Suits Fic: Edith and Gordon (PG)
Title: Edith and Gordon
Fandom: Suits
Characters/Pairings: Edith Ross, Gordon Specter, Mike Ross, Harvey Specter
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1500
Beta: groolover
Spoilers: Through 2x09 (“Asterisk”).
Warnings: none, other than canon events.
Summary: A meeting, in Heaven.
Author's Note: Written/intended as Harvey/Mike preslash, but can easily be read as gen. Was initially going to be longer, but I wanted this up before 2x10 aired (so there might be a continuation some time in the future, but we'll see about that). Also, this can be blamed entirely on maja_li (is anyone surprised by that, at this point?).
There really isn't much that shocks Edith Ross. Age hasn't dulled her wits any, and she's never come across anyone with the balls to say she's lost her spark. Other women might play the demure, innocent old grandmother act as they get on in years, but Edith has never felt the need to do anything other than be direct and speak her mind.
It's probably that trait that brings her to the attention of an amused-looking man shortly after she passes through the pearly gates (which, if anyone asks her, are more ivory than pearl, but who is she to complain about that sort of detail, in light of it all?).
"Heaven's not exactly what we were promised, is it?" the gentleman asks her with a quirked little smirk as he watches her settle herself onto a cloud not much unlike her favorite old chair, shaking her head and muttering about how this place is about as lively as the recreation room in the nursing home.
Edith almost waves him off--why should she have to engage in bland pleasantries in heaven, of all places?--but the expression on his face stops her. There's something very familiar about it, in a sarcastic, self-assured, charming sort of way that has her trying to place where she might know this man from. "Oh? What were you promised?"
The gentleman--who's been standing against what serves as a ledge, staring down at the world below him--grins a little wider. "You know. Feasts. Fun and carefree living. Angels playing harps all day long. At least, that's what I'd always heard. What about you? This live up to your expectation?"
Edith glances down at herself, just as old as she's looked in her bathroom mirror for the last several years, more wrinkled and a bit heavier than she'd like, and scoffs. "I seem to remember something about eternal youth."
"Ah, yes. But even there, they sort of have you on a technicality," her new friend says, raising his eyebrows. "Don't they?"
She looks at this gentleman with more than a cursory glance for the first time. He's right--at first glance, he's sixty-five or seventy, handsome enough for a man of that age. But at the same time, he's twenty, hair thicker and darker and posture straighter, and, impossibly, he might also be thirty-five or forty, strong and solid and still definitely familiar-looking.
She looks down at herself again and hopes he sees at least a little of how she looked at twenty or twenty-five, and not as much the version of her dressed in an old nightgown and terry cloth robe, with her reading glasses around her neck. "I suppose they do." She gestures to the railing he's leaning up against, which does a very thorough job of keeping him in place despite being made of nothing but clouds. "Watching someone you love? From what I gather, that's a popular pastime around here."
Her familiar-looking friend snorts. "My son," he says, rolling his eyes. "Successful lawyer, and still an idiot when it comes to the important things."
And that's how Edith Ross meets--and instantly likes--Gordon.
--///---
Heaven is a place where you have a ludicrous amount of free time, as it happens.
Time doesn't really mean anything up here. You can see sunrise and sunset on the earth below, if you're specifically looking at a place down there, but there's no feeling of needing to go to bed and sleep, or get up in the morning and get something done. And there's no damned nurse popping her head in and demanding you take your medications, or asking about particular bodily functions, which is definitely a sign that this is heaven, after all.
There also isn't this need to seek out everyone you've ever loved and spend all your time with them, any more than you would have wanted to in life. Edith's found her son and his wife, who still appear to be happy to spend their time together, and that had been a splendid little meeting, and will certainly lead to countless more. She's found old friends and dozens of family members, and been supremely thankful to find that heaven is not simply one long, extended family reunion. Here, people can just sort of...drift around.
And, of course, they watch those they've left behind on Earth. It's not as weird as she might have thought, though it is a little rough to see how hard Michael's taking her death. Despite all those ghost-hunter shows on cable, there's not really a way for her to pop down with a message and tell him that she's fine and he should suck it up and get back to focusing on his job at the firm.
If there were a way for her to send a message or pop on down in spectral form, she'd give her grandson a good, hearty smack on the back of his head the second she sees him look consideringly at the joint he pulls from his pocket.
"Apparently, I was wrong, and I did raise an idiot," she sighs. The dead do a surprising amount of ineffectual talking to their living loved ones, like talking to the television show you're watching, as if you can have any effect on the actors whatsoever. "You're smarter than that, Michael." She shakes her head. Well, he should be, anyway.
"Move a little faster, son," she hears someone say from nearby, and Edith looks over to see Gordon run a hand through his hair, mouth in a thin line. "And don't fuck this up." He sees Edith looking and gives a little wave, his attention going back to whatever his son's doing on earth as soon as she waves back.
