[Suits Fic Dump]: The AU, Crossover and Fusion Edition - K to T - 1/1 (x8)
A/N: This is me finally rounding up the various Suits fics I've written for challenges of late. They're all AU, crossovers or fusions and 99% Harvey/Mike (there's a Criminal Minds crossover where Harvey isn't really mentioned). The shortest are drabbles written for the three sentence AU meme and the longer ones are 5A fills. Enjoy! ♥
Disclaimer: I, ladyknightanka, do not own Suits. Underlined things and pop-culture references aren't mine. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission.
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Title: Zombiepocalypse
Warnings: PG-13 for language, mentioned violence and some angst.
Other Notes: ~150w. Harvey/Mike. Some angst. Zombie apocalypse AU.
Summary: The apocalypse happens and the world is overrun by zombies. Pearson Hardman becomes a resistance group.
Zombiepocalypse
“Quit fidgeting,” Donna reprimanded, her mouth pursing half in worry, half in irritation, as her eyes flicked away from their armory - previously Pearson Hardman's filing room - to his grimacing face, likely losing count of how much ammo they had remaining.
Mike was out there - fighting, surviving - and she didn't bother to remind Harvey that it was his fault the rookie was without backup, since he'd been the one to blow out his shoulder during their last crucial mission, but she didn't actually have to.
He heard the crow of exhalation outside their barricaded door, hushed compared to the rambunctious victory cries the associates shared not a year ago, before peers were lost to Armageddon, and Mike's voice cheerily declaring, “I kicked some zombie ass, Harvey!” was finally enough to soothe his frazzled nerves again.
Fin!
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Title: White Collar Noose
Warnings: PG for mentions of criminality.
Other Notes: ~150w. Harvey/Mike. Slight angst. Crime AU.
Summary: When Harvey isn't Mike's doting boyfriend, he's a career criminal.
White Collar Noose
“Have a good day, Harvey,” Mike said, planting a sweet kiss on his lips that left him slightly dazed, before dashing out the door to a job unworthy of him, as some douchebag's personal assistant - or, more accurately, punching bag.
“You know,” Donna smirked from Harvey's imported Japanese sofa, visiting on the vaguely accurate excuse of discussing 'business' with him again, “it was only with Mike's help that we cracked our last vault code, and while I think it's adorable that he believes you when you tell him it's for a game, don't you think it's time he found out the truth?”
Harvey sighed and flopped down beside her, still elegant even when exhausted, then replied, “I'll talk to him tonight,” though the idea of corrupting his boyfriend's naivety honestly horrified him.
Fin!
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Title: Serving Mr. Handsome Suit
Warnings: G
Other Notes: ~200w. Harvey/Mike. Fluff. Coffee shop AU.
Summary: Mike serves the handsome lawyer all the time. Now, he just has to work up the courage to actually talk to him.
Serving Mr. Handsome Suit
There was a frown of consternation marring Handsome Suit's previously unlined forehead, his agitation emphasized by the fact that he'd taken one look at the long line of customers in front of the counter, then elegantly dropped into a free booth, too annoyed to bear with it.
Mike bit his lip and rang the closest person's purchase up, wishing caffeine wasn't the lifeblood of New York, no matter how much he loved it himself, so he could go and immediately sate his curiosity - obsession, as Trevor would say - with this man.
When he was finally free to visit Handsome Suit's table, he heard him snap into his expensive phone, “That property is still applicable for inheritance, by way of-” and finished, “Hereditament,” for him, setting down the coffee order that he'd already memorized by heart, before shyly grinning at the impressed glance gifted to him.
“Harvey Specter,” the man eventually said, smoothly flicking his cellphone shut, which only served to etch Mike's smile wider, mostly because Harvey now considered him worthy of introduction, but the fact that his name and Handsome Suit shared the same initials was pretty funny, too.
Fin!
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Title: Puppy Love at First Sight
Warnings: PG for mentions of bullying.
Other Notes: ~200w. Harvey/Mike. Fluff. High school AU.
Summary: Harvey is a popular jock. Mike's the smart underclassman. Kyle and Seth are the bullies no one cares about.
Puppy Love at First Sight
Harvey rolled his eyes as Seth and Kyle, two of his most obnoxious teammates, began prodding at each other with baseball bats, wondering if he, being the team captain, should intervene, but the decision was taken out of his hands when Kyle noticed a scrawny looking blond kid, whom Harvey vaguely recognized to be genius sophomore Mike Ross from his AP math class, cut through the diamond, just inside the cage.
“Watch this!” Kyle gibed, sneering in a manner that would irk even Star Trek's Khan, before swiping a baseball up from their spares and chucking it at the kid, who made a distressed sound when it impacted against his arm, already weighed down by a curiously long novel with a dragon on the cover.
Harvey shot Kyle a withering glare that could bring a lesser man to his knees - and rest assured, Kyle Durant was nothing, if not that - then ran to the kid's aid, recoiling in surprise when bright, unaffected blue eyes locked onto his, their owner cheerily proclaiming, “Dude, you should replace Durant for Zane, cause he pitches more like a girl than she does,” and suddenly Mike Ross had wormed himself into Harvey Specter's attentions.
Fin!
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Title: Did it Hurt When You Fell From Heaven?
Warnings: PG for some blasphemy, blood and language.
Other Notes: ~800w. Harvey/Mike. Flangst. Angel AU. Very, very vague Supernatural references.
Summary: Harvey Specter didn't believe in God until an angel literally fell into his life.
Did it Hurt When You Fell From Heaven?
“I-I'm not lying! I swear to God!” their client's opposition shouts. His doughy hands begin fingering the cross at his neck, clammy with sweat.
