Things Mike Ross Wanted To Say To Harvey Specter But Never Did.

Harvey learns about Mike. (3)

The thing with Harvey is that he was unpredictable. He was annoyed with Mike when he took on a second job because he wouldn't ask Harvey for money, and then he was flippant when Mike poured out his soul into his life story. After that embarrassing experience, Mike decided to just keep himself to himself.

November rolled around and he was still, miraculously, at the firm. But only because he worked really damn hard to be there.

"Did you go home at all?" Rachel hissed at him when he came out of the bathroom at seven o'clock in the morning. Mike grunted and moved past her towards the coffee, thanking the good Lord for caffeine as he tossed it down his itchy, raw throat. No, he hadn't gone home, but he couldn't really afford to, not while he was working on the Lawler case, the same one he'd been trying to crack for the past two weeks. He knew there was a loophole somewhere in the 3,687 pages he had scattered across his desk and Harvey's office, but for the life of him he just couldn't concentrate on the words that had started to swim in front of his eyes somewhere around two in the morning. By that time, he thought it would be more dangerous to ride home, drunk on exhaustion, then to sneak into Harvey's office and fall asleep on his ridiculously expensive couch.

"You look awful."

"Thanks, you're a peach." Mike closed his eyes and poured another cup of coffee, wishing for a hot, steamy shower and a down blanket.

"Mike!" Harvey called from across the bullpen of interns, and Mike jumped so much at the sound that the hot coffee spilled over on his hand. He dropped the cup onto the table and stuffed his burnt hand into his pocket.

"You look awful." Harvey said when he trotted over to him, now wishing for a bandage and some asprin.

"I've been getting that a lot lately."

"Well, stop. We have a meeting in an hour and a half and appearance is everything." Harvey's temper flared when he saw Mike roll his eyes and mouth the last three words with him. "Hey!" He barked, and the kid jumped, which was actually kind of cool. "A good suit can make or break a deal. As can good evidence. Go over to the post office, they just got another part of that brief in the mail."

"Isn't this what Fed Ex is for? Or a fax machine? Or email? Seriously, this is the twenty-first century." Mike shifted his weight as he remembered a) he did not have anything heavier than his suit to wear and b) the forecast had been calling for ridiculously low temperatures, like thirty degrees, twenty-five…

"I like to be more personal. Plus, Fed Ex can get it here in sixty-five minutes. If you hurry, you'll be able to get it in fifty. And you need to find that loophole before the meeting." He left the or else implied and saw Mike's eyes harden at the insinuation. But Harvey stood firm on this – he'd been sent on more than one pointless package run as an associate, and maybe the bike ride would get Mike's blood moving so he didn't look like a walking zombie.

He didn't expect Mike to be jumping for joy at this revelation, but the kid looked like he'd just told him Harvey had run over his puppy. With a tank. And then backed up on it again for good measure. But he steeled himself, as Harvey knew he would, and thrust out a determined chin.

"I'll do it in forty."

Of course, before Mike could even make it down the stairs he made a quick detour for the men's room and threw up the paltry dinner he'd had the night before. He definitely wasn't feeling so good, and the prospect of going out into the chilly streets made him cringe, but what could he do? He needed this job, and Harvey wasn't giving anything away. Mike had to act as if he spent every day at the firm on probation.

He wiped his mouth with a paper towel and made a mental note to buy a bag of mints during this excursion, and then, without further pondering or putting off, he made his way down the elevator and out the doors into the frigid Manhattan streets.