AN:

Yet another suits fic! This one is slightly different. Mike has been turned into a child time and time again. But what if it was Harvey that turned into a pint sized demon, set out to make Mike's life a living hell? It's my mission to find out!

Wow, that sounded like a promotional campaign.

Anyways.

A GIANT THANKS TO SELVET FOR BETAING THIS FOR ME. KISSES TO HER.

If any of you have read my story 'May Tomorrow' (which will be updated tonight) you'd know that my first chapters are short as hell. They grow longer as they story progresses, however, so fear not!

Considering the wonderful reviews I got from May Tomorrow, I hope for three reviews when I post this. Maybe five. I'm not sure how you all are going to react to the change in roles.

This story won't be a walk in the park, I'm warning you. I'm going to take every horrible aspect of childhood and stick them into this damned story. I won't apologize for it. I like being realistic when it comes to behavior, so you should all cut me some slack. Alright? Glad we've come to an agreement.

SUMMARY: Harvey's always called Mike a puppy, a kid. He was always the superior. In every way. What happens when Harvey's the younger one, the one dependent on Mike? Kid!Harvey, Mike/Harvey. Father/Son.

Warning: slight language in this chapter.

_~_~_~_Chapter One_~_~_~_

-~-Pizza and Pro Bono Cases -~-

Saying Harvey Specter hated children would have been like saying the KKK disliked African-Americans. See, it wasn't their tiny little bodies that held his ire, but the disasters they wreaked of whenever those previously mentioned tiny little bodies traversed through an area. The drool of a baby horrified him. The crying of a toddler annoyed him. The whining and lying and puking and screaming and – well, you get the point. Overall, it was safe to say Harvey despised any human being under the age of twenty, and the only tiny little bodies he would tolerate were the size zero models sleeping in his bedroom.

He was quite attractive. At thirty-five, he stood at five feet, ten inches. Tan, broad shouldered and muscular, he was undoubtedly masculine in every way possible. He was tan, with chocolate brown eyes and dark blonde hair, slicked back. He wore $1200 suits and spoke as if he owned the world. In his mind, he did own the world.

Yes, Harvey Specter was a womanizer, a ladies' man, or to be crude, a man-whore. He loved woman like he loved law. He was nearly addicted to their hands, their necks, their thighs, their breasts... Once Harvey began, he was unable to stop. It was a miracle no sexual harassment claims had ever been filed against him. Considering his status, at least one woman he's ever been with must have considering suing him for all he had. He knew a good lawyer, though. Most probably feared going to court against him.

In spite of his... less than holy ways, he has one rule: no married women. Too much baggage, he had always claimed. Although, many would find out that Harvey Specter respected the institute that was marriage, and they knew that he would never come in between two persons who had a bond such as that. As far as he knew, he has never been in intimate contact with any married, or engaged woman. He tried to the best of his ability to keep it that way, as well.

He sighed in exasperation, leaning back into his couch. The soft while leather seemed to grow arms and pull him in, wrapping him in a cool, comfortable embrace. He hated times like these. The comfort was his enemy, especially when he had four pro bono cases to go over before handing them over to Mike. Closing his eyes, he propped his feet up on his glass coffee table, his sock-clad heels hitting the transparent surface with a dull thud.

Aches and pains were a regular occurrence on Fridays. Five days of fourteen hour shifts, four hours of sleep and the majority of that time sitting down did a number on his back and knees. He didn't blame it on his age. No, Harvey was quite fit for his age. He knew even children would feel horrible after those kinds of hours. Now, he wasn't about to go ask a child in a Chinese sweatshop whether or not their knees aches after making thousands of toys for little American brats, but if you knew Harvey Specter, you knew he was always right.

He opened his deep brown eyes, his dark eyelashes fluttering as he did so. He hated this time of day. The windows in his apartment did little to keep the setting sun out of his eyes. The fiery red orb sat just above the skyline, its blazing rays of light streamed into his apartment, attempting to burn through his corneas. He groaned, looking to the side.

