Fic: Gran Knows Best (Suits, Gen)
Title: Gran Knows Best
Fandom: Suits
Characters: Harvey and Mike, with appearances of Mike's grandma, Donna, Ray, and Trevor.
Rating: G
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 2411
Beta:
blooms84 - 'Nuff said.
Warnings: Spoiler for episode 5 'Bail Out'
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. Kthxbye.
Summary: Gran has always known what's best for Mike.
When Mike heard the voice from the other end of the phone, the one he wasn't expecting, he turned, unconsciously and briefly, toward the heavy oak door through which he'd just jogged.
He felt the blood in his veins turn a little cold, rush a little fast. His breath fall a tad short. But he didn't freak out. Knew it was only a matter of time before they got to him one way or another. And there could be many explanations for the fact that it was Trevor's number on the caller ID -
Then Trevor's cry boomed through the air. A pathetic, pretentious act of sacrifice in Mike's ear. Trevor, his only friend for all these years, knew all too well that telling Mike not to come when he was in mortal danger would be more effective than actually beckoning.
Didn't mean he was going to call him on it and leave him out to dry. Reluctant or not, Mike had to admit that he was a too well-trained puppy to Trevor's high-pitched whistle call.
Fifty thousand.
Mike stood, phone in hand, rod straight; his back feeling the chill from the marble pillar in the over-air-conditioned space. Closing his eyes, he laid out all options and strategies available to him at this point in his head. Which were under a handful - not optimal.
He didn't have this kind of cash idling in his bank account or stashed in coffee cans. He wouldn’t even bother asking Jenny; he knew she didn’t have money, not to mention that she didn’t want anything to do with Trevor at the moment.
Gran...He shook his head, her words still ringing fresh in his head from last time they talked.
You're moving forward, and he'll do whatever he can to keep you where you are.
That kid is an anchor. You need to cut him loose.
Screw Trevor.
She had always been spunky and certainly said what was on her mind. Even in front of Mike, her precious grandson. But the harshness in those words was unprecedented and shocking. Someone unaware of Trevor's history might even call them unkind. Mike hadn't realized the amount of animosity that had built up between Gran and Trevor, who she hadn't seen in years. Nevertheless, she knew him better than either Mike or Jenny did, all along.
Obviously, the chances were pretty slim that she'd feel charitable enough to make a monetary donation to help Mike lasso Trevor out of a ditch he dug up himself. Even if she had the cash and was using it as coasters.
Maybe he could get a loan...Mike shook his head again. Besides the 20 percent minimum default interest rate, the odds were that with his credit scores and employment history (both near nonexistent), he wouldn't be able to find any banks that would approve his application. Sure, his next payday was coming up, but it wouldn't be any help, seeing he’d literally just started at the firm.
Work. Mike opened his eyes. It was the one thing he could not afford to lose. Not this job. Not with all the hope it presented. Not even Trevor had the power to take that away from him now that he had it. The trial was still ongoing - even though they were at the wrap-up stage - and it was his job to assist Harvey. He couldn't abandon his responsibility.
But - a small voice nudged - this was not a case of Trevor simply being bullied. He could lose a finger. An ear. Those people would do anything. It was just business.
Harvey. Surely he would have -
The thought was squashed before it even had a sprouting chance. The man was his boss. And he already knew Mike’s biggest secret. It would be crossing the line to ask him for help. For money.
Mike pushed off the wall and headed for the double doors. First he needed to get moving. He'd think of something soon. He just hoped it would be soon enough.
*
It seemed that he kept failing when it came to hiding things from Harvey Specter. Mike had stolen into the courtroom, grabbed his bag while murmuring apologies, and was poised to make the escape. But a hand on his arm had stopped him. When he turned instinctively, those eyes that met his were searching, keen as ever; below, the mouth was set into a line that Mike had started to learn meant Arguing is futile.
By the time they walked out into the streets, Mike was already loosing the battle. Harvey had figured out with lightning speed that the trouble he got himself into this time had a name and it was Trevor. Mike, nonetheless, was still trying his best to keep up the attitude - one that could get him fired. But he had to save his fuck-up of a friend from a couple of loan shark types whose jaws were clamping down faster than you could say "snap", and he didn't have the means or a viable plan, meaning he was going to say or do whatever he could to stall, to beg. Or fail. And he would much rather it happened where Harvey could not see, where he would not be disappointed and disgusted.
Cut him loose. He'd all but ordered Mike that day after Jessica had flounced out of his office, the words pinging against Mike's thick skull.
