A Gentleman's Guide to Suits, Ties, and (White) Collars: 3/10
Title: A Gentleman's Guide to Suits, Ties, and (White) Collars
Chapter Title: Table for Four
Fandom: Suits/White Collar Crossover
Pairing: Harvey/Mike, Peter/Neal
Wordcount: 6100 for this chapter, 10,500 total
Rating: T
Fic Summary: Harvey visits his good friend Peter at work, takes one look at Neal, and decides he wants one; that afternoon he hires Mike Ross. But when Mike ends up being more than a fling and tells Harvey he wants Peter and Neal to be as happy as they are, Harvey Specter somehow finds himself in the position of matchmaker at the world's craziest crossover dinner party.
Chapter Summary: When Harvey and Mike run into Peter and Neal at a fancy restaurant, movie quotes are swapped, exotic food is mocked, stories are exchanged, and Mike makes a surprising declaration which has the potential to change both relationships forever.
“I cannot believe you’re actually making me eat here,” Peter whispered to Neal as a smartly-dressed young woman led them to a cozy corner table covered with a white linen tablecloth and garnished by a small, flickering candle.
“You ought to be grateful,” Neal whispered back, shooting the hostess one of his patented thousand-watt grins before taking a seat. “I’m rescuing you from another night in front of the TV, eating a frozen dinner and watching reruns of Magnum, P.I. Any more of that, and I’m going to have to dissuade you yet again from resurrecting “Moustache Peter.”
“I think he looked quite rakish,” Peter defended, protectively smoothing his imaginary moustache.
“He looked like a 70s porn star,” Neal said firmly, but was prevented from being able to mock his partner further by the sounds of raised voices nearby.
“Listen - it’s Marisa, isn’t it? Marisa, I am a very loyal patron of this establishment, and this table is an integral part of my dining experience. If you would just talk to Francois, I’m sure he would tell you -”
“Harvey?” Peter asked, recognizing first the voice, then the hair. “I should have known this was your kind of place.”
“Peter?” Harvey turned around in surprise. “I wouldn’t have said it was yours.” His eyes flicked appreciatively over to Neal. “Lose a bet?”
“Yes, actually,” Neal replied brightly. “It’s so nice to see you again, Harvey.” Peter was dismayed but not surprised that Neal was flashing Harvey the same blinding smile he had given the hostess a few moments ago.
“Likewise,” Harvey replied, mirroring Neal’s grin with his own, more aggressive version. There was the sound of someone coughing behind him, which caused Harvey to move to his right and add quickly, “Neal, I’d like you to meet Mike Ross.”
“Harvey’s associate,” Mike supplied, adding a brief pause before the word associate as he moved between Harvey and Neal to shake Neal’s hand.
“Of course,” Neal said with a small nod of understanding, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mike.”
“And I trust you remember my good friend, Peter Burke?” Harvey continued.
“Oh, I could never forget a fellow customer at Sal’s Suit Barn,” Mike said with a laugh, shifting his hand over to shake Peter’s. “Great to see you again, Peter.”
“Do I want to know?” Neal asked skeptically, turning to look at Peter.
Peter placed his hand on Neal’s shoulder and said seriously, “I think it might do permanent damage to your delicate psyche”
When Peter turned back to Mike, he was a little puzzled at the amused grin the kid was sending his way, but had no more time to think about it before Neal spoke.
“Marisa, have we prevented these kind gentlemen from utilizing their usual table?” he asked, turning his attention to the slightly flustered-looking hostess who had been watching the back and forth of the salutations as if they were a tennis match.
“No, sir,” she said quickly, then amended, “I mean, yes, technically, but it is not the policy of Chez Papaye -”
“We wouldn’t want to disturb you,” Harvey interjected, sounding thoroughly unconvincing. “Really, we’ll just find another table.”
“Nonsense,” Neal insisted, “You must stay and have dinner with us. Mustn’t they, Peter?”
“Why not?” Peter said, throwing up his hands. “It will be fitting with the absurdity of this restaurant. No offense, Marisa.”
The hostess smiled enigmatically and said, “If you’ll give me one moment, I’ll have two additional place settings brought over.” Within seconds of her departure, two busboys swept over carrying chairs, napkins, silverware, and glasses and rearranged the table in such a way that it seemed designed to accommodate four all along.
Neal moved so he was seated on Peter’s right, Harvey slid into the vacated seat next to him, and Mike took the remaining place between Peter and Harvey.
“Well, I know that we’re here because Peter has an abysmal memory for movie quotes,” Neal began.
“Just because I messed up one, little line,” Peter protested, rolling of his eyes.
“I’m gonna give him a present he can’t refuse?” Neal asked incredulously, “What kind of sense does that make?”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Harvey interjected, holding up his hands and turning to face Peter. “You’re honestly telling me that you misquoted not only The Godfather - a serious contender for the best movie ever made - but also one of the most famous lines in the history of cinema? Please, tell me I heard that wrong.”
“I haven’t seen it in years!” Peter defended, as all eyes turned to him expectantly. “I really don’t see what the big deal is.”
“The big deal is that it’s The Godfather, Peter!” Harvey exclaimed. “It’s one of the greatest masterpieces Hollywood has ever produced starring some of the best actors in several generations!
“Leave the gun, take the cannoli,” Mike chimed in, lowering his voice and taking on a gruff, Italian accent.
“I hope that their first child is a masculine child,” Neal contributed, raising a hand in his best imitation of Luca Brasi’s gesturing style.
“It’s a Sicilian message,” Harvey finished, “It means he sleeps with the fishes.”
“What, you’re not going to do, ‘I coulda been somebody, I coulda been a contender’?” Peter asked incredulously.
“That’s On the Waterfront!” Neal, Harvey, and Mike all shouted, in near perfect unison.
Peter sighed and signaled for the waitress. “I’m supposing it’s a tad optimistic to hope you have any Heineken back there?”
She shook her head and shot him a regretful little smile. “I’m sorry, sir. I can bring you a Kronenbourg Imported from France, if you’d like.”
“No, thank you, somehow I think finding out what the French consider beer would just make everything worse.”
“Ignore my philistine friend here,” Harvey interjected. “We would like an eighty-nine Chateau Margeau to start, please.”
“Right away, sir,” she said with a nod, disappearing once more into the main room of the restaurant.
“What?” Harvey asked, seeing the look Peter was sending him. “A thousand dollars or ten dollars, it’s still booze, Peter.”
“If you close your eyes and add a little salt, sometimes you can just about make yourself believe it’s an inferior beer,” Mike whispered to Peter, who had to suppress an instinctive giggle.
“For the sake of our relationship and my sanity, I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Harvey said with a pointed look at Mike.
“Yeah, that usually does the trick,” Neal said dryly, flipping through the restaurant’s swanky, leather-bound menu.
“What exactly does one order at a French-Thai fusion restaurant, anyway?” Mike asked as he too scanned the menu, his expression far less assured than Neal’s.
“For starters, I would avoid the Galangal Escargot,” Neal advised, “unless you enjoy ingesting incredibly spicy snails.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Mike replied with a laugh. “Peter, I wish also to seek the council of my fellow hostage in this situation - what are you ordering?”
Peter was about to reply when Neal cut in first, “Oh, he’ll be ordering the cheeseburger, well-done, with ketchup, diced onions, and two crinkle-cut pickle slices.”
“You don’t know that’s what I’m getting,” Peter said defensively, picking up his menu and opening it defiantly, “I could be ordering anything on this menu.”
“Oh, really?” Neal asked skeptically. “So, you’d be open to getting, say, the Yellow Curry Foie Gras, with a starter of Kaffir Bouillabaise and Green Tea Gateau for dessert, then?”
“Of...course I would,” Peter insisted, sounding almost convinced. “I’m not the kind of uneducated oaf who flat-out refuses to try the actual cuisine at a specialty restaurant. But if, after I have thoroughly perused the menu and compared the flavor profiles, I find that a cheeseburger is the item which most perfectly suits my taste, then I shall have no shame in ordering it.”
“Ignore him,” Harvey commanded, leaning toward Mike and laying a hand lightly on his forearm, “A few years drinking FBI coffee will destroy all but the most resistant of palates. A Pearson Hardman man, however, must develop a refined taste sensibility if he wishes to succeed. For tonight, we’ll start small - I think the Poulet de Coco is just about your speed, rookie.”
