Chapter 5

Drugs. Deal. Doritos. World's smallest burrito. Pot. Acid. Colors of the rainbow. Plastic bags, hiding secrets. Cases full of weed. She needs to know. No more lies. Now we're even.

"It was a barter transaction. I got six of them for one little briefcase."

The wall covered in graffiti. Was this a dream? Drugs. Briefcase. High. Happy. Fear. The stink. The stink was everywhere. Where? The briefcase was in his desk.

"This isn't because of me. It's because you're afraid you might have to admit that you're not as smart as you think you are."

Not so smart now. Not so hot. No lawyers here to save you now. No lawyers. No suits. No lights. Nobody. No escape. No. The answer is no. No. I said no. No!

Trevor's face was angry, but also frightened, in the empty plaza. In the pit of his crushed heart, Mike felt sympathy... and hated himself all the more for it. When had it all become a lie?

Michael James Ross had never taken time to wonder what heaven would be like, at least not when he was clean, but if he had to find a way to explain it - this would be it. The bed wasn't soft or firm. It was perfect. The bedding was top of the line, all soft and thick, but not heavy. He felt cool and unrestrained. The light from the wall of windows in the room was letting in early New York morning light through the slightly parted shades Mike hadn't thought to close the night before. Best of all, there was no alarm clock or alert. It was just Mike, waking up in a beautiful bedroom all on his own.

Despite his tumultuous dreams, Mike felt free. Despite not remembering where he was, he felt calm.

There was a knock on the door, soft but firm, and then Harvey poked his head in. For a minute, Mike didn't know him, although he remembered his name instantly. When he recalled that he was sleeping in Harvey's spare bedroom, in his apparent boss's spare bedroom, Mike sat up like a startled rabbit. Harvey sort of smiled at him and chuckled.

"Morning," Harvey greeted.

"M-Morning," Mike stumbled over his reply. He felt embarrassed for some reason, like a shy teenage girl during prom season, and pulled the fluffy blanket up to cover his bare chest. Being covered definitely made him feel more secure. "Did I oversleep for something?" he asked.

"Nope. Not at all. I was just coming to see if you knew how to cook. You live in a dump heap by yourself, and I'm just generally lazy. I saw a potential for a deal, uh, a compromise," Harvey explained, stepping entirely into the room and leaning on the doorframe.

Mike yawned and smashed his palms into his eyes, one at a time. His blanket fell down a little. "And what's the deal?"

"You make breakfast. I continue to be my charming self and answer any question you may have about your missing time," Harvey explained.

"You act like you weren't itching to do that already," Mike said and groaned as he twisted his body to stretch.

"Smart. I knew I hired you for a reason," Harvey said. He was just watching Mike from a distance, like he had all the time in the world, and it was starting to make Mike feel like he was on display.

"Alright. Fine. Now will you leave while I get dressed?" the younger man asked.

Harvey chuckled lightly. "Alright, Sandra Dee. I'm leaving."

When the door shut, Mike slipped out of bed and crouched down in front of his bag of personal items. He pulled out his toiletries and headed into the adjoining bathroom. He'd told Harvey he was getting dressed, but he didn't think the lawyer would mind if he freshened up first too. Scratch that. Mike didn't care if Harvey got a bit ruffled. He had a routine, alright? And he wanted to go back to that routine after so long taking weird hospital baths. He didn't put any product in his hair or anything, but he didn't remember ever needing to gel it down for any reason, and he didn't expect he'd be going much of anywhere today anyway.

He felt safe in the apartment, at least safer than he had at his own place or in Harvey's car. Something about traveling made him nervous, and he didn't know if it was connected with his accident or the underlying fear that Harvey was secretly tricking him into a prison cell somewhere. But here, surrounded by the neat, clean, mostly white surfaces Mike felt at ease. He'd only known Harvey for about two weeks, but this apartment screamed Specter.

Mike looked himself over in the mirror, took a few deep breaths to calm his jittery nerves, and then left the bathroom. He found Harvey at the bar, counter?, of his kitchen, scrolling through the photos on Mike's new iPad.

