Harvey's an empath. It's not anything new (at least not to him; he was born with it), but it still makes it ridiculously difficult to function some days. It's hard enough being a highly successful lawyer at a highly prestigious firm, working through paperwork, phone calls, and client meetings, without having to worry about trying to block out the emotions of every other person on his floor.

Most empaths need to be in contact with another person to read what they're feeling. Harvey does not. It helps, of course, makes the read far more accurate and allows him to pick up nuances and details that a distanced read can't give him. It's also had the minor side effect of giving him an overall aversion to casual touchiness. (The suits help him avoid it. Actually, his appearance in general, and typical demeanor, do wonders to ward off any overly friendly would-be assailants.)

The whole thing is both a blessing and a curse. Is it helpful to know just how confident the opposition is in their defense the minute he walks into a court room? Yeah, okay, sure. And yeah, okay, it's also helpful to know the real emotions of a new client just by shaking their hand, or to pick up imprints left on evidence, or even to know just how far off he is from pressing where it hurts. But honestly, the rest of the time? He really just wishes he could turn it off.

It's harder to focus when he's really tired, or stressed. Or both. Like right now. The current case has been an absolute bitch, but it should be over soon. Assuming the opposing counsel doesn't find another legal stall tactic to throw at him, while the team of highly-successful-lawyers-who-are-not-Harvey-Specter work at undermining Harvey's client's case.

It's with that cheerful thought that he steps into the elevator. It's cramped (damn it) and the ride up seems suffocating. Yes, his walls do seem to have a few major leaks at the moment (damn it, damn it). It's a relief to get to his floor, to escape the confined press of bored-guilty-jealous-giddy-irritated-amused and move into a space where he feels less like he's drowning. Or bipolar. Whatever.

Donna shoots him a small smirk over her blackberry as he approaches, and Harvey grins tiredly back at her with a, "Morning, Donna. Did you happen to-?"

She hands him a cup of coffee and a slim manila folder before he even finishes asking the question.

Harvey genuinely likes Donna. She's sharp and smart and doesn't take any of his shit. She's a damn good secretary. She also doesn't know he's an empath or to be careful of accidental touch, so if he has to suppress a bit of a flinch when her hand brushes his as she hands him the cup, well, it's not like it's never happened before.

It takes him a few seconds to re-center himself (hell, he must be more off than he thought; contact that brief really shouldn't hit him so hard), and Donna's smirk has widened by the time he turns his focus back to her. Harvey scowls at her as he moves towards his office but doesn't say anything. He doesn't quite trust himself in his current state of mind to keep snarky from crossing over into douchebag territory. Even Harvey doesn't want to risk being on Donna's bad side. There is no coffee waiting at the office for him on Donna's bad side, and the helpful reminders about moved meetings that do manage to reach his inbox only tend to give him about five minutes of warning.

The day continues much the same as they all have for the past three weeks since this stupid case began. Mike staggers in some time around a quarter to eight, looking harried and largely sleep-deprived. The case has been as hard, if not harder, on him- he is the one having to dig up all the research and precedents and various documentation, after all- and Harvey would maybe feel a bit guilty about it, except that he's nearly dead on his feet as well. He just hides it better, clearly.

He amuses himself for a bit by betting against himself and idly watching the minutes tick by on his watch in between updating himself on the case's status and flipping through documentation of previous deals made with the opposing company. Sure enough, twenty minutes later, Mike bursts through the door (the rush Harvey feels from Donna is pure gleeful amusement, despite the disapproving glare she directs at Mike's back). The younger man is radiating enough panicked anxiety that Harvey is certain he'd be able to pick it up from the ground floor (and also certain it's likely to give him a migraine if there's prolonged exposure), and shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot in a way that he thinks would probably tip him off even if he couldn't read emotions. His associate's talking a mile a minute before the door's even fully closed.

"Ummm, hi, Harvey, you know how you asked me to fill out a request for those forms last night? Because I totally did, and I'm positive I filled it out right, and everything, and I gave it to Jim from Research, I know I did, and I told him it was urgent and that you'd need them today, but I thought maybe he didn't listen? So I went down to see him already and he said he'd dropped them off…"

Mike carries on for another minute or two, and Harvey props his chin in his palm, just watching, since it seems unlikely he'll be able to get a word in edgewise until Mike pauses for more than half a second to breathe.

Mike is… well. Mike is Mike. There really isn't any one way to describe him. He can be brilliant, genius even, when he's not fretting over disappointing Harvey or exposing their fraud. Or being painfully, unbelievably naive. He's good with clients of all sorts, and genuine in a way Harvey's lost over the years (or maybe never was to begin with). He's also one of the most ridiculous people Harvey's ever met.

By the time he's neared the end of his rambling, Harvey figures that the gist of it basically comes down to "I think I've fucked up and lost something kind of important, but am trying to make it seem less catastrophic than it is". It takes him until the actual end to realize that the subject of Mike's frantic search is currently in a slim manila folder now sitting on his desk, and Harvey finds himself having to tamp down on the sudden urge to laugh.

Instead, he fixes Mike with his best unimpressed stare (because watching the kid squirm will never not be fun), then wordlessly holds up the file after a few moments. There's confused apprehension on Mike's face as he takes it. Harvey feels it the moment the confusion's replaced by heady, flooding relief, which mixes with indignant outrage a few moments later, like he thinks Harvey's taken the file on purpose, just to screw with him. (Which is ridiculous; he's an ass, but not that much of an ass.) It's the indignant outrage that shows outwardly, and Mike opens and closes his mouth a couple times, like he can't quite find the right words to express it. Harvey's quick to shoo him back to his cubicle before he can manage.

After that, it's a series of long hours full of paper work, a too-short lunch break, and one incredibly vexing phone call which leaves Harvey wanting to hit something afterwards. (He can appreciate the art of being a conniving bastard, he really can, but only to a certain limit and these people just will not compromise.)

Mike, however, seems to have found something of a lead. Harvey might know more of what it might be, if the kid would stop darting in, only to stop mid-explanation with a "Wait, hold on- that's in… yeah, just gimme a sec-" and dart back out again to, presumably, rifle through more documentation. He gets fed up the third time this happens, finally telling Mike to just stop, bring all the paperwork to his office, he can use the table by the couch (because Jesus Christ, he hadn't been kidding when he'd said that all-nighters made Mike more of an idiot that first week, and that had only been one night).

It comes out more harshly than he means it to but God, he's just so tired and his barriers haven't been down like this in years, what the hell, he's had much worse cases than this, and he's getting emotional feedback every time someone walks past the door, and, and and Mike goes completely, totally still for just a second, blinking at him. He's frowning at Harvey. The stillness is unusual, but it's an expression Harvey's seen, and felt, on him before slightly hurt kind of irritated except… except he can't feel it this time. There's just a sort of… hum, almost. Like engine noise. White noise. Background noise. Unobtrusive, not unpleasant, just… there. It's highly disconcerting, but before he can do much more than register it, Mike's sniping off something that's both affirmation and complaint and turning back through the door to grab the files at his cubicle. The hum disappears.

Harvey doesn't get a chance to ponder on it after that, because Mike really has found a solution and they spend the rest of the evening discussing the next course of action. It'll take a couple more days to get the necessary information, but they've both lasted this long and the end is in sight. Harvey is pretty sure he can handle that.