He didn't know how it happened. All he remembered was Addicts. Fall. The penthouse. Tell me what's going on, and palms, flat against his chest, only for a breath of a heartbeat. Before he realized it, they'd arrived at the entrance to the Firm in a cab, and Harvey was talking about getting evidence from the security and risk assessment and thinking three steps ahead. Next thing he knew, Harvey was gone. In his suit, the ridiculous Mad Men hair, clutching that suitcase in a confident hold, looking for all the world like an intrepid knight in his shining black armor. Or an arrogant diplomat, certain he'll ace the upcoming peace talk. Anything but a cautious crisis negotiator. Watching his car pull away, Mike felt, for a quiet moment, like there was a pretty good chance of things turning out all right in the end.
Donna was furious.
"You did what? And Harvey's gone where to meet who?"
Mike was sure that tone she was using qualified as growling. He'd never heard anyone growl in real life before. Coming from a slim, thin-lipped, red-headed woman in a pair of extremely pointy five-inch stilettos, it was unspeakably terrifying.
"Don't worry - Ray's with him -"
"Ray is not a trained personal body guard! Not to mention with those people" - it only took a twitch of her nose to show the patent disgust - "He'd need at least half of dozen of those. I can't believe -- How could you. The least you should have done was go with him!"
"He told me to stay - "
"And you've always done exactly what he told you to do, like a good puppy?"
What is with this puppy analogy, Mike couldn't help groaning in his head. Though she had a point.
"Calm down. I'm going. Now. I'm going to get him back, safe. All right?"
“Just don’t screw up his plan. I’m sure he prepared an offer they wouldn't be able to refuse.”
Sometimes, Mike thought as he sprinted toward the elevator, that unwavering blind faith in Harvey’s ability was the most worrying amongst his super secretary’s myriad personal quirks and qualities.
*
It had been thirty-five minutes since Mike stood at the foot of the mirrored face of the towering building, whistling at the passing cabs; fifteen since he saw Ray and joined him by the side of the limo. He was getting a bit on edge.
He didn't get to see Harvey go in - not even a glimpse of the immaculate lines of his back. Ray told him that when they got here, a thuggish late twenty-something stepped out of a shadow, having evidently waited for the large black vehicle to come to a full stop in front of the appointed building. Apparently his body language, according to Ray the Profiler, was not tense; indicating that they felt a certain degree of control over the situation, meaning they were less likely to try anything too drastic toward the man they held, or the one coming in with what they thought was a caseful of green.
Though, Ray noted with an involuntary glance toward the entryway into the dilapidated concrete structure, the man was also carrying a firearm under his jacket.
Fuck. Mike had cursed with force under his breath. He was bothered by this bit of info against all logic and common sense. Empirically and statistically, the presence of guns in this sort of scenario was to be expected, even assumed. The presence of guns was not tantamount to an inevitable violent outcome - an impromptu mantra he began chanting in his head, when images spun out, unbidden, from the depth of his memory.
A man in a dark suit, doubled over, all muffled grunting of sharp pain. He's holding his nose, fingers covered in crimson, bright in the dark. It's not a nosebleed; the right nasal wall is slit cleanly open.
Not the ideal time to call up the famous scene from Chinatown, Mike gave his big brain a hard kick. Not when he was in the middle of New York’s Chinatown waiting to hear from his boss who was conducting a freaking hostage negotiation in his place.
Suddenly he straightened up with a sharp intake of breath, when the white hot clarity over the present situation smacked down full impact. He looked around wildly at the bright reflections of storefronts and bumping pedestrians in the near distance, as something quick and spiny, like panic, like fear, plunged under his skin - or rose from beneath it.
What's happening in there? Should he call the police? Had it been a mistake to allow Harvey to strut in there, his wits the only thing on him that could slice, his swagger the only thing that could stun?
What had he done?
A quick tap on his shoulder snapped Mike out of his fugue; it was Ray. Mike turned in time to see his head jerk toward the so far vacant entryway.
"They're out."
Sure enough, two familiar figures emerged into the sunlight and walked toward the limo, one after the other. With a split second once-over, Mike determined there was not a scratch on either of the men, and a gust of breath rushed out before he knew he was holding it.
Mike sprang toward the figures, while noticing Ray pulling the driver's side door open to settle into the seat, already resuming his duty. Donna's face and How could you flashed across his mind. It undoubtedly said something about his boss if the man was able to inspire such protectiveness and loyalty in people around him.
Harvey was wearing his trademark poker face,with maybe just the barest undertone of annoyance. All the muscles and lines and angles being employed to deliver that chink-free mask of 'I don't care about anything but my own interests'. Mike would be damned if he believed that bucket of bushwa now.
