Suits Fic: going the distance (G, Gen)
Title: going the distance
Fandom: Suits
Character(s): Donna, Harvey, Mike
Rating: G
Genre: Friendship, humour
Pairing: Gen
Spoilers: No episode-specific spoilers.
Disclaimer: Suits doesn't belong to me, this is solely for fun. No copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: ~2300
Summary: Donna runs a quarter marathon, Mike bonds, and all Harvey really wants is a hug.
-
going the distance
-
Donna hangs the sponsor sheet from her desk at the beginning of the work week. It looks innocuous enough, just a clipboard with a form for the annual Pearson Hardman Run to Fight Lung Cancer. The name Donna is neatly handwritten in green ink on the participant line; just Donna, like a surname is primarily unnecessary and an insult furthermore.
Harvey's is the first signature as it is every year, kicking things off with a pledge of five thousand. (Traditionally he promises an additional grand if she can beat him in the race. This is their fourth year running and he hasn't won the bet so far, yet he continues to make the challenge every year.) Jessica has a standing policy of not sponsoring those below her in the chain of command, choosing instead to contribute a lump sum to the cause. Curiously enough, her secretary has pledged an additional two thousand, though the loopy writing looks nothing like Emily's.
On day one of fundraising, Donna displays the sheet prominently but does not discuss it, going about her daily routine of triaging Harvey's inbox, knocking his ego down two pegs to celebrate the return to double digits, toying with Microsoft Office until she bores of bending the program suite to her will, and finishing the day by reminding Harvey that she is the only one allowed to steamroll over him like this.
"New strategy?" Harvey asks at lunchtime. He and Mike have stowed away in his office for the day to strategize about the case, but it hasn't escaped his notice that those in her line of fire have remained unscathed.
"I'm running an experiment," she informs him. "I want to see whether previous years have created a lasting impression."
She has fifteen signatures by day's end. Louis Litt is among them.
Day two is when it starts. She doesn't break out the tears, because those are for toying with lawyers; she lost her Grandfather to this disease, and her grief is her own. Instead, day two involves the addition of buttons, piled in a little wooden basket on the corner of her desk. There are no words, no slogans, just a picture of her face. She hands them out to anyone on the list; Harvey wears his proudly, pinned neatly to the lapel of his suit.
It nets her another eight, bringing her total to just shy of ten thousand. She can do better.
On Wednesday, the literature appears to bookend the basket. She lays out pamphlets detailing the symptoms, treatment, and general progression of the disease. The topic comes up in casual conversation with those that pass by without reference to the growing display. Unlike the heavy-handed egos that flit around the office, she has mastered the art of subtlety. It isn't her favourite medium but it has its uses.
Thursday is when she chooses to be blunt about it. The attitude of those who approach her and the things they request of her determine the approach with which their attention is directed towards the clipboard. Mike would receive a pointed cough were it not for the second category; instead, he merits level five tactics.
"My sponsor sheet for the run this weekend is hanging right there," she tells him. Rather making an exit stage left to allow him the illusion that this is his idea, she maintains eye contact to communicate he has her full attention.
"Are you running for anyone?" Mike asks.
He is the first to ask (who doesn't already know), and for that, he gets the truth. "My Grandfather."
Mike pledges one week's salary. That it is an associate's salary rather amplifies the gesture, actually, and that merits not only a button but a hug. "No longer than five seconds," she warns him as she moves to stand. She stays silent when his arms tighten around her at the stated cut-off point, because she understands that her admission has cultivated an unexpected bond; Mike's own grandparent means everything to him. By now, she hopes he has learned to read between the lines.
"Why is it that I never get a hug?" Harvey demands once Mike has come and gone, the associate's workload twice as heavy but heart ten times lighter.
"Aw, are you jealous?"
"I don't get jealous. I get even."
"You keep telling yourself that. I'll be here when you learn to use your words."
At day's end, the signatures have spilled over to a second page and reached a grand total of forty-one.
She carries it with her on Friday, making the rounds to her fellow administrative professionals. They are usually content to remain behind the scenes, but every once in awhile it's worth reminding the senior partners who keeps this ship afloat. Their assistants line them up and she knocks them down, collecting another nine signatures to bring her up to a nice round fifty sponsors, with nearly seventeen thousand as a projected tally.
Not too bad for a week's work.