"Michael, if you light that thing up, I will make it my mission to hunt down Gabriel or Saint Peter or anyone I can find in here with some sense of authority, and have them fortuitously drop that ceiling fan on your head," she says, trying to sound threatening, though it's not as if her grandson can hear her.
"Well, that's one way to do it," Gordon mutters off to her left, just as Edith's--and Michael's--attention snaps to the door of Michael's apartment, which opens on its own, revealing Michael's boss, who looks more than a little displeased. Michael just sort of gapes, and Edith feels a bit thankful that a hardass like Harvey Specter has thought her grandson to be worth his trouble.
"Kid gloves, son," Gordon warns sternly, and Edith wonders if the son he's watching follows his instructions any better than her grandson does, as she watches Michael scramble to hide the joint in his hand.
"Get rid of that," Harvey snaps, looking like maybe he's the fiery angel of wrath Edith was hoping for, and, beside her, Gordon's palm smacks his forehead.
"I said kid gloves, Harvey, for the love of Christ," he groans, and Edith raises her eyebrows, looking at Gordon for a split second before turning her attention back to her grandson.
"Get rid of what?" Michael stammers, his face a mask of guilt and something else that makes Edith want to be able to just reach over and give him a hug.
"You know damned well what," Harvey growls, and, out of the corner of her eye, Edith sees Gordon shake his head in exasperation. "I told Donna you weren't an idiot. Don't prove me wrong. I really don't like to be wrong." He moves closer to Michael, finally crouching down beside him on the floor, and sticks out his hand. "Hand it over," he demands, and then, after a pause, he looks Michael in the eye and holds his gaze. "Would she want you to do this? And over her?" he asks in a much softer tone.
Michael just looks back at Harvey dully for a few moments. "No," he finally says, voice breaking, and hands over the joint. "She wouldn't."
"Damn right, I wouldn't!" Edith exclaims, and Gordon's attention shifts from down on Earth to her for a moment.
"So you're not an idiot," Harvey says down below. "I didn't think she was the sort to raise one." He crumbles the joint in his hand, dumping the mess into the potted plant nearby. "Now come on, Mike. Let's get you cleaned up."
Michael reaches out for the hand Harvey extends, letting himself be pulled to his feet. "Yeah. Okay."
Harvey puts one hand on the back of Michael's neck. "There you go," he murmurs. "Good boy." And with that, he directs Michael towards the bathroom, and Edith turns to look at her friend, who now looks familiar in a way she can place.
"Gordon. Gordon Specter, is it?"
Gordon quirks a grin at her, and it's definitely his son's amusement she recognizes on his face. "Edith Ross, I assume?”
They get along even more famously after that.
Fandom: Suits
Characters/Pairings: Edith Ross, Gordon Specter, Mike Ross, Harvey Specter
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1500
Beta: groolover
Spoilers: Through 2x09 (“Asterisk”).
Warnings: none, other than canon events.
Summary: A meeting, in Heaven.
Author's Note: Written/intended as Harvey/Mike preslash, but can easily be read as gen. Was initially going to be longer, but I wanted this up before 2x10 aired (so there might be a continuation some time in the future, but we'll see about that). Also, this can be blamed entirely on maja_li (is anyone surprised by that, at this point?).
There really isn't much that shocks Edith Ross. Age hasn't dulled her wits any, and she's never come across anyone with the balls to say she's lost her spark. Other women might play the demure, innocent old grandmother act as they get on in years, but Edith has never felt the need to do anything other than be direct and speak her mind.
It's probably that trait that brings her to the attention of an amused-looking man shortly after she passes through the pearly gates (which, if anyone asks her, are more ivory than pearl, but who is she to complain about that sort of detail, in light of it all?).
"Heaven's not exactly what we were promised, is it?" the gentleman asks her with a quirked little smirk as he watches her settle herself onto a cloud not much unlike her favorite old chair, shaking her head and muttering about how this place is about as lively as the recreation room in the nursing home.
Edith almost waves him off--why should she have to engage in bland pleasantries in heaven, of all places?--but the expression on his face stops her. There's something very familiar about it, in a sarcastic, self-assured, charming sort of way that has her trying to place where she might know this man from. "Oh? What were you promised?"
The gentleman--who's been standing against what serves as a ledge, staring down at the world below him--grins a little wider. "You know. Feasts. Fun and carefree living. Angels playing harps all day long. At least, that's what I'd always heard. What about you? This live up to your expectation?"
Edith glances down at herself, just as old as she's looked in her bathroom mirror for the last several years, more wrinkled and a bit heavier than she'd like, and scoffs. "I seem to remember something about eternal youth."
"Ah, yes. But even there, they sort of have you on a technicality," her new friend says, raising his eyebrows. "Don't they?"
She looks at this gentleman with more than a cursory glance for the first time. He's right--at first glance, he's sixty-five or seventy, handsome enough for a man of that age. But at the same time, he's twenty, hair thicker and darker and posture straighter, and, impossibly, he might also be thirty-five or forty, strong and solid and still definitely familiar-looking.
