Inspired by a prompt over at suits_meme that asked for Harvey acting like a jerk in order to show that he cares. I am not entirely sure he is a complete dick in this, more awkward and terrified at the prospect of having to actually show some sort of emotion, but still. . .enjoy!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Suits. No copyright infringement is intended.

He expects his associate to become insufferable in the weeks leading up to the holidays. After all, Mike is a giant ball of hope and happiness about damn near everything else, so Harvey braces himself for the younger man to have a perpetual grin on his face, subtle questions segueing into blatant ones about Christmas parties and gifts, and maybe, though Harvey hopes for all their sakes that his employee has a little more sense than this, a Santa hat. God help them all if he starts bursting into song at random like some ridiculous musical. He is prepared for all this insanity because, at this point, Mike could come in dressed as a reindeer and it wouldn't shock him. What he gets instead is this:

It's December 17th and all is quiet on the Mike Ross front. No carols or random hugs fueled by eggnog and pure holiday cheer. No cookies or cards or any of the hundred other odd things that Harvey expected. He is… well, not disappointed, but certainly surprised and he doesn't like being surprised. He prides himself on knowing his enemy and, while Mike is not the enemy, the young man is definitely not acting like himself. Harvey contemplates the possibility of pod people or perhaps some sort of twist worthy of a Twilight Zone episode because as each day draws to a close, as the temperature drops and the windows surrounding his office rattle from sharp gusts of winter wind, as holiday lights and decorations fill every window shop and people bustle down sidewalks, arms laden with shopping bags, Mike grows increasingly quiet. It is not so much a complete withdrawal from the world around him, but rather a sudden stillness, a general disquiet as if the young man is trying to understand the picture in front of him, but finally is forced to give up when he cannot make any sense of it.

Harvey notes all of this, but says nothing because, he reasons, it is not his place to. Mike has friends who can ask those questions, who can poke and prod and cajole. There is no reason for him to ask. Mike has been an especially dutiful employee for the past few weeks, putting in more hours than ever before, pursuing loopholes and precedents and digging up information with an intense fervor. As an employer, he could not ask for better results. And so Harvey keeps his mouth shut because, he insists, he does not care about what is going on in Mike's personal life.

Until Mike fails to show up to the firm's holiday party and then it suddenly becomes Harvey's business because, while yes it is technically optional, it is, in fact, goddamn mandatory and where the hell is the kid?

He excuses himself from a conversation with Jessica and ducks out into the much quieter hallway, the sounds of the party muffled behind thick oak doors. He hits the number assigned to his associate on his speed dial and impatiently waits for an answer. Five rings and he is about to give up and try dialing again when Mike finally answers.

"Harvey?"

"Is there another party that I don't know about? Obviously, it isn't a cooler party or I would have been invited, so I can only assume it must be a party for all the nerds that didn't get an invite to the party I am currently at."

"Party? What part—Oh shit."

"Eloquent. Where are you?"

"I'm still at the office. I was trying to finish up these briefs for the Hornbuckle case."

"The case that we really won't be able to get anything accomplished on until the New Year because every judge is currently some place a hell of a lot warmer than New York?"

"Yeah, I mean, I just figured I could work on this. Get a little ahead for once. It can't hurt to be prepared and it seemed like a good idea to dig a little deeper into these claims, see if I could find any inconsistencies. Plus, I think we might be able to make a case concerning—"

The rest is swallowed up by the swelling sounds of party music as Donna steps out into the hallway. She glances at the cellphone in Harvey's hand and then quirks an eyebrow. He places a hand over the receiver.

"He's still at the office and sounds like he is on his fifth can of Red Bull."

"Give me the phone."

Harvey hesitates for a moment (Mike's voice still rambling in his ear) and then relents when his assistant fixes him with a stern glare. He hands over the phone and takes a cautious step backwards, afraid he may become collateral damage in Hurricane Donna.

"Mike, stop talking. You are going to do the following things. One, you are going to take the highlighter pen out of your mouth. It's gross. Two, you are going to close up the files you are working on and shut down your computer. No, you may not finish the page you are currently on. Did I give you permission to speak? Three, you are going to go to my desk and get a fresh shirt and tie from the middle drawer where I keep spares for Harvey. I will know if you touch anything else. Finally, you are going to call a cab and get your skinny butt over here because if I have to spend this much time with a drunk Louis, so do you. I know you can remember all that because of your amazing little brain, so don't make me repeat myself. If you are not here in twenty minutes, I will come find you." She makes the last sound part queen giving a royal decree and part mafia boss putting a hit out on someone and then hits the end button, keeping Mike from responding to anything she has said.

Harvey gratefully takes the phone back and slides it into his pocket. "Payment?"