"Hey," Mike said as he walked over to the cabinets and started opening them up to see what he had to work with.

"Hey?" Harvey replied, watching him curiously. "What's up, Nancy Drew? What are you lookin' for?"

"Pan. Skillet. Something round and flat," Mike explained before letting out an 'aha!' and pulling a large pan out. He set it on the electric stove, then searched out two plates. When he had them on the counter, waiting to be filled, he headed for the fridge. "Alright. First things first – how did we meet?"

He had more irritating questions – how's Gran doing? Who's President? Do I have any friends now? What's your favorite movie? Have we ever had a movie marathon together... with pizza? But he figured he needed the basics first.

"Your grandmother needed to be moved to a more intense care facility. You didn't have the money, and Trevor convinced you to sell a briefcase full of pot to earn the cash. On your way to make the drop in the hotel, you recognized it was a cop set up and made your escape downstairs to where I was conducting interviews to find my new associate. When you ran in, Donna thought you were the candidate she'd been calling for and ushered you in, even gave you an approving wink. You started to pretend you really were the Harvard grad I was looking for, but then the briefcase fell open and, well, the truth came out. A short and stunning performance of your amazing memory and law skills later, I sent everyone else home and hired you on the spot," Harvey said, changing the album he was looking at.

Mike pulled out an entire carton of eggs, some sliced ham, an onion, and a packet of cheese from the stuffed refrigerator. Honestly, for a guy who claimed he didn't like to cook, Harvey had a lot of things in his fridge. Well, he never said he didn't like to cook. He said he was lazy.

"No onion for me, thanks. Don't like the smell on my breath." Harvey made a general half wave in front of his lips, and Mike put the onion back.

"Then why do you own an onion?" the genius asked.

Harvey ignored him. "Pearson Hardman only hires lawyers who graduated from Harvard, so I pretended you had a degree and hired you. Sometime later, a friendly hacker you impressed put your name in the Harvard system and got them to send you a real diploma and everything. Probably wouldn't hold much water in court, but it helps curb any wandering, curious eyes."

"Wait, so I'm a conman?" Mike asked, cracking the eggs.

"It sounds so harsh when you say it like that. You're never gonna get caught, and you've passed the bar. The only 'con' part of this is that Pearson Hardman requires the Harvard degree." Harvey turned the iPad around. "Next lesson. This is a recent office photo of all the associates. Recognize anyone?"

Mike left the eggs and stepped closer to the photo. Harvey's switch of subject worked perfectly as Mike tried in vain to find recognition in any face. After a moment, he shook his head slowly. Harvey shrugged and pointed people out.

"I'll be honest. I don't know any associates by name except you. Donna teases me all the time about it. However, a lot of these photos had captions so... This weird curly haired one? That's Harold. You talk to him a lot. I think you're like his... older brother figure or something. Kid's a mess." Harvey took a pause to roll his eyes. "The other one I see you hang out with a lot is... this one. This dark haired one is James."

"Jason," Mike corrected. He saw Harvey's face contort between curious and excited and felt bad about having to destroy that. He frowned. "I don't know him, Harvey. He was one of the first five photos in the album. I've seen his caption too."

"How many photos have you looked through?" Harvey asked, turning the iPad back around and scanning through the images.

"Uh... twenty or so?" Mike guessed. He cracked more eggs and tossed the shells. Then he turned on the stove. He frowned down at the non-stick pan while he waited for Harvey's reaction.

"Twenty out of at least a hundred? Donna's going to be heartbroken. Did you not like them?" Harvey stopped clicking things.

Mike shook his head but didn't turn to face his boss. "I didn't recognize anyone. I glanced over the grid view of all the photos, but I didn't click on many since I didn't recognize the locations or the occasions. It was like going through a stranger's Facebook album and trying to find one friend in dozens of crazy party photos."

