Million Dollar Deal
Million Dollar Deal
(Suits Fandom)
~7700 words
disclaimer: I own nothing!
warning: non-con,
a/n: For Arianna because all we do is workshop H/C fics all the time forever I LOVE YOU BESTFRIEND HAHAHA. XD Um okay. That was a lot of no punctuation. Hope you enjoy!
Harvey wasn't worried about Mike. They'd been over it maybe a hundred times -- "You're just reeling in the client, Mike. This is a done deal, okay? Already on the line. You go to his apartment, you have a glass of ridiculously expensive wine while you talk, you go home, and then you bring the papers to my office in the morning. Even you can't screw this up."
Harvey's expression was steady, but he could see that familiar bewilderment in Mike's big blue puppy-dog eyes. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at him, and instead just patted him on the shoulder and spun him around to face the door. It was nearly seven thirty already, and Mike was still at the office. Harvey had insisted he take a cab this time, at least, so he didn't show up sweaty and wind-swept with his suit all crumpled to this meeting.
"You'll be fine. Just don't fuck up."
Mike tried not to think about how reassuring that wasn't.
"Thanks, great advice. And if I fuck up?"
"You're fired."
"Right, very good."
Mike sighed and closed his eyes, and Harvey walked away, speaking as he did, one hand in his suit pocket.
"This isn't rocket science, just don't fuck up. I told you, I'd vastly prefer not to own a puppy."
_
Mike felt things were going pretty well. It was pretty easy to pretend without Harvey or Louis breathing down his neck, at least so far, and looking out the penthouse window at the lights of the city, holding a glass of red wine that cost more than a month's rent on his first apartment -- that was even easier.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Donald Mohr. He was the CEO of a multibillion dollar corporation, a top investor, and a major client for Mike to score. Mike had been more than surprised that Harvey was letting him bring in this client, that he was letting Mike take the credit when all he'd had to do was have a glass of wine to consider Mohr bagged.
"It is, yeah, skyline… Really pretty."
Mike grinned, pointing out at the skyline nondescriptly. "Verrazano Narrows bridge. Three million rivets and you can't see any of them from here, just the lights."
Mohr nodded, gripping the top of Mike's arm tightly. Mike looked down at his hand, then up at Mohr, his eyes a little confused. He tugged his arm out of Mohr's grasp, and smiled, laughing, the sound nervous and questioning.
"Are you enjoying the wine?"
"Yeah, I, it's really good, thanks," Mike said, placing his glass on the table in the middle of the enormous room (a bigger room than Mike had ever seen in a residence in the city).
"I'm, ah, I'm not much of a drinker, but. Can't say no to a nice glass of wine."
Mohr grinned. Mike couldn't put his finger on why, but the smile made him uncomfortable now -- maybe it was because Mohr had grasped his arm, but he'd endured stranger and far worse things from prospective clients.
"Stay for another."
Mike smiled a little, letting out a breathy half-laugh. Now he understood why he was uncomfortable; Mohr had gotten between him and the door, and had eliminated any chance of him leaving gracefully.
"Oh, that's… Very kind of you, Mr. Mohr, but, really, I couldn't. I've. I have to go home, I'm, I live out in Brooklyn, and."
Mohr moved closer to him, and Mike felt the air in the room change, get thicker with . He moved around the other side of the table from him, backing away, a nervous smile straining to stay on his face.
"I, sir," he said softly, but it was all he could get out before the client he was supposed to be wooing into doing business with Pearson Hardman lunged straight at him, pushing him back at the shoulders. It was only another moment before Mohr had hit him in the stomach, taken the wind right out of him, brought him down to his knees. Mike looked up at him, big blue eyes wild with confusion, with the slightly hurt look of betrayal in his eyes. He couldn't speak, could only gasp for a moment, trying to get his breath back.
"I said stay," Mohr said, his voice cold and insistent, and Mike knew he was in trouble now. He was alone with a very powerful and apparently violent man in his apartment. A man he had to keep as a client.
"You're going to do what I tell you to do," he said next. Mike shook his head. Mohr slapped him hard across the face with the back of his hands. Mike still couldn't stand, though he could speak again, sounding as though he'd just run several miles.
"You just bruised -- bruised me, no way I'm staying here, I'm -- leaving." They were tough words, Mike realized, for someone still trying to regain enough lung capacity to stand up. He did stand, though, got to his feet and scrambled backwards towards the door.
"Are you? And what would Harvey Specter say if he saw you now? Not making nice with a very important future client?"
Mike shook his head. "I've got the bruises to prove we don't want you as one."
"And I've got the money to make that go away, you little bitch."
Mike was standing with his back to the door, one hand on the knob, but he stopped to think for a second. He knew that this was potentially the most important client he could bring in. Harvey would be disappointed if he failed him again, if he didn't do everything he could to bring Mohr to Pearson Hardman. He couldn't face that look on Harvey's face again, the disappointment that said 'you're exactly the fuck-up I should have thought you were.' He couldn't face being fired for fucking up when he was so close to doing what Harvey had wanted him to do.
But it didn't matter now, because there was Mohr, up close against his body, and pressing him hard and quick into the door, his back slamming up against it roughly.
"You're going to do whatever I want," Mohr said against the side of Mike's face, his breath hot and wet and bitter with the smell of the dry red wine. "Or your firm is going to lose me, and nobody wants that, huh? Especially not the rookie they sent to reel me in, because you know who they're going to blame, mm?"
Mike nodded, closing his eyes, swallowing. He reasoned that he could still fight it, could still get out before things got any worse… But all he could think about was the look on Harvey's face when he'd realized Mike was high, after Louis had made him smoke up with Tom. All he could think about was losing his job because he'd fucked up again, losing this important client and letting everyone down. Mike couldn't live with that.
Mike didn't dare fight back against Mohr, just stayed there, breathing shakily, against the door, hands clenched in fists. Mohr had him pinned, completely stuck in more ways than just physically. Mike's eyes were wide and nervous and disbelieving -- he couldn't believe this was happening, couldn't believe that this could happen to him, in this situation.
The rest of the night was a blur. Mike tried to block most of it out, tried to keep the feeling of Mohr's breath on his skin, the feeling of his hands clenching around his arms, pressing into his ribs… and none of that was the worst of it. Not half as bad as the worst of it.
Mike got a cab home, body aching, shaken. He pulled off his clothes and laid down in bed, but it felt like every movement was inside a heavy fog, a thick, soupy fog that felt like the worst of being high. But Mike was grateful for it, because it brought him to sleep quickly.
_
The morning was a blur, too. It was six thirty when Mike got to work and left the papers on Harvey's desk, and then sat down at his own. He sifted through some paperwork, but it was impossible for him to focus on it. His mind kept shifting back, flashes of the previous night sending his heart racing.
By seven thirty five it was too much. He escaped to the bathroom before Louis got in to the office, before Jessica was there, before any of the partners had appeared. He splashed water on his face, tried to take deep breaths, anything to keep him from passing out. He pulled his head out of the sink and looked in the mirror.
He looked like an absolute mess. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and there was a purple bruise forming just to the left of his left eye, a sharp red cut breaking in the center of it. He sighed, hiding his face in his hands again and squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment. He had a built-in excuse with the bike locked outside the building, but the red eyes and the distracted way he was thinking -- Harvey was going to know he'd fucked up somehow.
He looked back up in the mirror again, jumping when he saw Rachel's reflection over his shoulder, looking just as surprised to see him.
"Again?"
"Sorry. Sorry."
She approached him slowly, frowning a little. She leaned down to look at his eye in the mirror, since Mike couldn't stand to meet her eyes.
"What happened to you?"
"Got clipped by a taxi, I'm fine."
"On your face?"
"Yeah, on my face."
"Are you sure you're alright?"
Mike's breathing got labored and frustrated then, and he nodded. "Rachel, I'm fine, I'm fucking fine, please, just. Just leave me alone."
Rachel couldn't say anything before Mike left her there in the bathroom, making his way back to his cubicle.
_
"Mike Ross."
Louis' smug rat-face was hovering above the wall of his cubicle, permanent smirk plastered to his face.
"Did you file that injunction I asked for?"
"Yeah, I--"
"Then where's my confirmation? You gotta start bringing me those right after they come in, Mike, I can't always be running around after you looking for them!"
Mike nodded, passing the paper over the wall of the cubicle. Louis nodded and wagged the paper in Mike's face, which made Mike flinch with how close it came to his face. Louis didn't notice.
As soon as his face was gone, Rachel's had appeared above the wall next to his desk. Her big brown eyes looked worried, and she passed a note over to him. "Harvey wants to see you."
Mike stood from his cubicle somewhat stiffly, opening the note as he made his way through the office to see Harvey.
Are you sure you're alright? Talk to me.
Rachel
He crumpled it and shoved it into his pocket, trying to steady himself with a deep breath before he went into Harvey's office. Harvey didn't even turn to face him before speaking to him.
"Is this the paperwork?"
"Yeah."
"How'd it go last night?"
Mike answered too quickly. "Great, went great."
Harvey caught it, and looked up, quirking and eyebrow.
"You didn't fuck up again, did you?" his tone was almost joking, almost daring Mike to make a joke about how it couldn't've gone worse. But Mike didn't really feel like making a joke about that.