-
This time, Harvey's yearly pep talk consists of a text message reading 'kick some ass' sent the night before. He's attached a picture of a box of brand new Asics, ladies size eight and a half, sitting in the passenger seat of his car with a bright yellow bow on top. There's no point in giving them to her now as she's not about to break in new runners the day of a race, but the message is clear. He's adorable when he thinks he isn't absolutely transparent.
She sends back a photo of her hugging her pillow over BlackBerry Messenger. Her phone marks the message as read two minutes after she sends it, but no response is forthcoming.
-
The morning of the race dawns bright and early, the sun cresting along the eastern edge of New York's skyscrapers as they gather in Central Park. Some of the participants have adorned sunglasses, but Donna finds them cumbersome; she's content to run with her iPod alone. She's not here to win (although she generally places in the top ten percent, not that she keeps track or anything), because that's not what keeps her coming out year after year.
Actual participation isn't mandatory but putting in an appearance certainly is; she can tell the associates that are only here under obligation because they've clustered under the refreshment tent in the shade.
She finds Rachel and Jessica in deep conversation under the prize tent; Rachel runs the event every year with an iron fist from the first tent up to the last water bottle discarded. Jessica traditionally presides over the day, but she's chosen to run this year, the usual businesswear replaced with shorts and a jersey bearing the number eight. Donna's own number is seven; not because she was the seventh person to sign up, but because Rachel saves whatever number it is she wants and she's feeling lucky this year.
Mike stumbles across her first and clings on for dear life, looking out-of-place among the associates with his old beat-up runners. He matches her stretch for stretch until she does the splits, at which point he because especially interested in tying his shoelace.
"You see Gregory standing over there?" she asks quietly, nodding her head at the associate hovering by the table of baked goods while Rachel keeps a close eye on him. He ranks rather low on her radar, but pretending to forget his name isn't funny in a job where her own is often overlooked by those above her pay grade.
"Yeah."
"He's wearing a pair of brand new runners that I'll bet you any money he hasn't broken in, and just snuck a brownie that he thinks Rachel didn't notice. He's going to start off sprinting, tire himself out, and bail partway through. You are going to be fine."
"I'm scared," Mike replies, though the grin on his face rather belies the sentiment. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
She fixes him with a look that says he is being especially dense. "I enjoy seeing the Harvard crowd left in the dust."
"What's this about leaving me in the dust?" Harvey asks from above them.
"It's a favourite past time of mine," Donna says.
"I knew that already," he waves her off with. "But Mike, I didn't know you were running."
Mike shrugs modestly, but Donna knows better. All that biking everywhere is sure to have developed his leg muscles. It should make for an interesting race. Personally, she hopes he beats Harvey. The look on her boss' face would be absolutely priceless. Rachel calls Mike over to pick up his number before he can redirect the topic, leaving Donna and Harvey alone.
"Don't get beat too badly today," she wishes him as she gets to her feet, patting him on the arm as she moves past. His frown at the short contact follows her all the way there, and she shakes her head at him as she jogs over to the start line.
He really is too easy to play.
-
The competitors have spaced out by the time they reach the reservoir. She passed Gregory before the end of the first mile, huffing and puffing with a hand pressed to the inevitable stitch in his side. Harvey is a ways behind her on pace with Jessica, doing respectably in his own right.
She swaps places with Mike three or four times as the Park Drive loop swings back around and deposits them heading north again; he looks to be slowing, face red with exertion. She considers Mike's heartfelt donation and the effort he's putting forth, and quietly adjusts her stride to match his until the backyard of the Metropolitan Museum of Art looms before them. Rachel's small army of volunteers have a water tent set up there, so she leaves him to catch his breath while she downs half a bottle and presses onwards.
Her quads burn as she rounds the corner onto the home stretch. In the distance, she can see the first few people crossing the finish line to a chorus of cheers. The runner in front of her puts on a burst of speed when he becomes aware of her presence behind him. If he hadn't, she probably wouldn't have taken note of him; instead, the action infuses her competitive drive with new life. She ups her pace to a full-on sprint, overtaking him on the final curve and maintaining the lead until it is her turn to finish among a cheering crowd.
Ha, she thinks. Take that, buddy.
-
Race officials place her eighteenth out of the two hundred participants with a 7:03 mile, shaving fifteen seconds off last year's average. She's still celebrating this when Mike gets back well ahead of Harvey, which earns him a genuine smile. Harvey places in the top fifty in a tie with Jessica; the timekeeper has the replay camera cued up to determine the actual winner, but they decline to find out.