Harvey didn't say anything, and Mike didn't know if he preferred it that way or not. He focused on making the omelets, pouring three eggs into the heated pan. They sizzled a bit, and he focused on keeping them from burning instead of on the silent man behind him. So it came as a bit of a shock when Harvey was suddenly leaning back against the counter two feet to Mike's left. Mike tried to pretend his heart didn't speed up unnaturally at the new location, but it did.

"Donna," Harvey began, "is my assistant... as I've said before. She's a sassy red headed woman with a lot of personality. I suppose most people wouldn't like her as their assistant since she likes to tell people when they're wrong, but we've been partners in this firm for as long as I remember. She knows me better than I know myself sometimes. Part of me wonders if that's because of how long she's worked for me or the fact that she uses the intercom to listen in on all my private conversations."

"Do you even have to push a button?!"

"So if I were to ask her what your favorite color was, she'd be able to tell me?" Mike asked, adding the ham and cheese.

"Probably, and I don't even know it. For example, she says I wear lavender when something bad has happened – like my brother getting really ill, my father dying, that kind of stuff." Harvey took a deep breath. "That smells great. Now when do I get to eat it?"

Mike jolted a little, realizing he had stopped paying attention to his cooking. He scooped the first finished omelet out of the pan and slipped it onto the first plate. His mind had wandered to a much more recent memory.

"You wore lavender that Tuesday," Mike said. Harvey gave him a look that said he was speaking gibberish and then reached into a drawer for some forks. "When I first woke up. You had on a lavender tie."

"Did I?" Harvey asked, uncaringly. "It's been a couple of weeks. I don't remember my outfit."

Mike pressed his lips together and frowned. But Harvey just said that Donna associated lavender on Harvey to major family crisis. Did that mean Harvey considered Mike family? Someone akin to family? They'd known each other for two years. Was it even possible that their relationship was that strong already? Part of Mike didn't believe it. Another part of him wanted it to be truer than the idea that the sun would rise each morning and set each night. The conflict between the two made his chest ache.

He smiled at Harvey, which Harvey seemed to like, and started to pull out eggs for his own omelet. Harvey stopped him with a silent shake of his head and simply divided his omelet in half, then he pulled out another fork for Mike. His mind rushing over too many things to fully concentrate on any one emotion, Mike just kept smiling and took the fork. He wasn't very hungry anyway. Harvey looked more relaxed than he had since the day of the accident, so Mike pretend his confusion was temporarily alleviated and just ate.

Regrettably, Harvey's condo wasn't much different than the hospital. Harvey went to work and Mike stayed there alone, told to rest when he needed it and not to leave. There was a flat screen TV, but it showed the same 'reruns' as the TV in the hospital, the same episodes Mike didn't know – they were just in higher quality. Harvey had a modest bookshelf, but most of the books on it involved law or psychology in some way. Mike sat down with one of each subject and finished half of both of them by the time Harvey called to check up on him at one.

"Everything going alright over there?" Harvey asked.

"I was a bit bored out of my mind, but you have some interesting books," Mike said.

"Good to hear. I'll be home as soon as I can get this work done without you. Order whatever you want for dinner. Okay?" Harvey sounded in a hurry even though he'd started the call by saying he was on a lunch break.

"Okay. Thanks for checking on me. I'm gonna keep reading now. See you later," Mike spoke quickly and then ended the call. He stared at his cell phone as it blinked that the call was over, Harvey's photo staring out at him with a slightly annoyed look. Mike must have snapped the photo at work sometime.

He had hung up on Harvey to let the older man get back to work, but despite his words he had no intention of reading anymore. Instead, he set the books back on their shelf and pulled his new iPad from his bag. Mike found a comfortable position on the couch and propped the device up on his knees. The photo albums were still up from when Harvey had messed with them earlier, and Mike scrolled through several shots from around the office before the masses of unfamiliar faces made his muscles tense up and he had to back out of the folder or throw the iPad off the balcony.

Mike closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. He wasn't supposed to stress about it, he reminded himself. Harvey had been very clear this morning – he wasn't going to force Mike to remember anything. Yet somehow that made Mike want to remember everything even more. He wanted to remember for his own benefit but also for Harvey's. Whenever he couldn't remember something and Harvey looked disappointed, Mike's chest went tight and his gut twisted.

