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Wear Down
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A/N: Oh, dear Lord…this story. It is beyond bizarre, I'm so sorry.
Disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me. I apologise in advance for any foul language.
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Meanwhile...
"Donna, tell Mike I need those briefs on my desk by seven-thirty sharp tomorrow morning," Harvey instructs as he saunters past, before pausing in the doorway of his office, trolling through his missed calls as he adds, "Oh, and be sure to give him the, 'Don't mess with me, I can squish you like a bug' face. Really lay it on thick. That way, at least we might have a fighting chance; I cannot be late to another meeting because of that nitwit."
"Harvey," Donna slowly spins around on her chair to politely enquire, "What the hell are you talking about it?"
"Mike, briefs, client meeting," he distractedly replies, followed by a few vague hand gestures. "What's there to get?"
"Um…"
"Donna," He rolls his eyes at her, "I was lead to believe that some of the point of having an associate is to reduce my workload, not add to it."
"Oh…" Her expression clears and she beams. "Oh, I see. Is this another one of those role-playing games? Because, I gotta say, adorable as it may admittedly be, I wasn't sure you were up for sacrificing another tie. And on that note, do you think it's normal for Mike to still chew on those at his age? I mean, the kid's like a little teething monster. Although," she tilts her head, considering, "On the plus side, I guess the puppy nickname is pretty apt."
He stares at her incredulously for a moment.
"Do I…" Harvey falters, looking positively mystified, "Do I think it's normal? For Mike to chew on a tie? Is that a trick question?"
"Erm…" The redhead appears equally confused. "I'm gonna go with no…?"
"Donna," he begins with building urgency, "Please do not tell me that that idiot screwed with one of my ties. I swear to God, if he has, I will have no reservations about firing his ass, before seeking vengeance and perhaps strangling him in his sleep."
"Uh…" Donna's frown is tainted with mild concern. "Don't you think you might be taking this a little too far, Harvey?"
"Taking what too far? My ties are at stake, Donna." For emphasis, he raises his brows and repeats, "My ties."
"See, I don't know if you're kidding."
"I never kid about ties."
"Alright," she declares, posture straightening as if to say, I'll play, "What's this really about? Sudden injured ties fixation aside, you never usually get this caught up in the whole pretend associate fantasy." Before he has the chance to question that puzzling statement, she presses a hand to her chest and goes on, "Listen, I think Mike makes an adorable sidekick too, don't get me wrong. But whenever you start making oddly specific and, quite frankly, disturbing death threats, I think maybe it's time to let it go. By the way," she says abruptly, "Where is Mike? He still with Rachel?"
"How the hell should I know? I don't keep track of his every goddamn move."
It's funny that at the exact moment that Donna's jaw drops in stunned disbelief, Rachel comes running over with an expression of pure horror and breathlessly exclaims, "I lost Mike!"
Harvey has no clue what is with everyone today, but he's willing to play along for now.
Cocking a brow, he lets loose a disdainful smirk and repeats, "You…lost… Mike?"
"I am so, so sorry, Harvey," she gasps, "But-he just-he just-" Rachel cuts off, looking flummoxed and distraught and frustrated all at once, "Oh, my God, I swear, I'm not going crazy. He's… Harvey, something happened to him and I-"
"It's okay, honey," Donna interrupts, calm and consoling. "Take a deep breath, tell us what happened. Where could he have gotten to?"
"Donna, you don't understand," the paralegal objects, "He's not the same! Mike…he's…he's-"
"Right over there," Harvey contemptuously interjects, bored of everyone's weird behaviour as he points down the hallway where his apparently defective associate is currently stumbling around. Oh, God. What has he done now?
"What are you talking about? I don't see him," Donna contradicts at the same time Rachel cries, "Oh, my God. Mike!"
The blonde head snaps up, one hand groggily rubbing his eye.
"Rach, who is that guy?" the redhead questions, appearing perturbed. "What is going on?"
"This is what I was trying to tell you! This…this is Mike, Donna!"
"Of course, it's Mike," Harvey groans, but his voice is drowned out by Donna condescendingly pointing out, "Uh, Rachel? That's a grown man."
"I-I know," she replies, flustered. "But I'm telling you, he's Mike! I know this is hard to believe, but I saw it happen, Donna. Look, I'll-I'll prove it, alright? Mike? Mike, sweetie, look at me."
Gaze clouded with confusion, Mike scowls at her, and - to Harvey's complete and utter bewilderment - begins wriggles uncomfortably. With a loud and vehement exhale, he huffs, "Off!"
Rachel frowns. "What was that?"
"Wan' off!"
"I'm sorry, pet. I don't know what that means," the paralegal says apologetically.
Mike whimpers.
Hopping on one foot, he angrily yanks on his shoe and when it fails to dislodge, the associate swipes at his watering eyes and mournfully repeats, "O-off."
What in the name of Christ-?
Harvey glances over at Donna to gauge what she's making of this, and startles a little when he finds that she's staring right at him.
