This is an AU. I am calling it a fighter!au, but it could also be a slave!au. Although not strictly true. Anyway...its not particularly happy but I like it. Hope you do.

Harvey loves his job. He loves the thrill of a good argument, the extra thrill of a good argument well won. He loves the money, the power that comes with it, and also comes with being the best closer in the city.

This part however, this is the part of the job Harvey hates. Because he may be a ruthless bastard who cares about nothing but money, power and a good suit but even he knows that having some kind of sick, antiquated Gladiator contest as part of normal life is, well, sick and antiquated.

They started off as underground, dubiously legal fighting rings, dark doorways in even darker alleys with brick shit houses for bouncers and invites only (hell, maybe even passwords or special handshakes, but Harvey never went so he doesn't know for sure). They moved on from there, to slightly better lit alleys and no one really remembers how they became part of normal every day life but Harvey hates the fact that a bill somehow got through that made the fighters second class citizens, essentially property for the Owners. They became the Indentured, owned by people with more money but less sense than Harvey. Treated like dirt because they had no rights.

No one should have that kind of power over anyone.

A lot of the clients of Pearson Hardman use the fights as entertainment for their Lawyers and Jessica hates them even more than Harvey does, if that's possible. Actually that's maybe not strictly true, Harvey's just better at hiding his contempt for the owners than Jessica is and always makes Harvey go, and he can generally block out the noises of bones being broken and blood hitting the floors, teeth being knocked out and the grunts and groans of the fighters. However, tonight he can't seem to take his eyes off the lithe dirty blond haired kid fighting possibly the biggest man Harvey has ever seen in his life. It's not the first time he's seen him, but for some reason it's the first time he's really caught Harvey's attention.

The kids fast, Harvey will give him that, quick on his feet, nimble as he spins out of the big guys reach. And the big guy is slow, which is probably why the kid has managed to get in a few solid punches before dancing away again, but Harvey is pretty sure this is going to end up one way, and one way only. That's why he stands with the rest of the crowd when the kid launches himself at the big guys back, gets him in a sleeper hold and holds on for dear life, taking one or two swats to the ribs before the big guys falls, slowly, to his knees, then face plants the floor. The kid stands, places one well aimed kick to the guys ribs and runs his forearm across his nose, there's a streak of red on his skin when he pulls it back down and Harvey feels a very familiar stab of anger at the asshole who put the fucking bill through that allowed this barbaric custom. The Umpire lifts the kids small, thin arm, practically wrenches it out of the socket and the crowd goes nuts, Harvey can hardly hear himself think as he keeps his eyes on the kids face. Its strangely blank, there are bruises on his skin but that's normal, its not like the fighters, more often than not Indentured, are particularly well looked after, but what surprises Harvey is the fact that even from this distance he can see the kids blue eyes. They're dead though, nothing going on behind them as the Umpire spins them both around and the kid is walked off stage, limping slightly and clutching his side.

"That's the Rookie," Tom Stanton, the incredibly wealthy Real Estate mogul, and Pearson Hardman's client, says as he leans closer to Harvey. Harvey nods noncommittally as he catches a glimpse of the other fighters backstage, clapping the kid on the shoulder before he's swallowed up by the crowd, readying for the next fight. "He's Jim's best fighter."

Jim Cleaver, the irony of the surname isn't lost of Harvey, is one of New York's dirtiest fighter owners. Not only does he own them, which Harvey finds detestable (it's one thing hiring them like employees when they're down on their luck but actually owning them is another), but he treats them worse than dogs and more than once Harvey has seen his name dragged through the dirt, tabloids baying for his blood before some clever lawyer spins it and everyone's suddenly happy again.

"His best?" Harvey asks, because he's honestly surprised, the kid can't be more than twenty four which gives him the upper hand on being young and fit, but he's also small, underfed and untrained. Tom nods, not taking his eyes off the two new fighters in the ring sizing each other up.

"Yeah," he says, "relatively new I think, but he's won every fight so far," he finishes, cheering with the rest of the crowd as the fighters start.

Harvey feels suddenly sick, the heat from the arena is oppressive and he runs a finger around his collar, hoping that this fight, the last of the evening, will be over quickly so he can go home and get drunk and try to forget he was ever here. Try to forget the young kid with bright blue eyes.

Turns out it is over quickly and Harvey doesn't think all the alcohol in the world will make him forget the noise of the fighter's neck snapping.

