AN: I disclaim—I own nothing. As I don't feel like anything I can imagine can compete with the awesome-ness that is Suits I will remain in canon and adjust as needed so that the story will make sense in relation to the series. Set between 1.03 and 1.04.

This is not a Harvey/OC or Mike/OC although there will be references to romance for both. The relationships are going to be used as plot devices to explore character development. I like the idea of them getting to know each other outside of work and the dynamic that will being to how they view each other. Which basically means I enjoy putting them in awkward, revealing moments. This also will not be slash although the bromance will be epic. Bear with me through this first chapter, the guys will be together for the second.

Chapter 1

"A countryman between two lawyers is like a fish between two cats." - Benjamin Franklin.

Shit, he was so late. Mike Ross rolled up on his bike outside the office, practically half off the seat even as he slid to a stop. Maybe Harvey wouldn't notice? Maybe he was in a meeting with Jessica or torturing Lewis or, for once, actually doing his own paperwork. Or not. "You're late." Harvey's voice startled Mike, the lawyers' confident tone layered with amusement and aggravation.

"I-" The fake associate started to reply, fumbling with his bike lock in his new haste. How was it his fault every road seemed to under construction this morning?

But instead of gesturing for the blonde to hurry up or just walking away, still talking—a much more Harvey move—the older man grabbed Mike fumbling hands with disgust and lectured. "Don't be so transparently nervous Ross, it shows weakness. Also, for gods sake, buy a watch—this issue that you seem to have with eight o'clock is starting to piss me off." Pulling the bike lock away, Harvey threw it at Mike's face with slightly more venom than a simple tardy warranted. Shit, what did I do? Silently, Mike went over all his offenses of the past week—the doll thing, that had been bad; the Trevor thing, that had been worse—but both of those had been handled, they'd put it behind them. Hadn't they? He started with the lock again but his boss' voice stopped him again. "No, don't bother. I have a little errand for you to run."

An errand? "Doesn't the firm have a service for that?"

"Yes they do smartass." Harvey didn't seem to be in the mood for his witty charm this morning. In fact he didn't seem to be in any mood but a bad one. His eyes were lined with dark circle and his suit, which was always spotless and pristine, seemed slightly rumpled around the waistcoat. "You. I pay you to do what I tell you and you do it; if I want you to run a fucking errand that's what you're doing." He pulled out a manila envelope, signed on the back in his neat script. Mike took it silently, wondering what client he had forgotten to send something to—he could feel the tell-tale heft of legal documents inside, and he was assuming, from Specter's poor mood, that he had screwed something up. Again. "Columbia University. Go to the anthropology department and give this to Dr. Ryan." He grabbed the edge of the envelope before Mike could slip it into his messenger bag, "only, Dr. Ryan." He raised an eyebrow threateningly. "If this envelope touches anyone else's hand you are fired. You understand? No grad assistants, no secretaries, no fucking mail clerk. Dr. Ryan." He let go of the documents and gave Mike an apprising look. "Is that suit from Sears?" He sneered.

Mike looked down. The suit in question was one from his own meager collection; all of Trevor's 'borrowed' ones too dirty to wear until he managed to find time to go the dry cleaners. It was, in fact, from a thrift store, which Harvey would undoubtedly consider an even worse choice so he said nothing, hoping the partner was too furious to actually want a response. He was correct, but the man continued to stare at him, as if evaluating his worth. Mike tugged nervously at his tie and Harvey slapped his hand away. "Just go, Ross. And try and get the papers there without causing any sort of incident that's going to cost me money." The lawyer rubbed his temples and for a second, just a flash of a moment, he looked...sad. But then the moment passed and he was Harvey again, looking pissed and aloof all at the same time.

Not willing to risk the man's rage again, Mike hopped back onto his bike, speeding away from the firm and towards the university.

What felt like hours later he was at Columbia, wandering around the maze that was the anthro building. It seemed that Dr. Ryan had an office to himself, but it was one of those broom closet deals, a makeshift sort of place that held cleaning supplies twenty years ago before some poor grad student decided it was just big enough to fit a desk and few library books. Finally, he found it. Situated next to another larger office with a department head plaque on the door, Dr. Ryan's own nameplate had been hammered into the wood by a lazy janitor—one of the screws had come loose and so someone had shoved a pushpin just below it, keeping it level. The door was almost shut, a sliver of light emerging from the crack. His hand hovered around the door—was someone there? Was it rude to knock? God, why hadn't he actually gone to office hours at NYU? Then he'd actually know how to do this properly. "Come in or keep moving but if you stand right there another second I'm calling security." It was a woman's voice, strong, with the sort of clipped tone that you get from living in countries where you have to enunciate to an extreme degree.

He pushed open the door to reveal an office that was larger than he expected—narrow as predicted but surprisingly long. The reason for her irritation was clear now that he saw how she had set up the room. The desk, instead of facing the door, faced a wall, allowing the seated to see the light in the doorway—or when someone was standing in front of the door, see the shadow. "Ah and here is the lingerer." The girl seated at the desk didn't look up, letting her dirty blond hair create a curtain between them as she traced a pencil down a page. Coffee cups were scattered around, along with maps and books and, strangely, pieces of clothing. There was a single chair in front of the desk, along with a ratty looking loveseat which was shoved into the far end of the long room. "If this is about midterms—they are not graded yet. If you ask one more time it will not get your paper graded faster—it will get you an F for harassment. If this is about field work you're in the wrong office—despite what you may have heard I don't control the selections process. Now go away."