Harvey smirks and Jessica shoots him a warning look. “And we're sure you take your beliefs quite seriously, Mr. Greyson, but the fact of the matter is, we can't know for certain. The evidence denotes otherwise,” she says, to keep her senior partner from earning them an unwanted lawsuit. He wouldn't be nearly so tactful.
Harvey rolls his eyes, but behaves and lets her wow him for the rest of the meeting. She is pretty amazing. He wouldn't let anyone boss him around if they weren't. When she loosens her grip on his leash, however, he lets out a sigh of relief. Let Louis be her lapdog next time.
It isn't that Harvey doesn't believe in God. He didn't used to, but recent developments had convinced him, to put it lightly. He just isn't part of the Sunday morning crowd, that's all. And he's really glad to be getting home, for a somewhat unrelated but also relevant reason. It's complicated.
He waves at Ray without looking back when they reach his condo and hears the towncar's engine whir behind him. “Mr. Specter, someone should be up to take a look at your ceiling soon,” the doorman informs him.
Harvey stiffens and dredges up a smile. “Yes, well...they can take their time. I know how busy work can get.” This inspires a more appreciative regard from the doorman, who's apparently surprised by Harvey's blasé charity. He ducks his head down in respect as Harvey lopes past and seemingly doesn't notice his rush to get to the elevators.
Harvey lets himself relax inside one of the glass structures. The world seems so different within it. He wonders, the same way he's been wondering for the past week, if this is what it looks like for Mike? The sunlight broaching through his shattered ceiling, at the very top floor, does nothing to disperse his ruminations, but it makes it all too evident that his living room is empty.
“Mike?” Harvey calls out, his heart already starting to palpitate in his ribcage. With his injuries, caused by a sudden confrontation with the aforementioned ceiling, there was no way Mike would be wandering around amok. Harvey runs into the hallway and begins tearing through the whole apartment, Mike's name a mantra on his lips.
There's no way Mike can survive all by himself. He's clumsy, he's afraid of the fire alarm and the stove, he thinks Harvey's two thousand dollar shoes are meant to wear on hands, that imported European treasures are shiny toys to juggle. He's pretty, with his glowing blue eyes and his small, birdlike mouth. Everything about him is beautiful, pure, and no one will nurture that the way Harvey tries to. The thought of anyone violating Mike is enough to run Harvey's blood dry.
And then another thought stops him cold. Mike doesn't speak, not while Harvey's awake. It was only in Harvey's dream, the night Mike fell into his life, that he first revealed, ”Harvey Specter, righteous man, I am the archangel Michael.” He's an angel - the prince of goddamn Heaven, if Harvey remembers Sunday school correctly - so what if Mike is gone? What if he went back home?
He hears a rustle from another room. It's enough to send air back into Harvey's lungs, which strain when he rushes to the source of the sound: his bedroom. He enters and he's not so certain of that anymore.
His clothes are strewn all over the floor, so that he can't even see his plush carpet. He now notices that the cushions from his living room have been relocated to the bed, as have every blanket or sheet in his house, his Japanese silk robe, guest room pillows, and a few stuffed animals Donna gave him that he'd thought were hidden better - basically, anything and everything soft within a mile radius.
Amid the mess sits Mike, who stares at Harvey with his huge blue eyes, a sweet smile forming on his mouth, his ivory wings spanning throughout the entirety of the room and shedding delicate feathers that will be a pain to clean up tomorrow.
He cocks his head at Harvey's gruff, “You really scared me, puppy,” and doesn't protest when the dark-haired lawyer climbs up beside him, his careful hands reaching out to touch Mike's wings. Red spots blot the white of feathers and bandages alike, but less than the day before. “You made a nest, huh? Guess you're really here to stay?” Harvey asks.
Mike doesn't answer, does nothing but beam all the brighter, yet Harvey feels his heart elate in a way it hasn't for years.
Fin!
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Title: Dashing Paper Dolls
Warnings: PG-13 for language and innuendo.
Other Notes: ~1k. Harvey/Mike. Humor. AU.
Summary: After losing his temper with the wrong person and sealing his doom, Harvey is 'persuaded' by Donna to take up a creative hobby. The adorable employee at the arts and crafts store is his terrible week's only saving grace.
Dashing Paper Dolls
Sometimes, being Harvey Specter was sadly overrated.
His client, an obnoxious old woman he already hated to meet, who was thankfully agoraphobic and scheduled their discussions for only once every two years, had abruptly decided to marry a considerably younger man, to whom she was passing on everything. She refused to heed Harvey's warnings about the suspicious situation at all, which meant he ended up awake all night, not quite begging Moneypenny to dig up something juicy on old Madam Dunham's husband-to-be.
He did eventually get some dirt - everyone had skeletons in their closet - and Madam Dunham agreed to reevaluate her decision. She was so stubborn that that was the best he could get out of her, even though he was Harvey freaking Specter, best goddamn closer in New York. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to deter his bad mood, and Harvey was so sleep-deprived that he made a fatal mistake: he harshly berated Donna for something that wasn't really her fault. He signed his own death warrant.
For the next two days, he ran around in a frenzy to accommodate clients whose meetings were suddenly rescheduled to the ass crack of dawn or the dead of night. His calls were dropped, no one reminded him to send his mother flowers when she was in a snit, and Jessica got pissed off at him for not coming when she beckoned him to her office - which he hadn't been told she'd wanted in the first place. Harvey tried valiantly to resist - because he was Harvey and no one, not even Donna, though he was certain she was his twin soul, got the best of him - but it was only a matter of time.
“Donna,” he said Monday morning, his arms laden with flowers and candy. She canted an eyebrow at him and he continued gruffly, “I'm sorry for taking my anger out on you. That wasn't fair. You're the best secretary in the whole world,” and a manipulative siren besides, he didn't add.