"You're not freaking out," she says in an odd tone, narrowing judicious eyes, "Why aren't you freaking out?"
"Does this mean you're convinced?" Rachel asks, desperate for someone else to understand.
"Provisionally," Donna remarks dismissively, before turning back to Harvey. "You…you look shocked, but not panicky. Why is that?"
Before Harvey has the chance to reply, the paralegal jumps in, equally perplexed. "You recognised him," she recalls, frowning. "You knew that he was Mike." It's not framed as a question and yet, the older man gets the feeling it's intended as one nevertheless.
"I'd recognise those god-awful skinny ties anywhere," he answers dryly, not ready - or willing - to take this seriously.
"Again with the damn ties," Donna mutters to herself, and just as Harvey is about to open his mouth to bite back with a spectacularly witty retort, Mike spots him for the first time.
His expression, though crumpled in distress, immediately eases somewhat with relief.
Rushing forward on instinct, he flings his arms around the senior partner's neck and buries his face in his chest with a burbled, "No wan' 'oos, Daddy! Wan' off."
Staggering back under the weight, Harvey stiffens in the unexpected embrace and with a look of unadulterated disgust, simply says, "Mike…What the fuck?"
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"Donna…" Harvey mutters, rigid and horrified, "Get him off of me."
At the same time, Mike wrenches away in surprise, slapping a hand over his mouth and proclaiming, "Uh-oh. Daddy say bad word! Donna, Daddy say bad word!"
"Holy shit," Donna murmurs, glancing over at a similarly stunned Rachel. "Okay, you've got me. I'm convinced. Hell has frozen over and this is almost certainly the end-"
Automatically brushing down his suit, Harvey angrily directs at the paralegal, "What in God's name did you do to him?"
"Nothing, I swear!"
"Did he just call me what I think he just called me?"
"Well, y-yes, but Harvey-"
"I do not have time for an emotionally traumatized associate. What the hell had to happen for him to mistake me for his freaking father?"
"Holy shit. Holy, holy shit. Earlier... that wasn't an act, was it?" Donna realizes. "You really do think he's your associate."
"He is my associate," he replies in exasperation, shoving a hand through his hair.
"No, he's not. Harvey, that's... that's your son. Your two-year old son. Don't you remember?"
"There's nothing to remember. What are you talking about?"
She hesitates.
"Your son-"
"I don't have a son!" he explodes.
Donna and Rachel reel back, stricken.
Taking a deep breath, Harvey slowly unclenches his fists and with a quiet, deadly calm, he says, "I have never had a son, got it? So someone better tell me what the hell is going on."
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It's an hour later and Harvey's still in shock.
He's seen the pictures - smiling, happy pictures. Fluffy blonde hair and bright blue orbs, a tiny little thing cradled in his arms.
He's seen no evidence of the lovable oaf who gatecrashed his interviews ever having existed.
They're in his office, Mike quietly playing in the corner - his older appearance the only thing keeping him sane, grounded, positive that somehow it was real - while Harvey holds his head in his hands and tries desperately not to think.
He just wants his stupid associate back; he doesn't want to deal with this.
"I'm going to have to speak with Jessica, explain the situation to her," Donna says finally with the tone of someone that's been warring with themselves, deliberating for a long time. "You need to stay and keep watch over him. Knowing Mike, he'll throw a fit if he's left with anyone else for the second time in one day."
"Hang on," he responds, alarmed. "You can't go-"
"I'm sorry, Harvey. Really, I am. But this is the kind of thing you sort of need to explain in person."
Standing up, she starts to leave.
He blanches.
"Donna, wait," Harvey hisses, catching her arm, "You can't seriously be thinking of leaving me alone with him. I don't know what to do!"
Her eyelashes flutter a little in surprise. For Donna, it's like having a rare flash from the past - back when Harvey was overwhelmed and inexperienced, freaking out over the prospect of diaper changes and vanishing pacifiers. She still hasn't recovered from all the late night phone calls.
"It's really pretty simple. Just keep him out of trouble, don't ignore him when he's talking to you and, oh-" She leans in close and lightly pats his shoulder, "Try not to let him choke on anything."
Rolling his eyes and huffing a sigh, Harvey sullenly grumbles, "I'm not a complete idiot."
"Hmm.." Donna makes an noncommittal noise in the back of her throat and doubtfully purses her lips. "Jury's still out on that one." Then, with one last, ungodly smirk in his direction, the redhead gives an unfairly smug wave, before smothering a laugh and flouncing away.
He has never felt so betrayed.
Harvey warily turns to his helpless associate and struggles to contain his grimace. With a wrinkled nose, he watches Mike cram his fingers into his mouth and can't help but mutter, "That is so gross."
Grinning at the sound of the senior partner's voice, Mike thrusts out a slobber-coated police car and yells, "Tome pay, Daddy!"
Oh, dear Lord. Somebody shoot him now.
