please write more dad!harvey it brought me to tears and you write it so well!!
𝑆𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝐼'𝑚 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑟. ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚.
when Harvey walks into the office on his day off in a three-piece suit, your daughter on his hip like it’s nothing unusual, the firm’s best-kept secret quickly becomes everyone’s favourite gossip.
꒰ঌ ໒꒱ Thank you, anon. Genuinely, that means a whole ton. I’ll likely write more when the mood strikes again—he’s not done with me yet, so there’s probably more of him coming eventually.
︶⊹︶︶⠀†⠀︶︶⊹︶
By eleven o’clock on a quiet Thursday morning, Pearson Specter was running on the subdued energy of people who had come in voluntarily and regretted it almost immediately.
Associates moved through the bullpen with coffees in hand, senior partners barked instructions through half-open office doors, and the steady hum of printers and phones carried across the thirty-second floor.
Then Harvey Specter stepped out of the elevator carrying a baby.
At first, no one reacted properly because the sight made so little sense that it took several seconds for anyone’s brain to catch up. Harvey looked exactly as he always did—immaculate charcoal three-piece suit, polished shoes, expensive watch, coat folded over one arm, expression composed with the effortless confidence that usually preceded either a million-dollar deal or someone getting fired.
The only difference was the small child balanced comfortably against his shoulder, one tiny hand fisted in the lapel of his suit jacket.
Donna looked up from her desk, smiled automatically, and then froze so completely that the smile remained suspended on her face like a glitch.
“Harvey,” she said slowly, as though testing whether he was real.
“Donna.”
“Why are you here?”
“My partner’s working.”
That should have been the shocking part, but somehow it wasn’t. The truly catastrophic detail arrived a second later, when Harvey adjusted the baby higher against his shoulder and the golden band on his left hand caught the light.
Donna stared.
Not because she had never seen the ring before, but because she suddenly realised she had seen it hundreds of times and had somehow never questioned it. Harvey had been wearing a wedding ring long enough for everyone’s brain to quietly file it under things that belong to Harvey, alongside tailored suits and impossible confidence.
“You’re married,” she said, sounding personally betrayed by the discovery.
Harvey frowned faintly, as though she had just informed him the sky was blue. “Yes.”
“Since when?”
“A while.”
“That is not a time frame.”
He opened his mouth to answer, but the baby chose that moment to lift her head, revealing enormous hazel eyes and a soft pink bow tied into dark hair that looked suspiciously familiar. She blinked sleepily, looked up at Harvey, and said, with the solemn importance unique to toddlers, “Dada.”
Donna made a strangled noise that sounded like every maternal instinct she possessed colliding at once.
Harvey’s entire face changed. The sharp edges softened, the habitual guard dropped away, and he smiled down at her with an ease that almost nobody inside the firm had ever witnessed. “Morning, sweetheart.”
Tiny fingers immediately reached for his tie and grabbed it with triumph.
“Oh my God,” Donna whispered, now fully committed to her emotional crisis. “You have a daughter.”
“Still true.”
Only then did she properly notice what the little girl was wearing.
A white frilly dress with delicate embroidered flowers along the hem, white frilled socks, and tiny pink shoes polished to an almost absurd shine. Everything matched. Everything fit. Everything was somehow immaculate despite the fact she was currently chewing thoughtfully on the end of Harvey’s tie.
Donna narrowed her eyes. “Who dressed her?”
“I did.”
“No, seriously.”
“Donna.”
“Harvey, that outfit has coordination.”
He looked down at his daughter with unmistakable pride. “I’m capable of matching colours.”
“On a baby?”
“Different size. Same principles.”
By now the entire bullpen had quietly stopped pretending not to stare. Associates whispered behind computer screens, secretaries exchanged looks, and one junior lawyer nearly walked into a glass wall while trying to get a better view. Harvey ignored all of them with the ease of a man who had spent his career being watched.
He simply shifted his daughter onto one arm and headed for your office.
You were halfway through revising a contract when your door opened without a knock.
“You said you’d be fifteen minutes,” you said without looking up.
“I got distracted.”
“Harvey, you left forty-five minutes ago.”
“Traffic.”
“In the elevator?”
Only then did you glance up, and the rest of the sentence disappeared from your mind.
Harvey stood in the doorway looking entirely too pleased with himself, your daughter balanced on his hip and dressed like she belonged in the catalogue of a very expensive children’s boutique. The pink bow sat perfectly in her hair. Her shoes matched it. Even her socks had been folded neatly.
Your eyebrows lifted. “Well. Someone looks adorable.”
Your daughter squealed, immediately reaching for you.
You crossed the office and kissed the top of her head before Harvey set her carefully onto the leather sofa. Instead of immediately climbing onto the furniture like a tiny gremlin, she remained where he placed her, legs swinging happily while he crouched to straighten the skirt of her dress and adjust one sock that had slipped slightly lower than the other.
“There,” he said, leaning back to admire his work before looking up at you with the smug satisfaction of a man presenting evidence in court. “See? I’m capable.”