Donna scrutinized him from her desk for an uncomfortably long minute, then beamed beneficently. “You're forgiven, Harvey. It's obvious to me that you've been working too hard and simply need to relax some,” she replied.
“And what would you suggest?” he indulged, still in brow-nosing mode. He diligently did not mention how much harder she'd been making it for him. His cheek probably wouldn't recover from that bite.
Donna grinned wider, if that was even possible, and leaned forward on her elbows. “Arts and crafts,” she whispered sagely, as if it was the answer to the meaning of life. When she caught Harvey's blasphemed stare, she puffed up into a glower. “Don't look at me like that! It's actually very soothing to express your emotions creatively. A new store opened up a month ago, only a few blocks from here, and Rachel dragged me along with her last weekend. It was fun.”
“I think I'll just break open a vintage wine and sit in my jacuzzi,” Harvey answered dryly. Donna scowled at him. He squared his shoulders and scowled back.
Needless to say, Harvey tersely handed a flier from the new store to Ray upon leaving work that day. “This looks...entertaining,” his driver said.
“Very,” Harvey grunted in reply. He ignored Ray's smile, which became apparent within the rear-view mirror, and tapped his fingers atop his knee impatiently. He'd just go to the store, pick up some glitter and colored paper, then make a ball or something. Short, sweet and appealing to Donna's temper. He hoped.
The store was nothing special. Michael's. Harvey wasn't one for art, lest it was simply looking at or sometimes purchasing it, but even he recognized the name to be one of a chain. Bright lights assaulted his eyes as soon as he entered and he blinked to gain his vision back. In that instant, a tiny bundle bumped into his legs, then ran away sans apology. There were kids barreling through the aisles. Great.
He began walking through a random one aimlessly, grabbing at little boxes of Play-Doh, construction paper, glitter and the like without bothering to look at brand names or prices. Finally, with his arms as heavy as his mood, he started for an unoccupied register line.
And promptly collided against someone else. “I'm so sorry,” a male voice exclaimed. Harvey was grateful that it didn't belong to a grade-school menace, at least. “Would you like some help, sir?”
Harvey barely restrained himself from barking, “What do you think?” His purchases, however unwanted, were strewn all over the dirty floor, and he was kneeling in his expensive Tom Ford pants, possibly crinkling them, because of some idiot wearing battered Converse, who stood way too close to Harvey's face.
Then, without waiting for an answer, his assailant bent down and Harvey was confronted with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. He wisely swallowed down his rude remark and let the blond-haired young man, who wore an apron that proclaimed him to be Mike and smiled sweeter than a Disneyland employee, hand his stuff back to him.
“For your kid?” Mike guessed, grinning cheerily.
Harvey internally scoffed. “No.”
Mike laughed. Even with all the noises around them - the giggles of children, parents shouting, delicate materials dropping and cracking on the floor - the sound rang clear. “You look as if you're bringing home self-torture implements,” he teased.
“In a sense, I am,” Harvey said, then plastered a charming smirk onto his lips. “I'm Harvey Specter, corporate attorney.”
Mike arched his eyebrows, but didn't seem all that impressed. “Well, Mr. Specter,” he began innocently, “if you're really scared of being all alone with these terrifying Crayola products, I'm teaching an arts and crafts class just over there.” He thumbed in the direction of a paint-splotched door, his eyes bright with amusement. “You're a little older than our usual age range...”
“I would love to, Mike,” Harvey interrupted gravely, “but I might ruin my fellow students' self-confidence with my sheer talent and awesome presence. I fear it would be best for me to receive your tutelage on a more, shall could say, intimate level.”
“Oh really?” Mike laughed, his eyebrow cocked again. “How self-sacrificial of you, Mr. Specter.”
“Please, call me Harvey,” Harvey answered, donning a martyr's charitable smile.
The next day, he slammed a poorly made clay mug that read World's Greatest Closer IN GLITTERY SCRAWL onto Donna's desk. “You can keep it. I already got some.”
Fin!
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Title: What's in a Name?
Warnings: PG-13 for violence and language.
Other Notes: ~800w. Harvey/Mike. Kind of angsty. Fusion with the anime/manga Tactics. Links to Wiki if you want a brief bio before reading, but I'm not sure it's necessary. All you have to know is, feral monsters can be indentured to humans if you name them.
Summary: In a world where supernatural creatures coexist with humanity, Mike is a young exorcist, master to the fox demon Donna and the infamous demon-eating goblin, Harvey. Louis and his minions are hunters who want Mike to unbind Harvey, so they can gain the acclaim for destroying the famous demon-eater, but Mike would rather die than allow that. Harvey just wishes his master wasn't so stupid.
What's in a Name?
“You don't have to do this, Louis,” Mike said softly, his staff grasped in lax fingers with one hand, the position nowhere near defensive enough.
Harvey looked between his master's gentle baby blue eyes - Seer eyes, more luminous than the expensive glass wine bottles Harvey compulsively collected - and Louis's familiar, snakelike sneer, his own expression a mask of vexation, black wings twitching behind him. Mike always had to do this, no matter how horrible the human or demon they faced. He always had to see the good in them, as if it honestly existed.
“If you'd release the demon-eater - your precious Harvey - to me, then it wouldn't be necessary,” Louis replied, hefting a slim sword from one manicured hand to the other. He probably thought it was intimidating, with its gilded hilt and bejeweled blade. Harvey simply found it tacky.
Mike's lips pursed. “You know I can't do that. Harvey...he's important to me. I won't let you hurt him.”
“Just let him try!” Harvey was ready to bark. His wings flexed with agitation now, the way human athletes flaunted muscled limbs to cow one another, but the sleek black feathers, spanning farther than his body was tall, were infinitely more breathtaking. Although Mike didn't glance their way, Louis did, his already thin lips tightening further.