"It went fine. Glass of wine, went home, brought the papers this morning."
"And the shiner over your eye is just so you look pretty for your girlfriend?"
Mike reached up self-consciously, touching his fingers to the bruise, and wincing.
"Got clipped by a cab. On my bike."
Harvey almost laughed. "You need to start being inside the cab like a regular lawyer. Nobody's going to believe you went to Harvard if you start coming in all beat up like a Law & Order victim."
Mike forced a laugh, and swallowed.
"Can I go? Louis wants me."
"Go on, get out of here."
_
It had been two weeks since Mike had scored Mohr as a client. Mohr had been into the office twice, and both times, had left looking somewhat peeved. Mike had ducked down at his desk both times, and had once been discovered hiding by Louis, who seemed to think there was some sort of spit-ball war between Mike and Gregory. Mike sort of wanted to stick a spitball on the back of Louis' stupid bald head just to make him go away.
Mike had barely slept. Every night, he laid awake for hours in bed, waiting for that same thick fog to overtake him like it had the first night. It never came. And when sleep finally did come it was interrupted by the terrible images of the night he'd gotten Mohr as a client, the night Mohr had hissed disgusting, filthy things in his ear, had hissed at him that if he told anybody, they wouldn't believe him; who'd believe an associate attorney over a powerful, rich CEO? Certainly not his bosses, not the bosses who wanted Mohr's business, his connections to possible other clients. And if Mike didn't do what he wanted, Mohr threatened he'd find him and do it again, but next time, "next time I won't be so nice."
By the time Mohr came in a third time, Mike was ready, had already overheard Donna talking to him on the phone. He had made sure he would be out serving a subpoena while Mohr was in the office.
What he hadn't counted on was to run into Mohr -- quite literally -- in a rage on his way out the door, shouting at Harvey.
"I'm taking my business elsewhere, Harvey Specter! Your firm can't seem to comply with my needs, take your counsel and shove it straight up your ass!"
Mike pinned himself back against the reception desk, the fear in his eyes absolutely evident, absolutely incredible. Donna glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. Harvey stood in the doorway of his office for a moment and watched Mohr leave. Mike stayed pinned where he was for another long moment, Harvey watching him. A moment later, Harvey's hand was wrapping around his arm. Mike tugged it away quickly, eyes still wild and terrified. Harvey's didn't soften.
"My office. Now."
Harvey sat down behind his desk only moments later, and Mike stood in front of it, nearly shaking.
"You wanna tell me what you did?"
Mike bit his lip, hard, and refused to look at Harvey.
"Look at me."
"I can't."
"Mike, just tell me what happened. "
Mike stayed silent for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing with the want to tell someone, to tell Harvey, to just say it out loud.
"Is Donna listening?"
Harvey clicked a button on the intercom and Mike shivered again, hands trembling, clenched at his sides. He looked up, but still didn't meet Harvey's eyes.
"I'm so sorry," he said softly, his voice strained and aching, the look in his eyes anxious, but more than that… more than that, his eyes looked dull, tired, the way Harvey had never seen them before.
"Mike, just calm down. What happened?"
"I'm, i-it's all my fault," Mike spluttered out, feeling like his heart would break through his ribs at any moment.
Harvey's expression changed. There was a look of concern in his eyes, now, one Mike had only seen there once before. That was shortly before Harvey had gotten Trevor out of a deep hole, for Mike. Harvey had done that for Mike.
Harvey, despite Mike's attempts to avoid his gaze, wasn't letting his drop so easily.
"Mike, sit down. Tell me."
"It's all my fault he left, it's all my fault, I'm so sorry," Mike murmured, hands shaking in his lap. "He told me he would, he, I, god, Harvey, I really fucked up…"
Harvey's eyebrows were furrowed now, his gaze fixed on Mike. He moved around the desk, placing his hands on Mike's shoulders.
"Mike. You need to calm down right now and tell me what happened."
"I." Mike looked up at Harvey for the first time, and his big blue eyes filled with startled tears. Harvey was completely taken aback. He pulled him behind the desk and sat him down, worried even further by the way that Mike fought to pull out of his grasp.
"He. He knocked the wind out of me."
Harvey frowned, sitting on the top of the desk, watching Mike carefully. Mike hid his face in his hands.
"He pushed me up against the door and told me. Told. Told me nobody would believe me, I'm, I, he told me if I didn't do it we'd lose him as a client, I'm-- I f-fucked up, it's all my fault, Harvey, I…"
The rest of Mike's words were inaudible, too quiet and smashed together to be anything close to understandable. He had leaned forward, pressing his face to his knees. Harvey was completely shocked.
"He… he what?"
Harvey shook his head thinking back over the last few weeks -- the way Mohr had specifically requested that Mike handle his litigation, his contract signings, all of his legal work; the way Mike had seemed absent, distracted, jumpy… and completely exhausted, like he wasn't sleeping, even moreso than the other associates.
"It's all my fault and I'm so sorry," Mike murmured out, the sound shaky and terrifying to Harvey.
"No, no, no no no, Mike, that is not what I meant," he said urgently, his tone worried as he leaned down to try and get Mike to look at him. "That is not -- he hurt you, didn't he? Did. Did he…?"
Mike shuddered and shook his head, looking up at Harvey with sudden terror.
"Don't, don't, he… G-get him back, he's important, I'm, I, don't tell anybody."
Harvey shook his head, incredulous. He could scarcely believe that this was happening, let alone that it had happened to Mike, to this kid who could take care of himself in a lot of situations. Harvey wondered if he'd been ignoring Mike, if he really hadn't noticed that something was wrong… or if he'd been trying not to notice.
"Mike, shh, don't, we're not going to get him back, not after what he did to you, we don't want him after that."
Mike shook his head and tried to slow his breathing, his eyes wide and nervous.
"You can't tell anybody."
"No, but you can. Hospital. Now."
"But it was three weeks ago, Harvey," Mike managed, shaking his head, not mentioning how frightened he was that nobody at the hospital would believe him anyway, not mentioning how much the idea of being poked and prodded and having to be naked in front of someone else again horrified him.
Harvey shook his head. "No. Mike, this is something that needs to be done, okay? I promise we're gonna get this guy."
"You're not a prosecutor," Mike snapped, his breathing quick and terrified.
"Mike, you could have an STD, you might really have been injured."
"When the other associates find out -- when Louis finds out --"
"They won't do anything because it's illegal for you to be harassed over it." Harvey's gaze was steady, his look insistent, but he relented after a long, quiet moment filled only with Mike's rushed breathing.
"I won't make you. But you can't deal with this alone."
Mike looked up and shook his head, face crumpling with emotion. "I can't sleep, I. I can't eat. He's going to come back and do it again, he. He knows where I live, where I work…"
Harvey frowned. "Pearson Hardman will put you up in a hotel. I'll talk to Jess."
Mike shook his head, breath rattling around inside him, putting his face in his hands. "H-he'd find me. He's. He's got the money to make things d-disappear."
Harvey frowned even more deeply, shaking his head.
"Don't worry about that, Mike. We're going to fix this, okay? We're going to get him."
Mike shook his head again, running his hands into his hair and tugging at it. "You don't know that. He's. I don't even care if he gets away with it, god, I'm sorry, I shouldn't've fought him in the first--"
"Mike," Harvey said forcefully, "Stop. Just stop. I don't care about having a new client, I don't care about keeping him if." He paused. "If he's a god-damn rapist. Come on, let's get you out of here."
"No, no, I have to get back to work --"
"Mike." Harvey's face was stern, unmoving. "Come with me."
_
Mike had only seen the inside of Harvey's condo from the outside before now. He knew the condo was nice, but he could hardly look anywhere but his knees -- especially with the glass walls that made him feel even more exposed than he already did.
Harvey had been asking him to talk for nearly an hour, but Mike couldn't. He should have fought back harder and gotten away, or not at all, he thought; he should have just given in. Maybe then he wouldn't be having all this trouble sleeping, maybe then he could eat dinner without feeling ill.
He was wearing the floorboards in his apartment thin, had been for the last few weeks. He kept pacing in the middle of the night, trying to tire himself out, trying to make himself forget all the things that Mohr had grunted in his ear.
Mike had never thought of his memory as more of a curse than now.
"Mike. Tell me what happened, and I promise, you will feel better."
"Stop treating me like a witness, Harvey."
"No. You tell me everything now and it will get better."
Mike looked up at Harvey, eyebrows furrowed, gaze set. "No it won't. You're not a prosecutor, there's no evidence, he's rich --"
"And you have the DOJ and me on your side. We'll figure it out." Harvey's face was stern, but Mike had never heard him sound that gentle or caring about anything. Even in the office, he had mostly sounded shocked and angry. (Mike was just hoping that anger wasn't meant for him.)
He took a deep breath, though it was somewhat shaky, and curled his limbs up into his chair, feeling utterly childlike for it but needing that security, needing to feel a little more enclosed.
"Harvey --"
"No more excuses, Mike, you need to talk about this. It's eating you alive."
"I can't…"
"Why? Because he told you not to?" Harvey's voice was angry again, and Mike closed his eyes, running his fingers back into his hair again, roughly.
"I don't know -- yes!"
"Don't let him tell you what to do or you're sabotaging yourself, do you hear me? Tell me what happened right now or you're letting yourself lose, and I don't like losers on my team!"
