Chapter Text
When Jessica had assigned Harvey this client bright and early on Monday morning with a perfectly pleasant smile on her face, he knew that he was in for one hell of a ride.
A multi-million dollar company older than dirt and a very hefty lawsuit leveraged against them would have been a job and a half on its own, but to make matters worse, even though the Stone Age has ended and the modern age has dawned, the company refuses to switch over to digital file management. Meaning that Harvey had about a million years of paperwork to sift through and five days before he had to appear in court.
Naturally, Harvey had pawned off much of the work on Mike as soon as he saw the boxes and boxes of files delivered to his office, however, four days of mind-numbing reading had passed and neither of them had found anything they could use to help them win this case.
Towards the end of the day on Thursday Harvey asked Donna to call Mike to his office. He had a compiled good stack of boxes with files that seemed promising and he wanted Mike to go through them with him. Five minutes later and Mike is walking into Harvey's office (without knocking), one coffee in each hand.
"You needed me?" Harvey doesn't look up from the paperwork sprawled around him as he replies,
"I don't need anybody. However, I do," his eyes come up to meet Mike's, "require you, my associate, to look over these files with me." Mike walks further into the office and settles at the conference table across from Harvey.
"Wow, the great Harvey Specter requires my help? I'm touched," Mike taunts. Harvey can hear the stupid grin on Mike's stupid face without even looking, and he keeps his eyes on the paperwork in his hands as he mutters an unimpressed uh huh before the urge to pummel the idiot gets too strong.
Hours later and they're still there. Harvey thought that with Mike's assistance the two of them would find the smoking gun they had been searching for in no time at all, but for the first time in a while both Harvey and Mike were coming up with nothing. They had moved from the small conference table in Harvey's office hours ago, right around the time Donna left for the evening, and Harvey now sat at his desk with his sleeves rolled up and his tie long forgotten. Mike was keeping himself busy on Harvey's couch, blowing through files like it was as easy as breathing air. Since Donna had left, though, Harvey had noticed that Mike seemed to be slowing down, if the quiet turning of pages was anything to go by.
As Harvey starts in on a new file from the still impossibly large pile of files on his desk, Mike breathes slow, heavy breaths on the couch.
"I don't pay you to sleep," Harvey comments without looking up from his new file. The words themselves are threatening but there's no heat behind them and Harvey knows it (whether he wants to admit it or not). Mike mumbles something in reply, but Harvey has trouble making out exactly what he said. His brain picks apart the gibberish slowly, trying to make sense of the faint syllables he did manage to catch until it hits him. Mike said my name. Harvey looks up at Mike just as he says it again and there's no mistaking it this time.
"Harvey," he breathes, and Harvey would have been less surprised to look up and see a lit joint hanging from Mike's lips. Instead, when he looks up he sees Mike, one arm lying limp at his side with a forgotten file dangling loosely from his fingers, his other arm propping up all his weight. His body is leaning harshly over the hand holding him up and Harvey watches as Mike's head sways and swims.
"Mike?" Harvey asks, his tone laced with confusion and the faintest hint of alarm. Mike's eyes drift lazily up to meet Harvey's, faint recognition hidden behind a haze, before his head bobs violently down again. Before he's even aware he's doing it Harvey is on his feet and moving to intercept Mike before his forehead can slam into the carpet. He barely makes it out of his chair before Mike has caught himself and is leaning back slightly, his head still swaying on his neck. Harvey doesn't change course and closes the gap between him and Mike in seconds, his face wrought with concern. (Concerned about how he might have to go through the horrible and tedious process of finding a new associate, obviously.) "I know you're not drunk so you had better tell me what the hell is going on before I decide to let you eat carpet." Harvey says this intending to sound angry, but there is no heat to his words and the concern hidden beneath them is uncharacteristically close to showing through. (What is this kid doing to him?)
If Mike were more lucid he might harp on Harvey from being concerned about him. But he's not so he doesn't, and instead whispers out another breathy "Harvey," before his head takes another dive for the carpet.
This time Harvey is already there and crashes to his knees in front of Mike as he goes, catching him by the shoulders when Mike doesn't catch himself. Harvey sits Mike back up on the couch and gives him a firm shake when he doesn't open his eyes right away. He doesn't stir.
"Mike? Mike, what the hell is going on?" Harvey jostles him harder this time and Mike's eyes open, his head lolling to the side so he can meet Harvey's eyes as another quiet "Harvey," groans past his lips. There's a concerned grimace breaking through the neutral mask on Harvey's face as he studies Mike. His breaths are so shallow Harvey can barely see Mike's chest move, and his pupils are huge, almost completely swallowing up the blue of Mike's irises.
"Mike I need you to tell me what the hell is going on if I'm going to help." He gets no reply, and can only watch as Mike's head swims more, his eyes rolling around in his head but focusing on nothing. After a few more silent moments pass without any sort of recognition from Mike Harvey takes his head into his hands and tilts it towards him so they're looking at each other. Sometimes. Harvey pats Mike's face a few times, hard enough to get him to focus, before he calls his name again. "Mike..." No reply. "Mike! Hey, look at me." Mike's eyes finally meet Harvey's with a bit more recognition, an uneasy glimmer in his eyes. "Talk to me, Mike. What's happening?"
"Dizzy," is Mike's slurred reply. His eyes begin to fog again and his head gets heavier in Harvey's hands so Harvey slaps his cheeks again, a bit harder this time.
"I get that you idiot." What is he going to do with this kid? "Why?" This is a demand, and though Harvey is still concerned, getting a reply from Mike has made him a little less worried and boosted his confidence just a smidge.
Mike scowls again, no doubt unhappy about being slapped, albeit lightly, and slurs out,
"Water."
This damn kid.
"What?"
"Need...need water." Harvey isn't sure what's going on with his idiot associate, but he's beginning to suspect concussion. Maybe Mike hit his head on something earlier in the day and it's only catching up to him now? Harvey asks himself as he processes everything Mike has said.
Before he can get too caught up in his thoughts, though, there's a tacky hand pulling down firmly on the loose fabric of Harvey's dress shirt just under the elbow. What truly gives him pause, though, is the inelegant *thump* of Mike's forehead against his chest as his fingers twist in the fabric of Harvey's shirt.
"Water, Harv-Harvey. Trust me."
It's barely a whisper, coming out like the last breath of a dying man, but Harvey hears him nonetheless. Without even thinking about it Harvey places a hand on the back of Mike's head and nestles his fingers into the soft hair just below his crown. At the contact Harvey can feel Mike release the fabric of his shirt as his body goes limp against him. Harvey gently rocks himself and Mike backward until Mike is leaning against the back of the couch before standing up. He grabs one of Mike's limp arms and feels around his wrist for a pulse (not because he cares of course). He finds one beating fast and unsteady, but there all the same. Harvey drops Mike's wrist back to his side and looks out at the still office just beyond the glass walls of his room, letting his heart race alongside his thoughts. Two heartbeats later and Harvey is back in control, and he has a plan: get the kid some water, call Donna to see if she knows what is happening, and, if needed, call 911. With one last look at Mike, Harvey steels his resolve before striding out of his office towards the break room.
It doesn't take him long to find a bottle of water in the break room fridge, and before he knows it Harvey is striding back towards his office at only a slightly quicker than normal pace. As he approaches from the break room Harvey can see Mike is still sitting up against the back of the couch right where he left him. He breathes a sigh of relief that the kid didn't slide off the couch while he was gone and then crosses into his office.