"Thanks" - was all he said as the two of them brushed pass each other, before he continued toward Trevor to give him a hug - after a dope slap and 'How could you be so fucking dumb'.
Gratitude would be properly expressed later. Mike made a mental note as he walked side by side with his personal trouble generator, staring into the back of the man who'd swooped in and saved the day without mussing up one single hair. At the very least, next time Harvey dropped the puppy analogy, Mike was not going to bat an eye.
*
"Tell me more about Harvey." Putting her fork down with a clink, Gran asked.
It had been a week since the incident and Mike was again visiting her. What he’d told Mrs. Mcafee hadn't been fake.
Of course, he didn't tell Gran any of the events from that day. Lest she get all upset over Mike's endangering his new job for 'the anchor' (interesting how Gran and Harvey had used the same word to tag Trevor). But he couldn't help mentioning Harvey here and there in the routine chitchat. His morbid obsession with inordinately fancy suits. His absurd hair style (imagining him plaster his head with a ridiculous amount of gooey gel in the morning always tickled Mike). His penchant for getting people to reveal their true motives by provoking them with outrageous questions point blank (though it usually did work - for him).
He knew it was out of character for him to be talking so animatedly about someone from work - typically a subject he steered away from. He hadn’t meant to do it today. It's just, well, what Harvey did for him that day had been on his mind a lot, partly because he really did appreciate it, partly because Why did he do it? And Gran had always had a way of drawing things out of him even when he intended to hide them.
Still, he hadn't expected Gran to take an active interest.
"You want to know more about my boss?" Mike asked, surprised, perhaps a tad nervous. "Why?"
Gran gave a half-shrug like some dopey teenager. "He sounds like a compelling character. I like compelling. Besides," her brows did a little jump, like they were casting a clue. "He seems to be a positive influence on you. He takes care of you. I certainly like that. So come on, don’t be a scrooge."
Mike opened his big mouth to argue that he didn't need taking care of and that more often than not Harvey slaved him like, well, like a boss . But he saw the glint in Gran's eyes that shimmered whenever she was genuinely delighted, and couldn’t help curling up one corner of his lips at her.
Maybe he could ask her how to thank someone for saving his butt. Maybe if he's stealthy enough about it, she wouldn't realize that it's the same someone who'd given him a second chance at a better life.
FINIS
Fandom: Suits
Characters: Harvey and Mike, with appearances of Mike's grandma, Donna, Ray, and Trevor.
Rating: G
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 2411
Beta:
blooms84 - 'Nuff said.
Warnings: Spoiler for episode 5 'Bail Out'
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. Kthxbye.
Summary: Gran has always known what's best for Mike.
When Mike heard the voice from the other end of the phone, the one he wasn't expecting, he turned, unconsciously and briefly, toward the heavy oak door through which he'd just jogged.
He felt the blood in his veins turn a little cold, rush a little fast. His breath fall a tad short. But he didn't freak out. Knew it was only a matter of time before they got to him one way or another. And there could be many explanations for the fact that it was Trevor's number on the caller ID -
Then Trevor's cry boomed through the air. A pathetic, pretentious act of sacrifice in Mike's ear. Trevor, his only friend for all these years, knew all too well that telling Mike not to come when he was in mortal danger would be more effective than actually beckoning.
Didn't mean he was going to call him on it and leave him out to dry. Reluctant or not, Mike had to admit that he was a too well-trained puppy to Trevor's high-pitched whistle call.
Fifty thousand.
Mike stood, phone in hand, rod straight; his back feeling the chill from the marble pillar in the over-air-conditioned space. Closing his eyes, he laid out all options and strategies available to him at this point in his head. Which were under a handful - not optimal.
He didn't have this kind of cash idling in his bank account or stashed in coffee cans. He wouldn’t even bother asking Jenny; he knew she didn’t have money, not to mention that she didn’t want anything to do with Trevor at the moment.
Gran...He shook his head, her words still ringing fresh in his head from last time they talked.
You're moving forward, and he'll do whatever he can to keep you where you are.
That kid is an anchor. You need to cut him loose.
Screw Trevor.
She had always been spunky and certainly said what was on her mind. Even in front of Mike, her precious grandson. But the harshness in those words was unprecedented and shocking. Someone unaware of Trevor's history might even call them unkind. Mike hadn't realized the amount of animosity that had built up between Gran and Trevor, who she hadn't seen in years. Nevertheless, she knew him better than either Mike or Jenny did, all along.