Before Mike could think of an appropriate protest, the waitress returned with the wine. “Is it all right, sir?” she asked, pouring a little into Harvey’s glass.
Harvey made a show of swirling the dark red liquid around the bottom of the glass and taking a lingering sip, his other hand still resting on Mike’s arm. “Yes, most excellent,” he declared after a moment, shooting the waitress a grin which was somewhat less predatory than usual.
“Are we ready to order, then?” she asked pleasantly, her eyes flicking swiftly from one of them to another.
“Oh, I think we’ve all decided,” Neal spoke up, sending the waitress a grin to rival Harvey’s. “I would like the Yellow Curry Foie Gras, please,” he said decisively, shooting a challenging glance at Peter.
“Yes, and I,” Peter said, briefly returning Neal’s gaze before pivoting to face the waitress, “would like a cheeseburger, well-done, with ketchup, diced onions...and three pickle slices.”
“Very good,” the waitress said as she jotted it down, her expression very nearly masking her amusement as she turned her attention to Mike. “What would you like, sir?”
Mike was too busy stifling a giggle at Peter’s proud smile and Neal’s put-upon eyeroll to get an order out, which gave Harvey the opportunity to smoothly interject, “My friend here would like to try the Poulet de Coco.” He glanced briefly over at Mike’s face, which was arranged in a sort of manly pout, and added with a small eye-roll, “And a side of pommes frites, lots of salt.”
“And you, sir?” she asked Harvey.
“Since I have a adventuresome palate, and you seem like a terribly bright girl,” Harvey began, too busy charming the waitress to notice that Mike’s pout had changed into a private smile, “Why don’t you surprise me?”
“All right, sir,” she assented, looking flattered. “Any restrictions?”
“Oh, I don’t believe in restrictions,” Harvey assured her, looking terribly in earnest.
“Only at dinner, or in other spheres of your life as well?” Neal asked teasingly as the waitress jotted down her final notes and made a quiet exit from the table.
“I find they have this annoying tendency of making things...boring,” Harvey replied, turning to look at the man on his left. “Don’t you think so, Neal?”
It was at this moment that Mike decided to reach for the bread in the center of the table, and in doing so managed to casually slide his left hand over Harvey’s while looking at Neal as if eagerly anticipating his answer.
Neal paused for just a moment before letting out a little laugh and saying, “I think my partner would probably say I do better with a few restrictions, wouldn’t you, Peter?”
“Decidedly so,” Peter agreed, shooting Neal a surprised glance. He took a sip of the wine and was pleased to discover it did taste distinctly less posh with a little salt covertly sprinkled in it. “About two miles’ worth of restrictions, to be exact.”
“God, I walked straight into that, didn’t I?” Neal said, shaking his head.
“Always do,” Peter said, smiling mischievously , “You always do.”
“Okay, I have to ask,” Mike interjected, leaning forward a bit conspiratorially, “How on earth did you two meet?”
“I caught him,” Peter said gleefully, jumping in before Neal could offer his own version. “Took me two years of concentrated pursuit, but I succeeded where so many others had failed: I landed Neal Caffrey.”
“My God, two years?” Mike asked incredulously. “That’s a hell of a long time.”
“Well, when you’re going after something you want that much, it just kind of flies by,” Peter said a bit wistfully.
“Peter, I do believe you’re a closet sentimentalist,” Harvey teased, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. “Spending two years chasing just one man? That’s a story I am dying to hear more about.”
Peter had just opened his mouth to speak when Neal placed a hand on his shoulder and cut in, “Oh believe me, it’s nothing compared to the story of the day we met.”
“Do tell,” Harvey said, his head whipping left to face Neal, eyes alight with interest.
“It’s not really that good of a story,” Peter said quickly. He tried desperately to think of a distraction big enough to change the subject, but, as everything he thought up involved setting fire to something or someone, was forced to give up.
“Oh no, you don’t, now you have to tell it,” Mike insisted eagerly, his attention focused entirely on Neal.
“Yes, go on, Neal,” Harvey encouraged, “Peter’s worked very hard to keep all blackmail-worthy stories from reaching my ears, and from the look on his face, I’d say this is going to be a doozy.”
“Well, I’d just finished cashing in some allegedly counterfeit bonds at this bank in Midtown,” Neal began.
“You served three years in jail for faking those bonds, Neal, I think you can drop the ‘allegedly’,” Peter said dryly.
Neal leveled a cool glance at Peter before continuing, “As I was saying, I’d just walked out of the bank, when whom do you think I see questioning the bank manager?”
“I know! I know!” Mike exclaimed excitedly, raising his hand in the air. Harvey sent him a very pointed sideways glance, and he lowered it a bit bashfully, but not before whispering, “It was Peter...” half to the others, half to himself.
“So let me guess,” Harvey speculated, appraising Neal thoughtfully, “you walked right up to him and introduced yourself.” At Peter’s mystified expression, he grinned slyly and explained, “What? It’s what I would have done.”
“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I did,” Neal said, nodding appreciatively at Harvey. “I’d never met a Fed before, and I figured talking to him might give me some idea of whether the Bureau was onto me yet or not.”
“And so he came up to me, introduced himself, and that was it,” Peter interjected with a nervous laugh, “I told you it wasn’t a great story. Okay, who needs another bottle of wine?”
The others spared him only a brief glance before continuing as if he hadn’t spoken. “What did you say?” Mike asked eagerly.
“Well,” Neal said, leaning in conspiratorially, “I decided to play the ‘just another concerned citizen’ card. So after I went through the whole ‘Oh, you’re FBI, that’s so exciting!’ routine, I pulled out my best worried and adorable face and-”
“Okay, I absolutely do not consent to ‘worried and adorable,’ “ Peter objected, “That makes you sound like some sort of wounded baby deer.”
“A wounded baby deer you were only too happy to reassure by telling him all about the forged bonds you were investigating,” Neal retorted smugly.
“Got you there, my friend,” Harvey said, enjoying this immensely.
“So he told you everything you needed to know,” Mike conceded, “that’s all well and good. But here’s the really important question - did you have a really great exit line?”
Neal grinned even wider in anticipation of his favorite part of the story. “Okay, first, I thanked him for all the hard work he’d been doing on behalf of the concerned citizens. Then, to finish it off, I flashed him my best ‘charming everyman grin’, handed him the green sucker the lady in the bank gave to me accompanied by a casual, but sincere, ‘That’s for you,’ before I simply walked away.”
“Dude, that’s awesome!” Mike exclaimed appreciatively, raising his hand over the table to offer Neal a high-five, which the other man enthusiastically accepted.
Harvey eschewed a verbal response in favor of laughing uncontrollably, and soon Neal and Mike were also doubled over the table in hysterics, tears streaming down their cheeks. Peter, meanwhile, sat stoically by, arms crossed, and waited for the wave of hilarity to pass.
Once he had finally regained his composure, Neal turned to Peter with a contrite expression and pleaded, “Oh, don’t look like that.” He grasped his hand fondly as he added, “You have to admit, it is a great story.”
“Oh yes,” Peter agreed, “just like me catching you on, what is it now, three separate occasions is an equally great story.”
“Come on, only the first one really counts,” Neal scoffed. “Stop padding your record.”
“Don’t you mean, ‘stop padding your undefeated record?’ “ Peter asked smugly, which prompted a groan from Neal.
It was that moment that the waitress chose to arrive with their food, which consisted of several plates topped by artfully arranged ingredients in a rainbow of colors...and one cheeseburger. The presentation of the cheeseburger caused Peter to grin, Neal to groan, Harvey to laugh, and Mike to look on enviously as he snuck an unhappy glance at his own exotic-looking meal.
“Oh, would you just man up and eat the chicken?” Harvey asked exasperatedly when he saw Mike brooding. “Come on, it’s good, I promise.”
“Are you sure it’s chicken?” Mike asked doubtfully, “Last time I checked it wasn’t supposed to be purple.”
“That’s just the plum glaze,” Harvey assured him. “It really sets off the coconut flavor.”