“That's too bad,” he said quietly. His head inclined, the tilt of his chin subtle.
From all his years of life, little though he recalled of it, Harvey had gained an intrinsic ability to read people. Donna, the fiery little fox demon who served Mike - in name, literally, but not in behavior - was vaguely annoyed by the masculine standoff, but the way her furry ears stood on edge belied her true anxiety. Louis' peons, Kyle and Seth, hadn't taken their focus off Mike the whole time, their murderous glares due to all the times their leader had punished them for failing to subdue the bleeding-heart exorcist.
At Louis's gesture, however, they surged into action with an earsplitting battle cry. Harvey had no time to act, could do nothing but listen to Donna scream, when a hot burst of his master's blood sprayed across his expensive suit. A red rose blossomed on the heart of Mike's own white dress shirt, his black jacket long discarded on the floor.
“H-Harvey,” the human murmured, a name precious to him for reasons he'd never disclosed, before he fell back like a puppet with its strings cut. Donna was still talking - cursing, actually, her frenzy growing - but Harvey didn't look away from the crumpled figure on the ground, not until his claws grew sharp and his eyes flared red.
He lost himself to his rage and knew no more.
Later, he felt a hand constrict weakly in his own and scrutinized Mike, now laying in his own bed, which Harvey had flown him back to - a task that was far too easy, in the goblin's opinion. Donna had helped him patch Mike's injuries up, but soon left their master in Harvey's care, wearing that infuriatingly knowing smirk despite her evident worry.
“Harv...ey?” Mike mumbled, his blue eyes fever bright. Harvey scowled down at the little menace and didn't reply, opting to remove the tepid towel on Mike's forehead for another dip in the bowl of ice water Donna had left them. Mike gasped at the cool sensation and arched into his touch.
Although he'd never admit it, Harvey felt a burst of warmth brim in his chest. Jessica, a fellow goblin, would have laughed at how human that affection was, her lips and ivory wings curled mockingly. Harvey put the thought aside from his mind and grumbled, “You're an idiot.”
“Your idiot,” Mike grinned. His cheeks were flushed in such a pretty way, almost as enchanting as the sapphire orbs that followed Harvey, and the goblin could neither bear to wipe them down nor berate Mike for his ridiculous clichés.
“Go to sleep,” he said instead, a smile tugging at his mouth upon seeing how Mike's eyelashes immediately fluttered to comply. His master's breath evened out, the chest of his newly attired shirt, no longer stained with blood, rising and falling slowly. Harvey knew he should leave, then. He'd been sitting by the human's side for the last day already.
“Harvey...” Mike mumbled in his sleep, the word sighed out with such feeling. Harvey stared down at him. He wouldn't put a name to that feeling - at least not till Mike explicated his logic for allocating to the mighty demon-eater the innocuous name he did - but he would stay.
Even an order wouldn't change his mind.
Fin!
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Title: Eidetic Witness
Warnings: PG-13 for mentions of serial killing.
Other Notes: ~500w. Gen. Some angst. Crossover with Criminal Minds, which is a procedural crime drama where a team of behavioral analysts use victimology and psychology to catch killers. Spencer/Mike pre-friendship or slash, however you want to see it. Spencer also has an eidetic memory and one even stronger than Mike's.
Summary: Everything about Mike Ross suggests him to be the killer. He knows too much, claims he remembers what very few possibly could, but Spencer feels this strange connection with him that annuls all that.
Eidetic Witness
In an NYPD interrogation room, Mike Ross sits, his blue eyes, dark smudges beneath them, tucked down to a coffee stain on the tabletop. His shoulders are hunched and he's mumbling silently, more to himself than anything, while picking at the handcuffs around his wrists. Everything about his shifty demeanor suggests guilt and yet...
“Hotch, can I take this one?” Spencer asks, drawing his boss's attention away from the unsub and to him. After a moment, Hotch nods. It's something of a surprise for Spencer to choose a task beside geographical profiling, but it's not dramatically rare, either. Just different.
“If you think it will help,” Hotch says. “He's been maintaining his innocence since we brought him in.”
“And he may not be lying. Uh, gimme a minute with him.” Hotch nods again and Spencer heads into the room, prompting Mike to look up at him, something like relief painting over his face.
When the BAU visited Pearson Hardman earlier, he and Spencer had a brief discussion about Battle Star Galactica, after Spencer heard him explaining it to an irate coworker. Mike is comfortable around Spencer and that's another reason why he's the best person to man this task.
“Do you know why you're here?” Spencer asks the younger man.
Mike nods dejectedly and mumbles, “You think I'm the killer. I fit every aspect of your profile.” Spencer opens his mouth to confirm this, but Mike cuts him off, the craning of his neck curt and determined now. “But you don't get it. I didn't come forward to involve myself in the investigation purposefully. I was at one crime scene and your debriefing. You guys said anyone who remembered something should contact you.”
“You remember too much,” Spencer counters gently. “Every detail from the first scene and our description of the unsub. You connected it too easily to a stranger you saw a week ago and even the best witness isn't that attuned to the details.” Mike doesn't reply at first, so he adds, “Our technical analyst also figured out your fraud.”
Mike's face falls. “I-I know I shouldn't have done that, th-the lying about my qualifications, but I wouldn't hurt anybody.”
“Then how do you recall so much?” Spencer asks, taking the seat across from him, to better appraise the young man's bright eyes.
“Because I remember everything,” Mike says, the words choked out through gritted teeth. Spencer stares at him, searching for signs of honesty, finding them everywhere. At least his unexpected bond with this suspect was now explained.
Fin!
