Chapter Text
Mike now owned seven nice suits. One was a gift from Harvey (not because Harvey was feeling generous, but rather that a certain event succeeding rested on the pair looking good, and Harvey wasn't hugely fond of Mike's choice of dressing), and the others were a gift from Trevor. So long as permanent borrowing was considered a gift.
Mike chose the former. Harvey had already approved it once, and tonight he was asked to 'look sharp'. The material creation was black, and the chosen tie was pink. Mike even brushed his hair.
It was unlike Harvey to be so accommodating and inclusive for Mike. When he told Mike he wanted him to join him for his dinner this evening, Mike was sure there was bound to be some kind of prank. Most of him was still certain that Harvey had a plan of some sort, but the human part of him that held onto hope wanted to believe Harvey likes his company. Thin and flimsy hope, but it bubbled inside him anyway.
The clock on his wall that was 4 minutes and 13 seconds late told Mike that is was 6:34. Which really meant 6:38, which ultimately meant Harvey was 2 minutes away. He actually offered to give him a lift. This also meant that Harvey thought Mike was likely to be late and would hate for his acquaintances to witness his associate pulling off a bike helmet to greet them, but Mike was too pleased to have a ride in Harvey's car to care.
When the clock chimed to 6:35, Mike's phone began buzzing.
"Early?" Mike teased.
The other end of the line sighed. "After you comb your hair twice, talk to yourself in the mirror, and hurry downstairs, it'll be 6:45 and we'll be running late."
Mike hated how Harvey could predict his actions.
"For your information, I combed my hair before you called." Mike said flatly, like that would help. "But I'll be down in 5."
"I know." Harvey cut the call.
Mike wanted to feel happy about this evening, but he had no idea what Harvey was up to.
Harvey's white tesla stuck out on the street. It wasn't hard, considering the cars on Mike's street make the place look like a junkyard audition. Mike skipped across the sidewalk and hopped into Harvey's passenger side.
Harvey took a long look at Mike before saying anything. "You really comb your hair before I called?"
Mike fidgeted with his hair, anxious. "Well, yeah."
"Suppose you skipped the mirror part, then?"
"I mean, what, do I look bad?"
Harvey smirked. "You look like you could do with finding a gel that works for you."
Mike rolled his eyes. "Whatever. If I wear gel I'll look like you, and you'd have a problem with that, too."
"Not tonight," Harvey said idly, pulling out from the edge of the street and speeding away from Mike's apartment. "I'd put aside my vanity and let you look presentable."
"What's the big deal about tonight, anyway. Isn't it just some dinner with potential investors? Or, like you said, 'fattening them up to make them splurge.'"
Harvey smiles at his own joke he made previously in the day. "No, it's not just some investors. It's the investors. They are willing to put a lot of money into Pearson Hardman."
"I've never seen you go to such lengths to please investors." Mike drawled. The buildings gradually became cleaner and larger as Harvey drove further from his apartment and closer to the restaurant. The architecture changed too. Modern, sleek, all windows and concrete.
A problem with Mike's memory was that when he recognised something he remembered, he couldn't put it out of mind. Driving in familiar areas was it's own form of torture. He filed through street names before they turned, store titles before they appeared, and recalled how many working street lamps lined the road.
"You're not listening to me," Harvey said flatly, which drew the attention back to him.
"Something about Donnellon." Mike tried.
Harvey pulled onto Bedford Street with 2 faulty lamps and 3 barbers that all specialised in different styles, and a great hotdog stand that only loitered on Fridays. "Donnellon is the name of the company willing to invest all this money," Harvey said, a little sarcastically, like the wasn't fond of saying it twice. "And for the record, I am not going to lengths to please these investors. I'm going to lengths for Jessica. If she tells me this is deadly important, then who am I to refuse a nice dinner?"
"If Jessica cared so much about winning these guys over, why'd she send you? You're charming, but you're not sweet."
Harvey ignored the dig. Partly because it was true. "She doesn't like them. I think one of them tried to hit on her once, so she'd rather avoid them. And anyway, why'd you think I'm bringing you?"