“I’m with Mike on this one,” Peter said, staring skeptically at the plate. “Chicken is one of those foods that should simply not be purple.”
“You are not helping,” Harvey said pointedly, shooting daggers at him before turning back to Mike. “Mike, the whole reason I brought you here is that this is exactly the kind of place lawyers for a firm like ours have to take clients, and on those occasions you most certainly cannot order a cheeseburger.”
“Fine,” Mike said sulkily, picking at the contents of his plate, “But I won’t like it.”
“That’s entirely up to you,” Harvey said resignedly.
All eyes were on Mike as he raised a piece of chicken his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. His face remained carefully blank at first, but finally he rolled his eyes, smiled, and said, “Okay, that’s kind of insanely delicious.”
“Ha! Told you,” Harvey announced smugly.
“Anyone else want a bite?” Mike asked round the table.
“No, thank you,” Peter said adamantly. “Delicious or not, I have a firm rule about foods of an unnatural hue.”
“I’ll try it,” Neal volunteered. “I am not afraid of new experiences.”
“You should be afraid of food poisoning,” Peter retorted.
“Ignore him, Mike,” Neal said with a laugh. “Go on, impress me.”
Mike cut off another piece of chicken and extended it in Neal’s direction. Harvey and Peter exchanged brief, dismayed looks as they watched Neal slide his fork slowly down Mike’s until the piece of chicken transferred to it, then promptly popped it in his mouth and chewed it leisurely, declaring, “This may be the most succulent chicken I have ever tasted.”
“I’ll try it,” Harvey said, rather more quickly than he’d intended.
“Harvey, you’re the one who ordered it for me,” Mike said a bit sarcastically, “I’m hoping you know what it tastes like.”
“Yes,” Harvey admitted, “But...it’s been awhile, and I want to make sure it’s as good as I remember.”
Mike shrugged, speared another piece of chicken, and reached his fork toward Harvey. At that precise moment, some strange, but potent combination of jealousy and competitiveness seized Harvey, and before he could stop himself or remember that he didn’t care, he had lunged toward Mike and eaten the proffered chicken directly off the fork.
Harvey tried his best to ignore the looks of shock from his companions and pretend like essentially forcing his associate to feed him a piece of chicken in the middle of a fancy dinner was not an incredibly strange thing to do. “Yes,” he said, nodding his head thoughtfully, “Just as good as I remember. Thanks, Mike.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, Harvey,” Mike said after a pause, and Harvey was distinctly disturbed by the knowing smile on his face.
“So, Harvey,” Peter interjected, his face wreathed in a dangerously exuberant grin that troubled Harvey almost as much as Mike’s knowing one, “I feel like Neal and I were monopolizing the conversation earlier. I, for one, would love to hear the story about how you and Mike met.”
“Pretty straightforward, really,” Harvey said in an off-hand tone perfected with years of careful practice. “I was interviewing for associates, he came in, I hired him. Simple.”
“Now I hardly think one of the self-proclaimed best closers in New York City can’t tell a better story than that,” Peter said, crossing his arms. “What about you, Mike? How do you remember it?”
“Pretty much like that, really,” Mike said quickly, “I’ve nothing to add.” When Peter pulled out the “I know you’re hiding something” expression he reserved for interrogations, however, Mike added reluctantly, “There’s some parts that are, um, not fit for FBI ears.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Neal said brightly, “We’ll just send Peter to sit in the car; I want to hear the story more than ever!”
“No one is sitting in the car,” Peter said firmly. “I’m assuming you didn’t hurt anybody?”
“Of course not,” Mike assured him.
“All right, then,” Peter replied, taking out his badge and putting it on the table. “For the purposes of this story, I am not Peter Burke, FBI, but rather Peter Burke, good friend and cheeseburger afficianado. Still, perhaps you’d better give me the edited-for-TV version.”
Mike and Harvey exchanged looks, and at Harvey’s nod, Mike began, “Okay, so, I’m in this fancy hotel to conduct some...business, when I run into some...trouble and am in need of an escape.”
“I, meanwhile, am in the downstairs ballroom being bored to tears by a bunch of Harvard grads, all of whom either think they’re the next Johnny Cochran or are wavering on the verge of a panic attack from talking to a real, live lawyer,” Harvey interjected.
“So I run down five flights of stairs and across the lobby, looking for absolutely any place I can hide out for ten minutes,” Mike continued, “when I see this sign for interviews for Pearson Hardman. It hits me that this is the best chance I’m likely to get at avoiding the...trouble all together, so when I hear someone calling out for a candidate who wasn’t answering, I take it as a sign from God and barge right in.”
“I had previously instructed this someone - the indispensable Donna, whom you met, Peter - to give all the guys a hard time for being late, and to wink at me if anyone said anything clever. For legal reasons, I cannot divulge what Mike said, but it did earn him the only wink anyone got all day.”
“You never told me that!” Mike exclaimed, giving Harvey a playful slap on the arm.
Harvey shrugged and said with a grin, “I figured it would’ve inflated your ego.”
“Right, and there’s no place for inflated egos at Pearson Hardman,” Mike returned with an incredulous look at Harvey accompanied by an eye-roll.
“Okay, I’m clear on how this comedy of errors ended with the two of you in a room together,” Neal said slowly, looking between them, “But, Harvey, I have to ask - why did you hire someone who wasn’t even there for an interview when you had a waiting room full of qualified candidates?”
“Yes, Harvey, why did you?” Mike asked suddenly, leaning toward Harvey and resting his chin in his hand interestedly.
“For starters, I was impressed by his balls,” Harvey started, but upon catching sight of the suggestive look Neal was sending him, added quickly, “er, I mean in telling me the truth, that he was just there because he needed a place to lay low. Not one of those Harvard types would have had the guts to be honest in an interview, not in a million years.”
“Wow, hiring a lawyer for his honesty?” Peter said sarcastically, “That is a new one.”
Harvey ignored him and continued, “And he has a...specific skill set which more than made up for his comparative lack of qualifications.”
“Really?” Neal said, grinning suggestively again and leaning forward to inquire, “Could we have a demonstration, or is it the type of thing that would get us thrown out of the restaurant?”
Harvey thought for a moment, then said calmly, “Mike - wine list, go.”
“You want prices, vintages, descriptions, the whole deal?” Mike asked.
‘All of it,” Harvey said firmly.
Mike then spent the next eight minutes reciting, verbatim, the restaurant’s wine list, which he had only seen for a couple minutes before Harvey had taken charge of the ordering. He finished with, “And last, but not least, an exquisite 1960 Chateau Lafitte, 85% Cabernet Sauvignon, 10% Merlot, 5% Petit Verdot, described as ‘complex, lush, and full-bodied,’ and topping off the price range at fifteen hundred dollars even.”
Neal let out a long whistle and and exclaimed, “That, my friend, is truly amazing. I mean, just imagine what you and I could -” He quickly cut off his daydreaming upon seeing the reproving look Peter was giving him and amended, “On second thought, better not.”
“I don’t buy it,” Peter said suddenly. “Oh, not you, Mike” he corrected quickly, upon seeing the hurt expression on Mike’s face, “I have no doubt at all in your incredible skills. No, what I don’t buy,” he continued, turning to Harvey, “is that Harvey would hire you for such a personal position as his associate just for your memory. I mean, surely he could have kept you on as a consultant for a fraction of the cost and all the benefit.”
“You’d know all about that then, wouldn’t you?” Neal asked dryly.
“I would, indeed,” Peter agreed. He remembered full well Harvey’s boast that he was going to hire an assistant as eye-candy, but after what he’d seen tonight, Peter seriously doubted that was the whole story. “So, come on, Harvey, out with it - why Mike?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Peter,” Harvey said a tad frustratedly, suddenly uncomfortable with this line of inquiry. “He just had something, that’s all. Something that made me think that not one of the thousand over-qualified applicants sitting in my waiting room had one-tenth of the potential he did. Something that made me want to give him the chance no one else ever had. Something that made me want him by my side...professionally speaking, of course.”
Harvey lapsed into silence, and the self-conscious look on his face as he purposefully avoided Mike’s gaze made Peter feel guilty for pressing a little too hard. Luckily, the silence lasted only a few seconds before Mike sighed and said seriously, “And here was me thinking this whole time it was because I’m so ridiculously attractive.”