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A/N: Oh gosh, that was a lot to throw at you, wasn't it? I probably could have posted some of these individually, but I'm lazy and I still have to make similar entries for all the Supernatural fics I wrote. :P I hope you liked at least one of these, though! Please let me know which is your favorite, if you get ambitious and read them all? ;D
Disclaimer: I, ladyknightanka, do not own Suits. Underlined things and pop-culture references aren't mine. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission.
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Title: Zombiepocalypse
Warnings: PG-13 for language, mentioned violence and some angst.
Other Notes: ~150w. Harvey/Mike. Some angst. Zombie apocalypse AU.
Summary: The apocalypse happens and the world is overrun by zombies. Pearson Hardman becomes a resistance group.
Zombiepocalypse
“Quit fidgeting,” Donna reprimanded, her mouth pursing half in worry, half in irritation, as her eyes flicked away from their armory - previously Pearson Hardman's filing room - to his grimacing face, likely losing count of how much ammo they had remaining.
Mike was out there - fighting, surviving - and she didn't bother to remind Harvey that it was his fault the rookie was without backup, since he'd been the one to blow out his shoulder during their last crucial mission, but she didn't actually have to.
He heard the crow of exhalation outside their barricaded door, hushed compared to the rambunctious victory cries the associates shared not a year ago, before peers were lost to Armageddon, and Mike's voice cheerily declaring, “I kicked some zombie ass, Harvey!” was finally enough to soothe his frazzled nerves again.
Fin!
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Title: White Collar Noose
Warnings: PG for mentions of criminality.
Other Notes: ~150w. Harvey/Mike. Slight angst. Crime AU.
Summary: When Harvey isn't Mike's doting boyfriend, he's a career criminal.
White Collar Noose
“Have a good day, Harvey,” Mike said, planting a sweet kiss on his lips that left him slightly dazed, before dashing out the door to a job unworthy of him, as some douchebag's personal assistant - or, more accurately, punching bag.
“You know,” Donna smirked from Harvey's imported Japanese sofa, visiting on the vaguely accurate excuse of discussing 'business' with him again, “it was only with Mike's help that we cracked our last vault code, and while I think it's adorable that he believes you when you tell him it's for a game, don't you think it's time he found out the truth?”
Harvey sighed and flopped down beside her, still elegant even when exhausted, then replied, “I'll talk to him tonight,” though the idea of corrupting his boyfriend's naivety honestly horrified him.
Fin!
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Title: Serving Mr. Handsome Suit
Warnings: G
Other Notes: ~200w. Harvey/Mike. Fluff. Coffee shop AU.
Summary: Mike serves the handsome lawyer all the time. Now, he just has to work up the courage to actually talk to him.
Serving Mr. Handsome Suit
There was a frown of consternation marring Handsome Suit's previously unlined forehead, his agitation emphasized by the fact that he'd taken one look at the long line of customers in front of the counter, then elegantly dropped into a free booth, too annoyed to bear with it.
Mike bit his lip and rang the closest person's purchase up, wishing caffeine wasn't the lifeblood of New York, no matter how much he loved it himself, so he could go and immediately sate his curiosity - obsession, as Trevor would say - with this man.
When he was finally free to visit Handsome Suit's table, he heard him snap into his expensive phone, “That property is still applicable for inheritance, by way of-” and finished, “Hereditament,” for him, setting down the coffee order that he'd already memorized by heart, before shyly grinning at the impressed glance gifted to him.
“Harvey Specter,” the man eventually said, smoothly flicking his cellphone shut, which only served to etch Mike's smile wider, mostly because Harvey now considered him worthy of introduction, but the fact that his name and Handsome Suit shared the same initials was pretty funny, too.
Fin!
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Title: Puppy Love at First Sight
Warnings: PG for mentions of bullying.
Other Notes: ~200w. Harvey/Mike. Fluff. High school AU.
Summary: Harvey is a popular jock. Mike's the smart underclassman. Kyle and Seth are the bullies no one cares about.
Puppy Love at First Sight
Harvey rolled his eyes as Seth and Kyle, two of his most obnoxious teammates, began prodding at each other with baseball bats, wondering if he, being the team captain, should intervene, but the decision was taken out of his hands when Kyle noticed a scrawny looking blond kid, whom Harvey vaguely recognized to be genius sophomore Mike Ross from his AP math class, cut through the diamond, just inside the cage.
“Watch this!” Kyle gibed, sneering in a manner that would irk even Star Trek's Khan, before swiping a baseball up from their spares and chucking it at the kid, who made a distressed sound when it impacted against his arm, already weighed down by a curiously long novel with a dragon on the cover.
Harvey shot Kyle a withering glare that could bring a lesser man to his knees - and rest assured, Kyle Durant was nothing, if not that - then ran to the kid's aid, recoiling in surprise when bright, unaffected blue eyes locked onto his, their owner cheerily proclaiming, “Dude, you should replace Durant for Zane, cause he pitches more like a girl than she does,” and suddenly Mike Ross had wormed himself into Harvey Specter's attentions.
Fin!
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Title: Did it Hurt When You Fell From Heaven?
Warnings: PG for some blasphemy, blood and language.
Other Notes: ~800w. Harvey/Mike. Flangst. Angel AU. Very, very vague Supernatural references.
Summary: Harvey Specter didn't believe in God until an angel literally fell into his life.
Did it Hurt When You Fell From Heaven?
“I-I'm not lying! I swear to God!” their client's opposition shouts. His doughy hands begin fingering the cross at his neck, clammy with sweat.
Harvey smirks and Jessica shoots him a warning look. “And we're sure you take your beliefs quite seriously, Mr. Greyson, but the fact of the matter is, we can't know for certain. The evidence denotes otherwise,” she says, to keep her senior partner from earning them an unwanted lawsuit. He wouldn't be nearly so tactful.