Disappointing Harvey was the worst thing he could do. He didn't know how he knew that or why he felt that way, but he did.

With his mind on Harvey, it was no wonder that his next inclination was to open an album titled "Harvey and Me." Inside he found a myriad of photos where both of them were present – not necessarily the only ones or even next to each other, but together nonetheless. Harvey always looked so suave and finely dressed. Mike varied from street clothes to cheap suits to fancier suits to... was that him in a tux? Since when did he have a tux?

"What? I'm not Bruce Wayne."

"Don't I know it."

Mike blinked several times, and his eyes landed on a photo of them both in tuxes, champagne glasses held high toward the photographer, smiling.

"You look great," a female voice said.

"Thank you. So do I."

He rubbed his eyes and then shook his head to clear it.

They were memories, he knew they were. He got snippets of them every time he tried to think about Harvey too much... but they never told him anything. He only recognized voices if they belonged to Harvey or Trevor or himself. He didn't know where they took place. He didn't remember the reasons they were there. It was all just noise, noise, noise, noise, noise – clouding up his mind and making the puzzle of his missing time stretch exponentially.

How many flashes would it take to formulate any kind of understandable picture?

With a deep breath, he kept scrolling. It wasn't only Mike's outfits that changed. His hair changed a little too. He even had it slicked back in one photo, like Harvey's, and Mike realized he must have been trying to imitate Harvey. The way his clothing upgraded, the way his hair changed, hell even his posture: everything Mike saw in the photos told him he respected Harvey a great deal. Mike wanted to be like Harvey. Was it because he wanted to be more lawyer-like? More professional? Or were there other reasons?

Candid shots in the office. Donna must be some kind of ninja. Mike wondered if Harvey even knew about these. They both looked so serious in half of them, but the other half of the photos were radically different. Fist bumps, paper ball fights, stealing each other's food, giving each other food, arguing over records, and there was even one of Harvey trying to teach Mike to dance.

It was dark outside the windows. Mike was standing in the middle of the office, arms up in a holding position, and Harvey was behind him, one hand pulling his shoulders back, one hand on Mike's waist. Harvey's fingers tightened on Mike's hip to keep his hips in place while his shoulders were moved. Mike leaned back too far, and Harvey's hand slid up his side to hold him upright. Mike's eyes shut and he tried to breathe calmly while he also tried to not epically fail at learning a stupid simple fox trot frame. Jazz music hummed from the record player in the corner.

"Get it right, Mike. I can't take you to the gala if you can't even pretend to know how to dance with the CEO's daughter." Harvey's fingers were hot through Mike's shirt. His voice was close by Mike's ear. "Even if you do choose to pass on the opportunity."

So hot.

Mike panted and tugged at his collar. He pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it to the floor. The iPad slipped onto the couch cushion beside him. Mike fanned himself, but the heat wouldn't leave him. The sun shone brighter through the window as a cloud moved from in front of it, and Mike hurried to the glass doors that opened onto the balcony. For a moment, he couldn't remember how to unlock them, but then they were open and he was kneeling by the railing, holding on and letting wind blow over his heated skin.

That memory had been different: It was so clear, so strong, so detailed. He remembered the temperature from the office, the heat of Harvey's hands, the way Harvey had to tie his bowtie before they walked into the gala, the name of the CEOs daughter – Britney, how he danced with her just to prove to Harvey that he could, the way he caught Harvey's eyes across the dance floor and Harvey looked so... proud, and not in an egotistical way that said he was a good teacher but in a way that said he was proud of Mike for learning and for being so good at it and for showing off for him. Mike even remembered the menu from the event and that he'd dropped shrimp sauce on his shoe. But mostly he remembered the dancing lessons... because Harvey had been so close to him.