You folded your arms, taking your time as you inspected both him and the child. “You dressed her yourself?”
“Every piece.”
“Including the bow?”
“Took two attempts.”
“And the shoes?”
“Matched them intentionally.”
A laugh escaped before you could stop it. “I genuinely expected you’d show up with her wearing one sock, your pocket square, and whatever jacket was closest to the door.”
Harvey looked deeply offended. “That is an outrageous accusation.”
“You once forgot your own suitcase on a business trip.”
“I remembered the important things.”
“Like what?”
“You.”
The answer arrived so easily, so matter-of-factly, that it caught you off guard despite years of marriage. Harvey merely loosened his tie where tiny fingers had wrinkled it and sat beside your daughter, lifting her onto his lap as though the motion were the most natural thing in the world.
She settled against his chest immediately, one small hand patting the fabric of his vest while he absently smoothed her hair.
Outside the glass walls of your office, people were absolutely staring. By Monday morning the entire firm would know that Harvey Specter was married with a daughter, and apparently enough paternal devotion to spend his day off colour-coordinating a toddler’s outfit.
Inside the office, though, none of that seemed particularly important.
Harvey looked at you over your daughter’s head, the wedding ring on his hand catching the afternoon light, and smiled with a softness that belonged to almost no one else.
“So,” he said, entirely unaware that he had just become the biggest piece of gossip Pearson Specter had seen in years, “are you impressed yet?”
Harvey leaned back into the sofa, one arm draped along the backrest while the other remained securely around your daughter, who had become entirely fascinated by the buttons on his waistcoat.
Her tiny fingers worked with determined concentration, occasionally managing to slip one free before Harvey quietly fastened it again without so much as glancing down.
You watched him for a moment before returning to your desk, gathering together the loose pages you had abandoned the moment they'd walked through the door. There was little point pretending you were about to return to work.
Harvey had never been particularly good at simply dropping by, and today, with your daughter perched comfortably on his lap, there wasn't a chance either of you would be discussing anything remotely legal.
"So," you said, sinking back into your chair and turning it slightly towards them, "how did nursery go?"
Harvey's eyes lifted immediately, the corners of his mouth softening into something that barely qualified as a smile and yet somehow meant infinitely more than the cocky grins he handed out in courtrooms.
"It was good."
"'Good'?"
"It was..." He paused, searching for a word he didn't often have to search for. "Better than I expected."
You smiled knowingly. "I told you she'd settle."
"I know."
"You were convinced she'd cry the entire morning," you said, unable to keep the knowing smile from your face as you watched him absentmindedly smooth another invisible crease from the skirt of her dress.
Harvey's eyes flicked up to yours, a faint crease forming between his brows in immediate protest. "I wasn't convinced."
"No?" You leaned back slightly in your chair, folding your arms with quiet amusement. "You packed three comfort toys."
"They all serve different purposes," he replied without missing a beat, as though that explained everything.
One eyebrow arched almost instinctively.
Harvey caught the look and, instead of backing down, merely adjusted your daughter's dress where it had slipped from one shoulder, his expression remaining infuriatingly sincere.
"They're emotionally distinct."
A quiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and the corner of Harvey's mouth betrayed him, lifting into the smallest smile despite the fact he was clearly trying to maintain his dignity.
"I was being prepared."
"You were panicking."
"I was not panicking," he said, the denial arriving just a fraction too quickly to be convincing.
"You asked the teacher six different questions before you'd even taken your coat off."
"I wanted to know the staff-to-child ratio." Harvey shrugged lightly, as though that were an entirely reasonable concern, one hand absently rubbing slow circles against your daughter's back while she continued to fiddle with the buttons on his waistcoat.
"You asked whether they sanitised the crayons."
"They put everything in their mouths," he defended, looking genuinely baffled that this required any explanation at all.
"And then," you continued, unable to resist dragging out the evidence against him, "you asked whether the climbing frame complied with safety regulations."
"It looked high."
"It was about two feet tall."
Harvey glanced down at your daughter, who chose that exact moment to enthusiastically throw one leg over his lap in an attempt to investigate his watch instead.
"Two feet," he repeated quietly, almost to himself. "For someone her size, that's still... proportionally significant."
You simply stared at him.
He had the grace to avoid your eyes and llet out a slow breath through his nose, somewhere between accepting defeat and refusing to admit it. "I was doing due diligence."
"You were hovering."
"I was parenting."
Your daughter, blissfully unaware that she had become the subject of debate, abandoned Harvey's waistcoat in favour of reaching up to pat his cheek. The gesture was clumsy, little more than an enthusiastic slap cushioned by impossibly small fingers, but Harvey reacted as though she'd handed him something precious.
His expression softened immediately.
"Okay, wow."
She giggled.
The sound filled the office with an ease that expensive furniture and polished glass never could.
You found yourself watching Harvey more than you were watching her.