Harvey rolls his eyes, but behaves and lets her wow him for the rest of the meeting. She is pretty amazing. He wouldn't let anyone boss him around if they weren't. When she loosens her grip on his leash, however, he lets out a sigh of relief. Let Louis be her lapdog next time.
It isn't that Harvey doesn't believe in God. He didn't used to, but recent developments had convinced him, to put it lightly. He just isn't part of the Sunday morning crowd, that's all. And he's really glad to be getting home, for a somewhat unrelated but also relevant reason. It's complicated.
He waves at Ray without looking back when they reach his condo and hears the towncar's engine whir behind him. “Mr. Specter, someone should be up to take a look at your ceiling soon,” the doorman informs him.
Harvey stiffens and dredges up a smile. “Yes, well...they can take their time. I know how busy work can get.” This inspires a more appreciative regard from the doorman, who's apparently surprised by Harvey's blasé charity. He ducks his head down in respect as Harvey lopes past and seemingly doesn't notice his rush to get to the elevators.
Harvey lets himself relax inside one of the glass structures. The world seems so different within it. He wonders, the same way he's been wondering for the past week, if this is what it looks like for Mike? The sunlight broaching through his shattered ceiling, at the very top floor, does nothing to disperse his ruminations, but it makes it all too evident that his living room is empty.
“Mike?” Harvey calls out, his heart already starting to palpitate in his ribcage. With his injuries, caused by a sudden confrontation with the aforementioned ceiling, there was no way Mike would be wandering around amok. Harvey runs into the hallway and begins tearing through the whole apartment, Mike's name a mantra on his lips.
There's no way Mike can survive all by himself. He's clumsy, he's afraid of the fire alarm and the stove, he thinks Harvey's two thousand dollar shoes are meant to wear on hands, that imported European treasures are shiny toys to juggle. He's pretty, with his glowing blue eyes and his small, birdlike mouth. Everything about him is beautiful, pure, and no one will nurture that the way Harvey tries to. The thought of anyone violating Mike is enough to run Harvey's blood dry.
And then another thought stops him cold. Mike doesn't speak, not while Harvey's awake. It was only in Harvey's dream, the night Mike fell into his life, that he first revealed, ”Harvey Specter, righteous man, I am the archangel Michael.” He's an angel - the prince of goddamn Heaven, if Harvey remembers Sunday school correctly - so what if Mike is gone? What if he went back home?
He hears a rustle from another room. It's enough to send air back into Harvey's lungs, which strain when he rushes to the source of the sound: his bedroom. He enters and he's not so certain of that anymore.
His clothes are strewn all over the floor, so that he can't even see his plush carpet. He now notices that the cushions from his living room have been relocated to the bed, as have every blanket or sheet in his house, his Japanese silk robe, guest room pillows, and a few stuffed animals Donna gave him that he'd thought were hidden better - basically, anything and everything soft within a mile radius.
Amid the mess sits Mike, who stares at Harvey with his huge blue eyes, a sweet smile forming on his mouth, his ivory wings spanning throughout the entirety of the room and shedding delicate feathers that will be a pain to clean up tomorrow.
He cocks his head at Harvey's gruff, “You really scared me, puppy,” and doesn't protest when the dark-haired lawyer climbs up beside him, his careful hands reaching out to touch Mike's wings. Red spots blot the white of feathers and bandages alike, but less than the day before. “You made a nest, huh? Guess you're really here to stay?” Harvey asks.
Mike doesn't answer, does nothing but beam all the brighter, yet Harvey feels his heart elate in a way it hasn't for years.
Fin!
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Title: Dashing Paper Dolls
Warnings: PG-13 for language and innuendo.
Other Notes: ~1k. Harvey/Mike. Humor. AU.
Summary: After losing his temper with the wrong person and sealing his doom, Harvey is 'persuaded' by Donna to take up a creative hobby. The adorable employee at the arts and crafts store is his terrible week's only saving grace.
Dashing Paper Dolls
Sometimes, being Harvey Specter was sadly overrated.
His client, an obnoxious old woman he already hated to meet, who was thankfully agoraphobic and scheduled their discussions for only once every two years, had abruptly decided to marry a considerably younger man, to whom she was passing on everything. She refused to heed Harvey's warnings about the suspicious situation at all, which meant he ended up awake all night, not quite begging Moneypenny to dig up something juicy on old Madam Dunham's husband-to-be.
He did eventually get some dirt - everyone had skeletons in their closet - and Madam Dunham agreed to reevaluate her decision. She was so stubborn that that was the best he could get out of her, even though he was Harvey freaking Specter, best goddamn closer in New York. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to deter his bad mood, and Harvey was so sleep-deprived that he made a fatal mistake: he harshly berated Donna for something that wasn't really her fault. He signed his own death warrant.
For the next two days, he ran around in a frenzy to accommodate clients whose meetings were suddenly rescheduled to the ass crack of dawn or the dead of night. His calls were dropped, no one reminded him to send his mother flowers when she was in a snit, and Jessica got pissed off at him for not coming when she beckoned him to her office - which he hadn't been told she'd wanted in the first place. Harvey tried valiantly to resist - because he was Harvey and no one, not even Donna, though he was certain she was his twin soul, got the best of him - but it was only a matter of time.
“Donna,” he said Monday morning, his arms laden with flowers and candy. She canted an eyebrow at him and he continued gruffly, “I'm sorry for taking my anger out on you. That wasn't fair. You're the best secretary in the whole world,” and a manipulative siren besides, he didn't add.
Donna scrutinized him from her desk for an uncomfortably long minute, then beamed beneficently. “You're forgiven, Harvey. It's obvious to me that you've been working too hard and simply need to relax some,” she replied.