Mike broke, with that. He couldn't keep his breathing steady and he shouted straight back in Harvey's face, "I had to do it! I had to to get him at the firm and he told me he wouldn't if I didnt--"
Mike faltered, shaking, and closed his eyes, clenching his fists together in his lap. Harvey kept his eyes on Mike's face, but stayed quiet for a long moment. Mike's breathing was ragged, his posture slumped down in the corner of the couch in which he sat.
"Talk to me."
Mike looked up and ran a hand back over his hair.
"Am I going to lose my job?"
Harvey frowned even more deeply. "Absolutely not. It's illegal."
Mike closed his eyes again, and hid his face in his hands, speaking quietly into them.
"He knocked me down. Knocked the wind out of me.He said he. He wouldn't come to Pearson Hardman if I didn't… didn't do what he told me to do."
Mike paused again, unable to meet Harvey's eyes, but uncovering his face, his voice slow.
"He. He pushed me up against the door, and." He swallowed, frowning. "And then he made me take off my clothes."
Harvey's eyes were closed when Mike finally looked up at him a moment later, through the tears welling up in his own. "You can't tell anybody."
"Mike, I'm not going to tell anybody. But you should go to the hospital." Harvey's voice was grave, serious, but soft, almost gentle. "You need help. And they can help you, maybe help you get Mohr."
"But there's no proof, Harvey," Mike said softly, hoarsely, his voice exasperated. He knew there was nothing they could do about this; if Mike had wanted to press charges, which he didn't, he should have gone to the hospital. He knew that.
Harvey stood from where he had sat, at a chair he'd pulled up in front of Mike, who curled his arms around his legs. He felt small, defeated. Harvey could see it in his eyes, the way he was crouched there on the sofa; Mike wasn't going to even attempt a suit over this. Harvey couldn't blame him. He knew that rape cases were difficult for the victims, and with the burden of proof resting on the prosecution (and all that proof long gone), it was more than likely that Mohr would get away with it.
"Here's what you're going to do." The words startled Mike into looking up at Harvey, who was looking straight back at him, and once they locked eyes, Mike couldn't look away. "You are going to the hospital. Just to make sure you're okay. You're going to talk to someone who's actually qualified to help."
Mike stayed still, and said nothing for a long time. Harvey just waited, patiently; he had no stomach for games, but this was different. This was Mike, the kid he'd cared enough about to give him a chance. And he couldn't help feeling responsible, in some way. The way that Mike kept apologizing, kept saying it was his fault… Harvey tried to keep the thought that he'd sent Mike into that situation out of his head, because he couldn't stand that, not when he'd tried so hard to keep Mike safe and in a position to succeed.
"I can't go by myself."
Mike's words broke Harvey out of his thoughts, and Harvey thought for a moment.
"Who else knows?"
Mike laughed, sniffing, sounding entirely miserable. "Nobody."
_
"Are you okay?"
They sat in Harvey's hired car in Brooklyn, outside of Mike's apartment. The ride home from Mercy hospital had been very quiet, with Mike fascinating himself with the Williamsburg Bridge out the window. The hospital had been as humiliating as Mike thought it would be. Harvey had sat down outside the exam room, but the terrified look in Mike's eyes told Harvey that he needed him to be there. Mike's face was still flushed from the embarrassment of being poked and prodded and having his blood drawn, being given a rapid test for HIV and being told to get tested again.
"Fine," Mike said, nodding a little, still looking out the window. Ray was standing outside, ten feet away from the car at most, talking on his cell phone to his sister.
Harvey said nothing, just watched Mike carefully. His body language still read fear, still read anxiety. He didn't want to rush Mike into talking again; it wasn't as urgent a need now.
"Why did he leave?" Mike asked softly, and Harvey looked up from the floor of the car, where his gaze had dropped to. He frowned a little, though his expression was mostly clear.
"He asked three times for you to be his primary council. I told him no."
Mike swallowed hard.
"He did?"
"It didn't seem right. Wanting a rookie associate as your primary counsel when you run a multibillion dollar corporation?" Harvey shook his head. "That isn't something anybody does. I told him no because I know you're not ready to handle a client on your own."
Mike laughed a little bitterly. "'Cause I'm a fuck-up, right?"
Harvey frowned and put a hand on Mike's shoulder, turning him gently to face him.
"You are not a fuck-up. You've already proven yourself to me."
Mike looked back out the window, sighing a little breathily. His mind still hadn't stopped working -- it never did, but it had been in overdrive since that night. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool glass of the window, waiting for a few minutes, trying to get the shake to leave his voice before he spoke again. "I'm. I'm sorry, Harvey."
"No, Mike --"
"For getting you involved in this, I. You're just my boss. You don't need this."
Harvey, despite his ever-rational demeanor and resolution to not care, felt a pang of hurt hit his heart with those words.
"But I put you in there," he said, his voice calm and casual as always, though serious. "And you need my help now. I'm not about to let you take this on alone."
Mike shook his head, smiling a little. "You never cease to amaze me. You throw me under the bus with Louis one day and h-hold my hand through a medical exam the next."
Harvey smiled a little. "You should go inside, kid. Get some rest."
Mike nodded. "Yeah… I, I have court tomorrow."
"Take the week," Harvey said with a frown. "I've got your case."
"It's pro-bono."
"Shit."
Mike laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in days, and it made Harvey smile.
"Go inside. Get some sleep. I'll talk to Jess and Louis… I'll be discreet, but I might have to tell Jessica more than you want me to. She's not going to tell anybody. Monday morning you're back on your game and you're in counseling. Got it?"
Mike nodded, taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh before he opened the door.
"Thank you, Harvey."
"I've heard that before."
_
"You're not understanding me. We're not going after Mohr as a client again."
"So explain it to me, Harvey, why exactly are we not going after a client that could bring our billable hours up by leaps and bounds?"
"I can't tell you."
"You're going to need to do a little bit better than that."
Harvey sighed, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
"Conflict of interest."
"Okay, explain how."
Jessica's eyes were imploring him to say something that actually gave her a reason to trust Harvey on this issue, and Harvey knew there was no getting out of it now; he had to tell her, even though he'd promised Mike he wouldn't.
"Ross is out for the week."
"Per your request, and I'd like an explanation for that, too."
"Mohr's been requesting him as primary counsel for three weeks."
Jessica looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Not you and Ross together? Kid must've really impressed him."
Harvey sighed and frowned, feeling his guilt creeping up on him. He hoped Jessica wasn't paying enough attention to notice it, but that was a long shot when he was honest -- Jessica could read him like a book, as loathe as he was to admit it.
"Mohr assaulted him."
Jessica stood from her desk, looking alarmed, her hands flat on the desk top. She stared at Harvey for a long moment before she spoke, the urgency in her voice telling Harvey she believed him.
"That is a very serious accusation. Did Ross tell you that's what happened?"
"Yes. Three weeks ago, and he didn't tell anybody because he was afraid he'd lose Mohr off the Pearson Hardman books. Mohr threatened him."
"Is he going to press charges?"
Harvey laughed, though there was no joy in the sound, only contempt. He was usually the first to admit when he had a weak case, but this time, he didn't want to. He wanted Mohr to go away for years, wanted him to feel as violated as Mike had. Harvey knew that meant he was too attached to the kid, but he couldn't help it; if it was anybody's fault that Mike had been subjected to being sexually assaulted, it was his, because Mike really hadn't had an option. He'd had the gun to his head and he couldn't fight back, despite what Harvey had told him, and now Mike felt like it was his fault.
"No. There's no evidence."
Jessica paused. She studied Harvey's face carefully. "We're not just talking about an assault, here, are we?"
Harvey shook his head. "Sexual assault."
"And you know he's telling the truth?"
"He wouldn't jeopardize his career by lying about this, Jess."
Jessica nodded, and paused. She said nothing for a long time, and Harvey sighed heavily, his eyes trained on Jessica, who seemed to be thinking hard.
"When is he coming back to work?"
"Monday."
"He's in counseling?"
"Not yet."
"You'd better take a day."
Harvey looked up at Jessica, surprise evident on his face, and she smiled, though the expression was somewhat worried.
"I don't want him to get away with it, but Ross is your first priority tonight and tomorrow. You make sure he's getting help before he comes back to work."
Harvey nodded, and left Jessica's office feeling slightly better about the whole situation. Jessica always looked out for her own when she could. Maybe that was why Harvey felt comfortable letting her know what happened.
Louis, on the other hand, was a different story.
"What do you mean, he's out for the rest of the week? Harvey, the kid has work to do --"
"And he's taking some personal time so he can do it, Louis, do I need to spell it the hell out for you? I am your superior and I am telling you that my associate is going to be out for the week and you'd better goddamn accept it so I don't have to talk to Jessica. Again."
Louis just sat there at his desk, gaping at Harvey, and Harvey took that as an acceptance.
_
Mike still couldn't sleep. It was early morning and already he was lying awake, exhausted, sweating, staring at the ceiling of his apartment and wishing his tired mind would move away from the memories of the pain when Mohr had pushed inside of him, of the way he'd spoken down at Mike with a hiss, the way his spit had landed on Mike's face -- the way he'd pushed Mike down to the floor one last time before he signed the documents and threw the briefcase at Mike, who it narrowly missed. The way he'd told Mike he was a good fuck and to get home to Williamsburg because he couldn't stay there all night.
