A/N: Friendly reminder that I don't know shit about law and get my info from Google.

Also, in case there's any confusion, this fic has one more chapter posted on ao3 because I accidentally posted chapter two as one here.

They sit in one of the conference rooms for nearly an hour, papers strewn across the table as Mike and Harvey lay out the case. They go over each charge, every scrap of evidence, and what Eli can expect once the trial begins. The teen's eyes flicker between the two of them, resting on each in turn.

"They're charging you with wire fraud, identity theft, and insider trading. I need you to understand the repercussions of that," Mike says as he watches Eli, concern etched into his features. He glances at Harvey for a beat, almost as if hoping he'll soften the blow, but Harvey's expression is steely.

Eli shifts in his chair, his shoulders tensed. "I don't…"

Harvey leans forward, half-sitting on the edge of the table, his arms resting on his thighs as he braces himself. His gaze locks onto Eli with an intensity that will accentuate his words and drive them deep into the child's soul. Every muscle in his frame seems coiled, ready to pounce. It's not anger or pity driving him now; it's something fiercer—an urgent need to get through to the kid in front of him.

"The penalty on two of those counts can be up to twenty years," he begins, his tone sharp enough to cut through the defensive wall Eli has been hiding behind. "By the time you get out, you'll be a grown ass man. And everything—everything you think you know about this world, about yourself—will be different. And you may think you can handle that, because your stage has always been out there, and you've been tossed around so many times—from group home to group home, foster family to foster family—you learned to adapt…"

He pauses, letting his words seep through Eli's mood, hoping the boy will recognize their soundness. "But you won't come back from this, kid," Harvey continues, his voice dropping lower, quieter, almost a whisper, but no less intense. "This shit is real. And your life, the one you seem to think is so fucked up anyway, won't ever be the same again."

Harvey's words land like punches, and for a moment, the room feels suffocatingly still. He doesn't pull back, doesn't blink, waiting for Eli to show even the smallest crack, the tiniest indication that he's heard. Because this isn't just about the law or the case. This is about saving a kid who's been through hell from walking headfirst into even worse.

Eli's jaw clenches, his eyes flashing with resentment and something else—maybe fear, maybe anger, maybe both. "You know I did it, so what's the point?" he growls. "Elijah Caldwell. Guilty as charged."

"Just because you're guilty doesn't mean you deserve to be locked up. But you have to give us something, buddy." Harvey holds his gaze, refusing to back down. It would be easier if Eli were just another reckless kid, but there's more to him than that, and Harvey knows it.

"Like what?" Eli hisses.

"A name," Harvey replies. "I don't buy your little story about how you just happened to stumble on a classified document and helped yourself to a shitload of money."

Harvey stands up, then leans down, gripping the armrests of Eli's chair. The calculated movement forces Eli to meet his gaze. He turns the chair slightly, so there's no escape, no way for Eli to look anywhere but at him. The closeness is suffocating, even for Harvey, but he doesn't back away.

"I think someone put you up to this," Harvey continues, "Someone who knew all about this merger, even before you got your hands on those docs. Someone who's been pulling the strings and raking in the big bucks while you take the fall."

Harvey pauses, and for a moment, the only sound is the faint hum of the overhead lights. Harvey's sharp gaze scans Eli's face, searching for cracks in his poker face, but the kid's good. Too good. Harvey can see himself in the way Eli's jaw sets tight with defiance, in the fierce pride that flashes in his eyes, speaking of his determination to prevail.

From this angle, he notices the shade of Eli's eyes for the first time—neither fully brown nor entirely hazel but a mesmerizing blend of both, like molten caramel infused with flecks of emerald. It's the kind of detail he usually wouldn't pay any mind to, but now that he has noticed, he can't look away.

If Donna had a kid... a teenager...

He recalls Mike's words.

Harvey swallows hard, dragging his thoughts back to the matter at hand. This isn't about Eli's eyes or his face or how the sharp line of Eli's jaw reminds him of his own damn self. This is about getting answers. About getting to the truth before Eli buries himself so deep there's no way out.

Eli shifts again, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. For all his bravado, there's something fragile about him now, like a thread stretched too thin. His lips part, but no sound comes out, and for a second, Harvey wonders if he's about to cave in. But then Eli speaks, his voice low and measured, as if he is talking to a tempestuous child.

"I just wanna know what your plan is to get me out."