They had all been ushered out, quickly, taken to the VIP room and plied with champagne, as if there was something to celebrate about some poor kid who'd made bad choices ending up dying at the hands of some other kid who made equally bad choices. It was sickening, worse that most people don't even batter an eyelid at the ending of a life, and the champagne swills around Harvey's stomach like its taking as much offence to the whole thing as Harvey is.

"Tom," Jim shouts across the room, holding his large arms out and smiling and Harvey feels the stem of the champagne flute crack under his hand, "damn good to see you." Jim envelopes Tom in a hug with fat, meaty arms.

"Shame about the kid, Jim," Tom says, sounding genuinely concerned and Jim shrugs his massive shoulders and glances at Harvey.

"It happens," he says and Harvey has to count to ten in his head to stop himself from punching the bastard in the face.

"Jim, this is Harvey Specter, of Pearson Hardman," Tim gestures towards him and Harvey nods and ignores Jim's hand for as long as possible.

"Lawyer hey, not come here to try and get my fighters free have you, like all the other bleeding heart liberals who come around here," Jim says with a laugh and Tom squirms slightly.

"If you were breaking the law, Mr Cleaver, believe me, I would have you locked up as soon as look at you. But sadly, what you are doing is legal, so I have to keep my contempt quiet, and to myself," Harvey says and watches with pleasure as the vein in Jim's forehead throbs slightly, "good evening, Mr Cleaver," he finishes, nods his head politely and backs away. He corners a waiter and demands whiskey, throws it down his neck as it's pushed in front of him a few minutes later. It does little to calm his anger.

He's still seething an hour, and three more whiskeys, later as Tom comes sheepishly up to the bar and plants himself next to Harvey. Harvey's got nothing against the guy per se, perhaps his choice of entertainment and his lack of personal space, the guy always stands so close, but Harvey really wants to be alone with his anger right now.

"Sorry about Jim," he says and Harvey shrugs in an incredibly unlike him manner, "he gets protective over his fighters," Tom finishes, swallowing the last of his champagne and waving the glass in the bartenders face.

"I'd probably get that way about my property too," Harvey says, slamming his glass down on the bar and spinning around to survey the room, "except I don't own human beings, Tom," he says and Tom flinches slightly. Its their age old argument, Tom is aware of how Harvey feels, more than aware of how Jessica feels, but he still invites them every time and Harvey still has to go, begrudgingly.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," a pretty young girl dressed in a tiny outfit that is meant to be smart and sexy but comes across as tacky and crude, raises her voice above the crowd, "please welcome your entertainment for the evening," she steps to the side and the doors open, revealing the fighters, freshly showered, makeup no doubt hiding the more prominent bruises and cuts and a excited murmur goes through the collected guests. Tom pushes himself off the bar and pushes his way through the sea of people and Harvey groans, turns back to the bar and orders another whiskey. Tom's paying for it, he might as well try to enjoy himself at least a little.

Jim does this every time he hosts a fight. Brings out his fighters after the events to entertain, even gives them to high betting guests for the right price for the night and the whole thing makes Harvey sick. Not only are they fighting, for their lives in some cases, as the kid tonight showed, but they are then prostituted out for the night to people who care little about their welfare and even less about their wellbeing. Harvey may be a hard hitting corporate lawyer, a take no prisoners kind of guy, one who many people distrust after the first second of meeting him, and he himself may have made many bad decisions in his life, staying longer than necessary at the DA's office before moving back to Jessica being high on his list, but even he can see the wrongness of this life, the sheer deplorability of the whole thing. He turns back to the crowd, to see Tom running his fingers down the young girls arm. She is no doubt owned by Jim as well, Jim doesn't just own male fighters, and she simpers, flutters her eyelashes at Tom and Harvey rolls his eyes. He spots the kid from earlier across the room, a small butterfly stitch across his eyebrow and a badly disguised bruise forming on his cheek bone and Harvey's fingers twitch around his glass. He's talking to Jim and it's the most emotion Harvey has seen from him since he stepped into the ring. He says something that makes Jim look like he's about to choke and Jim pulls his arm back and backhands the kid across the already bruised cheek bone and Harvey is moving before his mind has caught up with his body.

"You going to give him a free shot at your face Jim?" Harvey asks, sliding up to him and the kid blinks at him. Jim spins, fixes a glare at Harvey.