Mike had been having a rough go of it when it came to sleeping.
He heard a knock at his door and shivered in bed for a moment, hoping maybe he could ignore it and get back to sleep. The knocking came again, and Mike groaned softly, thinking it was probably his landlord. He pulled on a t-shirt and a dirty pair of jeans and made his way to the door, rubbing his eyes as he went.
To his surprise, it was Harvey standing there, wearing a crisp suit as always, and Mike ran a hand back over his hair, somewhat bewildered. He stepped back and let Harvey into his apartment, though he was embarrassed of how messy it was, because what else was he supposed to do with Harvey standing there, clearly waiting for him to do something?
"Have you gotten a counselor yet?"
"I'm… I only talked to you yesterday, Harvey, you're the first person-- I'm not ready to talk about it."
"You'll never be ready to talk about it unless someone wants you to talk to them." Harvey's face was firm, and Mike sighed, a little exasperated. He had been awake for hours, but he felt like he'd just woken up; Harvey liked to make him deal with things immediately, things far above his level of experience, and Mike should have guessed that this wouldn't be any different.
"Just… Christ, let me wake up for a second and then I will, okay? There's coffee in the pot, I have to get my mail."
Mike left the apartment before Harvey had a chance to stop him, breathing slow on his way down the stairs, trying to calm himself down. This was too much. He couldn't deal with this right off the bat. There were too many things going on for him to concentrate on finding a counselor right now.
Mike opened his mailbox in the dingy lobby of his building, rifling through the stack of bills he knew would be there. An envelope stuck out to him, though, because it had no official seal from any government body on it (the only mail Mike ever received, other than the bills for his grandmother's care, which also had seals on them). In fact, this envelope was blank, though there was clearly something inside.
Mike looked at the envelope all the way up the stairs, and didn't stop staring at it, brows furrowed, even when he was back inside his own apartment, door safely closed behind him. He slipped a finger under the flap to open it, and Harvey looked at him, his expression reading with the question he didn't ask out loud.
Inside the envelope, there was a letter in black pen, handwriting Mike had seen before on paperwork he'd delivered to Harvey.
If anybody knows but you, you're dead. I know where you live and I will be watching.
The note was unsigned, but Mike knew exactly where it had come from, and his eyes widened before he looked at Harvey again. Harvey stood and tugged the letter from Mike's hands. He read it quickly.
His stomach dropped, and his guilt overtook him for a moment. He put Mike in a room with one of the most powerful men in the world and told him he had to close the deal, and his actions had gotten Mike raped. He could barely stand it. "Is there anything on the envelope?"
"N-No -- Harvey, if he's--"
"He probably only sent it to scare you." Harvey's face remained grave, and the words didn't comfort Mike in the slightest. They didn't really comfort Harvey, either.
"I… What do we do?"
Harvey sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at them with his thumb and index finger again. Mike had never seen him look so worried.
"You need to tell me the story. In full. Beginning to end. You need to get used to saying it because you're going to be telling it a lot."
"But there's no--"
"This is the proof, Mike. He made a mistake by sending this to you."
Mike shook his head, dropping the envelope on the floor, running his fingers into his hair. "It's not signed, Harvey, they, they're not going to believe me, he's -- What am I supposed to do if he gets off?"
"We get an order of protection or a restraining order. And if he violates it, he goes to jail anyway."
Mike looked at Harvey, who looked confident in this plan, and it made him feel a little better. If Harvey thought it would work, then it would. Mike knew enough about Harvey, and Harvey knew enough about the legal system.
_
Harvey couldn't have left Mike alone in his apartment, not after that letter arrived. Mike was supposed to be researching a counselor, but he couldn't sit still in his own apartment, pacing nervously and telling Harvey he wanted to get out of there. He was scared, and Harvey didn't blame him. (Harvey didn't blame anybody but Mohr and himself for that.)
Mike sat down with Harvey in the wide-open glass-walled living room of his apartment, a list of support groups and therapists in front of them. Harvey really wasn't sure he wanted to do this. It was too much personal contact; not that Harvey had stayed nearly as objective as he would have liked to, with Mike, but this… this felt intimate.
Mike called a group and a therapist, and made appointments, and promised to be at the next group meeting. He looked exhausted just from doing that, just from breathing, but Harvey knew better. Mike could handle a lot of things, and this was going to be one of them if Harvey had anything to say about it. He owed it to Mike.
"Appointment made… now we make our case."
"Harvey, I…"
"He threatened you, kid, that gives us a case already."
"So why?"
"Why what?"
"W-why do I have to tell the story again?"
Harvey paused, and looked at Mike. There was a deep pain there, a sudden, fresh pain. Mike hadn't talked about it to anybody. Harvey knew that. But he supposed he hadn't thought about it; the wound being open for so long, starting to fester, and then Harvey, pouring a sharp disinfectant over it. It would hurt in a whole new way, he realized, and Harvey felt even more guilty for that. He sat down in front of Mike the way he had the day previous, and smiled, just a little, in a gentle, worried way that Mike had never seen. (Mike hadn't seen a lot of Harvey's expressions; usually his face was a smooth mask of suave indifference, and that was how Harvey liked it. But when Harvey had to care, when he didn't have a choice -- when his heart wouldn't stay quiet the way he usually forced it to -- it showed on his face.)
"Because they're going to want to know why he's threatening you."
Mike sighed, heavily, rubbing over his face with the palms of his hands. Harvey knew that look. Mike didn't want to do this, and he knew it. But he wasn't about to let Mohr get away with it, either.
"This son of a bitch needs to be taught the lesson that just because you're rich doesn't mean you're allowed to violate someone."
Mike took a shaky breath, looked up at Harvey for reassurance, and nodded.
"He. I had one glass of wine, like. Like you told me to. And I was looking out the window."
Harvey nodded, hesitating. He wanted to take Mike's hand. Normally, Harvey did what he pleased and cared fuck-all about the consequences. But this was something that had to get fixed. He took Mike's hand anyway, and Mike seemed to shrink at first, like he didn't want to exist. But his voice was stronger when he next spoke.
"He asked me to stay for another but I told him I had to get home, and. And he punched me."
"Where?"
"Stomach," Mike said, covering his abdomen with one arm, like he was expecting the punch again. Harvey knew he remembered what had happened in minute detail, down to the physical feelings, which were no doubt gripping him. Harvey felt even more guilty for that, and squeezed Mike's hand gently. "Go on."
"It, it knocked the wind out of me. And I stayed there on the floor trying to. To catch my breath, and he said, 'I said stay'. A-and then he hit me when I shook my head."
Mike's fingers traveled up to his face, where the bruise had been purple for two days, and then turned an ugly yellow. Harvey remembered it, vividly -- the black-red scab sticking in the middle of it for more than two weeks. There was a little indented scar that Mike ran his stubby fingernail into, as though he was trying to pull the skin back up to cover the scar.
"'You're going to do what I tell you to do,'" Mike murmured, and then he shook his head. "But I told him I would just. Just show you the bruises, and I got up to leave and."
Mike paused, and Harvey squeezed his hand harder. Mike's voice trembled when he next spoke. "And he made me think about how disappointed you would be if I fucked up again. A-and then he pressed me up against the door…" Mike's eyes were closed tightly, and Harvey could tell he was fighting something like a flashback, just talking about it.
"You can do this. What then?"
"Made me take my clothes off."
Harvey frowned, the lines near his eyes deep and anxious just listening to Mike talk.
"And then?"
"He. H-he fucked me."
Harvey shook his head, reaching up to put both hands on Mike's shoulders, wishing he'd open his eyes. He needed Mike to know how sorry he was. Mike could hear it in his voice.
"He raped you, Mike."
Mike swallowed back a sob that had been building in his throat and shook his head.
"Yes. He did. He violated you and it is not your fault."
Harvey could scarcely contain his sadness at the way Mike crumbled in front of him, at the way he was barely able to keep it together -- at the way he was struggling to be strong in front of Harvey, because Harvey was always strong, and Mike didn't want to let him down.
"When I told you that there's always another option when someone holds a gun to your head -- sometimes. Sometimes there just isn't, Mike. Sometimes things happen and the only person to blame is the person holding the gun and the person that put you in the room with them."
Mike shook his head suddenly, looking up, but Harvey shushed him efficiently.
"I put you there. I put that idea in your head, that I would be disappointed. I had a gun to your head, too."
The sudden collapse of Mike's slender, warm body into his arms was about the last thing that Harvey Specter expected. He was stiff, for a moment, not knowing how to respond to it -- not knowing if he could really comfort Mike to make his body stop shaking, not knowing if he was even allowed to comfort him. But after a few seconds, he realized what was wrong; Mike didn't have anybody. His grandmother was in a high level of care at her nursing home, his parents were dead, and his only friend outside the office, he'd put on a bus to Montana.
Harvey's arms acted of their own accord, then, and wrapped around Mike's shoulders, pulling him close to him. He didn't know how to be this nice with anybody, really, only the people the cared about more deeply than he ever could have admitted.
And, not once did Harvey think about the tearstains that he would later dry-clean out of his suit jacket. For once, his suit didn't matter one bit.
