Note: This was written just after I saw the promo for the second episode "Errors and Omissions."

Disclaimer: I don't own Suits. I don't even own A Suit.

The itch. It was back. Not exactly that it had ever left per say, but Mike was so utterly consumed by being fast tracked back onto the good path in life that he was able to stuff that clawing ache onto the back burner. At least for the moment. Harvey was right. He was keeping that briefcase as a safety net.

But it was his fallback in more ways than one.

Sure, the second Harvey had given him the job he stopped returning Trevor's calls and he flushed his personal supply of pot, but he could always return to that life. That stash was his ticket back in for some quick cash. And it was also his way to a quick fix.

Mike wasn't exactly sure what Harvey expected when he hired a user, a kid who had only mistakenly walked in to his interview after a failed drug operation. Well scratch that. Of course Mike knew. After all, he is a kind of savant. This offer at a new life should have been all the high he needed. The work should have been consuming enough to forget about the call, the need, the desire.

Mike looks down at his hands and is pretty sure he isn't imagining the slight shake to them. It's barely noticeable, probably lack of sleep more than anything. This change of schedule. Earning an Honest living is tough. Really, that's it. That's all.

"Mike, new case," Harvey tosses a file into Mike's cubicle and ignores the overstated flinch and fluttering eyes.

"More of your work for me to do?" Mike smiles as he flips though and absorbs the pages.

"Only because I care," Harvey says as he walks past without missing a stride.

Mike's down researching New York real estate law after realizing it was suddenly instrumental to realize the difference between co-ops, condos, and rentals when he feels his Spidey senses tingling. That coil in his stomach tightens along with the skin on his face, and without thinking he shoots up and spins around, only to see some blonde headed guy headed out of a back room. Blondie notices his stare, gives an uncertain nod.

"Sup." Is his articulate greeting. As the unnamed man walks past, Mike knows now that that is definitely the sweet sweet aroma of his vice and now he notices the slight bloodshot quality around Blondie's eyes and how they seem to flit back and forth.

"Do I know you?" Blondie asks when he realizes Mike hasn't stopped staring.

"Are you..?" He leaves the question hanging both hoping that he will and will not understand the unspoken inquiry. How incredibly embarrassing could it potentially be if he's wrong. You can't just go around accusing people of being on drugs. It simply isn't done in high class establishments such as this. Really.

But it's as if he has some sort of tattoo creasing his forehead with the words "FELLOW USER" etched in invisible ink, only to be seen through the eyes of the indisposed. A flash of recognition and amusement perhaps, definitely solidarity, flashed across Blondie's face.

"You get high?"

"You have some on you now?"

"I never leave home without it."

Mike smiles.

Hmmm...Should I continue?