"I get to pick lunch for the next month and you don't get to complain. Oh, and a raspberry Danish from that bakery I like every morning."

"Done."

He keeps one eye on the door while making the rounds, champagne glass casually held in hand. A little over twenty minutes later, Mike hurries in, hair ruffled and a distinctly panicked look on his face. Harvey snags a glass from a passing waiter and saunters over, shoving the glass flute into Mike's hand.

"You need to catch up. Drink. And try to do something about your hair."

Mike vainly tries to smooth his hair down, cowlicks rebelling against the attempt. The older man sighs and rolls his eyes and then gestures towards a group of clients. "Go network."

"Yes, sensei."

He loses Mike in the crowd, mind focusing on smiling and charming every person he comes across instead of the reasons for Mike's tardiness. Music plays gently in the background accompanied by the click of high heels on the marble floor, the hum and buzz of conversation, and the tinkling of expensive glass taping against one another in cheers and salutations. He gets lost in the rhythm of it, following Jessica from group to group and playing his role efficiently.

The evening is slowly drawing to a close; most of the clients of Pearson Hardman have left for the evening and only the employees who are trying to make a good impression or have to be there to ensure that everything is handled properly remain. He is making his way towards Mike, who is standing just off to the side of a group of associates not taking part in their conversation but still trying to seem as if he is interested, when one of the remaining clients pulls him aside to thank him for his work on a recent case.

He is only half listening to the thanks being showered upon him, nodding and smiling in the right places, cocky swagger and modesty finely balanced; the rest of his attention is on the group next to his associate. One of the young men is describing his family's winter home where he will be spending the next week, enjoying the time off from work. Harvey tries to place him—Carlton? Kevin? Kyle?—something that fits his vague recollections of being shadowed by a perpetual brownnoser. The rest of the group seems duly impressed, chiming in with remarks about beach front property, ski cabins, and ringing in the New Year on yachts down in the Caribbean. Each man is trying to outdo the other one and, catching sight of a smirk on one of their faces, Harvey knows exactly where the conversation is going to turn.

"So, Ross, what are your big plans for the holidays?"

Mike looks up from where he was entranced by the swirling liquid in his champagne glass, owl eyed at the sudden shift in attention. "Oh, um. Nothing."

"Nothing? C'mon, you must have some sort of plans." Harvey thinks about the way his fist would solidly connect with the little snot's face.

"No, not really. Harvey has me working on a case that really needs to be finished in time for the New Year." He downs the rest of the contents of his glass and grimaces. The rest of the group groans in sympathy, snide remarks about slave drivers and Scrooges being tossed back and forth.

And that is when it finally clicks for Harvey. All the extra attentiveness and hours put in, the quietness, the decidedly lack of holiday cheer from his associate—it all adds up to one bleak picture. Mike doesn't have much in the way of family and in the past year he has lost the best friend that he had. All he has to look forward to is visiting hours at his grandmother's nursing home where they will probably serve rubbery turkey, followed by decorating his parents' graves. God, no wonder the kid was trying to distract himself with work and if he needs a Scrooge in his life right now, Harvey can certainly fulfill that role with barely breaking a sweat.

He gives his regards to the client, wishing them an enjoyable holiday, and steps over to the table Mike is standing next to. The group quickly stops talking, faces failing to hide the fact that one of them just referred to him as a "mean spirited bastard." Normally, he would enjoy the way they squirm under his gaze (he's no Louis, but there is still some fun to be had watching a group nearly shit themselves in fear), but right now he has one single goal in mind: get Mike away from the party.

"Rookie, I need you to be actually sober tomorrow. Be at the office at eight sharp."

"Tomorrow is Sunday."

"Surprisingly, I do know the days of the week. I have a mountain of paperwork that needs to be taken care of, not to mention you still haven't finished the Hornbuckle briefs and Jessica just informed me of a pro bono case that she wants me to look at, which means I want you to look at it. Enough chit-chat. Go home and get some sleep so you can be of some use to me."

Mike hesitates for a second, eyes flicking over to the group nearby, and then nods.

Harvey is a solitary man, confiding in few people; it is easy for him to understand Mike's need to avoid conversations about family dinners because the holidays, when he was still speaking to his father, always bordered on the painful.

He decides to approach Mike's problem in the same way he handles most situations involving feelings—he doesn't talk about it. Instead, he focuses on fixing the issue in the only way he knows how. When he has a lot on his mind and the mere thought of being around people is enough for him to reach for his baseball bat, he seeks solace in a fine glass of Scotch, a blues record, and a large tome of law. It is not the same as getting lost in a woman, but then there are times when a smooth pair of legs wrapped around him is not what he needs. Sometimes he needs to get lost in the minutiae, soothing his mind by burying it in as much banal paperwork as possible. He hates it as much as he needs it, but it keeps him from thinking about other things. It serves as a great diversion and Harvey is more than happy to supply Mike with it, minus the drinking and depressing music.