(Suits Fandom)
~7700 words
disclaimer: I own nothing!
warning: non-con,
a/n: For Arianna because all we do is workshop H/C fics all the time forever I LOVE YOU BESTFRIEND HAHAHA. XD Um okay. That was a lot of no punctuation. Hope you enjoy!
Harvey wasn't worried about Mike. They'd been over it maybe a hundred times -- "You're just reeling in the client, Mike. This is a done deal, okay? Already on the line. You go to his apartment, you have a glass of ridiculously expensive wine while you talk, you go home, and then you bring the papers to my office in the morning. Even you can't screw this up."
Harvey's expression was steady, but he could see that familiar bewilderment in Mike's big blue puppy-dog eyes. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at him, and instead just patted him on the shoulder and spun him around to face the door. It was nearly seven thirty already, and Mike was still at the office. Harvey had insisted he take a cab this time, at least, so he didn't show up sweaty and wind-swept with his suit all crumpled to this meeting.
"You'll be fine. Just don't fuck up."
Mike tried not to think about how reassuring that wasn't.
"Thanks, great advice. And if I fuck up?"
"You're fired."
"Right, very good."
Mike sighed and closed his eyes, and Harvey walked away, speaking as he did, one hand in his suit pocket.
"This isn't rocket science, just don't fuck up. I told you, I'd vastly prefer not to own a puppy."
_
Mike felt things were going pretty well. It was pretty easy to pretend without Harvey or Louis breathing down his neck, at least so far, and looking out the penthouse window at the lights of the city, holding a glass of red wine that cost more than a month's rent on his first apartment -- that was even easier.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Donald Mohr. He was the CEO of a multibillion dollar corporation, a top investor, and a major client for Mike to score. Mike had been more than surprised that Harvey was letting him bring in this client, that he was letting Mike take the credit when all he'd had to do was have a glass of wine to consider Mohr bagged.
"It is, yeah, skyline… Really pretty."
Mike grinned, pointing out at the skyline nondescriptly. "Verrazano Narrows bridge. Three million rivets and you can't see any of them from here, just the lights."
Mohr nodded, gripping the top of Mike's arm tightly. Mike looked down at his hand, then up at Mohr, his eyes a little confused. He tugged his arm out of Mohr's grasp, and smiled, laughing, the sound nervous and questioning.
"Are you enjoying the wine?"
"Yeah, I, it's really good, thanks," Mike said, placing his glass on the table in the middle of the enormous room (a bigger room than Mike had ever seen in a residence in the city).
"I'm, ah, I'm not much of a drinker, but. Can't say no to a nice glass of wine."
Mohr grinned. Mike couldn't put his finger on why, but the smile made him uncomfortable now -- maybe it was because Mohr had grasped his arm, but he'd endured stranger and far worse things from prospective clients.
"Stay for another."
Mike smiled a little, letting out a breathy half-laugh. Now he understood why he was uncomfortable; Mohr had gotten between him and the door, and had eliminated any chance of him leaving gracefully.
"Oh, that's… Very kind of you, Mr. Mohr, but, really, I couldn't. I've. I have to go home, I'm, I live out in Brooklyn, and."
Mohr moved closer to him, and Mike felt the air in the room change, get thicker with . He moved around the other side of the table from him, backing away, a nervous smile straining to stay on his face.
"I, sir," he said softly, but it was all he could get out before the client he was supposed to be wooing into doing business with Pearson Hardman lunged straight at him, pushing him back at the shoulders. It was only another moment before Mohr had hit him in the stomach, taken the wind right out of him, brought him down to his knees. Mike looked up at him, big blue eyes wild with confusion, with the slightly hurt look of betrayal in his eyes. He couldn't speak, could only gasp for a moment, trying to get his breath back.
"I said stay," Mohr said, his voice cold and insistent, and Mike knew he was in trouble now. He was alone with a very powerful and apparently violent man in his apartment. A man he had to keep as a client.
"You're going to do what I tell you to do," he said next. Mike shook his head. Mohr slapped him hard across the face with the back of his hands. Mike still couldn't stand, though he could speak again, sounding as though he'd just run several miles.
"You just bruised -- bruised me, no way I'm staying here, I'm -- leaving." They were tough words, Mike realized, for someone still trying to regain enough lung capacity to stand up. He did stand, though, got to his feet and scrambled backwards towards the door.
"Are you? And what would Harvey Specter say if he saw you now? Not making nice with a very important future client?"
Mike shook his head. "I've got the bruises to prove we don't want you as one."
"And I've got the money to make that go away, you little bitch."
Mike was standing with his back to the door, one hand on the knob, but he stopped to think for a second. He knew that this was potentially the most important client he could bring in. Harvey would be disappointed if he failed him again, if he didn't do everything he could to bring Mohr to Pearson Hardman. He couldn't face that look on Harvey's face again, the disappointment that said 'you're exactly the fuck-up I should have thought you were.' He couldn't face being fired for fucking up when he was so close to doing what Harvey had wanted him to do.
But it didn't matter now, because there was Mohr, up close against his body, and pressing him hard and quick into the door, his back slamming up against it roughly.
"You're going to do whatever I want," Mohr said against the side of Mike's face, his breath hot and wet and bitter with the smell of the dry red wine. "Or your firm is going to lose me, and nobody wants that, huh? Especially not the rookie they sent to reel me in, because you know who they're going to blame, mm?"
Mike nodded, closing his eyes, swallowing. He reasoned that he could still fight it, could still get out before things got any worse… But all he could think about was the look on Harvey's face when he'd realized Mike was high, after Louis had made him smoke up with Tom. All he could think about was losing his job because he'd fucked up again, losing this important client and letting everyone down. Mike couldn't live with that.
Mike didn't dare fight back against Mohr, just stayed there, breathing shakily, against the door, hands clenched in fists. Mohr had him pinned, completely stuck in more ways than just physically. Mike's eyes were wide and nervous and disbelieving -- he couldn't believe this was happening, couldn't believe that this could happen to him, in this situation.
The rest of the night was a blur. Mike tried to block most of it out, tried to keep the feeling of Mohr's breath on his skin, the feeling of his hands clenching around his arms, pressing into his ribs… and none of that was the worst of it. Not half as bad as the worst of it.
Mike got a cab home, body aching, shaken. He pulled off his clothes and laid down in bed, but it felt like every movement was inside a heavy fog, a thick, soupy fog that felt like the worst of being high. But Mike was grateful for it, because it brought him to sleep quickly.
_
The morning was a blur, too. It was six thirty when Mike got to work and left the papers on Harvey's desk, and then sat down at his own. He sifted through some paperwork, but it was impossible for him to focus on it. His mind kept shifting back, flashes of the previous night sending his heart racing.
By seven thirty five it was too much. He escaped to the bathroom before Louis got in to the office, before Jessica was there, before any of the partners had appeared. He splashed water on his face, tried to take deep breaths, anything to keep him from passing out. He pulled his head out of the sink and looked in the mirror.
He looked like an absolute mess. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and there was a purple bruise forming just to the left of his left eye, a sharp red cut breaking in the center of it. He sighed, hiding his face in his hands again and squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment. He had a built-in excuse with the bike locked outside the building, but the red eyes and the distracted way he was thinking -- Harvey was going to know he'd fucked up somehow.
He looked back up in the mirror again, jumping when he saw Rachel's reflection over his shoulder, looking just as surprised to see him.
"Again?"
"Sorry. Sorry."
She approached him slowly, frowning a little. She leaned down to look at his eye in the mirror, since Mike couldn't stand to meet her eyes.
"What happened to you?"
"Got clipped by a taxi, I'm fine."
"On your face?"
"Yeah, on my face."
"Are you sure you're alright?"
Mike's breathing got labored and frustrated then, and he nodded. "Rachel, I'm fine, I'm fucking fine, please, just. Just leave me alone."
Rachel couldn't say anything before Mike left her there in the bathroom, making his way back to his cubicle.
_
"Mike Ross."
Louis' smug rat-face was hovering above the wall of his cubicle, permanent smirk plastered to his face.
"Did you file that injunction I asked for?"
"Yeah, I--"
"Then where's my confirmation? You gotta start bringing me those right after they come in, Mike, I can't always be running around after you looking for them!"
Mike nodded, passing the paper over the wall of the cubicle. Louis nodded and wagged the paper in Mike's face, which made Mike flinch with how close it came to his face. Louis didn't notice.
As soon as his face was gone, Rachel's had appeared above the wall next to his desk. Her big brown eyes looked worried, and she passed a note over to him. "Harvey wants to see you."
Mike stood from his cubicle somewhat stiffly, opening the note as he made his way through the office to see Harvey.
Are you sure you're alright? Talk to me.
Rachel
He crumpled it and shoved it into his pocket, trying to steady himself with a deep breath before he went into Harvey's office. Harvey didn't even turn to face him before speaking to him.
"Is this the paperwork?"
"Yeah."
"How'd it go last night?"
Mike answered too quickly. "Great, went great."
Harvey caught it, and looked up, quirking and eyebrow.
"You didn't fuck up again, did you?" his tone was almost joking, almost daring Mike to make a joke about how it couldn't've gone worse. But Mike didn't really feel like making a joke about that.