Mike actually considered for a while. He was desperately hoping Harvey wasn't about to make a joke, but actually answer the question he'd been pondering for ages. "Because I'm smart?"
"Because you're sweeter than me."
To this, Mike was ultimately more confused.
The restaurant, Amerello's, was beautiful. It was the kind of restaurant that specialised in really good wine and great atmosphere, but served a plain range of your average restaurant dishes. Steak, salad, lamb. Nothing that excited Mike, but he wasn't here for a full stomach. Rather, simply because Harvey asked him to. He wondered idly when he had become so demandable.
The lobby of sorts was a deep red and gold. Fancy colours. It could be a facade to make the place seem better than what it was, but people didn't go out to fancy places to have fancy food. It was all some sort of show.
A man, dressed in a tux Harvey dreams of, and sporting an impressive French-style moustache greeted them at his podium. "Evening, gentlemen. Do you have a reservation?"
"H. Spector." Harvey nodded. He was always far too straight-to-the-point, but Mike wasn't feeling chatty, anyway.
The man with the moustache flicked through a clipboard. "Our 6pm?" He asked. When Harvey nodded again, he added, "Were you expecting two gentlemen? They came saying you'd booked for them too, they're seated already."
"That's right." Harvey concluded, and the man smiled warmly. Either to keep up his polite customer service, or he was just genuinely pleased he didn't make a mistake by seating two men that were not Harvey at Harvey's table.
"Right this way,"
Mike followed Harvey, who was following the gentleman, across a beautiful room. There were many tables, and of which Mike could only infer many deals taking place too. There was the occasional couple, or the odd group that looked more friendly together than foe, but really this place was full of people trying to win. Whatever they were trying to win.
Tonight, Harvey was trying to win something, too.
Halfway across the room, the man pointed to their table. He wished them a wonderful meal and left to serve the others arriving at the door. There were seven tables, immediate tables, in the way of the two of them, and their table.
"Ready to see my magic?" Harvey asked in his usual, uncut, arrogant tone.
Mike wasn't listening.
In fact, for the first time in a while, he couldn't really hear anything at all.
"-ike. Are you kidding me? Mike." Harvey's voice cut through. "You think you can just ignore me? I get this is probably the best place you've ever eaten, but this is no time-"
"I can't go to dinner with you." Mike said plainly. Voice devoid of any sort of sign of why on earth he was acting so alien.
"What?" Harvey said, rather astonished.
Mike swallowed thickly. It felt like swallowing glue, or honey, but it wasn't sweet at all. "I'm sorry, Harvey," Mike whipped his head round, but the movement was too fast and his eyes were too loose to cover up his growing paranoia. "You don't need me, anyway."
Mike left. Miraculously. He sifted through the tables until he reached the golden sign that read Lavatory. It was shiny enough to be the entrance to heaven, but the reality was not as bright. Inside, the place was empty. It was equally as beautiful as outside, but the design was a mix of black and teal and gold. It was dark, too. Very dark. Or maybe Mike's vision was finally spotting.
He darted to the sinks and turned the water on. Before it warmed, he splashed water across his face and rubbed his hands across his cheeks. Hard enough to try and wipe away any anxiety, but it wasn't the best medicine. The shock of the water didn't even soothe him either.
Mike looked up. In the mirror, he didn't see some associate. Some successful lawyer who had nothing to credit but himself and his mind and his way of finding himself on top. No, he saw a kid. A younger version of himself that was so used to being beat down and discarded that he almost felt himself sinking in his suit.
That man, that asshole sitting at Harvey's table, ruined his life. Mike was ready and willing to do anything but sit down and enjoy a dinner with the devils advocate himself.
Before he could look for a window to jump out of, the heavy bathroom door swung open with a dull ache of the latches.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Harvey said, outraged. He wasn't quite angry, and his whole 'no-emotion' act was holding up, but his eyes gave it away. They were wide with a mix of confusion and horror, but not quite pity. He was mad that Mike was ruining his night. That was all to see.
