"Someone's here to see you, Mr. Specter." Harvey's new assistant's voice coming over the intercom is polite, restrained, respectful…and irritating beyond belief.

Harvey glances over at Donna's old desk and sees, of all people, his younger brother, George Elwood Specter. He smiles—his brother is one of the few people he actually likes, after all—but then he remembers how Donna used to announce his brother's arrival like she would that of the President, and the smile fades.

Just then, George catches Harvey's eye and waves. Harvey waves back before muttering peevishly into the intercom, "You don't have to announce it, just send him in." He shuts the thing off with a shake of his head before his assistant can say anything else, and good thing too. The kid is book-smart, for sure, but in most other ways he's an idiot; he'll be lucky if Harvey doesn't kill him before the end of the month.

"I have to say, I kind of miss all the pomp and circumstance." At George's voice Harvey looks up, forcing himself to smile. George knows him better than most, so hopefully he'll understand how much Harvey doesn't want to talk about Donna. "He's certainly no Donna." Or not.

"Agreed," Harvey replies dryly. "Jessica swears she's the one who hired him, but I think she's lying. I think she let Louis do the hiring, and Louis hired him just to screw with me. That's the sort of thing Louis would do. He hates me, you know." This last part is sarcastic, of course; they've had variations of this conversation enough times that George is well aware how much Louis dislikes his older brother.

George laughs. "So I've heard," he says, his eyes dancing. Though they don't look very much alike—with his mahogany hair and fair skin George looks like a younger version of their father, while Harvey had inherited their mother's olive skin and dark honey-blonde hair—they do share one common trait: they have the same warm chocolate brown eyes, courtesy of their father, Gordon Specter. Their mother, Susannah, has green eyes that Harvey can honestly say he would never even consider referring to as 'warm'.

Harvey and George's mother is…well, not Harvey's favorite person, to be sure. She had left the family when Harvey was eight, George four, and hadn't come back—hadn't even tried to come back, as far as Harvey knew—for a full five years, and even then somehow Harvey was the only one who hadn't trusted her. Despite his father's and, more recently, his brother's best efforts (and God knew he was at a loss to understand what she had done to deserve those), he still isn't strictly on speaking terms with her.

As if reading his mind, George clears his throat, the amusement abruptly leaving his face. "Look, Harvey, I know you're busy and I am too, so I'll just cut to the chase, okay?"

Harvey nods, frowning a little, unsure what could have pushed his brother—whose good spirits were normally omnipresent and infectious, giving him quite possibly the best bedside manner of any doctor at New York Hospital—into such a solemn mood, and so quickly at that.

George swallows hard before saying, "Mom has pancreatic cancer. Stage four." He pauses, and while Harvey doubts it is for dramatic effect, it certainly serves to up the level of tension in the room considerably. "She's dying."

Harvey takes a deep breath, his head spinning with a dozen different emotions. He wasn't sure what he had expected George to say, but that had definitely not been it. He mentally catalogues several possible answers before responding. "So?"

George's brow furrows. "What do you mean?" he asks, and Harvey wonders, vaguely, how angry he's about to make his brother.

"I mean," he answers, keeping his voice neutral, "that I don't know what it is that you expect me to do with this information. It's not like I can cure her."

His brother's expression doesn't change. "I know that," George says evenly. "But I don't want you to cure her. I just want you to come with me to see her."

"That's not going to happen," Harvey replies curtly, without thought, his voice sharper than the edge of a knife.

"Why not?" George asks, throwing his hands up in clear exasperation. "She's our mother. And she's dying. You should come—it's the right thing to do, and you know it."

"I'm surprised you'd even ask," Harvey snaps back, glaring at George. "Did you forget that she abandoned us?"

"No," George retorts, "but you certainly always seem to forget that she came back."

Harvey closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down a little; he really doesn't want to fight with his brother. When he opens his eyes again, he focuses them on George's. "About a week after Mom left, she called home. I tried to ask her if she was coming back, but she wouldn't answer me. She just asked to talk to Dad." He takes another breath before continuing; he generally doesn't consider himself a sentimental person, but that's mainly because he usually doesn't let himself remember certain things. Like this. "So I told Dad to pick up and then I pretended to hang up and stayed on the line in the kitchen so I could listen." Breath. "Dad literally begged her to come back—more than once—but Mom ignored him. Just asked if she could come over sometime when we weren't there to get her stuff so she wouldn't have to see us."

George drops into the chair opposite Harvey's desk. He looks kind of like how Harvey imagines he must look—like he can't breathe right. There's a long, long silence. "Why didn't you ever tell me that before?" George finally asks, and Harvey can't quite place the emotion in his voice.

Harvey shrugs. "When Mom came back…well, you didn't really remember her, you know, so you two were able to pretty much start over. I didn't really give a damn about her, but I didn't want to ruin it for you." He takes another deep breath, which seems to be all he's done since the subject of their mother came up, and catches George's eye again. "But I remember, and I can't forgive her. I'm sorry, but I can't. Not for leaving, and especially not for that." His voice, even to his own ears, sounds almost pleading, and as much as he wishes it didn't, he wishes more for his brother to understand this—to understand him.

George sighs. "Fine." He stands up, seeming to lean more heavily than usual on his cane. "I'm sorry."

Harvey shakes his head, standing up as well. "Don't be," he replies. He mentally casts around for a lighter subject, and ends up blurting, "How are Emily and Aria, anyway?"

It works—at the (somewhat random) mention of his wife and five-year-old daughter, George smiles. "They're great." He hesitates. "Actually, that was something else I was going to ask you—I figured you'd say no to going to see Mom, but Em and I were wondering if you could watch Aria for us sometime when we go to the hospital. It'd be a big help, if you can spare the time."

Harvey grins. "I'd love to," he says truthfully—he always enjoys spending time with his adorable niece. An idea occurs to him, and the grin turns somewhat evil. "As long as you don't mind my associate joining me, I'm in."

Mike really, really cannot help staring. "You have a key to your brother's place?" he asks incredulously as Harvey unlocks the door to the condo and pushes it open.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Harvey asks without looking at him. "Your grandmother has a key to your apartment, doesn't she?"

Mike opens his mouth but closes it again almost immediately—his grandmother doesn't have a key, actually, but he suspects that revealing this will somehow also reveal that she broke into his apartment, and that's definitely not something Harvey's going to let go of in a hurry. As he tries to think of a way to change the subject smoothly, he glances around the hallway they're standing in and his eyes are immediately drawn to a beautiful black-and-white photograph on the opposite wall. The photo is of a dark-haired man—presumably Harvey's brother—leaning over the side of a crib and staring at the baby within. Although the baby is fully visible, the man's back is to the camera, but somehow the photo still seems to radiate reverence and awe. It's one of the most amazing things Mike's ever seen.

"Wow," he says, automatically moving closer. He spends another moment just looking at it before he notices another picture, to his left—a lovely pencil drawing of a little girl in a tunic-style dress, standing in a meadow, a butterfly landing on the tip of her nose. This picture, however, only captures his attention for a moment before he sees the one next to it—a large color photo of Harvey and his brother on a bright spring day. His brother is wearing a black cap and gown, and they have their arms around each other's shoulders, but that isn't what sticks in his mind. What sticks is that Harvey—who has repeatedly told Mike that he doesn't care about anyone but himself—looks so proud in the picture.