"It went fine. Glass of wine, went home, brought the papers this morning."
"And the shiner over your eye is just so you look pretty for your girlfriend?"
Mike reached up self-consciously, touching his fingers to the bruise, and wincing.
"Got clipped by a cab. On my bike."
Harvey almost laughed. "You need to start being inside the cab like a regular lawyer. Nobody's going to believe you went to Harvard if you start coming in all beat up like a Law & Order victim."
Mike forced a laugh, and swallowed.
"Can I go? Louis wants me."
"Go on, get out of here."
_
It had been two weeks since Mike had scored Mohr as a client. Mohr had been into the office twice, and both times, had left looking somewhat peeved. Mike had ducked down at his desk both times, and had once been discovered hiding by Louis, who seemed to think there was some sort of spit-ball war between Mike and Gregory. Mike sort of wanted to stick a spitball on the back of Louis' stupid bald head just to make him go away.
Mike had barely slept. Every night, he laid awake for hours in bed, waiting for that same thick fog to overtake him like it had the first night. It never came. And when sleep finally did come it was interrupted by the terrible images of the night he'd gotten Mohr as a client, the night Mohr had hissed disgusting, filthy things in his ear, had hissed at him that if he told anybody, they wouldn't believe him; who'd believe an associate attorney over a powerful, rich CEO? Certainly not his bosses, not the bosses who wanted Mohr's business, his connections to possible other clients. And if Mike didn't do what he wanted, Mohr threatened he'd find him and do it again, but next time, "next time I won't be so nice."
By the time Mohr came in a third time, Mike was ready, had already overheard Donna talking to him on the phone. He had made sure he would be out serving a subpoena while Mohr was in the office.
What he hadn't counted on was to run into Mohr -- quite literally -- in a rage on his way out the door, shouting at Harvey.
"I'm taking my business elsewhere, Harvey Specter! Your firm can't seem to comply with my needs, take your counsel and shove it straight up your ass!"
Mike pinned himself back against the reception desk, the fear in his eyes absolutely evident, absolutely incredible. Donna glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. Harvey stood in the doorway of his office for a moment and watched Mohr leave. Mike stayed pinned where he was for another long moment, Harvey watching him. A moment later, Harvey's hand was wrapping around his arm. Mike tugged it away quickly, eyes still wild and terrified. Harvey's didn't soften.
"My office. Now."
Harvey sat down behind his desk only moments later, and Mike stood in front of it, nearly shaking.
"You wanna tell me what you did?"
Mike bit his lip, hard, and refused to look at Harvey.
"Look at me."
"I can't."
"Mike, just tell me what happened. "
Mike stayed silent for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing with the want to tell someone, to tell Harvey, to just say it out loud.
"Is Donna listening?"
Harvey clicked a button on the intercom and Mike shivered again, hands trembling, clenched at his sides. He looked up, but still didn't meet Harvey's eyes.
"I'm so sorry," he said softly, his voice strained and aching, the look in his eyes anxious, but more than that… more than that, his eyes looked dull, tired, the way Harvey had never seen them before.
"Mike, just calm down. What happened?"
"I'm, i-it's all my fault," Mike spluttered out, feeling like his heart would break through his ribs at any moment.
Harvey's expression changed. There was a look of concern in his eyes, now, one Mike had only seen there once before. That was shortly before Harvey had gotten Trevor out of a deep hole, for Mike. Harvey had done that for Mike.
Harvey, despite Mike's attempts to avoid his gaze, wasn't letting his drop so easily.
"Mike, sit down. Tell me."
"It's all my fault he left, it's all my fault, I'm so sorry," Mike murmured, hands shaking in his lap. "He told me he would, he, I, god, Harvey, I really fucked up…"
Harvey's eyebrows were furrowed now, his gaze fixed on Mike. He moved around the desk, placing his hands on Mike's shoulders.
"Mike. You need to calm down right now and tell me what happened."
"I." Mike looked up at Harvey for the first time, and his big blue eyes filled with startled tears. Harvey was completely taken aback. He pulled him behind the desk and sat him down, worried even further by the way that Mike fought to pull out of his grasp.
"He. He knocked the wind out of me."
Harvey frowned, sitting on the top of the desk, watching Mike carefully. Mike hid his face in his hands.
"He pushed me up against the door and told me. Told. Told me nobody would believe me, I'm, I, he told me if I didn't do it we'd lose him as a client, I'm-- I f-fucked up, it's all my fault, Harvey, I…"
The rest of Mike's words were inaudible, too quiet and smashed together to be anything close to understandable. He had leaned forward, pressing his face to his knees. Harvey was completely shocked.
"He… he what?"
Harvey shook his head thinking back over the last few weeks -- the way Mohr had specifically requested that Mike handle his litigation, his contract signings, all of his legal work; the way Mike had seemed absent, distracted, jumpy… and completely exhausted, like he wasn't sleeping, even moreso than the other associates.
"It's all my fault and I'm so sorry," Mike murmured out, the sound shaky and terrifying to Harvey.
"No, no, no no no, Mike, that is not what I meant," he said urgently, his tone worried as he leaned down to try and get Mike to look at him. "That is not -- he hurt you, didn't he? Did. Did he…?"
Mike shuddered and shook his head, looking up at Harvey with sudden terror.
"Don't, don't, he… G-get him back, he's important, I'm, I, don't tell anybody."
Harvey shook his head, incredulous. He could scarcely believe that this was happening, let alone that it had happened to Mike, to this kid who could take care of himself in a lot of situations. Harvey wondered if he'd been ignoring Mike, if he really hadn't noticed that something was wrong… or if he'd been trying not to notice.
"Mike, shh, don't, we're not going to get him back, not after what he did to you, we don't want him after that."
Mike shook his head and tried to slow his breathing, his eyes wide and nervous.
"You can't tell anybody."
"No, but you can. Hospital. Now."
"But it was three weeks ago, Harvey," Mike managed, shaking his head, not mentioning how frightened he was that nobody at the hospital would believe him anyway, not mentioning how much the idea of being poked and prodded and having to be naked in front of someone else again horrified him.
Harvey shook his head. "No. Mike, this is something that needs to be done, okay? I promise we're gonna get this guy."
"You're not a prosecutor," Mike snapped, his breathing quick and terrified.
"Mike, you could have an STD, you might really have been injured."
"When the other associates find out -- when Louis finds out --"
"They won't do anything because it's illegal for you to be harassed over it." Harvey's gaze was steady, his look insistent, but he relented after a long, quiet moment filled only with Mike's rushed breathing.
"I won't make you. But you can't deal with this alone."
Mike looked up and shook his head, face crumpling with emotion. "I can't sleep, I. I can't eat. He's going to come back and do it again, he. He knows where I live, where I work…"
Harvey frowned. "Pearson Hardman will put you up in a hotel. I'll talk to Jess."
Mike shook his head, breath rattling around inside him, putting his face in his hands. "H-he'd find me. He's. He's got the money to make things d-disappear."
Harvey frowned even more deeply, shaking his head.
"Don't worry about that, Mike. We're going to fix this, okay? We're going to get him."
Mike shook his head again, running his hands into his hair and tugging at it. "You don't know that. He's. I don't even care if he gets away with it, god, I'm sorry, I shouldn't've fought him in the first--"
"Mike," Harvey said forcefully, "Stop. Just stop. I don't care about having a new client, I don't care about keeping him if." He paused. "If he's a god-damn rapist. Come on, let's get you out of here."
"No, no, I have to get back to work --"
"Mike." Harvey's face was stern, unmoving. "Come with me."
_
Mike had only seen the inside of Harvey's condo from the outside before now. He knew the condo was nice, but he could hardly look anywhere but his knees -- especially with the glass walls that made him feel even more exposed than he already did.
Harvey had been asking him to talk for nearly an hour, but Mike couldn't. He should have fought back harder and gotten away, or not at all, he thought; he should have just given in. Maybe then he wouldn't be having all this trouble sleeping, maybe then he could eat dinner without feeling ill.
He was wearing the floorboards in his apartment thin, had been for the last few weeks. He kept pacing in the middle of the night, trying to tire himself out, trying to make himself forget all the things that Mohr had grunted in his ear.
Mike had never thought of his memory as more of a curse than now.
"Mike. Tell me what happened, and I promise, you will feel better."
"Stop treating me like a witness, Harvey."
"No. You tell me everything now and it will get better."
Mike looked up at Harvey, eyebrows furrowed, gaze set. "No it won't. You're not a prosecutor, there's no evidence, he's rich --"
"And you have the DOJ and me on your side. We'll figure it out." Harvey's face was stern, but Mike had never heard him sound that gentle or caring about anything. Even in the office, he had mostly sounded shocked and angry. (Mike was just hoping that anger wasn't meant for him.)
He took a deep breath, though it was somewhat shaky, and curled his limbs up into his chair, feeling utterly childlike for it but needing that security, needing to feel a little more enclosed.
"Harvey --"
"No more excuses, Mike, you need to talk about this. It's eating you alive."
"I can't…"
"Why? Because he told you not to?" Harvey's voice was angry again, and Mike closed his eyes, running his fingers back into his hair again, roughly.
"I don't know -- yes!"
"Don't let him tell you what to do or you're sabotaging yourself, do you hear me? Tell me what happened right now or you're letting yourself lose, and I don't like losers on my team!"