He wasn't performing. There was no audience he was trying to impress, no carefully crafted persona sitting across from you in one of his immaculate suits. His shoulders had relaxed against the sofa, his tie sat ever so slightly crooked where small hands had tugged at it all morning, and there was something almost impossibly gentle in the way his thumb absentmindedly stroked circles against your daughter's back.
"So?" you prompted quietly.
He looked back at you. "She made a friend."
"A friend?"
"Mhm."
"Already?"
"There was another little girl." He nodded towards your daughter, who was now trying with immense concentration to fit two fingers into one of Harvey's cufflinks.
"They apparently spent half the morning following each other around."
"Following?"
"The teacher said neither of them really played with anything." He smiled to himself, eyes dropping fondly to the little girl in his lap. "They just... kept making sure the other one was still there."
Your own smile became softer. "That sounds like her."
Harvey nodded once. "There was painting."
"Oh?"
He looked faintly resigned. "I've washed blue paint out of one of my shirts."
"Only one?"
"She was surprisingly accurate."
"Harvey Specter complimenting a toddler's paint accuracy."
"You didn't see her technique."
"I'd have paid to hear you say that sentence five years ago."
"I would've laughed in your face."
"I know."
He looked back at you then, and whatever dry retort he'd been preparing seemed to disappear before it reached his mouth.
Instead, he simply watched you.
There was an openness to his expression that almost no one else was ever afforded. His eyes lingered on your face with the same quiet certainty they always had when it was just the two of you, as though the rest of Manhattan had ceased to exist somewhere beyond the office walls.
It was ridiculous, really.
Harvey, whose entire career had been built on confidence so absolute it bordered on arrogance, was looking at you with the biggest, softest puppy eyes imaginable.
There was no calculation behind them.
Just affection, exhaustion from an early morning with a toddler and the unmistakable look of a man who had stumbled into a life he had never expected to want, only to discover he couldn't imagine existing without it.
"I think..." he began quietly, almost as though admitting it to himself before anyone else, "I think she likes it there."
You tilted your head.
"And how do you feel about that?"
He exhaled through a small smile, glancing down as your daughter yawned dramatically before instinctively curling herself closer against his chest.
"I hate it."
You laughed. "I knew it."
He let out a quiet sigh through his nose, lowering his gaze to where your daughter had begun absentmindedly tracing tiny circles over the fabric of his waistcoat with one finger.
"I spent three hours wondering what she was doing," he confessed, his voice softer now, stripped entirely of the confidence that usually accompanied every sentence he spoke.
"Harvey," you said gently, the fond exasperation in your voice making it abundantly clear that this revelation surprised you far less than it probably should have.
"I checked my phone every ten minutes."
"You weren't supposed to stay outside."
"I didn't." The answer came quickly, almost defensively, though the slight shift in his posture suggested he already knew exactly where this conversation was headed.
"You drove around the block."
Harvey's jaw tightened just enough for you to notice. "...Maybe."
"Twice."
Silence.
He finally looked back up at you, wearing an expression that could only be described as mildly sheepish, a remarkably rare look on Harvey Specter, as one shoulder lifted in a small, almost apologetic shrug.
"I was nearby."
"You were surveilling a nursery."
"I was ensuring operational excellence," he replied with all the composure of a man attempting to argue a completely indefensible case, gently tucking a loose strand of your daughter's hair back behind her ear as though that somehow strengthened his position.
"It was a nursery, Harvey."
"It was my daughter."
The answer came so simply, so matter-of-factly, that every trace of humour dissolved almost immediately.
He looked down at the little girl curled comfortably against him, his thumb instinctively brushing over the small hand resting against his chest before he spoke again, quieter this time.
"I just wanted to be close if she needed me."
That, more than anything else he'd said all morning, explained why he'd never really driven away. Instead of the legendary closer, the city's best attorney, or the man whose name alone could intimidate an opposing counsel, all you saw was your husband.
A father trying to understand that loving someone this much meant accepting they would keep growing without asking permission.
"You know what happened when I picked her up?" he asked after a moment, his voice quieter than it had been all morning.
You shook your head, watching him instead of prompting him to continue. He rarely volunteered moments like this without being asked.
Harvey glanced down at your daughter for a second before looking back up at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. "The teacher opened the door..." He paused, letting out a small breath through his nose. "She spotted me before anyone said anything."
His expression softened in a way that would have been unrecognisable to anyone outside that office.
"She just..." He gave the faintest shake of his head, almost amused by his own inability to describe it. "Dropped whatever she was doing and came running over like I'd been gone for a month instead of three hours."
A quiet chuckle escaped him, low and almost disbelieving.
"Didn't even look back."
He looked down at the little girl sleeping against his chest, instinctively brushing his knuckles over her back with absent tenderness before speaking again.
"She practically launched herself into my arms." His smile widened, small but completely genuine. "Nearly knocked me over, actually."
His eyes lingered on her for another beat before lifting to meet yours again.
"I've spent my entire career chasing wins." He shook his head once, the admission coming easier than he'd expected. "Nothing's ever made me feel like that did."