Obviously, the chances were pretty slim that she'd feel charitable enough to make a monetary donation to help Mike lasso Trevor out of a ditch he dug up himself. Even if she had the cash and was using it as coasters.
Maybe he could get a loan...Mike shook his head again. Besides the 20 percent minimum default interest rate, the odds were that with his credit scores and employment history (both near nonexistent), he wouldn't be able to find any banks that would approve his application. Sure, his next payday was coming up, but it wouldn't be any help, seeing he’d literally just started at the firm.
Work. Mike opened his eyes. It was the one thing he could not afford to lose. Not this job. Not with all the hope it presented. Not even Trevor had the power to take that away from him now that he had it. The trial was still ongoing - even though they were at the wrap-up stage - and it was his job to assist Harvey. He couldn't abandon his responsibility.
But - a small voice nudged - this was not a case of Trevor simply being bullied. He could lose a finger. An ear. Those people would do anything. It was just business.
Harvey. Surely he would have -
The thought was squashed before it even had a sprouting chance. The man was his boss. And he already knew Mike’s biggest secret. It would be crossing the line to ask him for help. For money.
Mike pushed off the wall and headed for the double doors. First he needed to get moving. He'd think of something soon. He just hoped it would be soon enough.
*
It seemed that he kept failing when it came to hiding things from Harvey Specter. Mike had stolen into the courtroom, grabbed his bag while murmuring apologies, and was poised to make the escape. But a hand on his arm had stopped him. When he turned instinctively, those eyes that met his were searching, keen as ever; below, the mouth was set into a line that Mike had started to learn meant Arguing is futile.
By the time they walked out into the streets, Mike was already loosing the battle. Harvey had figured out with lightning speed that the trouble he got himself into this time had a name and it was Trevor. Mike, nonetheless, was still trying his best to keep up the attitude - one that could get him fired. But he had to save his fuck-up of a friend from a couple of loan shark types whose jaws were clamping down faster than you could say "snap", and he didn't have the means or a viable plan, meaning he was going to say or do whatever he could to stall, to beg. Or fail. And he would much rather it happened where Harvey could not see, where he would not be disappointed and disgusted.
Cut him loose. He'd all but ordered Mike that day after Jessica had flounced out of his office, the words pinging against Mike's thick skull.
He didn't know how it happened. All he remembered was Addicts. Fall. The penthouse. Tell me what's going on, and palms, flat against his chest, only for a breath of a heartbeat. Before he realized it, they'd arrived at the entrance to the Firm in a cab, and Harvey was talking about getting evidence from the security and risk assessment and thinking three steps ahead. Next thing he knew, Harvey was gone. In his suit, the ridiculous Mad Men hair, clutching that suitcase in a confident hold, looking for all the world like an intrepid knight in his shining black armor. Or an arrogant diplomat, certain he'll ace the upcoming peace talk. Anything but a cautious crisis negotiator. Watching his car pull away, Mike felt, for a quiet moment, like there was a pretty good chance of things turning out all right in the end.
Donna was furious.
"You did what? And Harvey's gone where to meet who?"
Mike was sure that tone she was using qualified as growling. He'd never heard anyone growl in real life before. Coming from a slim, thin-lipped, red-headed woman in a pair of extremely pointy five-inch stilettos, it was unspeakably terrifying.
"Don't worry - Ray's with him -"
"Ray is not a trained personal body guard! Not to mention with those people" - it only took a twitch of her nose to show the patent disgust - "He'd need at least half of dozen of those. I can't believe -- How could you. The least you should have done was go with him!"
"He told me to stay - "
"And you've always done exactly what he told you to do, like a good puppy?"
What is with this puppy analogy, Mike couldn't help groaning in his head. Though she had a point.
"Calm down. I'm going. Now. I'm going to get him back, safe. All right?"
“Just don’t screw up his plan. I’m sure he prepared an offer they wouldn't be able to refuse.”
Sometimes, Mike thought as he sprinted toward the elevator, that unwavering blind faith in Harvey’s ability was the most worrying amongst his super secretary’s myriad personal quirks and qualities.
*
It had been thirty-five minutes since Mike stood at the foot of the mirrored face of the towering building, whistling at the passing cabs; fifteen since he saw Ray and joined him by the side of the limo. He was getting a bit on edge.
He didn't get to see Harvey go in - not even a glimpse of the immaculate lines of his back. Ray told him that when they got here, a thuggish late twenty-something stepped out of a shadow, having evidently waited for the large black vehicle to come to a full stop in front of the appointed building. Apparently his body language, according to Ray the Profiler, was not tense; indicating that they felt a certain degree of control over the situation, meaning they were less likely to try anything too drastic toward the man they held, or the one coming in with what they thought was a caseful of green.