"Got a big mouth this one, forgets who owns him, sometimes he needs to be reminded," Jim says and Harvey snorts, swirling the whiskey around in the glass as the kid continues to stare at him with blank eyes.

"Just doesn't seem fair, is all," Harvey says and Jim's eyes narrow, "to beat on a kid when you know they have no option but to take it. I wonder how brave you would be if he could fight back."

The kid narrows his eyes too and Harvey knows that he's just made it worse for him, that Jim will find a way to make this his fault and take it out on him and there will be bruises on his skin tomorrow that didn't come from fighting the huge beast of a man earlier.

"None of your business, Specter," Jim snaps and Harvey snorts again.

"Well it is actually, because I don't want you damaging my potential property," Harvey says and wants to slap himself, or rewind time because honestly, he's never ever contemplated owning anyone, let alone a kid who looks like he wants to kill him right now and he's not entirely sure why he feels the need to try and protect him.

Jim's eyes widen, almost comically, and then narrow again, shrinking down to little piggy eyes as he glares up at him.

"Your potential property?" Jim parrots incredulously and the kid's hands clench by his sides, the bruise on his cheek worse than it was two minutes ago, a red mark against otherwise pale skin. He's quiet, but Harvey can see the way he bites on the inside of his cheek, probably learnt the hard way that talking back is punishable, even if just now he broke his own rule, and Harvey can also see defiance burning in his eyes as he stares at Harvey.

"Thinking about taking him off your hands," Harvey says, staring at the whiskey in his glass and swirling it again, feigning indifference. Jim snorts, curls his fingers around the kids arm and the kid twitches slightly like he wants to pull away.

"What makes you think I would give him to you?" Jim snaps, tugging him closer, "This one's earned me a hell of a lot of cash since I took him on," a flicker of disgust travels across the kids face as Jim gives his arm a slight squeeze, his fingers trailing over his skin as he lets him go and the kid takes an almost step away from him, not enough to be noticed by Jim but enough that Harvey picks it up. He's still glaring at Harvey though and Harvey knows that if he doesn't win this, the kid is going to be paying the price as soon as Harvey leaves tonight.

"I said nothing about you giving him to me. I am going to give you more cash than he will ever earn you," Harvey says and he can hear Jessica berating him in his head for this tomorrow morning, "I mean look at him, Cleaver, its not like he's going to last long. Looks almost dead on his feet already," Harvey says, looking the kid up and down. He shifts under Harvey's gaze, but defiance still burns in his blue eyes as he glares with barely concealed anger back at him, "and to be honest, he's exactly my type," Harvey adds, leaning forward slightly and letting his eye rove over the kid's body, and it's all for show but it helps Harvey pick up on just how lithe the kid is.

Cleaver looks at him, narrows his eyes even more as he obviously tries to work out if Harvey is taking him for a ride or not. Technically its illegal to sell an Indentured if you know they aren't going to be used for their purpose, which is generally fighting, although there are also Indentured used and sold for general "household activities", Cleaver knows that, but if he thinks Harvey is willing to break the law then Jim will help him do it, and Harvey has to stand his ground with this angle if he's going to win this. Harvey licks his lips, his eyes still locked on the kid and Cleaver seems to be placated that Harvey's not joking around right now. Harvey himself, feels sick at the thought that Cleaver now thinks he's some kind of deviant.

Something in Harvey wants to help with kid, for some unknown reason, and Harvey can't ignore it. He can't deny the kids attractive either, in an alley cat kind of way, underfed and ready to scratch your eyes out, but attractive nevertheless, and if he's got to pretend to be whatever it is Cleaver thinks he is, then so be it.

"What kind of cash are we talking about, Specter?" Cleaver asks, his small eyes shining at the thought of money. Harvey straightens his tie and tries to look bored, picks an imaginary piece of fluff from his lapel.

"Shall we discuss this in private?" he asks and the kid chooses that moment to open his mouth.

"Article 3, sub section 4 of the Official Ownership Guidelines states that an Indentured must be present when discussions over his/her transfer are taking place," the kid says, in an almost bored tone but one that sounds like he knows exactly what he's talking about and Harvey snaps his gaze to him, surprised. Cleaver slaps him round the back of the head, hard enough that his eyes glaze over for a second.

"He's always spouting law," he mutters as Harvey gives Cleaver his patented death glare.

"What's your name, kid," Harvey asks and the kid bristles, stands straight and looks Harvey straight in the eye.