"Um, well," to be honest he was a little offended. It wasn't bad enough that Harvey treated him like a moron first thing—now this person was assuming he was still in college? This day sucked. "Actually this isn't about any of those-"

Now she looked up. She had on a large pair of glasses, the squared frames making her eyes look large in the fluorescent lighting. She was young-ish, older than himself but certainly not pushing fifty, mildly attractive, in a bookish, girl next door sort of way. "Don't tell me you're here to talk about the paper—I might have a heart attack if one of you legitimately felt the impulse to get an A."

He pulled the envelope out of his satchel. "Listen, I'm not here to talk. I'm not in your class—I don't even go to this school! I'm just here to see Dr. Ryan, so if you could please tell me where he is, or will be, I'll leave you alone with your…" He strained his eyes to see the page, "…picture book."

"This," She tapped the page, "is one of the only analyses' of the Spanish relactiones. It is not a 'picture book'—they are cultural maps." She pointed a finger at him, her lips curved into a smirk. "And it weighs more than enough to smack your little head in if you ever talk to me like that again." She winked. "But I like your moxy kid, so what can I do for you?"

"Dr. Ryan?"

"Is I. That is to say, my name is Dr. Eleanor Ryan, of the Park Avenue Ryan's." She pulled off her glasses and stared at him. "And you are, young man in the unfortunate suit?"

What was wrong with this suit? It had looked fine on the hanger? Of course now it had half of New York City's street filth all over it… "Dr. Ryan's a woman… that would have been nice to know Harvey…" He muttered under his breath, passing the envelope to the woman with only the slightest bit of trepidation. Maybe he should have asked for ID?

She froze, the envelope crinkling a little as her grip tightened. "Harvey Specter? You work for Harvey?"

"Yeah, I'm his new associate. Mike Ross." He held out a hand, which was accepted with an appraising glance. "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself but Harvey was very clear that that envelope was-"

"Oh I'm sure he threatened you extremely well Mr. Ross, no need to expand on the matter." She tore the envelope open and edged the documents out, glancing but not reading them. She seemed more interested in Mike himself, a keen hazel eye watching him even as she scanned the small font. "So he made senior partner? Good for him." She put the envelope down and Mike had to physically stop himself from looking down and snooping. What was so important that he had to some all the way down here and hand deliver an envelope that the client didn't even seem to realize was coming?

He tried to keep from fidgeting under her assessing gaze. Could he go? Did he need to bring a reply back? "Has Harvey worked for you long Dr. Ryan?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh we've been together for about fifteen years Mr. Ross, since he was an associate like yourself." She glanced at her watch and blanched. "Now, however, is not the time for that discussion—I suggest you discuss it with Harvey yourself." She stood and motioned towards the door. He went, but his way was blocked by a large barrel chest. A tall, suited man stood in the doorway, his salt and pepper hair cropped close and his expression harsh.

"You're early." Behind him, Dr. Ryan admonished the older man, her tone affectionate and warning.

"You said nine. It's 0905; although this is a ridiculously late hour to have breakfast Eleanor." The man looked Mike up and down and then dismissed him, focusing on the professor and trapping Mike between them.

Eleanor slid closer, seamlessly pushing Mike sideways and back in an effort to ease the awkwardness. "Dad, I got off a plane from Peru seven hours ago, as far as I'm concerned its 5am." She kissed his cheek and pushed him gently backwards. "Now give me a second. This office is filled to capacity."

"I have to get back to the firm by 1030 Ellie." He warned before stepping out, giving Mike one last glance."

She looked over apologetically. "Sorry, he's a little single minded." She grabbed a note pad and jotted something down, yanking the yellow post-it and handing it to him. "This is for Harvey. Tell him thanks for getting me the papers so quickly—a little quicker than I expected actually."

"It's not a big deal. I'll let him know."

She grinned and Mike felt himself smiling back. She motioned him to precede her out and he did, almost walking into Dr. Ryan's father, who looked even more intimidating in the better lit hallway. "Harvey?" The man's face was dark with anger, apparently having eavesdropped on their last words. He glared at Mike. "You work for Harvey Specter?"

Seeing the clear fury and taking a cue from Dr. Ryan's quick shake of the head, he wheedled, "I uh, I work for Pearson Hardman...sir." Despite himself, he didn't crumble under the man's gaze and so he swung it over to his daughter, who was locking the door.

"Why are you contacting that man Eleanor?"

"Dad." Her tone implied that the topic should be closed but the man reached out and grabbed Mike's shoulder, keeping him in place even as the associate tried to back away. She sighed and twirled her keys. "I'm trying to sell the house in Cozumel, it's too big for me and I don't need the expense. Harvey's helping me find a buyer and deal with the paperwork. I needed a lawyer and, considering the circumstances, he was the logical choice."

The man frowned but released his grip on Mike. "I'm a lawyer Eleanor. You can come to me with this sort of thing. There's no need to involve that man." Mike almost spoke up, not liking the way his mentor was being referred to, but a glance at the pinched features of Harvey's client made him hold his tongue. The client came first. He'd tell the partner about the fight privately.

"'That man'. Honestly Dad…" She pulled her father away, smiling apologetically as she led him away from the young associate.

Mike sighed, glad to be away from the large man. He glanced down at the post it. In large, looping script, 'thanks Harvey' filled the square, a tiny smiley face scratched into the corner. It was the most informal reply he had ever seen during his short tenure at the firm. He folded the yellow paper and stuck it in his jacket pocket wondering how exactly Donna would file post it and why exactly a young Columbia professor would use such an expensive lawyer for a real estate deal. The only thing he didn't concern himself with was why Harvey's very name had so enraged Mr. Ryan—Harvey pissed off most people. If Mike worried about all of them he'd never get any work done.