mike waited for a few moments for the explanation, and then he spread his hands in a blatant play for Harvey to actually explain what he wanted, and then when that didn't work he just asked outright. "Client's kid?"

"Here's his file. Take care of him." Harvey held out a file, but it was not the standard files they used for briefings or other filings at Pearson Hardman.

After a moment of hesitation, Mike reached out and took it, flipping it open to the first page and recognized it immediately for what it was, Child Protective Services file. Hunter Davis, mother Naomi Davis - deceased as of last week, father... Harvey Specter. Mike closed the file, considered yelling at his boss, and then realized it wouldn't do him much good with Hunter sitting right there.

"Harvey, wanna give us a few minutes?" There was no way Mike was having a conversation with Hunter out in his cubical where the other Associates would be watching and waiting to swoop, knowing his luck, Louis would have come in and added a comment or three while he was at it.

Harvey closed his laptop, pulled it from the docking station on his desk, and headed out of the office with the computer tucked under his arm without another word. Mike didn't think he had ever seen Harvey that pissed. A glance to Hunter seemed to confirm his suspicion that the kid knew Harvey was mad, but was similarly mystified as to the exact cause.

"Well, Hunter, like Harvey said, I'm Mike Ross. You can call me Mike if you want. I prefer it." He sat down on the couch by Hunter, but not too close, neatly pressing his tie to his chest.

"I'm not made of glass." Mike immediately recognized the signs of a kid who had been 'handled' for the past week, the sort of overwhelming coddling that did nothing to soothe the soul-deep ache in your chest because the person you loved was dead.

He coughed. "I didn't say you were. I said my name was Mike." He placed the file across his knees, hand holding it in place. "Are you going to be living with... your father?"