Mike broke, with that. He couldn't keep his breathing steady and he shouted straight back in Harvey's face, "I had to do it! I had to to get him at the firm and he told me he wouldn't if I didnt--"
Mike faltered, shaking, and closed his eyes, clenching his fists together in his lap. Harvey kept his eyes on Mike's face, but stayed quiet for a long moment. Mike's breathing was ragged, his posture slumped down in the corner of the couch in which he sat.
"Talk to me."
Mike looked up and ran a hand back over his hair.
"Am I going to lose my job?"
Harvey frowned even more deeply. "Absolutely not. It's illegal."
Mike closed his eyes again, and hid his face in his hands, speaking quietly into them.
"He knocked me down. Knocked the wind out of me.He said he. He wouldn't come to Pearson Hardman if I didn't… didn't do what he told me to do."
Mike paused again, unable to meet Harvey's eyes, but uncovering his face, his voice slow.
"He. He pushed me up against the door, and." He swallowed, frowning. "And then he made me take off my clothes."
Harvey's eyes were closed when Mike finally looked up at him a moment later, through the tears welling up in his own. "You can't tell anybody."
"Mike, I'm not going to tell anybody. But you should go to the hospital." Harvey's voice was grave, serious, but soft, almost gentle. "You need help. And they can help you, maybe help you get Mohr."
"But there's no proof, Harvey," Mike said softly, hoarsely, his voice exasperated. He knew there was nothing they could do about this; if Mike had wanted to press charges, which he didn't, he should have gone to the hospital. He knew that.
Harvey stood from where he had sat, at a chair he'd pulled up in front of Mike, who curled his arms around his legs. He felt small, defeated. Harvey could see it in his eyes, the way he was crouched there on the sofa; Mike wasn't going to even attempt a suit over this. Harvey couldn't blame him. He knew that rape cases were difficult for the victims, and with the burden of proof resting on the prosecution (and all that proof long gone), it was more than likely that Mohr would get away with it.
"Here's what you're going to do." The words startled Mike into looking up at Harvey, who was looking straight back at him, and once they locked eyes, Mike couldn't look away. "You are going to the hospital. Just to make sure you're okay. You're going to talk to someone who's actually qualified to help."
Mike stayed still, and said nothing for a long time. Harvey just waited, patiently; he had no stomach for games, but this was different. This was Mike, the kid he'd cared enough about to give him a chance. And he couldn't help feeling responsible, in some way. The way that Mike kept apologizing, kept saying it was his fault… Harvey tried to keep the thought that he'd sent Mike into that situation out of his head, because he couldn't stand that, not when he'd tried so hard to keep Mike safe and in a position to succeed.
"I can't go by myself."
Mike's words broke Harvey out of his thoughts, and Harvey thought for a moment.
"Who else knows?"
Mike laughed, sniffing, sounding entirely miserable. "Nobody."
_
"Are you okay?"
They sat in Harvey's hired car in Brooklyn, outside of Mike's apartment. The ride home from Mercy hospital had been very quiet, with Mike fascinating himself with the Williamsburg Bridge out the window. The hospital had been as humiliating as Mike thought it would be. Harvey had sat down outside the exam room, but the terrified look in Mike's eyes told Harvey that he needed him to be there. Mike's face was still flushed from the embarrassment of being poked and prodded and having his blood drawn, being given a rapid test for HIV and being told to get tested again.
"Fine," Mike said, nodding a little, still looking out the window. Ray was standing outside, ten feet away from the car at most, talking on his cell phone to his sister.
Harvey said nothing, just watched Mike carefully. His body language still read fear, still read anxiety. He didn't want to rush Mike into talking again; it wasn't as urgent a need now.
"Why did he leave?" Mike asked softly, and Harvey looked up from the floor of the car, where his gaze had dropped to. He frowned a little, though his expression was mostly clear.
"He asked three times for you to be his primary council. I told him no."
Mike swallowed hard.
"He did?"
"It didn't seem right. Wanting a rookie associate as your primary counsel when you run a multibillion dollar corporation?" Harvey shook his head. "That isn't something anybody does. I told him no because I know you're not ready to handle a client on your own."
Mike laughed a little bitterly. "'Cause I'm a fuck-up, right?"
Harvey frowned and put a hand on Mike's shoulder, turning him gently to face him.
"You are not a fuck-up. You've already proven yourself to me."
Mike looked back out the window, sighing a little breathily. His mind still hadn't stopped working -- it never did, but it had been in overdrive since that night. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool glass of the window, waiting for a few minutes, trying to get the shake to leave his voice before he spoke again. "I'm. I'm sorry, Harvey."
"No, Mike --"
"For getting you involved in this, I. You're just my boss. You don't need this."
Harvey, despite his ever-rational demeanor and resolution to not care, felt a pang of hurt hit his heart with those words.
"But I put you in there," he said, his voice calm and casual as always, though serious. "And you need my help now. I'm not about to let you take this on alone."
Mike shook his head, smiling a little. "You never cease to amaze me. You throw me under the bus with Louis one day and h-hold my hand through a medical exam the next."
Harvey smiled a little. "You should go inside, kid. Get some rest."
Mike nodded. "Yeah… I, I have court tomorrow."
"Take the week," Harvey said with a frown. "I've got your case."
"It's pro-bono."
"Shit."
Mike laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in days, and it made Harvey smile.
"Go inside. Get some sleep. I'll talk to Jess and Louis… I'll be discreet, but I might have to tell Jessica more than you want me to. She's not going to tell anybody. Monday morning you're back on your game and you're in counseling. Got it?"
Mike nodded, taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh before he opened the door.
"Thank you, Harvey."
"I've heard that before."
_
"You're not understanding me. We're not going after Mohr as a client again."
"So explain it to me, Harvey, why exactly are we not going after a client that could bring our billable hours up by leaps and bounds?"
"I can't tell you."
"You're going to need to do a little bit better than that."
Harvey sighed, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
"Conflict of interest."
"Okay, explain how."
Jessica's eyes were imploring him to say something that actually gave her a reason to trust Harvey on this issue, and Harvey knew there was no getting out of it now; he had to tell her, even though he'd promised Mike he wouldn't.
"Ross is out for the week."
"Per your request, and I'd like an explanation for that, too."
"Mohr's been requesting him as primary counsel for three weeks."
Jessica looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Not you and Ross together? Kid must've really impressed him."
Harvey sighed and frowned, feeling his guilt creeping up on him. He hoped Jessica wasn't paying enough attention to notice it, but that was a long shot when he was honest -- Jessica could read him like a book, as loathe as he was to admit it.
"Mohr assaulted him."
Jessica stood from her desk, looking alarmed, her hands flat on the desk top. She stared at Harvey for a long moment before she spoke, the urgency in her voice telling Harvey she believed him.
"That is a very serious accusation. Did Ross tell you that's what happened?"
"Yes. Three weeks ago, and he didn't tell anybody because he was afraid he'd lose Mohr off the Pearson Hardman books. Mohr threatened him."
"Is he going to press charges?"
Harvey laughed, though there was no joy in the sound, only contempt. He was usually the first to admit when he had a weak case, but this time, he didn't want to. He wanted Mohr to go away for years, wanted him to feel as violated as Mike had. Harvey knew that meant he was too attached to the kid, but he couldn't help it; if it was anybody's fault that Mike had been subjected to being sexually assaulted, it was his, because Mike really hadn't had an option. He'd had the gun to his head and he couldn't fight back, despite what Harvey had told him, and now Mike felt like it was his fault.
"No. There's no evidence."
Jessica paused. She studied Harvey's face carefully. "We're not just talking about an assault, here, are we?"
Harvey shook his head. "Sexual assault."
"And you know he's telling the truth?"
"He wouldn't jeopardize his career by lying about this, Jess."
Jessica nodded, and paused. She said nothing for a long time, and Harvey sighed heavily, his eyes trained on Jessica, who seemed to be thinking hard.
"When is he coming back to work?"
"Monday."
"He's in counseling?"
"Not yet."
"You'd better take a day."
Harvey looked up at Jessica, surprise evident on his face, and she smiled, though the expression was somewhat worried.
"I don't want him to get away with it, but Ross is your first priority tonight and tomorrow. You make sure he's getting help before he comes back to work."
Harvey nodded, and left Jessica's office feeling slightly better about the whole situation. Jessica always looked out for her own when she could. Maybe that was why Harvey felt comfortable letting her know what happened.
Louis, on the other hand, was a different story.
"What do you mean, he's out for the rest of the week? Harvey, the kid has work to do --"
"And he's taking some personal time so he can do it, Louis, do I need to spell it the hell out for you? I am your superior and I am telling you that my associate is going to be out for the week and you'd better goddamn accept it so I don't have to talk to Jessica. Again."
Louis just sat there at his desk, gaping at Harvey, and Harvey took that as an acceptance.
_
Mike still couldn't sleep. It was early morning and already he was lying awake, exhausted, sweating, staring at the ceiling of his apartment and wishing his tired mind would move away from the memories of the pain when Mohr had pushed inside of him, of the way he'd spoken down at Mike with a hiss, the way his spit had landed on Mike's face -- the way he'd pushed Mike down to the floor one last time before he signed the documents and threw the briefcase at Mike, who it narrowly missed. The way he'd told Mike he was a good fuck and to get home to Williamsburg because he couldn't stay there all night.