"Article 10, sub section 6 of the Official Ownership Guidelines states that an Owner may exercise the right to strip an Indentured of his/her name...sir," the kid finishes. And he's good; Harvey can give him that, the way he manages to make the word sir sound respectful and completely sarcastic at the same time. Harvey's beginning to like this kid.

"Don't give me that shit, kid, what's your name?" The kid's nostrils flare and his throat bobs as he swallows and Cleaver raises his hand again as if to strike him.

"Mike...sir," he says, flinching enough away from Jim to satisfy the man's sadistic tendencies.

"Good boy," Harvey practically purrs at him and Cleaver glares at them both, "now...shall we discuss the transfer of ownership, Mr Cleaver?" Harvey gestures towards the doors, where he knows Cleaver's office is. Harvey's good at reading people, he knows that Cleaver will hand the kid over for money, that's all he cares about after all. It's just a question of getting the right price.

Cleaver tugs on Mike's wrist and hauls him along behind him, and Harvey swallows the sick feeling, the bile rising up in his throat, at the knowledge that he's about to own someone.

It takes less than thirty minutes for the transaction to complete. Thirty minutes and Harvey now has in his possession a document that gives him full control over another human being. The whole process and the very thought that he's now become one of those people makes him feel sick and he accepts the glass of bourbon that Cleaver holds out to him. Mike watches the whole process with bright blue eyes, and an unreadable expression, his fingers flexing by his sides.

"Well here's to business," Cleaver says holding his glass up, under the false illusion that Harvey gives a crap about him. Harvey glares at him, throws the amber liquid down his throat and slams the glass back onto Cleaver's ostentatious desk.

"Here's to hoping I never do business with you again. The very sight of you disgusts me Cleaver, now if you'll excuse me, I'll take my property and be out of here," Harvey says, crooking at finger at Mike and folding up the contract, slipping it into his inside pocket.

Cleaver laughs, "I don't think so," and curls his fingers around Mike's wrist. "Tell him, Rookie," Cleaver says and Mike's eyes flash briefly.

"Article 32, sub section 12, transfer contracts must be processed through the Ownership Union, and until such time as processed, the previous Owner still maintains control over the Indentured," Mike says blankly and Cleaver grins smugly up at Harvey.

"You mean to tell me you get him for one more night?" Cleaver nods, tugs Mike closer and Mike lets his eyes close briefly.

"I don't want another fucking mark on him Cleaver, you hear me?" Cleaver just continues to smirk as one of his men walks into the office and holds the door open. Harvey's sure fire signal that business is done and he is less than welcome anymore.

"He's still technically mine Specter, as long as he's still alive tomorrow there's nothing you can do about it," Cleaver says and the man in the door way curls his sausage like fingers around Harvey's arm. Harvey shakes him off roughly.

"I'm not one for threats, but I am going to end this, this whole thing, I will get that Bill turned around and have you incarcerated for crimes against humanity. Do you understand?" Harvey says darkly, and there is a flicker of something akin to slight fear across Jim's face. Harvey throws Mike a look that he hopes reads 'sorry' and the kid shrugs as if you say 'whatever, nothing I can't take.'

Harvey feels more and more nauseated the further he gets away from Cleaver's office, and when he hears the first muffled grunt of pain, he quickens his step. There's nothing more he can do for Mike tonight, he just hopes Cleaver doesn't do any permanent damage to the kid.

He needs to get drunk, to forget the soft noises of pain he can still hear in his head, to forget the dead look in Mike's eyes and the way they seemed to flash every now and then and the fact that Harvey wants nothing more than to make them flash with brilliance and defiance at him. To forget the fact he just bought a person and now, well tomorrow morning, he will technically hold the rights to lord over said person. He could make the kid do whatever he wanted, within reason (or so said the law), could make him fight every day, ever hour, for the rest of his life and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Harvey knew that the law didn't care about these kids, the ones that made bad choices and fell in with the wrong crowd and got sold to people like Cleaver for a few hundred dollars to fight for their lives all for the sake of entertainment. But it was changing, they didn't just use them for fights any more, that's what it started out as, but now they used them for all sorts of depraved reasons and Harvey has even seen one Owner walking around with a leash around the slim neck of a half starved girl before. Jessica had to threaten him with firing to get him not to punch the guys face in.