"Good job, Donna," Harvey says, one arm around her shoulder.
"You're disgusting. Go take a shower."
"You're just as sweaty," he says, and then thinks better of it.
"So I should try and surreptitiously weasel hugs out of people while denying my jealousy that my associate got one and I didn't? Oh wait, that's you."
"Too long to be a snappy comeback. You can do better."
"Damn. I hate it when you're right."
-
Harvey takes them out to dinner that night to one of his favourite restaurants, a little pizza place off the beaten path with one of the best pies in the city. The reservation for three must have been booked earlier than today, Harvey Specter or not, which means that at least some planning went into it. For all his eloquence in the courtroom, he always has relied on actions rather than words in his dealings with people.
The host leads them through the dining room and up the stairs, where the lighting is muted and reduced to individual sconces above each table rather than overhead fluorescents. He settles them in a little corner booth with a window overlooking the street below, leaving them to enjoy the sights and sounds of the city.
Mike maintains the faint air of confusion he's had ever since Harvey picked him up outside his apartment building even as he browses the menu, like he's not quite sure what it is he's doing here but he's happy about the turn of events anyways. The topic of the race seems to put him back on even footing; he perks up when he talks about coming first among the associates, which Harvey indulges him in. It isn't bragging if you can back it up.
"He surprised you today," she notes when Mike excuses himself to find the restroom.
"I had a feeling," Harvey admits. "I'd have been more surprised if he beat you." On that note, he slips her an envelope with a check for six thousand dollars, looking expectant.
She shakes her head. "You're incorrigible."
-
They drop Mike off first, the associate scrambling out of the back seat with a smile so wide it practically splits his face in half.
He pulls to a stop in front of her own apartment building and gets out right along with her.
"What do you say?" she prompts pointedly.
"Donna."
"That's a good start."
"Can I have a hug?" he admits at last. It neatly sidesteps the question of his jealousy, but it's the concession she was looking for. He's wearing the tone that communicates she has his full attention and her feelings are paramount. Of his considerable charms, these are the ones he refrains from using unless they are completely sincere.
"Come here," she says, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him close. One of his arms snakes up around to overlap hers, the other tightening at the small of her back as he holds her, the heat from his body warming her up.
"See you Monday, Harvey."
"See you Monday, Donna."
-
fin
Fandom: Suits
Character(s): Donna, Harvey, Mike
Rating: G
Genre: Friendship, humour
Pairing: Gen
Spoilers: No episode-specific spoilers.
Disclaimer: Suits doesn't belong to me, this is solely for fun. No copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: ~2300
Summary: Donna runs a quarter marathon, Mike bonds, and all Harvey really wants is a hug.
-
going the distance
-
Donna hangs the sponsor sheet from her desk at the beginning of the work week. It looks innocuous enough, just a clipboard with a form for the annual Pearson Hardman Run to Fight Lung Cancer. The name Donna is neatly handwritten in green ink on the participant line; just Donna, like a surname is primarily unnecessary and an insult furthermore.
Harvey's is the first signature as it is every year, kicking things off with a pledge of five thousand. (Traditionally he promises an additional grand if she can beat him in the race. This is their fourth year running and he hasn't won the bet so far, yet he continues to make the challenge every year.) Jessica has a standing policy of not sponsoring those below her in the chain of command, choosing instead to contribute a lump sum to the cause. Curiously enough, her secretary has pledged an additional two thousand, though the loopy writing looks nothing like Emily's.
On day one of fundraising, Donna displays the sheet prominently but does not discuss it, going about her daily routine of triaging Harvey's inbox, knocking his ego down two pegs to celebrate the return to double digits, toying with Microsoft Office until she bores of bending the program suite to her will, and finishing the day by reminding Harvey that she is the only one allowed to steamroll over him like this.
"New strategy?" Harvey asks at lunchtime. He and Mike have stowed away in his office for the day to strategize about the case, but it hasn't escaped his notice that those in her line of fire have remained unscathed.
"I'm running an experiment," she informs him. "I want to see whether previous years have created a lasting impression."
She has fifteen signatures by day's end. Louis Litt is among them.
Day two is when it starts. She doesn't break out the tears, because those are for toying with lawyers; she lost her Grandfather to this disease, and her grief is her own. Instead, day two involves the addition of buttons, piled in a little wooden basket on the corner of her desk. There are no words, no slogans, just a picture of her face. She hands them out to anyone on the list; Harvey wears his proudly, pinned neatly to the lapel of his suit.