Mike turned off the tap and felt the weight of the room going silent. Darker, somehow, too, but that was no fault of Mike's. Harvey's irritation was sucking the joy out of the place.
"Two wealthy men Jessica has asked me to sweep of their feet are sitting out there waiting to see us. I finally bring you along to one of my excursions, and you run like a sheep?" Harvey said flatly, taking deliberate steps toward Mike.
"I know - I mean, I see that ... I would love to-"
Harvey waved a hand. "Save it, crazy. Did I not explain what this evening was? It's dinner. It's not even law. You don't even need a brain for this. Louis- hell, Kyle could do this. I brought you because something like this is so easy I would get bored, and since you have a knack for never shutting-up, I thought you could take half the blow of talking."
Harvey was being so direct it made Mike's stomach turn. He'd been told off before by Harvey, for things that were actually detrimental, but this felt infinitely worse. It was disappointment, not just reprimanding.
Mike went to talk again. He felt sound catching in his throat like friction had slowed it down. "I know you're disappointed, but I... I can't go to dinner with you. You have-"
Mike's voice was stolen again, but this time by the doors swinging open again. Brief sound of outside chatter filled the bathroom before being locked away by the door clicking shut. A man, a normal and unobtrusive man, entered. "Gentlemen," he regarded the two idly, and Harvey nodded to him to return the gesture.
He began taking a piss in one of the urinals, and the pair didn't talk until he decided to leave. There was an awkward silence for nobody besides Mike. The man was quietly humming to himself, mumbling dully about stocks, or something. Harvey didn't take an eye off Mike, even when Mike turned back to the sink to watch the water draining from the basin. He wanted something to focus on. The remaining droplets curled into drops of water and brought back to life the black and teal marble of the basin.
The taps were gold, the soap was emerald, and the little towels hanging on the countertops were slate-grey. Two, three drops escaped the bottom of the tap, and made satisfying collisions on the drain.
Harvey hadn't moved, when Mike stole a glance in the mirror, he looked as if he was studying Mike. Similar to the fashion he study's briefings or agreements. Like Mike was something to spot anomalies in. Like there was some sort of smoking-gun Harvey could use to win over Jury in his dazzling court cases.
Unfortunately, Harvey wasn't nearly as good as Mike at finding those factors.
The man zipped his fly and walked to the sinks. He spared a couple glances to the pair, but figured (in his Wall Street fashion) that some sort of settlement or intimidation was taking place, and he didn't dare disrupt the chain of command. The way he sees it, Harvey is close to closing Mike. Maybe threatening him. Something untouchable, anyway. And when he leaves, the scene resumes as soon as the door shuts.
Like the kind of immediate action you see during the second interval of a play, when the lights come on and all the actors go straight back to chaos.
"What are you worried about?" Harvey asks, sternly. There isn't room for compassion but there never is.
Mike swallows again, but its not getting easier. "I said I-"
"I know what you said and I don't understand so explain it to me. What are you so scared of?"
Mike turns to face Harvey. His features have softened but they're not soft, they're static. Waiting. Expecting. A blank canvas ready to return to anger if Mike says something stupid.
Mike took a long breath. "I know the guy, the one sitting with the man from Donnellon. I suppose they're both from Donnellon, but Russel isn't talented enough to be the investor you're talking about."
"You know Russel Pollard?"
Mike laughed a little, but it wasn't funny. It sounded like a deflated balloon finally popping, letting out a sad escape of old air. Mike let his head drop, hurting his neck but giving his head some release from trying to stay afloat. "Do you?"
"Sure, I've met him."
Mike waited, nothing changed. "And?"
"I hate him. He's an arrogant asshole who doesn't know a thing."
Mike wanted to say you're an arrogant asshole, but he couldn't bring himself too. Perhaps by the way Harvey knit his brow he realised Mike was serious.
"Yeah, well, I hate him too."