Mike had been having a rough go of it when it came to sleeping.
He heard a knock at his door and shivered in bed for a moment, hoping maybe he could ignore it and get back to sleep. The knocking came again, and Mike groaned softly, thinking it was probably his landlord. He pulled on a t-shirt and a dirty pair of jeans and made his way to the door, rubbing his eyes as he went.
To his surprise, it was Harvey standing there, wearing a crisp suit as always, and Mike ran a hand back over his hair, somewhat bewildered. He stepped back and let Harvey into his apartment, though he was embarrassed of how messy it was, because what else was he supposed to do with Harvey standing there, clearly waiting for him to do something?
"Have you gotten a counselor yet?"
"I'm… I only talked to you yesterday, Harvey, you're the first person-- I'm not ready to talk about it."
"You'll never be ready to talk about it unless someone wants you to talk to them." Harvey's face was firm, and Mike sighed, a little exasperated. He had been awake for hours, but he felt like he'd just woken up; Harvey liked to make him deal with things immediately, things far above his level of experience, and Mike should have guessed that this wouldn't be any different.
"Just… Christ, let me wake up for a second and then I will, okay? There's coffee in the pot, I have to get my mail."
Mike left the apartment before Harvey had a chance to stop him, breathing slow on his way down the stairs, trying to calm himself down. This was too much. He couldn't deal with this right off the bat. There were too many things going on for him to concentrate on finding a counselor right now.
Mike opened his mailbox in the dingy lobby of his building, rifling through the stack of bills he knew would be there. An envelope stuck out to him, though, because it had no official seal from any government body on it (the only mail Mike ever received, other than the bills for his grandmother's care, which also had seals on them). In fact, this envelope was blank, though there was clearly something inside.
Mike looked at the envelope all the way up the stairs, and didn't stop staring at it, brows furrowed, even when he was back inside his own apartment, door safely closed behind him. He slipped a finger under the flap to open it, and Harvey looked at him, his expression reading with the question he didn't ask out loud.
Inside the envelope, there was a letter in black pen, handwriting Mike had seen before on paperwork he'd delivered to Harvey.
If anybody knows but you, you're dead. I know where you live and I will be watching.
The note was unsigned, but Mike knew exactly where it had come from, and his eyes widened before he looked at Harvey again. Harvey stood and tugged the letter from Mike's hands. He read it quickly.
His stomach dropped, and his guilt overtook him for a moment. He put Mike in a room with one of the most powerful men in the world and told him he had to close the deal, and his actions had gotten Mike raped. He could barely stand it. "Is there anything on the envelope?"
"N-No -- Harvey, if he's--"
"He probably only sent it to scare you." Harvey's face remained grave, and the words didn't comfort Mike in the slightest. They didn't really comfort Harvey, either.
"I… What do we do?"
Harvey sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at them with his thumb and index finger again. Mike had never seen him look so worried.
"You need to tell me the story. In full. Beginning to end. You need to get used to saying it because you're going to be telling it a lot."
"But there's no--"
"This is the proof, Mike. He made a mistake by sending this to you."
Mike shook his head, dropping the envelope on the floor, running his fingers into his hair. "It's not signed, Harvey, they, they're not going to believe me, he's -- What am I supposed to do if he gets off?"
"We get an order of protection or a restraining order. And if he violates it, he goes to jail anyway."
Mike looked at Harvey, who looked confident in this plan, and it made him feel a little better. If Harvey thought it would work, then it would. Mike knew enough about Harvey, and Harvey knew enough about the legal system.
_
Harvey couldn't have left Mike alone in his apartment, not after that letter arrived. Mike was supposed to be researching a counselor, but he couldn't sit still in his own apartment, pacing nervously and telling Harvey he wanted to get out of there. He was scared, and Harvey didn't blame him. (Harvey didn't blame anybody but Mohr and himself for that.)
Mike sat down with Harvey in the wide-open glass-walled living room of his apartment, a list of support groups and therapists in front of them. Harvey really wasn't sure he wanted to do this. It was too much personal contact; not that Harvey had stayed nearly as objective as he would have liked to, with Mike, but this… this felt intimate.
Mike called a group and a therapist, and made appointments, and promised to be at the next group meeting. He looked exhausted just from doing that, just from breathing, but Harvey knew better. Mike could handle a lot of things, and this was going to be one of them if Harvey had anything to say about it. He owed it to Mike.
"Appointment made… now we make our case."
"Harvey, I…"
"He threatened you, kid, that gives us a case already."
"So why?"
"Why what?"
"W-why do I have to tell the story again?"
Harvey paused, and looked at Mike. There was a deep pain there, a sudden, fresh pain. Mike hadn't talked about it to anybody. Harvey knew that. But he supposed he hadn't thought about it; the wound being open for so long, starting to fester, and then Harvey, pouring a sharp disinfectant over it. It would hurt in a whole new way, he realized, and Harvey felt even more guilty for that. He sat down in front of Mike the way he had the day previous, and smiled, just a little, in a gentle, worried way that Mike had never seen. (Mike hadn't seen a lot of Harvey's expressions; usually his face was a smooth mask of suave indifference, and that was how Harvey liked it. But when Harvey had to care, when he didn't have a choice -- when his heart wouldn't stay quiet the way he usually forced it to -- it showed on his face.)
"Because they're going to want to know why he's threatening you."
Mike sighed, heavily, rubbing over his face with the palms of his hands. Harvey knew that look. Mike didn't want to do this, and he knew it. But he wasn't about to let Mohr get away with it, either.
"This son of a bitch needs to be taught the lesson that just because you're rich doesn't mean you're allowed to violate someone."
Mike took a shaky breath, looked up at Harvey for reassurance, and nodded.
"He. I had one glass of wine, like. Like you told me to. And I was looking out the window."
Harvey nodded, hesitating. He wanted to take Mike's hand. Normally, Harvey did what he pleased and cared fuck-all about the consequences. But this was something that had to get fixed. He took Mike's hand anyway, and Mike seemed to shrink at first, like he didn't want to exist. But his voice was stronger when he next spoke.
"He asked me to stay for another but I told him I had to get home, and. And he punched me."
"Where?"
"Stomach," Mike said, covering his abdomen with one arm, like he was expecting the punch again. Harvey knew he remembered what had happened in minute detail, down to the physical feelings, which were no doubt gripping him. Harvey felt even more guilty for that, and squeezed Mike's hand gently. "Go on."
"It, it knocked the wind out of me. And I stayed there on the floor trying to. To catch my breath, and he said, 'I said stay'. A-and then he hit me when I shook my head."
Mike's fingers traveled up to his face, where the bruise had been purple for two days, and then turned an ugly yellow. Harvey remembered it, vividly -- the black-red scab sticking in the middle of it for more than two weeks. There was a little indented scar that Mike ran his stubby fingernail into, as though he was trying to pull the skin back up to cover the scar.
"'You're going to do what I tell you to do,'" Mike murmured, and then he shook his head. "But I told him I would just. Just show you the bruises, and I got up to leave and."
Mike paused, and Harvey squeezed his hand harder. Mike's voice trembled when he next spoke. "And he made me think about how disappointed you would be if I fucked up again. A-and then he pressed me up against the door…" Mike's eyes were closed tightly, and Harvey could tell he was fighting something like a flashback, just talking about it.
"You can do this. What then?"
"Made me take my clothes off."
Harvey frowned, the lines near his eyes deep and anxious just listening to Mike talk.
"And then?"
"He. H-he fucked me."
Harvey shook his head, reaching up to put both hands on Mike's shoulders, wishing he'd open his eyes. He needed Mike to know how sorry he was. Mike could hear it in his voice.
"He raped you, Mike."
Mike swallowed back a sob that had been building in his throat and shook his head.
"Yes. He did. He violated you and it is not your fault."
Harvey could scarcely contain his sadness at the way Mike crumbled in front of him, at the way he was barely able to keep it together -- at the way he was struggling to be strong in front of Harvey, because Harvey was always strong, and Mike didn't want to let him down.
"When I told you that there's always another option when someone holds a gun to your head -- sometimes. Sometimes there just isn't, Mike. Sometimes things happen and the only person to blame is the person holding the gun and the person that put you in the room with them."
Mike shook his head suddenly, looking up, but Harvey shushed him efficiently.
"I put you there. I put that idea in your head, that I would be disappointed. I had a gun to your head, too."
The sudden collapse of Mike's slender, warm body into his arms was about the last thing that Harvey Specter expected. He was stiff, for a moment, not knowing how to respond to it -- not knowing if he could really comfort Mike to make his body stop shaking, not knowing if he was even allowed to comfort him. But after a few seconds, he realized what was wrong; Mike didn't have anybody. His grandmother was in a high level of care at her nursing home, his parents were dead, and his only friend outside the office, he'd put on a bus to Montana.
Harvey's arms acted of their own accord, then, and wrapped around Mike's shoulders, pulling him close to him. He didn't know how to be this nice with anybody, really, only the people the cared about more deeply than he ever could have admitted.
And, not once did Harvey think about the tearstains that he would later dry-clean out of his suit jacket. For once, his suit didn't matter one bit.