She looks down at herself again and hopes he sees at least a little of how she looked at twenty or twenty-five, and not as much the version of her dressed in an old nightgown and terry cloth robe, with her reading glasses around her neck. "I suppose they do." She gestures to the railing he's leaning up against, which does a very thorough job of keeping him in place despite being made of nothing but clouds. "Watching someone you love? From what I gather, that's a popular pastime around here."
Her familiar-looking friend snorts. "My son," he says, rolling his eyes. "Successful lawyer, and still an idiot when it comes to the important things."
And that's how Edith Ross meets--and instantly likes--Gordon.
--///---
Heaven is a place where you have a ludicrous amount of free time, as it happens.
Time doesn't really mean anything up here. You can see sunrise and sunset on the earth below, if you're specifically looking at a place down there, but there's no feeling of needing to go to bed and sleep, or get up in the morning and get something done. And there's no damned nurse popping her head in and demanding you take your medications, or asking about particular bodily functions, which is definitely a sign that this is heaven, after all.
There also isn't this need to seek out everyone you've ever loved and spend all your time with them, any more than you would have wanted to in life. Edith's found her son and his wife, who still appear to be happy to spend their time together, and that had been a splendid little meeting, and will certainly lead to countless more. She's found old friends and dozens of family members, and been supremely thankful to find that heaven is not simply one long, extended family reunion. Here, people can just sort of...drift around.
And, of course, they watch those they've left behind on Earth. It's not as weird as she might have thought, though it is a little rough to see how hard Michael's taking her death. Despite all those ghost-hunter shows on cable, there's not really a way for her to pop down with a message and tell him that she's fine and he should suck it up and get back to focusing on his job at the firm.
If there were a way for her to send a message or pop on down in spectral form, she'd give her grandson a good, hearty smack on the back of his head the second she sees him look consideringly at the joint he pulls from his pocket.
"Apparently, I was wrong, and I did raise an idiot," she sighs. The dead do a surprising amount of ineffectual talking to their living loved ones, like talking to the television show you're watching, as if you can have any effect on the actors whatsoever. "You're smarter than that, Michael." She shakes her head. Well, he should be, anyway.
"Move a little faster, son," she hears someone say from nearby, and Edith looks over to see Gordon run a hand through his hair, mouth in a thin line. "And don't fuck this up." He sees Edith looking and gives a little wave, his attention going back to whatever his son's doing on earth as soon as she waves back.
"Michael, if you light that thing up, I will make it my mission to hunt down Gabriel or Saint Peter or anyone I can find in here with some sense of authority, and have them fortuitously drop that ceiling fan on your head," she says, trying to sound threatening, though it's not as if her grandson can hear her.
"Well, that's one way to do it," Gordon mutters off to her left, just as Edith's--and Michael's--attention snaps to the door of Michael's apartment, which opens on its own, revealing Michael's boss, who looks more than a little displeased. Michael just sort of gapes, and Edith feels a bit thankful that a hardass like Harvey Specter has thought her grandson to be worth his trouble.
"Kid gloves, son," Gordon warns sternly, and Edith wonders if the son he's watching follows his instructions any better than her grandson does, as she watches Michael scramble to hide the joint in his hand.
"Get rid of that," Harvey snaps, looking like maybe he's the fiery angel of wrath Edith was hoping for, and, beside her, Gordon's palm smacks his forehead.
"I said kid gloves, Harvey, for the love of Christ," he groans, and Edith raises her eyebrows, looking at Gordon for a split second before turning her attention back to her grandson.
"Get rid of what?" Michael stammers, his face a mask of guilt and something else that makes Edith want to be able to just reach over and give him a hug.
"You know damned well what," Harvey growls, and, out of the corner of her eye, Edith sees Gordon shake his head in exasperation. "I told Donna you weren't an idiot. Don't prove me wrong. I really don't like to be wrong." He moves closer to Michael, finally crouching down beside him on the floor, and sticks out his hand. "Hand it over," he demands, and then, after a pause, he looks Michael in the eye and holds his gaze. "Would she want you to do this? And over her?" he asks in a much softer tone.
Michael just looks back at Harvey dully for a few moments. "No," he finally says, voice breaking, and hands over the joint. "She wouldn't."
"Damn right, I wouldn't!" Edith exclaims, and Gordon's attention shifts from down on Earth to her for a moment.
"So you're not an idiot," Harvey says down below. "I didn't think she was the sort to raise one." He crumbles the joint in his hand, dumping the mess into the potted plant nearby. "Now come on, Mike. Let's get you cleaned up."
Michael reaches out for the hand Harvey extends, letting himself be pulled to his feet. "Yeah. Okay."
Harvey puts one hand on the back of Michael's neck. "There you go," he murmurs. "Good boy." And with that, he directs Michael towards the bathroom, and Edith turns to look at her friend, who now looks familiar in a way she can place.
"Gordon. Gordon Specter, is it?"
Gordon quirks a grin at her, and it's definitely his son's amusement she recognizes on his face. "Edith Ross, I assume?”
They get along even more famously after that.