It nets her another eight, bringing her total to just shy of ten thousand. She can do better.
On Wednesday, the literature appears to bookend the basket. She lays out pamphlets detailing the symptoms, treatment, and general progression of the disease. The topic comes up in casual conversation with those that pass by without reference to the growing display. Unlike the heavy-handed egos that flit around the office, she has mastered the art of subtlety. It isn't her favourite medium but it has its uses.
Thursday is when she chooses to be blunt about it. The attitude of those who approach her and the things they request of her determine the approach with which their attention is directed towards the clipboard. Mike would receive a pointed cough were it not for the second category; instead, he merits level five tactics.
"My sponsor sheet for the run this weekend is hanging right there," she tells him. Rather making an exit stage left to allow him the illusion that this is his idea, she maintains eye contact to communicate he has her full attention.
"Are you running for anyone?" Mike asks.
He is the first to ask (who doesn't already know), and for that, he gets the truth. "My Grandfather."
Mike pledges one week's salary. That it is an associate's salary rather amplifies the gesture, actually, and that merits not only a button but a hug. "No longer than five seconds," she warns him as she moves to stand. She stays silent when his arms tighten around her at the stated cut-off point, because she understands that her admission has cultivated an unexpected bond; Mike's own grandparent means everything to him. By now, she hopes he has learned to read between the lines.
"Why is it that I never get a hug?" Harvey demands once Mike has come and gone, the associate's workload twice as heavy but heart ten times lighter.
"Aw, are you jealous?"
"I don't get jealous. I get even."
"You keep telling yourself that. I'll be here when you learn to use your words."
At day's end, the signatures have spilled over to a second page and reached a grand total of forty-one.
She carries it with her on Friday, making the rounds to her fellow administrative professionals. They are usually content to remain behind the scenes, but every once in awhile it's worth reminding the senior partners who keeps this ship afloat. Their assistants line them up and she knocks them down, collecting another nine signatures to bring her up to a nice round fifty sponsors, with nearly seventeen thousand as a projected tally.
Not too bad for a week's work.
-
This time, Harvey's yearly pep talk consists of a text message reading 'kick some ass' sent the night before. He's attached a picture of a box of brand new Asics, ladies size eight and a half, sitting in the passenger seat of his car with a bright yellow bow on top. There's no point in giving them to her now as she's not about to break in new runners the day of a race, but the message is clear. He's adorable when he thinks he isn't absolutely transparent.
She sends back a photo of her hugging her pillow over BlackBerry Messenger. Her phone marks the message as read two minutes after she sends it, but no response is forthcoming.
-
The morning of the race dawns bright and early, the sun cresting along the eastern edge of New York's skyscrapers as they gather in Central Park. Some of the participants have adorned sunglasses, but Donna finds them cumbersome; she's content to run with her iPod alone. She's not here to win (although she generally places in the top ten percent, not that she keeps track or anything), because that's not what keeps her coming out year after year.
Actual participation isn't mandatory but putting in an appearance certainly is; she can tell the associates that are only here under obligation because they've clustered under the refreshment tent in the shade.
She finds Rachel and Jessica in deep conversation under the prize tent; Rachel runs the event every year with an iron fist from the first tent up to the last water bottle discarded. Jessica traditionally presides over the day, but she's chosen to run this year, the usual businesswear replaced with shorts and a jersey bearing the number eight. Donna's own number is seven; not because she was the seventh person to sign up, but because Rachel saves whatever number it is she wants and she's feeling lucky this year.
Mike stumbles across her first and clings on for dear life, looking out-of-place among the associates with his old beat-up runners. He matches her stretch for stretch until she does the splits, at which point he because especially interested in tying his shoelace.
"You see Gregory standing over there?" she asks quietly, nodding her head at the associate hovering by the table of baked goods while Rachel keeps a close eye on him. He ranks rather low on her radar, but pretending to forget his name isn't funny in a job where her own is often overlooked by those above her pay grade.
"Yeah."
"He's wearing a pair of brand new runners that I'll bet you any money he hasn't broken in, and just snuck a brownie that he thinks Rachel didn't notice. He's going to start off sprinting, tire himself out, and bail partway through. You are going to be fine."
"I'm scared," Mike replies, though the grin on his face rather belies the sentiment. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
She fixes him with a look that says he is being especially dense. "I enjoy seeing the Harvard crowd left in the dust."
"What's this about leaving me in the dust?" Harvey asks from above them.