This prompted an immediate rebuttal from Harvey and a spirited defense from Neal, and just like that the former, light-hearted spirit of the party returned. The next couple hours passed much as the previous one had, with conversation, wine, and laughter all flowing freely. Harvey persuaded everyone to order dessert, a course which Neal spent trying to convince Peter that the Green Tea Gateau really wasn’t that strange, and which Mike spent covertly stealing bites from Harvey’s Papaya Crème Brûlée when he wasn’t looking.
Finally, however, after Harvey had emerged victorious from the his battle with Peter over the cheque, the time came for saying goodbyes.
“Mike, Harvey, thank you for making this the best dinner I’ve ever been to at a restaurant of Neal’s choosing,” Peter said, shaking Mike’s hand before clapping Harvey amiably on the shoulder.
“Oh, ha, ha, Peter,” Neal said, rolling his eyes. “I would be more offended if he wasn’t right about this being such an enjoyable evening.” He shook Harvey’s hand first, saying, “Harvey, always a pleasure spending time with another of New York’s best-dressed men.”
Next, he turned to Mike and said, “And Mike, if you ever want to make any extra money on the side...” Once again, however, his train of thought was curtailed by a sharp look from Peter and he finished tamely, “...might I suggest dog-walking?”
Harvey laughed and declared, “We really should do this again sometime. And I’m not just saying that to be polite, because, well, you all know that’s not my style.”
“Yes, indeed,” Mike said, laying a hand on Harvey’s shoulder. “It’s so hard finding anyone decent to double with in this city, don’t you find?”
“Double?” Peter asked, thoroughly confused.
“Date, of course,” Mike said smoothly. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to find you two. But, alas, all good things must come to an end. Come on, Harvey,” he said, taking Harvey’s hand and leading him toward the door, “you’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. See you two soon, I hope!”
Peter could only wave mutely at them as Mike dragged Harvey toward the door, the look of utter shock on Harvey’s face equaled only by the one on Peter’s own. Neal, as was so often his custom, remained inscrutable.
It took a few paces in the cold air outside the restaurant to jolt Harvey back to his senses. He let go of Mike’s hand, causing the other man to stop walking and turn to face him, and exclaimed, “Now hold on a minute, Mike! Just what did you mean by ‘double date’?”
“Two couples going out to dinner,” Mike said matter-of-factly, tilting his head to convey confusion. “Wouldn’t you call that a double date?”
“Yes,” Harvey said impatiently, “But we are not a couple!”
“Oh, aren’t we?” Mike asked, feigning ignorance.
“Of course not!” Harvey exclaimed, frustrated. He moved closer to Mike and lowered his voice before adding, “Like I told you that night you came over to my apartment, I’m not looking for a relationship. This thing between us? It’s just sex - nothing more.”
“Uh-huh,” Mike said, looking amused as he crossed his arms in a way that Harvey found both patronizing and endearing. “So, that night a couple weeks back when I was sick, and you came over to my apartment...”
“For a booty call!” Harvey interrupted, “I object on the grounds of relevance!”
“And you made me soup,” Mike continued a bit louder, otherwise ignoring Harvey’s outburst, “And we ended up falling asleep together on my couch watching Galaxy Quest? You’re really telling me that wasn’t a date?”
“Now that’s not fair,” Harvey objected, “You have an abysmal track record of taking care of yourself, and Jessica would have made me fill out an absurd amount of paperwork if you died of starvation in your apartment. And, come on, how am I supposed to resist watching a brilliant, yet loving parody of Star Trek: The Original Series starring ultimate man’s man Tim Allen? You know how I feel about Captain Kirk, Mike! I feel like that’s asking too much.”
“And what about that surprise picnic in the park last Tuesday afternoon, hmmm?” Mike asked skeptically, still looking intensely amused.
“Oh, that was just a coincidence,” Harvey said with a laugh, confident that he had a perfectly reasonable explanation. “The new client meeting I’d booked for us just happened to fall through, and Donna just happened to have a picnic lunch hanging around the office because her date cancelled, and you’d just happened to mention only the day before how much you missed having picnics with your Gran and...” Harvey stopped mid-sentence as a look of shock came over his face. “Oh God - there was no client. There was no cancelled date. You arranged the whole thing, didn’t you?”
“Now am I capable of engineering a plan that complex?” Mike asked innocently.
“I am rapidly realizing you are capable of feats far more terrifying than that,” Harvey answered truthfully, his face growing a little pale.
Mike simply grinned pleasantly and took a few steps toward Harvey. “I don’t know why you’re this surprised, Harvey; I would have thought that it was obvious by now how resourceful I am when it comes to getting what I want.”
Harvey instinctively threw up his hands and retreated a couple paces, his head spinning, but a thought struck him which seemed capable of returning things to normal. “Ha!” he exclaimed triumphantly, “You tricked me into doing all those ‘couple-y’ things, so they don’t count. What I told you before holds true - Harvey Specter does not date.”
Harvey was surprised when Mike, far from looking disappointed at the superior logic of his argument, instead took a few steps forward so they were standing mere inches apart. “Okay, then, answer me this - in the five weeks we’ve been sleeping together, how many women have you gone home with?”
Harvey thought for a moment and started, “Well, for starters there was...no, that was a couple months back...but after her there was...no, I guess that was just flirting...I mean, there has to have been at least...” Harvey swallowed audibly and admitted, his voice quiet, “By my latest calculation...none.”
“And why do you think that is?” Mike asked, a bit more gently this time.
Because it would have felt like cheating was the answer that popped immediately into Harvey’s head. Mike watched him intently, and, once he was satisfied that his point had hit home, wrapped his arms around Harvey’s neck and said with a little sigh, “Face it, Harvey - you’re about as good at not dating as you are at not caring about people. And trust me when I tell you that you’re abysmal at both.”
Harvey looked down at Mike and, though he was still quite disturbed by the idea that his associate - or was it boyfriend now? Dear God, he’d just voluntarily used the word boyfriend - was some sort of dating ninja, he found that he couldn’t work up any anger over it. In fact, the whole idea made Harvey feel strangely...warm.
“And just who taught you to be so insufferable, hmm?” Harvey asked, though there was no real bite in his question as he wrapped his arms around Mike’s waist to pull him in just a little closer.
Mike merely cocked his head to the side and smiled up at him, causing Harvey to think, Oh, right...me.
“There are going to have to be some ground rules,” Harvey warned him.
“Of course, of course,” Mike agreed easily, and Harvey got the strange suspicion that Mike was just humoring him.
“No hand-holding in the office,” he began, as this was the first thing that popped into his head. “Oh, and you are not allowed to give me a ridiculous pet name. And...” He took one look at Mike’s admittedly adorable face, sighed, and finished with, “Screw it, we can figure out the rest later - come here.”
--------------------------------
Peter and Neal watched, spellbound, as Harvey pulled Mike into a passionate kiss, right there on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, paying no mind to the scandalized looks they were receiving from some of the passers-by.
“Wow,” was all Peter was capable of saying. “I mean, I figured they were sleeping together but...wow.”
“Like they’re in their own little world,” Neal said wistfully, still watching Harvey and Mike as they slowly pulled apart and walked out of view, arms wrapped tightly around each other’s waists.
“Can you imagine Mike thinking this was a double date?” Peter said with a nervous laugh. “I mean that’s...insane. You and me, dating? The very thought of it’s just plain laughable.”
“Yeah,” Neal murmured. Peter could have sworn a brief cloud passed over Neal’s face before he too laughed and agreed, “Utterly ridiculous.”
Peter was still laughing when they exited the restaurant, although more out of discomfort than because he found anything particularly funny. “Hey, do you want to come over to my place and look over the O’Brien file? I could use your opinion on the brushstrokes the forger was using.”
“Actually,” Neal said a bit hesitantly, “I think I’m going to call it a night. Long day and all that.”
“Yeah, sure,” Peter said doubtfully. As Neal turned to go, he acted on instinct and grabbed his partner’s arm. “Hey, is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Peter,” Neal replied, sending him a smile that very nearly reached the corners of his eyes. “I’m just tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, he turned away once more and walked away into the darkness.