"Why?" Harvey asked, leaning back a little to lay of the intimidation tactics. Mike hadn't even realised he'd been so close. Perhaps Harvey did catch an anomaly or two.
"Who cares why, I just do. And I'm not going to dinner with you." Mike sighed. It was more like exhaling of all the breath he'd be holding, but sounded distraught either way.
Harvey took a step back. In fact, he walked a round a little, checking his watch and smoothing his hair.
"We're late."
Mike groaned. "You're late."
Harvey actually smiled. "No, we're late. You're coming with me."
Mike whipped around again, his anxiety was subsiding, but he was still mortified. "No, Harvey, I told-"
"Whether you hate the guy or not he won't stay or do a thing out of line beside me. Russel's Boss, Clement Donnellon, would fire him on the spot. I know Donnellon."
Mike felt either like he was going to die or throw up, at in the current moment, both felt as bad as each other. He rung his his hands together like a nervous chick waiting for a date. The image, Mike realised, was pathetic and so he flexed his fingers before diving them into his pockets.
"Harvey, I'm going to mess up your investment if you take me out there."
Harvey paused for a while, straightening out his suit. He took off his watch, which was weird, and slid it into his pocket. "Do you trust me?"
Mike scoffed. "This has nothing to do with trust, Harvey."
"Do you?"
The silence following was uneasy. "Yeah," Mike admitted after a beat.
"Then trust me."
Outside, in the red and gold room full of tables and chatter and low idle Jazz, Mike felt his anxiety rising like a flooding room. Harvey hadn't a care in the world, and Mike was starting to believe Harvey had no plan at all that involved trust, he just wanted him to leave the bathroom.
When they approached the table, Mike finally chose the option of dying over throwing up. Nothing was worse than this.
Harvey was all grins when they finally stopped.
"Harvey Specter!" Donnellon bellowed. He was older, possibly late 60s, and had that deep voice that came from a combination of being a New York businessman and larger than the average male. "I'll forgive you for being late if you order us another House Red."
Harvey shook Donnellon's hand firmly, that simple male power-play, and reached into his pocket. "Lost my watch, if you can believe it," he said, holding up a piece of time-telling metal that was worth more than Mike's flat. "My deepest apologies for being late, but I couldn't let this thing get away from me."
Donnellon took the watch from Harvey's hands, and by the audacity of the movement, Mike could already tell this guy did whatever he wanted. "One of a kind!" Donnellon marvelled, "it can certainly be forgiven."
The entire interaction, Mike could feel Russel's steely eyes. He felt frozen, like a toy on a shelf where kids just watch you but never buy you.
"I'd like you to meet my associate, Mike Ross." Harvey said as he began to sit down. Mike buzzed into life again and sat down too after a second.
"Ross, good to meet you." Donnellon reached out a hand.
Mike shook it and hoped his hands weren't shaking. "Likewise."
"A friend of Harvey's is a friend of mine!" Donnellon said with a smile. A large smile but not a sweet one. The kind that definitely meant something else but Mike wasn't keen enough to work out what. "Harvey, I believe you've met Russel, but Mike, this is my associate Russel Pol-"
"We've met." Russel interjected. He had the cocky sort of voice that would work for a weather reporter or a High School announcer, but not much else. And an awful smile. Well, quite a nice once, actually, but his teeth were too white and the placement was too perfect that it makes you feel more uneasy than reassured. "We went to High School together, right Mikey?"
Mike tried to swallow but stopped in case he choked instead. He could see Harvey storing information but he ignored it. Useless to worry about two things at once.
"I don't say, that's amazing!" Donnellon remarked. Mike wished this was a shared opinion. "Mike, you have to tell me what Russel was like in school. It'll help me decide how long I want to keep him."
Mike could have laughed if he wasn't focusing so hard on looking normal. If he had to explain what Russel was like in High School he wouldn't only loose his job, he'd get arrested.