The words feel like a slap, and Harvey's grip on the armrests tightens, knuckles turning white. "Our plan?" he scoffs, straightening up and stepping back. "You think this is a one-way street? That you just have to sit there and let us work," he growls. "This is about giving us something we can work with. Something that will convince the goddamn jury that you deserve a second chance."

Feeling the need to de-escalate, Mike raises his voice. It's calm and gentle, a stark contrast to Harvey's intensity. "The plan," he says slowly, glancing between Eli and Harvey, his eyes settling on the boy, "is to make sure they let you off with a fine or supervised release. Or both."

Then his tone softens, shedding its lawyerly edge as he speaks directly to Eli, almost like an older brother trying to guide him. "You're young, Eli. We're trying to give you a future—a real one—that doesn't involve looking at the world through prison bars."

"How much?" Eli's voice is barely a whisper. "The fine… how much…" It's as though speaking louder might make the numbers worse.

Mike sighs, knowing the answer to that question will only cause more distress. "Well, let's see…" He looks at his notes. "Under 18 U.S. Code § 1343—fraud by wire—a fine up to $250,000 can be levied, but given what you gained, the judge could increase that to a million. Then, there's identity theft, potentially another $250,000. And finally, insider trading. Those fines can reach three times the profit from the offense, so we're probably looking at around $3-5 million."

Harvey catches the way Eli's face pales, the shock and panic in his eyes. He's just a kid, and Harvey's chest tightens at the thought of those consequences coming down on him. Whatever Eli did, this can't be the end of his story; there's something in him, something worth saving, and he deserves a shot at a life that doesn't have a prison sentence written all over it.

"Hey." Harvey's voice softens, almost instinctively, surprising even himself. "If it comes down to a fine, I've got your back. You hear me?" He rests a hand on Eli's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, his eyes earnest. "It'd be the first reasonable thing I do with my money." He forces a grin, trying to ease the tension. "Helping you stay out of prison. Get back on your feet. Hell, turn your life around."

Eli tilts his head, looking at him with a mix of confusion and surprise. "Why would you do this for me?"

For a moment, Harvey can't find the words. He feels the instinct to say it: Because you remind me of the woman I'd do anything for. He can't explain it, and he can't say it, either. Instead, he sighs, his eyes falling shut briefly as he collects himself.

"Because I promised Donna I'd help you through this," Harvey sighs. "And I know what it's like to be so angry at the world that—" He cuts himself off, glancing away as he fights to keep his composure. Then he looks back at the boy. "It's just money, kid. I make more of it every month than I know what to do with."

Eli studies him, uncertainty mingling with gratitude. His expression softens, and Harvey sees a flash of something achingly familiar—the same kind of openness Donna has when she finally lets her guard down. "Thank you," he murmurs.

Harvey shrugs, trying to play it cool. Flustered isn't a feeling Harvey Specter wears often—or ever—but there's something about the way the kid looks at him. Not exactly grateful, not exactly impressed, but somewhere in between. It makes Harvey's face blush approximately the same color as Eli's hair.

Certainly, he's no saint, but his offer isn't that big a deal, not to him anyway. He's never been one to get sentimental about money. It's like he said: it's not something he has to worry about, and he doesn't think he ever will. So why not use it to give a troubled teenager another shot?

"Listen," Harvey says finally, straightening his suit jacket with a flick of his hands as if to reassert some measure of control. "I have another meeting in a few minutes, so I can't stay. But Mike will go over the details of the plea deal with you."

He turns briefly to Mike, his expression softening just enough to suggest trust. Then, snapping back to Eli, his tone sharpens again. "And I need you not to pull that defensive, passive-aggressive crap with him, alright? He might be good at what he does, but when it comes to kids like you, he's too soft."

Mike's indignant snort fills the room. "I'm right here, you know."

"Good," Harvey replies dryly without missing a beat. "Then you heard me."

But what really catches his attention isn't Mike's protest. It's the tinge of amusement on Eli's face. The corner of his mouth twitches, just for a second, in what might've been a smirk if the weight of the situation hadn't pulled it back down.

Harvey takes a step back, tugging at his cuffs. "There's one more thing you should know."

He can see the faintest tension ripple through Eli's shoulders, though the boy tries to mask it. "What?"

"Your case," Harvey replies, "has already attracted some media attention."

Eli's brow furrows deeply. "What do you mean, media attention?"

"Those companies you tangled with? They're not just big players in New York—they're global. Which means this merger wasn't some backroom deal; it was on everyone's radar," he says, his tone casual, almost like he's discussing the weather. "And insider trading involving a minor? It's not exactly something this city sees every day. People are interested."