“And what would you suggest?” he indulged, still in brow-nosing mode. He diligently did not mention how much harder she'd been making it for him. His cheek probably wouldn't recover from that bite.
Donna grinned wider, if that was even possible, and leaned forward on her elbows. “Arts and crafts,” she whispered sagely, as if it was the answer to the meaning of life. When she caught Harvey's blasphemed stare, she puffed up into a glower. “Don't look at me like that! It's actually very soothing to express your emotions creatively. A new store opened up a month ago, only a few blocks from here, and Rachel dragged me along with her last weekend. It was fun.”
“I think I'll just break open a vintage wine and sit in my jacuzzi,” Harvey answered dryly. Donna scowled at him. He squared his shoulders and scowled back.
Needless to say, Harvey tersely handed a flier from the new store to Ray upon leaving work that day. “This looks...entertaining,” his driver said.
“Very,” Harvey grunted in reply. He ignored Ray's smile, which became apparent within the rear-view mirror, and tapped his fingers atop his knee impatiently. He'd just go to the store, pick up some glitter and colored paper, then make a ball or something. Short, sweet and appealing to Donna's temper. He hoped.
The store was nothing special. Michael's. Harvey wasn't one for art, lest it was simply looking at or sometimes purchasing it, but even he recognized the name to be one of a chain. Bright lights assaulted his eyes as soon as he entered and he blinked to gain his vision back. In that instant, a tiny bundle bumped into his legs, then ran away sans apology. There were kids barreling through the aisles. Great.
He began walking through a random one aimlessly, grabbing at little boxes of Play-Doh, construction paper, glitter and the like without bothering to look at brand names or prices. Finally, with his arms as heavy as his mood, he started for an unoccupied register line.
And promptly collided against someone else. “I'm so sorry,” a male voice exclaimed. Harvey was grateful that it didn't belong to a grade-school menace, at least. “Would you like some help, sir?”
Harvey barely restrained himself from barking, “What do you think?” His purchases, however unwanted, were strewn all over the dirty floor, and he was kneeling in his expensive Tom Ford pants, possibly crinkling them, because of some idiot wearing battered Converse, who stood way too close to Harvey's face.
Then, without waiting for an answer, his assailant bent down and Harvey was confronted with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. He wisely swallowed down his rude remark and let the blond-haired young man, who wore an apron that proclaimed him to be Mike and smiled sweeter than a Disneyland employee, hand his stuff back to him.
“For your kid?” Mike guessed, grinning cheerily.
Harvey internally scoffed. “No.”
Mike laughed. Even with all the noises around them - the giggles of children, parents shouting, delicate materials dropping and cracking on the floor - the sound rang clear. “You look as if you're bringing home self-torture implements,” he teased.
“In a sense, I am,” Harvey said, then plastered a charming smirk onto his lips. “I'm Harvey Specter, corporate attorney.”
Mike arched his eyebrows, but didn't seem all that impressed. “Well, Mr. Specter,” he began innocently, “if you're really scared of being all alone with these terrifying Crayola products, I'm teaching an arts and crafts class just over there.” He thumbed in the direction of a paint-splotched door, his eyes bright with amusement. “You're a little older than our usual age range...”
“I would love to, Mike,” Harvey interrupted gravely, “but I might ruin my fellow students' self-confidence with my sheer talent and awesome presence. I fear it would be best for me to receive your tutelage on a more, shall could say, intimate level.”
“Oh really?” Mike laughed, his eyebrow cocked again. “How self-sacrificial of you, Mr. Specter.”
“Please, call me Harvey,” Harvey answered, donning a martyr's charitable smile.
The next day, he slammed a poorly made clay mug that read World's Greatest Closer IN GLITTERY SCRAWL onto Donna's desk. “You can keep it. I already got some.”
Fin!
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Title: What's in a Name?
Warnings: PG-13 for violence and language.
Other Notes: ~800w. Harvey/Mike. Kind of angsty. Fusion with the anime/manga Tactics. Links to Wiki if you want a brief bio before reading, but I'm not sure it's necessary. All you have to know is, feral monsters can be indentured to humans if you name them.
Summary: In a world where supernatural creatures coexist with humanity, Mike is a young exorcist, master to the fox demon Donna and the infamous demon-eating goblin, Harvey. Louis and his minions are hunters who want Mike to unbind Harvey, so they can gain the acclaim for destroying the famous demon-eater, but Mike would rather die than allow that. Harvey just wishes his master wasn't so stupid.
What's in a Name?
“You don't have to do this, Louis,” Mike said softly, his staff grasped in lax fingers with one hand, the position nowhere near defensive enough.
Harvey looked between his master's gentle baby blue eyes - Seer eyes, more luminous than the expensive glass wine bottles Harvey compulsively collected - and Louis's familiar, snakelike sneer, his own expression a mask of vexation, black wings twitching behind him. Mike always had to do this, no matter how horrible the human or demon they faced. He always had to see the good in them, as if it honestly existed.
“If you'd release the demon-eater - your precious Harvey - to me, then it wouldn't be necessary,” Louis replied, hefting a slim sword from one manicured hand to the other. He probably thought it was intimidating, with its gilded hilt and bejeweled blade. Harvey simply found it tacky.
Mike's lips pursed. “You know I can't do that. Harvey...he's important to me. I won't let you hurt him.”
“Just let him try!” Harvey was ready to bark. His wings flexed with agitation now, the way human athletes flaunted muscled limbs to cow one another, but the sleek black feathers, spanning farther than his body was tall, were infinitely more breathtaking. Although Mike didn't glance their way, Louis did, his already thin lips tightening further.
“That's too bad,” he said quietly. His head inclined, the tilt of his chin subtle.
