Brother from another mother

Splinter

"Can I open it?"

"No."

"Please, Harvey?"

"What did I just say, Mike?"

"But I bet it's something awesome - like a light saber."

"..."

"Ok, maybe not, but it's still a giant wooden crate - they always have cool stuff in them," Mike reasoned, making sure to give Harvey the maximum dose of puppy-eyed begging.

Giving a resigned sigh, Harvey waved an impatient hand at the large wooden crate sitting majestically on the floor beside the couch. It had been delivered that morning; a thank you gift to Harvey (and Mike) from a client for saving his ass in a defamation lawsuit that could have potentially cost him millions before Mike found the evidence that would sink the opposition's case. Harvey was a master craftsman in negotiations, and the plaintiff ended up slinking off with his metaphorical tail between his legs when Harvey calmly outlined how he would systemically destroy him and his company if they didn't drop the frivolous lawsuit.

It was three days after the plaintiff withdrew the case and Mike had been badgering Harvey for fifteen minutes to let him open the box.

Grinning, Mike eagerly dropped to his knees before the box, while Harvey, pretending to read a law review, watched him out of the corner of his eye. The lid seemed to be fastened with some kind of elastic straps; Mike fumbled with the first one for a moment before finally working it loose. The second one came easier, and he was sliding a slender index finger under the widening crack between the box lid and its side, when he felt a sharp sting and snatched his hand back with a startled curse.

"What happened?" Harvey asked, in a voice tinted unconsciously with concern.

"I - I got a splinter," Mike said, standing and squinting at his right index finger, which was now sporting a wicked looking sliver of wood, ostensibly from the side of the roughly-made box. Harvey stood and came around the desk, one hand extended.

"Let me see," he said gruffly, his grip gentle as he pulled Mike's proffered hand closer and examined it. A light poke (with a corresponding wince from Mike) confirmed that the splinter was thin, but it was in fairly deeply, almost flush with the skin.

"This is why I should have opened it myself," Harvey said, shaking his head. "You can't even open a damn box without sustaining some sort of injury."

Still holding Mike by the wrist, he led the indignant associate around to his desk toward the table in the corner and sat down, effectively pulling Mike down into the seat next to him. As if by magic, Donna appeared a second later with a small plastic case in her hand.

"Wow, you don't do things half-way, do you, Mikey?" She quipped. Mike groaned and launched into a recap of 'The Box Incident' as Harvey opened what turned out to be a small, but very well stocked first-aid kit. As Harvey rifled through the contents, putting out the occasional item, Donna examined Mike's finger and shook her head. There was only one good way to get a splinter of wood that size out-and Mike wasn't going to like it.

"Mike, I'm not arguing with you about this anymore - you either let me take it out now, or you're going to the ER. It has to come out, and it's too far down to just pull it out with tweezers," Harvey said, thoroughly exasperated. All he'd done was show the kid the needle he'd pulled out of the first-aid kit, and Mike had completely freaked out - complete with flailing, an attempted escape (foiled by Harvey) and now a level of sulking that Mike usually only reserved for those infrequent times Harvey outright refused to take him to a meeting or made him come in on a Saturday he was supposed to spend with Jenny.

"It might work itself out," Mike muttered, already well aware of how weak the argument was.

"I'll do you the courtesy of pretending something that stupid didn't just come out of your mouth," Harvey smirked.

'What about - "

"Mike, stop the stalling. We do this now or we take a trip to the doctor," Harvey warned from where he had ended up standing over Mike after he had tried - and failed - to bolt from the office a few moments earlier.

"Fine, take it out," Mike slunk down in the chair in bitter defeat.

Harvey didn't answer, but walking by he rapped Mike smartly on the head with his knuckles in silent reprimand. Somewhat chastised, Mike watched warily as Harvey took his seat again and picked up the needle, which was still in its' felt and plastic packaging. As he watched, the older man quickly sanitized the length of the needle with a fresh alcohol pad then carefully set the implement on a clean square of gauze.

"Hand," Harvey commanded. Mike reluctantly gave him his hand again and Harvey slid his left arm under Mike's right, palm flush against the back of Mike's hand. Nudging Mike's fingers open, Harvey slid his thumb and index finger between Mike's, gently trapping the finger and ensuring a steady hold that Harvey could control if Mike started wiggling.

"Be still for me, it'll be over in a few minutes," Harvey reassured Mike as he picked up the needle in his free right hand and felt Mike tense beside him.

"Is this going to hurt?" Mike asked fearfully. He despised needles; he had never liked them, but after the accident that had killed his parents, there were plenty of needles while they were patching him up. But it was the grief and loneliness he felt while a patient there that had solidified his hatred of hospitals which had eclipsed even his dislike of needles.

"A little bit, but I'll be as careful as I can," Harvey said meeting Mike's eyes. Whatever Mike saw in them made him finally nod and relax a little. He trusted Harvey to take care of it - of him.

Drawing their entwined hands closer to eye-level, Harvey slid the needle carefully into Mike's injured finger, eliciting a tiny whimper from his associate. Harvey was prepared for a squirming, complaining Mike, but beyond a few subdued noises, the younger man was strangely silent. Harvey glanced over and felt his heart clench a tiny bit. He might not have been saying anything, but Mike could have easily been the poster child for 'abject misery', trusting Harvey didn't negate the fact that he really hated needles.

Harvey had snagged the splinter and was slowly teasing it out to prevent further splintering. As he worked, he decided the puppy needed a distraction. Thinking of a really good one, Harvey started talking.

"My second year of law school I took a thousand-dollar bet that I could convince the Dean of Students my Con Law professor was running a brothel out of his office..."

Anyone walking by the prestigious office of Harvey Specter, Senior Partner at Pearson Hardman would have been treated to the sight of the great man himself smiling indulgently at Mike, who was in full-blown laughter at the fallout of Harvey's bet, heedless of the fact that the older man was done and triumphantly dropping the large splinter on a bit of gauze.

"Jesus, Harvey," Mike wheezed, still laughing. "I'm surprised they didn't expel you for that!"

"And lose this brilliant mind? Not a chance. Gagner made me spend the whole summer doing Frasier's grunt work for free - some people just don't know how to take a damn joke," he swiped a fresh alcohol wipe over the small hole where the splinter had been and carefully placed a Band-Aid around the finger.

"There you are, Princess, all better," Harvey ignored Mike's eye roll as he cleared away the debris from the impromptu splinter extraction.

"That wasn't so bad, I guess - thanks, Harvey," Mike said quietly, not so distracted during the story not to notice the gentle way Harvey had worked the splinter out, or how he'd absently rubbed his thumb in soothing circles over Mike's finger afterwards to ease away the soreness. Mike could have made some crack about Harvey caring and watched the older man flatly deny it, but actions spoke louder than words, and Mike's well-tended finger told him everything he needed to know about how much Harvey cared. After a moment of silence Mike turned to Harvey.

"So... can I finish opening the box?" Mike asked with a grin. This time it was Harvey who laughed.