Eli scoffs, letting out a bitter chuckle. "So what? I'm famous now? Should I call TMZ and do an interview?"

"Not quite," Mike replies, stepping in. "But it does mean there's a lot more pressure. On everyone. The companies want this to go away quietly, the DA wants to make a statement, and with the media watching—"

"It means your trial's probably going to be scheduled soon," Harvey finishes, his gaze locked on Eli's. There's no trace of humor in his expression now. "This just became a high-profile case, and we're running out of time."

Eli shifts his gaze to the floor, his jaw clenching as he processes the news. They're rather subtle, but Harvey can see the signs of defeat his body language reveals.

He's not ready for this, he thinks. Hell, who would be?

"Anyway," he mumbles, taking a step toward the door. "I'll leave you two to it. But, Eli?"

The boy lifts his head, meeting Harvey's gaze.

"Don't make me regret sticking my neck out for you," Harvey says simply, his voice carrying just enough edge to make his point. Without waiting for a reply, he pulls the door open and steps into the hallway, letting it click shut behind him.

For a moment, he stands there, staring at the sleek glass walls of the conference room. He exhales slowly, noticing the faint outline of Eli's figure shift as the teen adjusts in his chair.

He still can't wrap his head around how much that kid is getting under his skin—or how easily he lets him. Donna would have a field day with this, laughing at the way they clash like two stubborn billy goats.

It's like they're cut from the same jagged bolt of cloth, their veins pulsing with the remnants of some twisted, shared cosmic legacy that lets them instinctively know exactly which buttons to press to set each other off.

And it leaves him feeling trapped. Trapped in this boy's life. Because there's no way he can keep Eli out of prison and then just let him walk away. He already cares too damn much. More than he should. About what happens to him. About who he might become.

And it hits Harvey like a gut punch: this unshakable urge to help the kid piece his life back together. To see what he could make of himself if someone just gave him a real second chance.

•••

"So, do you still believe in your coercion theory?"

His eyes track Mike as the younger man slumps onto the chair. It's already dark outside, but Harvey can see it clearly: the exhaustion on Mike's face. The day has been brutal, and it's weighing heavily on him.

"We couldn't get him to crack, but… that doesn't mean it didn't happen. And you promised me another day, so I'll keep looking."

Harvey exhales sharply through his nose, not quite frustrated but not entirely convinced either. "Fine," he mutters. After a beat, he straightens and moves to the minibar, pouring himself a scotch. He doesn't offer Mike one—he doesn't need him any more distracted than he already is. "Now, where do we stand with the prosecution? Any idea what—"

"They're not messing around," Mike cuts in, his voice tinged with defeat. He sits up, resting his elbows on his thighs and lacing his fingers together. "It's like you said… they're gonna come at Eli with everything they've got."

Harvey takes a slow sip of his drink, his expression hardening. "Then we just have to fight a bit harder."

Mike hesitates, clearly uneasy, before leaning forward. "About that…" He ruffles his hair, a habit Harvey's seen a thousand times when Mike's working up the nerve to suggest something risky. When he finally looks up, there's a flicker of determination in his eyes. "I think we should obtain Elijah's adoption papers."

Harvey's brow furrows slightly, but he doesn't respond immediately, letting Mike explain himself.

"I already asked Melinda for consent to access his records," Mike continues. "She signed a release form—it's on my desk. We can file a petition with the judge tomorrow."

"Well," Harvey says, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "did you ask the kid how he feels about that?"

Mike sighs, his shoulders slumping a bit. "He said he doesn't care. Told me to do whatever I want with the file." He pauses, the silence thick. "And then he said I should burn it." The words hang in the air, heavier than either of them expected.

"If it's okay with you," Mike says carefully, watching Harvey's reaction, "I'd like to file the petition. I think Eli's records are crucial for building his defense. And I don't know any details. His adoption history could help us better understand who he is, where he's coming from—"

Harvey cuts him off with a nod, though his unease is clear. "Probably," he concedes, as he sets his glass down, "but given that Eli's a minor, the court's likely to appoint a legal advocate to represent his best interests. You prepared him for that?"

Mike frowns. "Not yet, but I will."

"You'd better," Harvey mumbles. "Because whoever they appoint is going to want to talk to him—dig into everything—before they decide whether opening those records is worth the risk. And if this kid went through some serious trauma…" He hesitates, his tone softening just slightly. "I don't want him to have to relive that, Mike."

"Neither do I," Mike says quickly. "But maybe… maybe if we find some common ground, I can actually get through to him. Help him open up."