“See you,” Peter murmured distractedly, unable to shake the feeling that something was bothering Neal, and whatever it was, it was all his fault.
Chapter Title: Table for Four
Fandom: Suits/White Collar Crossover
Pairing: Harvey/Mike, Peter/Neal
Wordcount: 6100 for this chapter, 10,500 total
Rating: T
Fic Summary: Harvey visits his good friend Peter at work, takes one look at Neal, and decides he wants one; that afternoon he hires Mike Ross. But when Mike ends up being more than a fling and tells Harvey he wants Peter and Neal to be as happy as they are, Harvey Specter somehow finds himself in the position of matchmaker at the world's craziest crossover dinner party.
Chapter Summary: When Harvey and Mike run into Peter and Neal at a fancy restaurant, movie quotes are swapped, exotic food is mocked, stories are exchanged, and Mike makes a surprising declaration which has the potential to change both relationships forever.
“I cannot believe you’re actually making me eat here,” Peter whispered to Neal as a smartly-dressed young woman led them to a cozy corner table covered with a white linen tablecloth and garnished by a small, flickering candle.
“You ought to be grateful,” Neal whispered back, shooting the hostess one of his patented thousand-watt grins before taking a seat. “I’m rescuing you from another night in front of the TV, eating a frozen dinner and watching reruns of Magnum, P.I. Any more of that, and I’m going to have to dissuade you yet again from resurrecting “Moustache Peter.”
“I think he looked quite rakish,” Peter defended, protectively smoothing his imaginary moustache.
“He looked like a 70s porn star,” Neal said firmly, but was prevented from being able to mock his partner further by the sounds of raised voices nearby.
“Listen - it’s Marisa, isn’t it? Marisa, I am a very loyal patron of this establishment, and this table is an integral part of my dining experience. If you would just talk to Francois, I’m sure he would tell you -”
“Harvey?” Peter asked, recognizing first the voice, then the hair. “I should have known this was your kind of place.”
“Peter?” Harvey turned around in surprise. “I wouldn’t have said it was yours.” His eyes flicked appreciatively over to Neal. “Lose a bet?”
“Yes, actually,” Neal replied brightly. “It’s so nice to see you again, Harvey.” Peter was dismayed but not surprised that Neal was flashing Harvey the same blinding smile he had given the hostess a few moments ago.
“Likewise,” Harvey replied, mirroring Neal’s grin with his own, more aggressive version. There was the sound of someone coughing behind him, which caused Harvey to move to his right and add quickly, “Neal, I’d like you to meet Mike Ross.”
“Harvey’s associate,” Mike supplied, adding a brief pause before the word associate as he moved between Harvey and Neal to shake Neal’s hand.
“Of course,” Neal said with a small nod of understanding, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mike.”
“And I trust you remember my good friend, Peter Burke?” Harvey continued.
“Oh, I could never forget a fellow customer at Sal’s Suit Barn,” Mike said with a laugh, shifting his hand over to shake Peter’s. “Great to see you again, Peter.”
“Do I want to know?” Neal asked skeptically, turning to look at Peter.
Peter placed his hand on Neal’s shoulder and said seriously, “I think it might do permanent damage to your delicate psyche”
When Peter turned back to Mike, he was a little puzzled at the amused grin the kid was sending his way, but had no more time to think about it before Neal spoke.
“Marisa, have we prevented these kind gentlemen from utilizing their usual table?” he asked, turning his attention to the slightly flustered-looking hostess who had been watching the back and forth of the salutations as if they were a tennis match.
“No, sir,” she said quickly, then amended, “I mean, yes, technically, but it is not the policy of Chez Papaye -”
“We wouldn’t want to disturb you,” Harvey interjected, sounding thoroughly unconvincing. “Really, we’ll just find another table.”
“Nonsense,” Neal insisted, “You must stay and have dinner with us. Mustn’t they, Peter?”
“Why not?” Peter said, throwing up his hands. “It will be fitting with the absurdity of this restaurant. No offense, Marisa.”
The hostess smiled enigmatically and said, “If you’ll give me one moment, I’ll have two additional place settings brought over.” Within seconds of her departure, two busboys swept over carrying chairs, napkins, silverware, and glasses and rearranged the table in such a way that it seemed designed to accommodate four all along.
Neal moved so he was seated on Peter’s right, Harvey slid into the vacated seat next to him, and Mike took the remaining place between Peter and Harvey.
“Well, I know that we’re here because Peter has an abysmal memory for movie quotes,” Neal began.
“Just because I messed up one, little line,” Peter protested, rolling of his eyes.
“I’m gonna give him a present he can’t refuse?” Neal asked incredulously, “What kind of sense does that make?”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Harvey interjected, holding up his hands and turning to face Peter. “You’re honestly telling me that you misquoted not only The Godfather - a serious contender for the best movie ever made - but also one of the most famous lines in the history of cinema? Please, tell me I heard that wrong.”
“I haven’t seen it in years!” Peter defended, as all eyes turned to him expectantly. “I really don’t see what the big deal is.”
“The big deal is that it’s The Godfather, Peter!” Harvey exclaimed. “It’s one of the greatest masterpieces Hollywood has ever produced starring some of the best actors in several generations!
“Leave the gun, take the cannoli,” Mike chimed in, lowering his voice and taking on a gruff, Italian accent.
“I hope that their first child is a masculine child,” Neal contributed, raising a hand in his best imitation of Luca Brasi’s gesturing style.
“It’s a Sicilian message,” Harvey finished, “It means he sleeps with the fishes.”
“What, you’re not going to do, ‘I coulda been somebody, I coulda been a contender’?” Peter asked incredulously.
“That’s On the Waterfront!” Neal, Harvey, and Mike all shouted, in near perfect unison.
Peter sighed and signaled for the waitress. “I’m supposing it’s a tad optimistic to hope you have any Heineken back there?”
She shook her head and shot him a regretful little smile. “I’m sorry, sir. I can bring you a Kronenbourg Imported from France, if you’d like.”
“No, thank you, somehow I think finding out what the French consider beer would just make everything worse.”
“Ignore my philistine friend here,” Harvey interjected. “We would like an eighty-nine Chateau Margeau to start, please.”
“Right away, sir,” she said with a nod, disappearing once more into the main room of the restaurant.
“What?” Harvey asked, seeing the look Peter was sending him. “A thousand dollars or ten dollars, it’s still booze, Peter.”
“If you close your eyes and add a little salt, sometimes you can just about make yourself believe it’s an inferior beer,” Mike whispered to Peter, who had to suppress an instinctive giggle.
“For the sake of our relationship and my sanity, I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Harvey said with a pointed look at Mike.
“Yeah, that usually does the trick,” Neal said dryly, flipping through the restaurant’s swanky, leather-bound menu.
“What exactly does one order at a French-Thai fusion restaurant, anyway?” Mike asked as he too scanned the menu, his expression far less assured than Neal’s.
“For starters, I would avoid the Galangal Escargot,” Neal advised, “unless you enjoy ingesting incredibly spicy snails.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Mike replied with a laugh. “Peter, I wish also to seek the council of my fellow hostage in this situation - what are you ordering?”
Peter was about to reply when Neal cut in first, “Oh, he’ll be ordering the cheeseburger, well-done, with ketchup, diced onions, and two crinkle-cut pickle slices.”
“You don’t know that’s what I’m getting,” Peter said defensively, picking up his menu and opening it defiantly, “I could be ordering anything on this menu.”
“Oh, really?” Neal asked skeptically. “So, you’d be open to getting, say, the Yellow Curry Foie Gras, with a starter of Kaffir Bouillabaise and Green Tea Gateau for dessert, then?”
“Of...course I would,” Peter insisted, sounding almost convinced. “I’m not the kind of uneducated oaf who flat-out refuses to try the actual cuisine at a specialty restaurant. But if, after I have thoroughly perused the menu and compared the flavor profiles, I find that a cheeseburger is the item which most perfectly suits my taste, then I shall have no shame in ordering it.”
“Ignore him,” Harvey commanded, leaning toward Mike and laying a hand lightly on his forearm, “A few years drinking FBI coffee will destroy all but the most resistant of palates. A Pearson Hardman man, however, must develop a refined taste sensibility if he wishes to succeed. For tonight, we’ll start small - I think the Poulet de Coco is just about your speed, rookie.”