The bar Harvey chooses knows him, knows that he hates small talk and loves silence and the bartender slips a whiskey in front of with him out asking, shooting him a small nod as he walks away to serve someone else. The paper in his pocket rustles as he sits down in his usual booth and slides his jacket off his shoulders. His head pounds and he's exhausted but he knows he wont be able to sleep, not tonight, not after seeing Mike fight, and his blue eyes glaring daggers at Harvey before the dead bored expression came back. There's something about that kid, something under the feral attractiveness of him, and Harvey can't get him out of his mind. And to make matters worse, he now owns the kid.

He scrubs a hand over his face, downs the whiskey and raises a finger to the bartender who slides another across the booth table a few minutes later.

He's on his second when a tall, stunning, dark haired woman slides into the booth next to him and runs her fingers up his thigh.

"You look like you need to forget," she says silkily and Harvey's got her bundled into the back of his town car and her hands are down his pants within ten minutes.

Yes, he needs to forget.

"Harvey...care to tell me why there is an underfed teenager in your office that looks like he just got the crap beaten out of him?" Jessica crosses her arms in front of her chest and smiles that sweet but highly dangerous smile of hers. Harvey shrugs inelegantly and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"First of all, he's 24...ish. Secondly, he got the crap beaten out of him last night. And thirdly, he's in my office because I technically...own him?" he trails off, posing the last statement as a question and Jessica's eyes widen in shock.

"I'm sorry...what?"

"I own him," he says again and Jessica pushes two fingers into the bridge of her nose and perches on the edge of her desk.

"Ok, I am never sending you to a fight again. What the hell were you thinking? Is that one of Cleaver's boys? Did you steal him? Oh my God what the hell is wrong with you?" she asks and Harvey, at the risk of losing his balls, smirks. He's hungover, but has that glow of a great one night stand and he's got a feeling that Jessica is a little too taken aback to hand his balls to him on a silver platter for smirking.

"Which question do you want me to answer first?" Jessica glares and stands straight and pokes one immaculately manicured finger into the centre of his chest.

"All of them...and answer them now," she says and Harvey sighs, rubbing at his chest absently.

"I don't know what I was thinking, yes he was Cleaver's, no I didn't steal him and apparently there's a lot wrong with me," he says, walking behind her desk and pulling out the bottle of Johnny Walker she thinks she hides so brilliantly. She glares slightly but accepts the glass that Harvey holds out for her.

"Start at the beginning," she says, sitting down on the couch rather too heavily.

He tells her everything, about the way Mike had moved in the ring, the sharp snapping of the other kids neck, the way Cleaver had backhanded Mike and Harvey's instant flare of anger at it. She raises her eyebrow slightly but doesn't say a word. He tells her about the way Mike had mouthed off, subtly and how he's obviously intelligent, obviously knows a lot about Indentured laws, he was obviously smart, and although Cleaver had looked pissed at handing him over, it was the money that mattered to him, not the kids life. Or his mind.

Jessica pats his knee and stands, hooking her finger at him to get him to follow.

Mike had turned up this morning with a fresh bruise and a nasty looking cut across his cheekbone, like the skin had been split with a pair of knuckle dusters. Mike hadn't said anything, just shrugged when Harvey asked if Cleaver had done that personally and winced slightly when Donna had pulled out her first aid kit and swiped the area with disinfectant. She had looked at Harvey with her blank expression the entire time and Mike had just stared in front of him, his barely contained anger and spirit making his whole body vibrate.

"Tell me one thing," Jessica asks, "did you use company money?" Harvey smiles at her as they reach his office and he spares Mike a quick glance. The kid is sitting rather uncomfortably on the couch, hand pressed to his side and Donna hands him a coffee. He takes his hand from his side and wraps them both around the mug, flicking her a rather small, very brief smile.

"I thought about it...but no, it was my own money," Harvey says watching as Donna looks like she's going to ruffle the kids hair affectionately but settles for holding his chin in her hands and inspecting the cut on his cheekbone.

"Why?" Jessica asks and he looks back at her, sobering.

"A kid died last night, Jessica...in front of my fucking eyes, and more will die tonight and no one does a damn thing to stop it," he says heatedly and Jessica raises her eyebrow as if to say 'don't take that tone with me.'

"So you buy one of his kids...what are you going to do Harvey, buy them all?" she says, looking through the glass walls to Mike. Mike looks up at them both and there is that strange mixture of impassive indifference and fiery passion in the kids eyes.

"If I have to," Harvey replies evenly.

"Harvey...what are you going to do with him?" Jessica asks.

"I have no idea."