Harvey scoffs, pacing toward the window. "If he hadn't stolen that man's identity, we could've pinned this whole mess on TechNova's negligence—leaving confidential documents about a merger lying around on a hard drive. But no," he growls. "Eli had to go and use that information right away. Dumb, impulsive—"

"He's a kid," Mike interrupts. "A scared, screwed-up kid who made a bad decision because he didn't see another way out."

Harvey stops, his jaw tightening. He knows Mike's right, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating.

"I know how these GALs work," Mike continues. "I know how to prepare him. And I know how to make sure they see him as a person, not just another case."

"If you're using those records for the defense, Malik's going to get wind of them too," Harvey mutters, turning back toward Mike. "I don't want him twisting any of it against Eli. Can you promise me that?"

"You know I can't do that, Harvey," Mike replies, his voice tinged with regret. "Malik will take whatever he can get, even if it's just to throw us off. But… I really think we need to know this kid's history. There's something about him that—"

"Yeah," Harvey interrupts, his voice softening despite himself. "I feel it, too."

Mike leans back, studying his friend for a moment. "So, you're…?"

Harvey exhales, rubbing the back of his neck as he nods. "Yes. Get those records. Just make damn sure Eli's not treated like some statistic." He pauses, his gaze meeting Mike's. "And let me know what you find."

Harvey picks up his scotch again, taking a long sip. He doesn't miss the way Mike lingers on his seat for a moment before standing and stepping closer, his expression thoughtful.

"You know, when I asked you for help, I was hoping you'd become invested in this case… But I never actually believed you'd care so much."

Mike knows he's pushing too far, but he can't help it. There's something about Eli, something about the way Harvey's been acting ever since they took the case. It's like all the pieces are there, but Harvey's refusing to put them together. Or maybe he already has, and he just doesn't want to admit it.

"And I think the reason you do is that this kid reminds you of—"

"Mike," Harvey says, his voice a low warning, "drop it."

But Mike doesn't. "And now you can't stop wondering, can you? What if I'm right? What if Eli really is—"

"I said drop it," Harvey snaps, louder than he intended. He grits his teeth, and for a brief moment, his gaze flickers to Mike before darting away, like he's afraid of what might be written on his face.

Mike shuts his mouth, taken aback by the sharpness of Harvey's tone. But the tension between them doesn't fade. If anything, it thickens. And that's when Mike hears it—not in Harvey's words, but in the crackle of anger that feels more like fear.

Harvey's afraid.

Afraid that maybe, just maybe, this kid isn't just another client. Afraid that Eli is a piece of a puzzle Harvey didn't realize he was holding. Afraid that Eli is connected to Donna in some way—maybe something she's never told him, something she's kept hidden for years. And if that's true… if there's even a chance that Eli is part of Donna's life, Harvey knows exactly what's at stake.

Mike's voice is quieter when he speaks again. "Harvey… if this is about Donna, you know you can tell me. You know I'd—"

"I'm not having this conversation," Harvey cuts in, his voice cold and final. "Go home, Mike!"

Mike watches him for a moment longer, then sighs. "Fine. But if you're not going to say it, at least be honest with yourself. Because whatever this is, it's not going away." He lingers by the door, waiting for something—anything—from Harvey. But when it's clear he won't get it, he sighs again and slips out.

The room is silent now. Harvey empties his drink and sets it down with a heavy hand, his fingers tightening briefly around the glass before he lets it go. He sits and leans forward, bracing his hands on the desk, his head bowed slightly.

Every time they're near each other, he feels it—that strange pull, like a magnet drawing him to the boy, as if something inside him is reaching out to him. It's not just the kid's resemblance to someone he'd rather not think about. It's the way Eli fights, the way he deflects, the way he reminds Harvey too much of himself at that age.

And that's what scares him most.

Because if Eli really is… If Eli's part of a past he thought he'd buried, then keeping the boy out of prison isn't just about winning a case, or protecting him. It's not even just about protecting Donna. It's about himself.

The thought twists in his chest like a knife. He doesn't want to believe it, doesn't even want to entertain the possibility, but it's there now. The timing, the resemblance, the connection he feels every time he looks at Eli, like gravity reorienting itself around something he doesn't understand but knows.

If Eli really is their son—the child they gave up all those years ago—then none of this is coincidence. And that terrifies him.

Because Harvey Specter doesn't look back. He doesn't dredge up old wounds or dig through the wreckage of choices he's already made. But this? This isn't just some loose thread he can cut and walk away from.