From all his years of life, little though he recalled of it, Harvey had gained an intrinsic ability to read people. Donna, the fiery little fox demon who served Mike - in name, literally, but not in behavior - was vaguely annoyed by the masculine standoff, but the way her furry ears stood on edge belied her true anxiety. Louis' peons, Kyle and Seth, hadn't taken their focus off Mike the whole time, their murderous glares due to all the times their leader had punished them for failing to subdue the bleeding-heart exorcist.
At Louis's gesture, however, they surged into action with an earsplitting battle cry. Harvey had no time to act, could do nothing but listen to Donna scream, when a hot burst of his master's blood sprayed across his expensive suit. A red rose blossomed on the heart of Mike's own white dress shirt, his black jacket long discarded on the floor.
“H-Harvey,” the human murmured, a name precious to him for reasons he'd never disclosed, before he fell back like a puppet with its strings cut. Donna was still talking - cursing, actually, her frenzy growing - but Harvey didn't look away from the crumpled figure on the ground, not until his claws grew sharp and his eyes flared red.
He lost himself to his rage and knew no more.
Later, he felt a hand constrict weakly in his own and scrutinized Mike, now laying in his own bed, which Harvey had flown him back to - a task that was far too easy, in the goblin's opinion. Donna had helped him patch Mike's injuries up, but soon left their master in Harvey's care, wearing that infuriatingly knowing smirk despite her evident worry.
“Harv...ey?” Mike mumbled, his blue eyes fever bright. Harvey scowled down at the little menace and didn't reply, opting to remove the tepid towel on Mike's forehead for another dip in the bowl of ice water Donna had left them. Mike gasped at the cool sensation and arched into his touch.
Although he'd never admit it, Harvey felt a burst of warmth brim in his chest. Jessica, a fellow goblin, would have laughed at how human that affection was, her lips and ivory wings curled mockingly. Harvey put the thought aside from his mind and grumbled, “You're an idiot.”
“Your idiot,” Mike grinned. His cheeks were flushed in such a pretty way, almost as enchanting as the sapphire orbs that followed Harvey, and the goblin could neither bear to wipe them down nor berate Mike for his ridiculous clichés.
“Go to sleep,” he said instead, a smile tugging at his mouth upon seeing how Mike's eyelashes immediately fluttered to comply. His master's breath evened out, the chest of his newly attired shirt, no longer stained with blood, rising and falling slowly. Harvey knew he should leave, then. He'd been sitting by the human's side for the last day already.
“Harvey...” Mike mumbled in his sleep, the word sighed out with such feeling. Harvey stared down at him. He wouldn't put a name to that feeling - at least not till Mike explicated his logic for allocating to the mighty demon-eater the innocuous name he did - but he would stay.
Even an order wouldn't change his mind.
Fin!
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Title: Eidetic Witness
Warnings: PG-13 for mentions of serial killing.
Other Notes: ~500w. Gen. Some angst. Crossover with Criminal Minds, which is a procedural crime drama where a team of behavioral analysts use victimology and psychology to catch killers. Spencer/Mike pre-friendship or slash, however you want to see it. Spencer also has an eidetic memory and one even stronger than Mike's.
Summary: Everything about Mike Ross suggests him to be the killer. He knows too much, claims he remembers what very few possibly could, but Spencer feels this strange connection with him that annuls all that.
Eidetic Witness
In an NYPD interrogation room, Mike Ross sits, his blue eyes, dark smudges beneath them, tucked down to a coffee stain on the tabletop. His shoulders are hunched and he's mumbling silently, more to himself than anything, while picking at the handcuffs around his wrists. Everything about his shifty demeanor suggests guilt and yet...
“Hotch, can I take this one?” Spencer asks, drawing his boss's attention away from the unsub and to him. After a moment, Hotch nods. It's something of a surprise for Spencer to choose a task beside geographical profiling, but it's not dramatically rare, either. Just different.
“If you think it will help,” Hotch says. “He's been maintaining his innocence since we brought him in.”
“And he may not be lying. Uh, gimme a minute with him.” Hotch nods again and Spencer heads into the room, prompting Mike to look up at him, something like relief painting over his face.
When the BAU visited Pearson Hardman earlier, he and Spencer had a brief discussion about Battle Star Galactica, after Spencer heard him explaining it to an irate coworker. Mike is comfortable around Spencer and that's another reason why he's the best person to man this task.
“Do you know why you're here?” Spencer asks the younger man.
Mike nods dejectedly and mumbles, “You think I'm the killer. I fit every aspect of your profile.” Spencer opens his mouth to confirm this, but Mike cuts him off, the craning of his neck curt and determined now. “But you don't get it. I didn't come forward to involve myself in the investigation purposefully. I was at one crime scene and your debriefing. You guys said anyone who remembered something should contact you.”
“You remember too much,” Spencer counters gently. “Every detail from the first scene and our description of the unsub. You connected it too easily to a stranger you saw a week ago and even the best witness isn't that attuned to the details.” Mike doesn't reply at first, so he adds, “Our technical analyst also figured out your fraud.”
Mike's face falls. “I-I know I shouldn't have done that, th-the lying about my qualifications, but I wouldn't hurt anybody.”
“Then how do you recall so much?” Spencer asks, taking the seat across from him, to better appraise the young man's bright eyes.
“Because I remember everything,” Mike says, the words choked out through gritted teeth. Spencer stares at him, searching for signs of honesty, finding them everywhere. At least his unexpected bond with this suspect was now explained.
Fin!
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A/N: Oh gosh, that was a lot to throw at you, wasn't it? I probably could have posted some of these individually, but I'm lazy and I still have to make similar entries for all the Supernatural fics I wrote. :P I hope you liked at least one of these, though! Please let me know which is your favorite, if you get ambitious and read them all? ;D