As he awkwardly read over the horrible pro bono case, he cursed his couch, and all of its comfort. He cursed the sun, and its brightness, and he cursed his job, for its hours. He scanned over the first few pages of the case, bored. Jessica's been giving me a few too many of these. I can only handle so many cases of illegitimate wrongful dismissals in my lifetime.

He dropped the file on the coffee table, making sure to keep his mug of tea a good distance away from it. He stood up once more, tugging his sweatpants higher up his waist. Padding to the kitchen, he grabbed his cell phone. His thumb hovered over the '1' digit.

Just a press of a button, and I'll be there...

He winced visibly. He missed Donna. With all of his heart. Albeit he would never admit it to anyone, but it was quite obvious. He had loved her – still loved her. While the love was never romantic, they had both mistaken it as attraction many years ago. They had forgotten about it, knowing it was never that sort of love. With her gone, he didn't know what to do.

Shaking his head, he pushed the '3' button and hit call. As his phone rang, he went through his cabinets, looking for something to drink. He was too lazy to go shopping, and his housekeeper was out of town for the month, visiting her dying husband... or father... It's not my job to care about things like that.

"Hello, this is Papa John's, how may I help you today?"

"One medium, cheese, a lot of sauce, regular crust," Harvey spoke, his voice slightly gravely from his lack of vocalizing in the past few hours. He cleared his throat, wishing his tea was next to him at the moment. The man on the other side parroted his order back to him, before confirming the price and hanging up.

He wandered back over to his settee, hoping to watch something on TV before his dinner arrived. Before he was able to settle down completely, however, the doorbell rang. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, looking over to the two door that led to his penthouse loft. I don't believe I'm expecting anybody right now...

He opened his door, raising an eyebrow as he took in the appearance of a sharply dressed russet-haired woman around his age. Her dark green eyes took in his appearance for a moment, before she looked down at the manila envelope she held between her long fingers (which notably had no rings), "Harvey Specter?"

He nodded, leaning against the doorframe, "Yeah, that's me."

She held out the envelope, her hand retracting swiftly as his tan ones touched hers slightly. Turning around, she started to stride off, her six inch heels clicking along the marble flooring as she did so. With a sly smirk, he looked her over appraisingly, the file he now gripped loosely forgotten, "Come on, you're going to walk off without telling me what's in the file?"

The brunette woman paused, looking over her shoulder at him, "Financial reports."

She was around the corner before he could say anything else.

Harvey's expression could only be compared to a child's face when denied dessert. He shut the door and made his way to the couch once more, leaning back and unclasping the metal prongs that held the durable yellow envelope shut. He reached inside, clutching the stack of papers and pulling them out, ignoring the chill that shot down his spine as the metal clasp rubbed against the glossy cover of the reports.

Suddenly he felt like he couldn't breathe. A cloud of white powder covered his face and hands, clouding the air that entered his lungs and nose. He gagged, hacked and coughed, the colorless grind now clumped together like wet flower on his hands, floor, and tucked in the corners of his mouth. The air began to clear and he sat up, not realizing he had fallen off the couch in his horrid coughing fit. He wiped his dark lips with a shaky hand. Pulling it back, he peered closely at the pasty powder, dread flooding through his system.

What just happened?

He rose to his feet, brushing the resin-like powder off of his clothes. As he picked a saliva laden chunk off his hoodie, he felt a wave of nausea hit him. He staggered, long legs tripping over each other, sending himself toppling to the hard ground. Looking over at his phone, he desperately tried to grab it, only to find it a few feet out of reach. He crawled a few steps, before allowing the nausea couple with a sense of utter exhaustion send him sprawling to the ground, too weak to hold his head up. Slowly but surely, he succumbed to slumber, oblivious to the angry delivery man pounding on his door.

_~_~_~_~End_~_~_~_~_

Thetr you all go! It's the first chapter, so don't expect anything to crazy. Definitely not my best writing, but it started the story out. I suppose the next chapter will be out Wednesday, knock on wood. MAYBE tomorrow afternoon, if I finish May tomorrow early enough. I WILL NOT post a chapter of this without it being Beta'd. One of my rules with this story. I don't want any embarrassing slip ups.