Before Mike could think of an appropriate protest, the waitress returned with the wine. “Is it all right, sir?” she asked, pouring a little into Harvey’s glass.
Harvey made a show of swirling the dark red liquid around the bottom of the glass and taking a lingering sip, his other hand still resting on Mike’s arm. “Yes, most excellent,” he declared after a moment, shooting the waitress a grin which was somewhat less predatory than usual.
“Are we ready to order, then?” she asked pleasantly, her eyes flicking swiftly from one of them to another.
“Oh, I think we’ve all decided,” Neal spoke up, sending the waitress a grin to rival Harvey’s. “I would like the Yellow Curry Foie Gras, please,” he said decisively, shooting a challenging glance at Peter.
“Yes, and I,” Peter said, briefly returning Neal’s gaze before pivoting to face the waitress, “would like a cheeseburger, well-done, with ketchup, diced onions...and three pickle slices.”
“Very good,” the waitress said as she jotted it down, her expression very nearly masking her amusement as she turned her attention to Mike. “What would you like, sir?”
Mike was too busy stifling a giggle at Peter’s proud smile and Neal’s put-upon eyeroll to get an order out, which gave Harvey the opportunity to smoothly interject, “My friend here would like to try the Poulet de Coco.” He glanced briefly over at Mike’s face, which was arranged in a sort of manly pout, and added with a small eye-roll, “And a side of pommes frites, lots of salt.”
“And you, sir?” she asked Harvey.
“Since I have a adventuresome palate, and you seem like a terribly bright girl,” Harvey began, too busy charming the waitress to notice that Mike’s pout had changed into a private smile, “Why don’t you surprise me?”
“All right, sir,” she assented, looking flattered. “Any restrictions?”
“Oh, I don’t believe in restrictions,” Harvey assured her, looking terribly in earnest.
“Only at dinner, or in other spheres of your life as well?” Neal asked teasingly as the waitress jotted down her final notes and made a quiet exit from the table.
“I find they have this annoying tendency of making things...boring,” Harvey replied, turning to look at the man on his left. “Don’t you think so, Neal?”
It was at this moment that Mike decided to reach for the bread in the center of the table, and in doing so managed to casually slide his left hand over Harvey’s while looking at Neal as if eagerly anticipating his answer.
Neal paused for just a moment before letting out a little laugh and saying, “I think my partner would probably say I do better with a few restrictions, wouldn’t you, Peter?”
“Decidedly so,” Peter agreed, shooting Neal a surprised glance. He took a sip of the wine and was pleased to discover it did taste distinctly less posh with a little salt covertly sprinkled in it. “About two miles’ worth of restrictions, to be exact.”
“God, I walked straight into that, didn’t I?” Neal said, shaking his head.
“Always do,” Peter said, smiling mischievously , “You always do.”
“Okay, I have to ask,” Mike interjected, leaning forward a bit conspiratorially, “How on earth did you two meet?”
“I caught him,” Peter said gleefully, jumping in before Neal could offer his own version. “Took me two years of concentrated pursuit, but I succeeded where so many others had failed: I landed Neal Caffrey.”
“My God, two years?” Mike asked incredulously. “That’s a hell of a long time.”
“Well, when you’re going after something you want that much, it just kind of flies by,” Peter said a bit wistfully.
“Peter, I do believe you’re a closet sentimentalist,” Harvey teased, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. “Spending two years chasing just one man? That’s a story I am dying to hear more about.”
Peter had just opened his mouth to speak when Neal placed a hand on his shoulder and cut in, “Oh believe me, it’s nothing compared to the story of the day we met.”
“Do tell,” Harvey said, his head whipping left to face Neal, eyes alight with interest.
“It’s not really that good of a story,” Peter said quickly. He tried desperately to think of a distraction big enough to change the subject, but, as everything he thought up involved setting fire to something or someone, was forced to give up.
“Oh no, you don’t, now you have to tell it,” Mike insisted eagerly, his attention focused entirely on Neal.
“Yes, go on, Neal,” Harvey encouraged, “Peter’s worked very hard to keep all blackmail-worthy stories from reaching my ears, and from the look on his face, I’d say this is going to be a doozy.”
“Well, I’d just finished cashing in some allegedly counterfeit bonds at this bank in Midtown,” Neal began.
“You served three years in jail for faking those bonds, Neal, I think you can drop the ‘allegedly’,” Peter said dryly.
Neal leveled a cool glance at Peter before continuing, “As I was saying, I’d just walked out of the bank, when whom do you think I see questioning the bank manager?”
“I know! I know!” Mike exclaimed excitedly, raising his hand in the air. Harvey sent him a very pointed sideways glance, and he lowered it a bit bashfully, but not before whispering, “It was Peter...” half to the others, half to himself.
“So let me guess,” Harvey speculated, appraising Neal thoughtfully, “you walked right up to him and introduced yourself.” At Peter’s mystified expression, he grinned slyly and explained, “What? It’s what I would have done.”
“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I did,” Neal said, nodding appreciatively at Harvey. “I’d never met a Fed before, and I figured talking to him might give me some idea of whether the Bureau was onto me yet or not.”
“And so he came up to me, introduced himself, and that was it,” Peter interjected with a nervous laugh, “I told you it wasn’t a great story. Okay, who needs another bottle of wine?”
The others spared him only a brief glance before continuing as if he hadn’t spoken. “What did you say?” Mike asked eagerly.
“Well,” Neal said, leaning in conspiratorially, “I decided to play the ‘just another concerned citizen’ card. So after I went through the whole ‘Oh, you’re FBI, that’s so exciting!’ routine, I pulled out my best worried and adorable face and-”
“Okay, I absolutely do not consent to ‘worried and adorable,’ “ Peter objected, “That makes you sound like some sort of wounded baby deer.”
“A wounded baby deer you were only too happy to reassure by telling him all about the forged bonds you were investigating,” Neal retorted smugly.
“Got you there, my friend,” Harvey said, enjoying this immensely.
“So he told you everything you needed to know,” Mike conceded, “that’s all well and good. But here’s the really important question - did you have a really great exit line?”
Neal grinned even wider in anticipation of his favorite part of the story. “Okay, first, I thanked him for all the hard work he’d been doing on behalf of the concerned citizens. Then, to finish it off, I flashed him my best ‘charming everyman grin’, handed him the green sucker the lady in the bank gave to me accompanied by a casual, but sincere, ‘That’s for you,’ before I simply walked away.”
“Dude, that’s awesome!” Mike exclaimed appreciatively, raising his hand over the table to offer Neal a high-five, which the other man enthusiastically accepted.
Harvey eschewed a verbal response in favor of laughing uncontrollably, and soon Neal and Mike were also doubled over the table in hysterics, tears streaming down their cheeks. Peter, meanwhile, sat stoically by, arms crossed, and waited for the wave of hilarity to pass.
Once he had finally regained his composure, Neal turned to Peter with a contrite expression and pleaded, “Oh, don’t look like that.” He grasped his hand fondly as he added, “You have to admit, it is a great story.”
“Oh yes,” Peter agreed, “just like me catching you on, what is it now, three separate occasions is an equally great story.”
“Come on, only the first one really counts,” Neal scoffed. “Stop padding your record.”
“Don’t you mean, ‘stop padding your undefeated record?’ “ Peter asked smugly, which prompted a groan from Neal.
It was that moment that the waitress chose to arrive with their food, which consisted of several plates topped by artfully arranged ingredients in a rainbow of colors...and one cheeseburger. The presentation of the cheeseburger caused Peter to grin, Neal to groan, Harvey to laugh, and Mike to look on enviously as he snuck an unhappy glance at his own exotic-looking meal.
“Oh, would you just man up and eat the chicken?” Harvey asked exasperatedly when he saw Mike brooding. “Come on, it’s good, I promise.”
“Are you sure it’s chicken?” Mike asked doubtfully, “Last time I checked it wasn’t supposed to be purple.”
“That’s just the plum glaze,” Harvey assured him. “It really sets off the coconut flavor.”
“I’m with Mike on this one,” Peter said, staring skeptically at the plate. “Chicken is one of those foods that should simply not be purple.”