Russel turned to Harvey with a stupid shit-eating grin that took up his whole face. "I should be telling you what Mikey was like in school." He joked, but by the mercy of something out there no one laughed. "Hi, Harvey," Russel reached out a hand and Harvey shook it. For a moment, Mike thought he saw Harvey's knuckles go white with the strength at which he was shaking Russel's hand, but he was equally sure he was trapped in a nightmare and therefore nothing could be trusted.
"Russel," Harvey responded. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to leave it at that. "Good to see you." He added. Stiffly, like the end of an email.
A waiter spun round to address the table suddenly. A small notebook with a red velvet cover was poised in one hand, with a gold pen in the other. A fancy way of taking orders. "Can I get the table another round of drinks? Any bottle take your liking?"
Donnellon spoke for the table, which Harvey didn't seem to care about. "That wonderful House Red of yours. Two bottles, please. We'll share."
The waiter took a look around the table, and when no one spoke up, he nodded. "I'll be back shortly to take your food orders."
For some reason, Mike felt abandoned when he left. The waiter gave him an excuse to look at something other than the table, and it stopped anyone from saying something that made him feel sick.
Well, he felt abandoned until someone's knee lightly bashed his own. He worried it was Russel, but when he looked at Harvey, the dickhead winked.
Slightly less abandoned, then.
Donnellon laughed loudly. He had drunk around a bottle and a half of wine, and was finding something Harvey was telling him highly amusing. He chose some rosemary lamb for his food. It smelled too strong and it was making Mike feel ill, but the smell was less unsettling than the way he shoved it down his throat.
Mike had eaten half of his steak, and polished off the side salad. It was easy to stomach vegetables, but the steak was growing difficult. Every bite made his stomach turn. He ordered the same as Harvey because it was easier than thinking. Also, Harvey had a taste for good steak, anyway.
"You make me laugh, Harvey. That's why I like you," Donnellon said as he started catching his breath. He forked a huge cut of lamb into his mouth and chewed obnoxiously. "Anyway," he said before he was actually finished. "Mike. You're quiet, tell me about yourself."
Mike felt whatever fortune he had crumple and shiver on the floor. What did those questions even mean? What was he even to say? "Uh, myself?"
Donnellon paused. "Yeah. You."
"Well, I'm, uh, a lawyer."
The mood of the table fizzled. Even Harvey looked unimpressed. "If you can't tell me about yourself I might ask Russel. Would you like that?" Donnellon asked.
As conspicuously and suspicious as possible, this made Mike straighten immediately. He even lined his tie. "What interests you?"
Donnellon brought back his smile. "Music. You play music?"
"I can play the piano, a bit." Mike admitted. "My grandmother taught me."
Mike spared a look to Harvey, who raised both eyebrows lightly. Surprise.
Russel sparked up. "Oh, your grandma. How is she? She still sick?"
Mike paused, but answered regardless. "She's not sick, she's just in a home. And she's fine." He worried about the attitude in his tone.
Russel nodded slowly, but he didn't look the least bit interested. "Nice, that's nice."
"Piano, really?" Harvey interjected, drawing the conversation back to what he was curious about.
Mike began cutting his steak again. He figured if he was chewing he wouldn't have to talk, and he asked for the steak well-done for this very reason. "Yeah, my grandmother said she liked hearing the sound of music when she got home, and so she begged me to learn."
"You any good?" Donnellon asked. "I am always in need of a pianist."
"I'm okay. I wouldn't sign me for any events, though."
Donnellon laughed. "Humble. The very opposite of Harvey." This got a smirk out of Harvey. Being arrogant means feeling happy when people call you arrogant.
"It's getting late." Harvey said idly, testing the idea of leaving. They'd been here for three hours, and Harvey was right when he said Donnellon would bore him quickly. "Surely all this is tiring you out, old man."
Donnellon nodded slowly. "Don't you know it." Mike tasted freedom. Tasted the opportunity he had been waiting for all night to up and leave and ditch this nightmare forever. "But while we finish, you two," Donnellon pointed his head to the two associates, "you never told us what High School was like."
This opportunity tastes like shit. Maybe Big Brother was right when he said freedom is slavery.
