A/N: Hahaha, the number of people who want a fic where Mike gets hit in the head...awesome. I actually might do that. Enjoy the next one and as always Giant Humungo thanks and fresh baked cyber cookies to everyone who reviews!

Part Four – Polo

If Mike had been a hyperactive kid in a bouncy bounce for the first time, this kind of behavior might have been appropriate.

He was not.

And he was driving Harvey crazy.

Harvey, of course, had been on a private jet or two before. At least a dozen of the clients he'd brought into the firm had one.

Harvey would have guessed Mike had never been inside one even before he came on board and started running around like he wanted to be everywhere at once and never quite finishing a sentence.

"Harvey did you see…Oh man! Come look at this…Wow I can't believe…"

"Mike," Harvey said as patiently as he could, which meant it came out more like a bark with a glare behind it. He was sitting in one of the plush seats near a window, glancing idly through a newspaper when he looked up and met Mike's eyes from the other end of the plane where the young man was ogling the gold plated bathroom.

"Yeah?" He asked, eyes still bouncing around, trying to take everything in.

"Sit."

Mike huffed and looked like he'd just gotten his favorite toy taken away, but he came and slid into the chair across from his boss. His eyes rolled back in his head at the comfort and the one flight attendant immediately appeared beside him, holding out a drink.

Mike looked at her like she'd been sent from heaven.

Harvey rolled his eyes.

Sighing, he reached down into his briefcase and pulled a book out, sliding it across the table toward Mike.

"The Basics of Polo." Mike read, pinning Harvey with a quizzical look.

"Yeah. You should read it before the game tomorrow."

Mike's eyes widened to a painful degree and he glanced between the book and Harvey several times before he was able to speak.

"The game?"

Harvey carefully kept his face neutral despite the panic in Mike's voice.

"Don't worry kid," he went back to his newspaper, "You'll be wearing a helmet."

Mike had whined. He'd protested. He'd flat out refused.

And yet he still found himself standing in the stables outside the Polo field, a uniform in one hand, a horse assignment in the other.

"What are you waiting for?" Harvey asked, eyebrows raised, "go change."

Mike turned to look at him, the look on his face murderous.

"Harvey. I don't know the first thing about horses."

"You read the book."

"Yeah, I know the rules of the game. I'm more qualified to ref this match than to play in it."

"It's easy."

"Says the guy not preparing to get on a two ton animal and ride around swinging sticks."

"I think they're mallets."

"Harvey, the closest thing I've had to animal interaction in my lifetime are the rats in the subway."

"Well there you go."

Mike didn't respond and Harvey sighed. If the kid didn't look frustrated almost to the point of tears (and no associate of his better be tearing up at the thought of getting on a horse) he would have turned and walked away right then.

Instead he took a step closer to Mike so he could lower his voice a few octaves.

"Look, this is part of getting it, okay? I've got to talk Mr. Durant back into Pearson Hardman. His kid loves Polo, ergo, we love Polo. Victor Durant is playing today and Mr. Durant never misses one of his son's matches. I'm going to go find him, you're going to play the game." He paused and then, taking a bit of pity on the kid, held up his hand, depositing something into Mike's. "Don't eat these. They're so the horse will like you. God knows you can use all the help you can get."

Harvey started to walk away and Mike sighed, looking down at the sugar cubes in his hand.

"Oh and Mike?"

He looked up to see Harvey had turned around and was smirking at him.

"Don't fall off."

Mike scowled. "Don't fall off," he mocked.

"I heard that."

"You were meant to!"

Mike had done his very best.

He'd put on the uniform. But puce green really wasn't his color and the kneepads made it hard to walk. He looked like one of the old-timey cowboys after they'd been riding too long.

He'd given the horse the sugar cubes. But the damn thing had stood still only long enough for him to put the saddle on. The moment he tried to step up into it the horse had taken off down the hall, leaving Mike running behind it, yelling for it to 'woe' or 'halt' or whatever it was that made horses stop!

And at some point early in the game Mike had officially started to hate the sport of Polo. His ass was sore, his arm hurt from where other riders kept running into it and twice he dropped his mallet.

By late in the first half he'd started to hate horses as well, as his just seemed hell bent on going the opposite direction Mike wanted it to. Or maybe the horse just hated Polo as much as Mike did.

But it wasn't until the middle of the second half that Mike decided he hated Harvey Spector. Not until one of the other players decided to demonstrate a proper 'riding off' and bumped his horse into Mike's. Mike, unable to keep his balance, fell six feet to the ground.

Game play was paused and the other rider was punished with a penalty but Mike didn't honestly care about that. Because the ground was hard and it hurt to have the breath knocked out of you.

After a few seconds the pain receded and he could breathe a little easier. When he opened his eyes he was faced with long white teeth and foul smelling breath.

He gasped and turned his head to one side when the horse started to nuzzle and lick and generally get spit all over him.

"Ugh," Mike grimaced, "Harvey damn well better get Durant back after all of this."

"Was there ever any doubt?"

Mike opened his eyes and found the horse was gone and Harvey was looking down at him, hands stuffed into his pockets with a smirk on his face. He held out his hand and Mike took it, allowing himself to be helped to his feet.

Harvey reached out, patted the top of his helmet and grinned sarastically.

"See? Aren't you glad you're wearing a helmet?"

Only one more until we get to see Mike having some MAJOR skills...