"It's a favourite past time of mine," Donna says.
"I knew that already," he waves her off with. "But Mike, I didn't know you were running."
Mike shrugs modestly, but Donna knows better. All that biking everywhere is sure to have developed his leg muscles. It should make for an interesting race. Personally, she hopes he beats Harvey. The look on her boss' face would be absolutely priceless. Rachel calls Mike over to pick up his number before he can redirect the topic, leaving Donna and Harvey alone.
"Don't get beat too badly today," she wishes him as she gets to her feet, patting him on the arm as she moves past. His frown at the short contact follows her all the way there, and she shakes her head at him as she jogs over to the start line.
He really is too easy to play.
-
The competitors have spaced out by the time they reach the reservoir. She passed Gregory before the end of the first mile, huffing and puffing with a hand pressed to the inevitable stitch in his side. Harvey is a ways behind her on pace with Jessica, doing respectably in his own right.
She swaps places with Mike three or four times as the Park Drive loop swings back around and deposits them heading north again; he looks to be slowing, face red with exertion. She considers Mike's heartfelt donation and the effort he's putting forth, and quietly adjusts her stride to match his until the backyard of the Metropolitan Museum of Art looms before them. Rachel's small army of volunteers have a water tent set up there, so she leaves him to catch his breath while she downs half a bottle and presses onwards.
Her quads burn as she rounds the corner onto the home stretch. In the distance, she can see the first few people crossing the finish line to a chorus of cheers. The runner in front of her puts on a burst of speed when he becomes aware of her presence behind him. If he hadn't, she probably wouldn't have taken note of him; instead, the action infuses her competitive drive with new life. She ups her pace to a full-on sprint, overtaking him on the final curve and maintaining the lead until it is her turn to finish among a cheering crowd.
Ha, she thinks. Take that, buddy.
-
Race officials place her eighteenth out of the two hundred participants with a 7:03 mile, shaving fifteen seconds off last year's average. She's still celebrating this when Mike gets back well ahead of Harvey, which earns him a genuine smile. Harvey places in the top fifty in a tie with Jessica; the timekeeper has the replay camera cued up to determine the actual winner, but they decline to find out.
"Good job, Donna," Harvey says, one arm around her shoulder.
"You're disgusting. Go take a shower."
"You're just as sweaty," he says, and then thinks better of it.
"So I should try and surreptitiously weasel hugs out of people while denying my jealousy that my associate got one and I didn't? Oh wait, that's you."
"Too long to be a snappy comeback. You can do better."
"Damn. I hate it when you're right."
-
Harvey takes them out to dinner that night to one of his favourite restaurants, a little pizza place off the beaten path with one of the best pies in the city. The reservation for three must have been booked earlier than today, Harvey Specter or not, which means that at least some planning went into it. For all his eloquence in the courtroom, he always has relied on actions rather than words in his dealings with people.
The host leads them through the dining room and up the stairs, where the lighting is muted and reduced to individual sconces above each table rather than overhead fluorescents. He settles them in a little corner booth with a window overlooking the street below, leaving them to enjoy the sights and sounds of the city.
Mike maintains the faint air of confusion he's had ever since Harvey picked him up outside his apartment building even as he browses the menu, like he's not quite sure what it is he's doing here but he's happy about the turn of events anyways. The topic of the race seems to put him back on even footing; he perks up when he talks about coming first among the associates, which Harvey indulges him in. It isn't bragging if you can back it up.
"He surprised you today," she notes when Mike excuses himself to find the restroom.
"I had a feeling," Harvey admits. "I'd have been more surprised if he beat you." On that note, he slips her an envelope with a check for six thousand dollars, looking expectant.
She shakes her head. "You're incorrigible."
-
They drop Mike off first, the associate scrambling out of the back seat with a smile so wide it practically splits his face in half.
He pulls to a stop in front of her own apartment building and gets out right along with her.
"What do you say?" she prompts pointedly.
"Donna."
"That's a good start."
"Can I have a hug?" he admits at last. It neatly sidesteps the question of his jealousy, but it's the concession she was looking for. He's wearing the tone that communicates she has his full attention and her feelings are paramount. Of his considerable charms, these are the ones he refrains from using unless they are completely sincere.
"Come here," she says, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him close. One of his arms snakes up around to overlap hers, the other tightening at the small of her back as he holds her, the heat from his body warming her up.
"See you Monday, Harvey."
"See you Monday, Donna."
-
fin