Hi! First Suits fanfiction! I really like this show and I really like Harvey's character, so I decided to write a little story about him!
Alerts: I checked for mistakes, I hope there are none and that my english is not so bad. If it's not like this, I apologise...just let me know so I'll pay more attention the next time_!
Disclaimers: I don't owe Harvey ç_ç
Portrait of Harvey Specter
The first time I met Harvey Specter, I was five.
He was my mom new guy, and after six or so months that they were dating she decided to introduce the boyfriend to the daughter.
It was a sunny Sunday of mid September, I was drawing in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Mom gave me a significant look and then went to open the door. I slid down the chair and followed her just to stop a couple of steps out of the room.
When I saw him, I only though a word: scary.
To me he was tall and imposing but that wasn't the thing that scared me; at the moment he stepped inside the house he filled it with his presence.
He was confident, superior, cocky as if everything that surrounded him was his.
I hid behind my mom's legs, peeking just a little the stranger.
He smiled and kneeled down to be at the same level as me, and that was when I saw them. His eyes. I had never seen such gentle eyes in all my short life.
I was captivated by their depth and dragged down into that chocolate sea, with a broken breath in my throat and my heart beating a little louder.
I moved from my hideout, facing him but still clutching at my mom skirt, waiting.
His smile widened, he searched my eyes and when he found them he pulled out from behind his back a bouquet of big white daisies.
Yes, I was won over by some flowers.
Yes, I smiled him back.
Yes, I was his too.
Later I learnt that you couldn't really resist to Harvey Specter, if he wanted you he would have you, no matter what it took.
To be honest, even if he hadn't brought me flowers he would have won me over anyway; the mission wasn't so hard, it was enough to do better than my father.
My father could be identified as another guy my mom used to date; the only difference was that he got her pregnant and when he discovered it, he packed all his belongings and left.
He left behind only three things: my mother, me and a Talking Heads CD.
Usually I do not think about my father, but if it happens, the only image that comes to my mind is of a dude that runs on the notes of Psycho Killer.
I heard my mother and her girlfriends talk about Harvey; apparently was a big lawyer in New York, the best closer in the city.
A tough guy who doesn't let anyone intimidate him, with an impeccable reputation, focused on results, a step above the others.
Dealing with Harvey Specter meant a certain victory. It was the horse to bet on, a prize winner.
Important, rich, fascinating. A great party.
Compliments by the friends, backslapping, arch smiles, flirty glances; congratulations dear,nice catch.
Really mom, congratulations.
I liked him because when he was with us, he was different.
He used to take us out at night. He used to come with the limousine, open the car door as we were real princesses and then tell Ray to take us anywhere.
For my sixth birthday he bought me a pony. Or at least he rented one for a day, I think mom didn't want a horse around the house. I called it Semola but it did not answer. Harvey said it was a little deaf.
I was happy. Mom was happy. And I think Harvey was happy too.
Harvey taught me how recognize good music, every time he would bring me an album or a cassette or a CD, put it up and told me to listen.
Do you hear it here, at this point? This round of chords? They were the first to use it and then they influenced all the most important bands of the next decade.
Harvey taught me that baseball is not just nine morons who run round and round, but they are athletes that aim, throw, grab. Speed, power, precision and talent.
Harvey taught me that the good whiskey is the single malt whiskey and not the one mixed with cereal. And it must be aged exclusively in American oak barrels.
And if you ever order one, remember: plain. No water, ice, soda. The real whiskey is plain. But don't tell your mom we talked about alcohol.
Harvey taught me that in a conflict does not win who is bigger or stronger or richer. Win who can read the opponent, understand their weaknesses and attack where it hurts most.
For the first time in my life I didn't envy the other children who had a mom and a dad. I had mom and Harvey, which was much better. We really looked like a functional family.
I seriously thought that one day we would have live in a big house in the suburbs with a red roof, white fence, a garden and a dog. Perhaps brothers, sisters or goldfishes.
But then something happened.
Suddenly no more ponies, no more limo rides, no more Sundays at the stadium, no more music, no more lessons, no more laughter, no more dreams.
No more Harvey.
I asked mom, but she just told me not to think about Harvey, that he would not come here anymore.
Still there were messages in the answering machine, there were bouquets of flowers near the door, there were phone calls late at night.
But there were also my mom's red eyes, her sudden outbursts of nervousness and her crying late at night, after the phone calls.
Ok mom, I understand. No more Harvey.
And after a while there were no messages, no flowers, no phone calls.
And I was angry. With her because she pushed him away. With him because he gave up. With me because I was a child and children can't never do anything.
The first time I met Harvey Specter, I was five.
The last time I met Harvey Specter was five seconds ago.
"Hello Sophie, you've grown."
Fine