"Right, play. Of course," the lawyer mumbles. Eyeing the carpeted floor in distaste, he kneels down beside the animated youngster and reluctantly accepts the moist token. Content to simply have his father sit unreceptively beside him, Mike continues exuberantly propelling the tiny cars his across his office, but Harvey soon becomes fed up and starts idly pushing his own loaned toy back and forth, lips twitching and a strange warmth surging in his chest when Mike glances over and beams at seeing the senior partner join in on the fun - regardless of how half-heartedly.
It's… oddly enjoyable.
After a while, though, Harvey is overcome with the need to say something, anything, clucking his tongue and awkwardly drawling, "So…" He gazes around at the strewn assemble of cars, lorries, fire trucks and motorbikes, noting the nearby bucket filled with flamboyant, scarily-detailed racecars. "You obviously have a thing for flashy vehicles. That's…cool. I can relate to that."
Mike stabs a finger at the now immobile police-car in Harvey's hand and declares, "Dat yours, Daddy."
He quirks a brow.
"You sure about that, kiddo?" the older man chuckles in amusement. "Because I'm warning you now, I have quite a reputation; I'm known to be a notoriously selfish bastard. You give this to me now, you won't get it back."
"No mine," the boy insists with big blue eyes that are far too endearingly earnest for Harvey's own good. He can feel his heart softening - just a little bit. Mouth set in an immovable, stubborn line, Mike once again asserts, "For you!"
Who knew Mike could be so aggressively generous?
"Okay, okay," the senior partner grins. "Jeez, enough with the puppy-dog eyes, Bambi. I got it. This is mine." Determined not to be a complete pushover, he adds, "But just for now, okay? You can have it back later."
Mike nods, seemingly appeased. But after only a handful of seconds, he pokes Harvey on the shoulder and tacks on just for good measure, "Yours?"
Aw, hell. There is no denying it.
This is too frickin' adorable.
"Mine," Harvey soothingly agrees, and definitely does not reach out to ruffle the kid's hair.
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Half an hour later and Donna still hasn't returned.
Things are going relatively well. Or, at least, they were, until Mike suddenly cuts off in the middle of his unintelligible prattle about someone called Dr. Roar (Harvey will refute this until his dying breath. Under no circumstances is he involved in anything resembling an imaginary tea party. There are absolutely no teddy bears or action figures placed around in a circle in the centre of his office or on top of a childish fleece blanket and he was not bullied into participating with the threat of tears from his sniffling associate with the mind of a two-year old) and demands, "Wan' Jewybean!"
"You want jellybeans?" Harvey questions in perplexity, furrowing his brows and scratching his head. "I.. uh, I don't think I have any of those. Besides, is that really a wise idea? Spoiled appetites and managing nightmarish sugar highs and all that - I'm sure, I read something somewhere about the dangers of copious amounts of sugar. With normal Mike, it's usually a relatively delicate balance. Too much and he acts like a jittery moron, - and he's moronic at the best of times - but too little and the kid basically flat-lines. Why am I telling you this, anyway?" He suddenly pulls himself up short. "You have a severely limited understanding of the English language. Heck," he gives a small chuckle and smirks, "I could probably call you a brainless fucktard and you couldn't even take offence."
Peering at him quizzically, in a voice soft with curiosity and innocence, Mike asks, "What's fucktawd, Daddy?"
His eyes widen. Shit.
"O-kay, that's enough of that," Harvey says quickly.
Donna may very well castrate him if she finds out he's corrupted the ingenuous associate - and she will find out, that's for certain. She always finds out.
No, he has to fix this. Fast.
Casting a glance over the room for a convenient distraction, his eyes land on something soft and crazily fluffy half-buried under some cushions on the couch and he blindly wrenches it free. "Hey, hey, look! It's a…a-" He turns it over and squints. "What in God's name is this thing?"
Right then, Mike's face positively lights up and he reaches for it eagerly, hugging the fluff-ball to his chest and brushing his cheek over the unruly fur. "You founded Jewybean!" the youngster giggles in delight, beaming brilliantly at Harvey.
"Jellybean?" he replies blankly. "This is Jellybean? Seriously? Jellybean is a stuffed toy?"
Kneading his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, Harvey gives a disbelieving sigh and shakes his head.
Dammit. He did not sign up for this.
He has no idea how he's supposed to make this right or how Mike will react when eventually - inevitably - Harvey screws up and does something his 'Daddy' would never do.
He's no father. He barely even qualifies as a respectable role-model.
And yet… here he is.
And sure, this kid drools a lot, is still only really learning to talk, and has somewhere along the line managed to usurp his office, but if there is one thing that is abundantly clear, it is that this is Mike - through and through. Thoughtful and sweet and loyal to the bone.
He still has that goddamn police car, for goodness sake.
Almost unconsciously, Harvey reaches down and pats his pocket to feel the hard, oddly-shaped lump. He doesn't even realise when his lips begin to take the shape of the most damning of damning smiles, fond and appallingly gentle.
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Um, so I wrote this while seriously sleep-deprived, so I apologise if it's not up to scratch. Hope it didn't disappoint.
Thanks for reading!