"Oh, Mikey? In High School? You're not drunk enough for the stories." Russel laughed, and Donnellon laughed too. He probably pictured boyish foolery. Drunken nights out, silly female drama.
That lamb would find a way out of Russel felt like telling the whole story.
"I hear Russel played football. Mike, be honest with me, does he lie to me when he says he was the best?"
Unfortunately, Russel was the best. Mike found it sad that he still told people that. Only people who peaked in High School could weave that into conversation. But Mike gains nothing from lying, and so he sighed. "Yeah, actually. Russel was pretty good."
"But the best?" Donnellon raised a brow.
"Probably."
This made Donnellon bark with exclamation. "Russel, your bullshit proves true again!" This allowed light laughter to flitter through the table, matching the sound of the other tables. "And Mike? What did you get up to in school?"
Mike pondered what the most appropriate thing to say was that would allow nothing to come from Russel. "I... Studied. I liked school. I wasn't sporty or anything, but I made do."
"Academic type. Huh. You get laid?" Donnellon quizzed.
Russel actually choked on the last of his wine. It made a horrible sound, but it was comical in the moment. To anyone else, probably. Not to Mike. Not even to Russel, deep down. "Oh, he got laid. In fact, Mikey became pretty popular that way." He said it so normally that Donnellon began to think Mike was something amazing, but Mike could hear the evil. He wanted to grab that glass Russel was guzzling and smash it over his head.
"That right?" Harvey asked. He sounded amused. Half like the didn't believe Russel. Half like he knew there was more to it.
Mike truly wanted to die. He reached an arm over the table and made Donnellon shake it. "It's been great, but I think it's best if Harvey and I finish up. Work is demanding in the mornings." He was firmer with his grip this time. He wasn't shaking.
"Pleasures all mine, boys." Donnellon got his hand back and shook Harvey's, grateful for the softer touch. "Harvey, be a gentleman and sort out the check. I must use the bathroom."
When Donnellon was gone, the mediator left too. Harvey gave Russel a stern look but nodded regardless. "Good to see you again, Pollard. Safe travels."
Russel stood to wave the two off. Harvey excused himself and began to leave to sort the check. Mike took a step to follow without saying goodbye, but his body was pulled back by a wrist-breaking grip on his arm.
Russel pulled Mike in close. "You do whatever I tell you too, freak."
Mike scoffed. "High School insults won't offend me, Russel."
"No," Russel said. His voice was coarse and a little less intimidating than in school, but Mike still felt uneasy. "But you know what I know and you know it'll ruin this lawyer facade you have going on. Pretend all you want, but if you do something I don't like, I'll ruin your life twice."
Russel stopped when he looked up at Harvey, who didn't continue more than a couple paces before he realised Mike wasn't following him. "Bye, Mikey," he said loud enough for Harvey to hear. "We'll get lunch sometime."
Mike was wished off with two strong pats on the back, and then he was free.
Freedom, as before, is slavery. Mike didn't feel free at all.
When he caught up to Harvey, he finally realised he was shaking. He felt utterly pathetic that some High School bully can rattle him, but he also knew Russel was worse than any High School bully and he wasn't lying when he said he could ruin his life twice.
"Check for Specter, please," Harvey told the man from before, the one who greeted them at the door. He nodded and began tapping things into a machine, producing a receipt for Harvey before he was complete. $1,063.84, not including the tip.
"Card?"
"Please," Harvey took a silver thing of metal from his inside pocket and paid the hefty check. That House Red Donnellon craved wasn't cheap.
When all was said and done, Mike took a breath. It was shaky at that but at least his lungs hadn't popped from all the air he was keeping in them.
Outside was cold. Mike was eternally grateful he didn't have to ride his bike home. At least now he could blame the shaking on the cold.
They walked to the car in silence, granted the journey was about 58 seconds. Before Mike got in, Harvey put a hand on his door. "You alright?"
Mike was stunned at the sudden personal question, but it was the least Harvey could do after putting him through hell.
"Sure, yeah."
Harvey didn't look like he believed that one bit.