“You are not helping,” Harvey said pointedly, shooting daggers at him before turning back to Mike. “Mike, the whole reason I brought you here is that this is exactly the kind of place lawyers for a firm like ours have to take clients, and on those occasions you most certainly cannot order a cheeseburger.”
“Fine,” Mike said sulkily, picking at the contents of his plate, “But I won’t like it.”
“That’s entirely up to you,” Harvey said resignedly.
All eyes were on Mike as he raised a piece of chicken his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. His face remained carefully blank at first, but finally he rolled his eyes, smiled, and said, “Okay, that’s kind of insanely delicious.”
“Ha! Told you,” Harvey announced smugly.
“Anyone else want a bite?” Mike asked round the table.
“No, thank you,” Peter said adamantly. “Delicious or not, I have a firm rule about foods of an unnatural hue.”
“I’ll try it,” Neal volunteered. “I am not afraid of new experiences.”
“You should be afraid of food poisoning,” Peter retorted.
“Ignore him, Mike,” Neal said with a laugh. “Go on, impress me.”
Mike cut off another piece of chicken and extended it in Neal’s direction. Harvey and Peter exchanged brief, dismayed looks as they watched Neal slide his fork slowly down Mike’s until the piece of chicken transferred to it, then promptly popped it in his mouth and chewed it leisurely, declaring, “This may be the most succulent chicken I have ever tasted.”
“I’ll try it,” Harvey said, rather more quickly than he’d intended.
“Harvey, you’re the one who ordered it for me,” Mike said a bit sarcastically, “I’m hoping you know what it tastes like.”
“Yes,” Harvey admitted, “But...it’s been awhile, and I want to make sure it’s as good as I remember.”
Mike shrugged, speared another piece of chicken, and reached his fork toward Harvey. At that precise moment, some strange, but potent combination of jealousy and competitiveness seized Harvey, and before he could stop himself or remember that he didn’t care, he had lunged toward Mike and eaten the proffered chicken directly off the fork.
Harvey tried his best to ignore the looks of shock from his companions and pretend like essentially forcing his associate to feed him a piece of chicken in the middle of a fancy dinner was not an incredibly strange thing to do. “Yes,” he said, nodding his head thoughtfully, “Just as good as I remember. Thanks, Mike.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, Harvey,” Mike said after a pause, and Harvey was distinctly disturbed by the knowing smile on his face.
“So, Harvey,” Peter interjected, his face wreathed in a dangerously exuberant grin that troubled Harvey almost as much as Mike’s knowing one, “I feel like Neal and I were monopolizing the conversation earlier. I, for one, would love to hear the story about how you and Mike met.”
“Pretty straightforward, really,” Harvey said in an off-hand tone perfected with years of careful practice. “I was interviewing for associates, he came in, I hired him. Simple.”
“Now I hardly think one of the self-proclaimed best closers in New York City can’t tell a better story than that,” Peter said, crossing his arms. “What about you, Mike? How do you remember it?”
“Pretty much like that, really,” Mike said quickly, “I’ve nothing to add.” When Peter pulled out the “I know you’re hiding something” expression he reserved for interrogations, however, Mike added reluctantly, “There’s some parts that are, um, not fit for FBI ears.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Neal said brightly, “We’ll just send Peter to sit in the car; I want to hear the story more than ever!”
“No one is sitting in the car,” Peter said firmly. “I’m assuming you didn’t hurt anybody?”
“Of course not,” Mike assured him.
“All right, then,” Peter replied, taking out his badge and putting it on the table. “For the purposes of this story, I am not Peter Burke, FBI, but rather Peter Burke, good friend and cheeseburger afficianado. Still, perhaps you’d better give me the edited-for-TV version.”
Mike and Harvey exchanged looks, and at Harvey’s nod, Mike began, “Okay, so, I’m in this fancy hotel to conduct some...business, when I run into some...trouble and am in need of an escape.”
“I, meanwhile, am in the downstairs ballroom being bored to tears by a bunch of Harvard grads, all of whom either think they’re the next Johnny Cochran or are wavering on the verge of a panic attack from talking to a real, live lawyer,” Harvey interjected.
“So I run down five flights of stairs and across the lobby, looking for absolutely any place I can hide out for ten minutes,” Mike continued, “when I see this sign for interviews for Pearson Hardman. It hits me that this is the best chance I’m likely to get at avoiding the...trouble all together, so when I hear someone calling out for a candidate who wasn’t answering, I take it as a sign from God and barge right in.”
“I had previously instructed this someone - the indispensable Donna, whom you met, Peter - to give all the guys a hard time for being late, and to wink at me if anyone said anything clever. For legal reasons, I cannot divulge what Mike said, but it did earn him the only wink anyone got all day.”
“You never told me that!” Mike exclaimed, giving Harvey a playful slap on the arm.
Harvey shrugged and said with a grin, “I figured it would’ve inflated your ego.”
“Right, and there’s no place for inflated egos at Pearson Hardman,” Mike returned with an incredulous look at Harvey accompanied by an eye-roll.
“Okay, I’m clear on how this comedy of errors ended with the two of you in a room together,” Neal said slowly, looking between them, “But, Harvey, I have to ask - why did you hire someone who wasn’t even there for an interview when you had a waiting room full of qualified candidates?”
“Yes, Harvey, why did you?” Mike asked suddenly, leaning toward Harvey and resting his chin in his hand interestedly.
“For starters, I was impressed by his balls,” Harvey started, but upon catching sight of the suggestive look Neal was sending him, added quickly, “er, I mean in telling me the truth, that he was just there because he needed a place to lay low. Not one of those Harvard types would have had the guts to be honest in an interview, not in a million years.”
“Wow, hiring a lawyer for his honesty?” Peter said sarcastically, “That is a new one.”
Harvey ignored him and continued, “And he has a...specific skill set which more than made up for his comparative lack of qualifications.”
“Really?” Neal said, grinning suggestively again and leaning forward to inquire, “Could we have a demonstration, or is it the type of thing that would get us thrown out of the restaurant?”
Harvey thought for a moment, then said calmly, “Mike - wine list, go.”
“You want prices, vintages, descriptions, the whole deal?” Mike asked.
‘All of it,” Harvey said firmly.
Mike then spent the next eight minutes reciting, verbatim, the restaurant’s wine list, which he had only seen for a couple minutes before Harvey had taken charge of the ordering. He finished with, “And last, but not least, an exquisite 1960 Chateau Lafitte, 85% Cabernet Sauvignon, 10% Merlot, 5% Petit Verdot, described as ‘complex, lush, and full-bodied,’ and topping off the price range at fifteen hundred dollars even.”
Neal let out a long whistle and and exclaimed, “That, my friend, is truly amazing. I mean, just imagine what you and I could -” He quickly cut off his daydreaming upon seeing the reproving look Peter was giving him and amended, “On second thought, better not.”
“I don’t buy it,” Peter said suddenly. “Oh, not you, Mike” he corrected quickly, upon seeing the hurt expression on Mike’s face, “I have no doubt at all in your incredible skills. No, what I don’t buy,” he continued, turning to Harvey, “is that Harvey would hire you for such a personal position as his associate just for your memory. I mean, surely he could have kept you on as a consultant for a fraction of the cost and all the benefit.”
“You’d know all about that then, wouldn’t you?” Neal asked dryly.
“I would, indeed,” Peter agreed. He remembered full well Harvey’s boast that he was going to hire an assistant as eye-candy, but after what he’d seen tonight, Peter seriously doubted that was the whole story. “So, come on, Harvey, out with it - why Mike?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Peter,” Harvey said a tad frustratedly, suddenly uncomfortable with this line of inquiry. “He just had something, that’s all. Something that made me think that not one of the thousand over-qualified applicants sitting in my waiting room had one-tenth of the potential he did. Something that made me want to give him the chance no one else ever had. Something that made me want him by my side...professionally speaking, of course.”
Harvey lapsed into silence, and the self-conscious look on his face as he purposefully avoided Mike’s gaze made Peter feel guilty for pressing a little too hard. Luckily, the silence lasted only a few seconds before Mike sighed and said seriously, “And here was me thinking this whole time it was because I’m so ridiculously attractive.”