Harvey spends the days leading up to Christmas Eve dumping every last bit of paperwork he can find on Mike's desk. He sets unrealistic deadlines, demands things in duplicate and then triplicate, orders him to file and cross reference and double check. He makes himself look like the biggest egotistical asshole on the planet, snapping at every person that so much as looks at Mike because his associate does not have time to fraternize. They have work to do.

Donna gives him knowing smirks and occasionally reins him in, but mostly she just keeps bringing them coffee and reminding them both to eat.

And if Mike looks more frazzled and tired than withdrawn and depressed, well that is just a side effect of working longer hours.

On December 23rd, he finally breaches the subject of Christmas. Mike looks at him as if he has grown a second head when he casually asks him about the younger man's plans.

"I figured I would be working."

"Mike, I am not going to make you work on Christmas Eve. Despite what you may think or have heard, I am not that big of an asshole."

He shrugs and goes back to highlighting the page in front of him, biting firmly down on the cap of his marker. "I'm going to go see Gram tomorrow evening. The nursing home has a little get together for people on Christmas Eve and they try to get as many families to come as possible. Think there might be carols and a gift exchange."

"Ask for the GI Joe lunchbox this year?"

"Star Wars." Mike laughs nervously, eyes still firmly locked on the page. "Gram and I don't really exchange presents. Christmas is not really something we celebrate."

Harvey is now aware that he is firmly stuck in an emotional minefield. He picks up the baseball on his desk and tosses it back and forth between his hands, trying to channel the uncomfortable energy somewhere. He takes the coward's way out and sends Mike home with a folder stuffed with papers to fill out instead of pursuing that line of questioning.

Later, he stands alone in the office, watching the snow slowly fall outside his huge glass windows, glass of Scotch in one hand, slip of paper in the other, and thinks of stillness.

Checking the paper one last time in his hand to confirm he knows where he is going, Harvey tucks it in his heavy woolen coat pocket and then knocks on Mike's rundown door, bored expression firmly in place. As soon as the door opens, he shoves a cup of coffee into his associate's hands.

"Harvey? What the hell?"

"Get your coat. We've got things to do."

"I can't. I was about to go out."

"I know. Let's go." Harvey avoids looking directly at Mike by studying the bizarre water pattern on the wall behind him.

"You know? How?"

"Donna."

Mike stares at him for several beats before grabbing his coat and shoving a knit cap firmly over his ears. They don't speak on the way down to the car or during the drive; the silence only punctuated by the occasional cough or the creaking of leather as they shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Harvey only dares to speak when they arrive at their destination, asking for Mike to clarify the spot they are looking for. He pulls over, tires crunching on loose asphalt and fresh snow. Mike sits there for a moment, staring out the windshield before opening his car door and walking down the row of tombstones. He turns off the car and follows at a distance, unsure of what exactly he is doing here.

Mike finally kneels in front of a stone, brushing the snow and ice off of it. Both of Mike's parents' names are engraved on it, though from his current spot, Harvey cannot make out any of the inscription. He watches as Mike silently sits in front of the grave for several minutes before Mike surprises him by suddenly speaking.

"You know, Gram and I used to do this every Christmas. We never really got into all the decorating and dinners and everything. With it just being the two of us, it seemed kind of silly. Plus, Dad's birthday was just before Christmas and Gram—." He shrugs as if this explains everything. "Sometimes I'd go over to Trevor's but it always felt weird. I mean, Trevor hated his parents so spending an entire day with them was like something out of The Godfather. I kept waiting for bullets to start flying. So, it was mostly just me and Gram eating frozen dinners and watching whatever reruns there were on TV and then coming down here and cleaning off the tombstone. I promised her I'd still come out here even though she wasn't feeling up to it this year." He glances at the older man and clears his throat before continuing. "Would have been the first year I had to do it by myself."

Harvey nods, baffled as to how to respond to all of this, having not thought beyond asking Donna to find out where Mike's parents were buried. They stand there, listening to the wind blow through the bare trees, branches groaning under the weight of snow. Eventually, Mike stands, grunting as his knees pop.

"So, ya know, thanks."

The first thing Harvey thinks to say is something derisive, but he is certain Donna would hear about it and hang him off a building by his tie, so he chooses to clap his hand on Mike's shoulder instead, as if that is enough to balance things out and maybe it is if the way Mike smiles at him is any indication. "Chinese?"

"God, yes. I am starving."