Though, Ray noted with an involuntary glance toward the entryway into the dilapidated concrete structure, the man was also carrying a firearm under his jacket.
Fuck. Mike had cursed with force under his breath. He was bothered by this bit of info against all logic and common sense. Empirically and statistically, the presence of guns in this sort of scenario was to be expected, even assumed. The presence of guns was not tantamount to an inevitable violent outcome - an impromptu mantra he began chanting in his head, when images spun out, unbidden, from the depth of his memory.
A man in a dark suit, doubled over, all muffled grunting of sharp pain. He's holding his nose, fingers covered in crimson, bright in the dark. It's not a nosebleed; the right nasal wall is slit cleanly open.
Not the ideal time to call up the famous scene from Chinatown, Mike gave his big brain a hard kick. Not when he was in the middle of New York’s Chinatown waiting to hear from his boss who was conducting a freaking hostage negotiation in his place.
Suddenly he straightened up with a sharp intake of breath, when the white hot clarity over the present situation smacked down full impact. He looked around wildly at the bright reflections of storefronts and bumping pedestrians in the near distance, as something quick and spiny, like panic, like fear, plunged under his skin - or rose from beneath it.
What's happening in there? Should he call the police? Had it been a mistake to allow Harvey to strut in there, his wits the only thing on him that could slice, his swagger the only thing that could stun?
What had he done?
A quick tap on his shoulder snapped Mike out of his fugue; it was Ray. Mike turned in time to see his head jerk toward the so far vacant entryway.
"They're out."
Sure enough, two familiar figures emerged into the sunlight and walked toward the limo, one after the other. With a split second once-over, Mike determined there was not a scratch on either of the men, and a gust of breath rushed out before he knew he was holding it.
Mike sprang toward the figures, while noticing Ray pulling the driver's side door open to settle into the seat, already resuming his duty. Donna's face and How could you flashed across his mind. It undoubtedly said something about his boss if the man was able to inspire such protectiveness and loyalty in people around him.
Harvey was wearing his trademark poker face,with maybe just the barest undertone of annoyance. All the muscles and lines and angles being employed to deliver that chink-free mask of 'I don't care about anything but my own interests'. Mike would be damned if he believed that bucket of bushwa now.
"Thanks" - was all he said as the two of them brushed pass each other, before he continued toward Trevor to give him a hug - after a dope slap and 'How could you be so fucking dumb'.
Gratitude would be properly expressed later. Mike made a mental note as he walked side by side with his personal trouble generator, staring into the back of the man who'd swooped in and saved the day without mussing up one single hair. At the very least, next time Harvey dropped the puppy analogy, Mike was not going to bat an eye.
*
"Tell me more about Harvey." Putting her fork down with a clink, Gran asked.
It had been a week since the incident and Mike was again visiting her. What he’d told Mrs. Mcafee hadn't been fake.
Of course, he didn't tell Gran any of the events from that day. Lest she get all upset over Mike's endangering his new job for 'the anchor' (interesting how Gran and Harvey had used the same word to tag Trevor). But he couldn't help mentioning Harvey here and there in the routine chitchat. His morbid obsession with inordinately fancy suits. His absurd hair style (imagining him plaster his head with a ridiculous amount of gooey gel in the morning always tickled Mike). His penchant for getting people to reveal their true motives by provoking them with outrageous questions point blank (though it usually did work - for him).
He knew it was out of character for him to be talking so animatedly about someone from work - typically a subject he steered away from. He hadn’t meant to do it today. It's just, well, what Harvey did for him that day had been on his mind a lot, partly because he really did appreciate it, partly because Why did he do it? And Gran had always had a way of drawing things out of him even when he intended to hide them.
Still, he hadn't expected Gran to take an active interest.
"You want to know more about my boss?" Mike asked, surprised, perhaps a tad nervous. "Why?"
Gran gave a half-shrug like some dopey teenager. "He sounds like a compelling character. I like compelling. Besides," her brows did a little jump, like they were casting a clue. "He seems to be a positive influence on you. He takes care of you. I certainly like that. So come on, don’t be a scrooge."
Mike opened his big mouth to argue that he didn't need taking care of and that more often than not Harvey slaved him like, well, like a boss . But he saw the glint in Gran's eyes that shimmered whenever she was genuinely delighted, and couldn’t help curling up one corner of his lips at her.
Maybe he could ask her how to thank someone for saving his butt. Maybe if he's stealthy enough about it, she wouldn't realize that it's the same someone who'd given him a second chance at a better life.
FINIS