A/N: I've always loved 5 and 1s and decided to add to the abundance of them in this fandom. I'm still working on the next chap of 'when I was young...' by the way, but this was already on my computer. Hope you enjoy and feel like telling me how much!

Disclaimer: Suits isn't mine. Not even a little bit. I'm pretty sad about that.

Part One - Soccer

Mike hadn't wanted to go on the company retreat to upstate New York in the first place. If he was going to get a paid weekend off he would much rather spend it getting beat at checkers by his grandma. But, the moment he'd mentioned something of the like to Harvey, the older man had made it clearer than glass that the trip was non-negotiable. Something about 'getting it' and needing to learn to play nicely with the 'other little minions'.

So, Mike sucked it up, boarded a charter bus at six in the morning and pretended to be asleep for the four hour ride, ignoring the pointless chest-banging conversation the rest of the associates were having around him and wishing he got to ride on the company plane with Harvey and the other partners.

By the time they got to the destination, a sprawling ranch in the middle of Upper New York countryside, most of the young red-blooded male associates were feeling antsy. Mike wasn't sure who it was that suggested a pick-up soccer game, but he wished he knew so he could beat him with the well worn copy of The Odyssey he'd been planning on reading. That is, before it was yanked from his hands and he was half drug, half pushed, half cajoled into joining the game.

Mike noticed the partners up at the top of the hill overlooking the grassy area the associates had set up for the game, all sipping Mimosas and eying them critically, like bidders at a 4H auction. Briefly, indignation and pride spurred him into the game with as much enthusiasm as he attacked everything. But it faded quickly when he realized all the other associates had grown up in junior soccer leagues led by soccer moms in Mini vans and overloaded with Gatorade. Mike, on the other hand, had only played once in a high school gym class. He'd ended up tripping over the ball and breaking his nose.

Doing his best to ignore these thoughts, Mike ran after the ball like his life depended on it, often having to change direction halfway down the field and many times coming so close to actually getting the ball, only to have it kicked away by a shiny new pair of Reebok sand a slimy smile.

"Better luck next time, Ross."

Mike huffed and puffed all over the field, flinging himself around and often doing a pretty good imitation of a toddler just learning to walk if he managed to get the ball under him, where it never stayed for long. He also managed to trip over it. Twice. And the fourth time he accidentally passed the ball to someone on the other team he was ejected from the game by popular demand.

Mike was too exhausted to be embarrassed. He dropped onto the grass at the bottom of the hill, locking his hands loosely around his knees and tried to get his breath back, under the pretense of watching the game. It was mere minutes before Harvey dropped down beside him.


Mike sighed, his heart still hammering and his skin flush with sweat.


"That was pathetic."

Mike looked over at the Senior partner and suddenly felt under dressed. His jeans and t-shirt were unremarkable next to Harvey in his pressed khakis and cardigan. The guy looked like he'd just stepped out of a Tommy Hilfiger ad.

But Mike didn't respond to the dig. It was actually pretty accurate.

"Next time the World Cup comes around I expect you to be better at this." Harvey said as if Mike had just botched another patent order.

Mike frowned lightly, too busy trying to remember where he'd heard the term to even roll his eyes at his boss' dramatics.

"That's like the Super Bowl for soccer, right?"

Harvey sighed, shaking his head and finishing his drink, still watching the associates run around after the ball.


More to come if you so desire.