This prompted an immediate rebuttal from Harvey and a spirited defense from Neal, and just like that the former, light-hearted spirit of the party returned. The next couple hours passed much as the previous one had, with conversation, wine, and laughter all flowing freely. Harvey persuaded everyone to order dessert, a course which Neal spent trying to convince Peter that the Green Tea Gateau really wasn’t that strange, and which Mike spent covertly stealing bites from Harvey’s Papaya Crème Brûlée when he wasn’t looking.
Finally, however, after Harvey had emerged victorious from the his battle with Peter over the cheque, the time came for saying goodbyes.
“Mike, Harvey, thank you for making this the best dinner I’ve ever been to at a restaurant of Neal’s choosing,” Peter said, shaking Mike’s hand before clapping Harvey amiably on the shoulder.
“Oh, ha, ha, Peter,” Neal said, rolling his eyes. “I would be more offended if he wasn’t right about this being such an enjoyable evening.” He shook Harvey’s hand first, saying, “Harvey, always a pleasure spending time with another of New York’s best-dressed men.”
Next, he turned to Mike and said, “And Mike, if you ever want to make any extra money on the side...” Once again, however, his train of thought was curtailed by a sharp look from Peter and he finished tamely, “...might I suggest dog-walking?”
Harvey laughed and declared, “We really should do this again sometime. And I’m not just saying that to be polite, because, well, you all know that’s not my style.”
“Yes, indeed,” Mike said, laying a hand on Harvey’s shoulder. “It’s so hard finding anyone decent to double with in this city, don’t you find?”
“Double?” Peter asked, thoroughly confused.
“Date, of course,” Mike said smoothly. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to find you two. But, alas, all good things must come to an end. Come on, Harvey,” he said, taking Harvey’s hand and leading him toward the door, “you’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. See you two soon, I hope!”
Peter could only wave mutely at them as Mike dragged Harvey toward the door, the look of utter shock on Harvey’s face equaled only by the one on Peter’s own. Neal, as was so often his custom, remained inscrutable.
It took a few paces in the cold air outside the restaurant to jolt Harvey back to his senses. He let go of Mike’s hand, causing the other man to stop walking and turn to face him, and exclaimed, “Now hold on a minute, Mike! Just what did you mean by ‘double date’?”
“Two couples going out to dinner,” Mike said matter-of-factly, tilting his head to convey confusion. “Wouldn’t you call that a double date?”
“Yes,” Harvey said impatiently, “But we are not a couple!”
“Oh, aren’t we?” Mike asked, feigning ignorance.
“Of course not!” Harvey exclaimed, frustrated. He moved closer to Mike and lowered his voice before adding, “Like I told you that night you came over to my apartment, I’m not looking for a relationship. This thing between us? It’s just sex - nothing more.”
“Uh-huh,” Mike said, looking amused as he crossed his arms in a way that Harvey found both patronizing and endearing. “So, that night a couple weeks back when I was sick, and you came over to my apartment...”
“For a booty call!” Harvey interrupted, “I object on the grounds of relevance!”
“And you made me soup,” Mike continued a bit louder, otherwise ignoring Harvey’s outburst, “And we ended up falling asleep together on my couch watching Galaxy Quest? You’re really telling me that wasn’t a date?”
“Now that’s not fair,” Harvey objected, “You have an abysmal track record of taking care of yourself, and Jessica would have made me fill out an absurd amount of paperwork if you died of starvation in your apartment. And, come on, how am I supposed to resist watching a brilliant, yet loving parody of Star Trek: The Original Series starring ultimate man’s man Tim Allen? You know how I feel about Captain Kirk, Mike! I feel like that’s asking too much.”
“And what about that surprise picnic in the park last Tuesday afternoon, hmmm?” Mike asked skeptically, still looking intensely amused.
“Oh, that was just a coincidence,” Harvey said with a laugh, confident that he had a perfectly reasonable explanation. “The new client meeting I’d booked for us just happened to fall through, and Donna just happened to have a picnic lunch hanging around the office because her date cancelled, and you’d just happened to mention only the day before how much you missed having picnics with your Gran and...” Harvey stopped mid-sentence as a look of shock came over his face. “Oh God - there was no client. There was no cancelled date. You arranged the whole thing, didn’t you?”
“Now am I capable of engineering a plan that complex?” Mike asked innocently.
“I am rapidly realizing you are capable of feats far more terrifying than that,” Harvey answered truthfully, his face growing a little pale.
Mike simply grinned pleasantly and took a few steps toward Harvey. “I don’t know why you’re this surprised, Harvey; I would have thought that it was obvious by now how resourceful I am when it comes to getting what I want.”
Harvey instinctively threw up his hands and retreated a couple paces, his head spinning, but a thought struck him which seemed capable of returning things to normal. “Ha!” he exclaimed triumphantly, “You tricked me into doing all those ‘couple-y’ things, so they don’t count. What I told you before holds true - Harvey Specter does not date.”
Harvey was surprised when Mike, far from looking disappointed at the superior logic of his argument, instead took a few steps forward so they were standing mere inches apart. “Okay, then, answer me this - in the five weeks we’ve been sleeping together, how many women have you gone home with?”
Harvey thought for a moment and started, “Well, for starters there was...no, that was a couple months back...but after her there was...no, I guess that was just flirting...I mean, there has to have been at least...” Harvey swallowed audibly and admitted, his voice quiet, “By my latest calculation...none.”
“And why do you think that is?” Mike asked, a bit more gently this time.
Because it would have felt like cheating was the answer that popped immediately into Harvey’s head. Mike watched him intently, and, once he was satisfied that his point had hit home, wrapped his arms around Harvey’s neck and said with a little sigh, “Face it, Harvey - you’re about as good at not dating as you are at not caring about people. And trust me when I tell you that you’re abysmal at both.”
Harvey looked down at Mike and, though he was still quite disturbed by the idea that his associate - or was it boyfriend now? Dear God, he’d just voluntarily used the word boyfriend - was some sort of dating ninja, he found that he couldn’t work up any anger over it. In fact, the whole idea made Harvey feel strangely...warm.
“And just who taught you to be so insufferable, hmm?” Harvey asked, though there was no real bite in his question as he wrapped his arms around Mike’s waist to pull him in just a little closer.
Mike merely cocked his head to the side and smiled up at him, causing Harvey to think, Oh, right...me.
“There are going to have to be some ground rules,” Harvey warned him.
“Of course, of course,” Mike agreed easily, and Harvey got the strange suspicion that Mike was just humoring him.
“No hand-holding in the office,” he began, as this was the first thing that popped into his head. “Oh, and you are not allowed to give me a ridiculous pet name. And...” He took one look at Mike’s admittedly adorable face, sighed, and finished with, “Screw it, we can figure out the rest later - come here.”
--------------------------------
Peter and Neal watched, spellbound, as Harvey pulled Mike into a passionate kiss, right there on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, paying no mind to the scandalized looks they were receiving from some of the passers-by.
“Wow,” was all Peter was capable of saying. “I mean, I figured they were sleeping together but...wow.”
“Like they’re in their own little world,” Neal said wistfully, still watching Harvey and Mike as they slowly pulled apart and walked out of view, arms wrapped tightly around each other’s waists.
“Can you imagine Mike thinking this was a double date?” Peter said with a nervous laugh. “I mean that’s...insane. You and me, dating? The very thought of it’s just plain laughable.”
“Yeah,” Neal murmured. Peter could have sworn a brief cloud passed over Neal’s face before he too laughed and agreed, “Utterly ridiculous.”
Peter was still laughing when they exited the restaurant, although more out of discomfort than because he found anything particularly funny. “Hey, do you want to come over to my place and look over the O’Brien file? I could use your opinion on the brushstrokes the forger was using.”
“Actually,” Neal said a bit hesitantly, “I think I’m going to call it a night. Long day and all that.”
“Yeah, sure,” Peter said doubtfully. As Neal turned to go, he acted on instinct and grabbed his partner’s arm. “Hey, is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Peter,” Neal replied, sending him a smile that very nearly reached the corners of his eyes. “I’m just tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, he turned away once more and walked away into the darkness.
“See you,” Peter murmured distractedly, unable to shake the feeling that something was bothering Neal, and whatever it was, it was all his fault.