And that gave Mike a realization he hadn't expected when he woke up from his accident: he had a crush on Harvey Specter. He didn't know how long he'd had one, and he didn't know if they'd ever been official, but the pounding in his chest told him it was true, and his mind took note because, God damn it, that explained everything... everything about his feelings for Harvey now. No wonder he trusted Harvey so much, felt so safe.

But what about now? What was he going to do now? Harvey never mentioned any relationship. He'd worn a lavender tie, but that didn't mean anything unless Harvey wanted it to, and Harvey brushed off the idea. Did Harvey know that Mike used to like him like that? Did Mike like him like that now? Should he try to like Harvey like that now that he knew he used to?

Mike let go of the railing and fell back onto his butt. He bent his head between his knees and groaned loudly, the noise lost above the city.

He shivered. The heat was gone. The vibrancy of his new... old memories was fading, but none of the details were lost. He still remembered everything, but it was moved out of focus, and it felt like an old memory should feel. One piece of the puzzle securely in place.

"Don't catch pneumonia," he scolded himself softly. "Not very professional."

He shouldn't even care, but he did. He did, and that annoyed him. He felt the anger bubble up from somewhere in his gut as he stood. Of all the memories, why did he get that one? Why did he get any memories? Why was he trying so hard to remember? He stepped inside and glared at the clean whiteness of it all.

This wasn't his apartment. Those pictures weren't of him. This wasn't his life. Four years! Why did he have to remember four years? Why did any of this happen to him? He hated being confused and not knowing and only hearing bad news and seeing disappointment on everyone's faces – Harvey's, the doctor's, the therapists', everyone's. He hated the whole situation, and Harvey's perfect home was only making it worse.

Mike went to the couch and lifted the iPad into his hands. The dance lesson photo was still on screen, and Mike did his best not to slam the device down as he moved it to the kitchen bar. The photo, all the photos, spun in his mind's eye as he made his way back to the living room and began to pace.

He didn't like Harvey. He didn't need Harvey. Just because the old him liked Harvey didn't mean he was obligated to go back to that. He could run away. He could pretend he didn't know anything or anyone here. He could move to... to California. He could leave... he could. The flashes of memories, the terrorizing nightmares, the feeling of losing control – he couldn't... he didn't want to deal with any of it!

It wasn't fair!

Mike lifted the coffee table onto two legs and dropped it onto its side. It made a satisfying crashing noise, but it didn't seem to break. Mike's fingers closed around a couch pillow and he threw it as far across the room as he could. Then he grabbed the other pillow and did the same. The couch cushions were too bulky and he just flopped them as far as his angry muscles cared to try for. When there were none left, he dropped down by the closest one and punched it. It didn't help at all.

Mike dropped down on top of the cushion and wrapped his arms around it. He squeezed it tightly, like he was trying to suffocate the fabric, and held on for dear life. His teeth pressed together, his voice growled out between them, and he closed his eyes as tight as they'd go. After several minutes, his arms snapped apart and he just laid on top of the cushion, totally limp. He took slow, tired breaths and wished his confusion would vanish as rapidly as his energy and anger... but he knew it wouldn't.

He was trapped in this brain of his, lost memories, broken pieces, mood swings and all. He doubted even Harvey could clear this fog. There was no getting out.

Harvey found him on the balcony, dressed in a hoodie and jeans but no socks or shoes. He wasn't even wearing a shirt. He was sitting on a chair, feet up on the seat and staring out at the bright lights of the city at night. It was nearly ten, but there was no sign in the condo that Mike had ever ordered food... because he hadn't. Mike heard Harvey walk up behind him but didn't turn to acknowledge him.

"I hate to ask... but what did the couch do to you?" the lawyer asked.

Mike shifted and buried his nose against a knee, warming it up. "Sorry about that," he said. He hoped Harvey heard him.

Harvey was quiet for a minute and then, "Did you eat anything today?"

Mike closed his eyes and shifted again, putting his forehead against his knees. He'd been thinking about his memory all day, the one with the dancing, and trying to figure out how deep that emotion ran in him. Hearing Harvey talk, even if just to ask stupid questions, made his chest tighten and he knew it was more than just a passing hormonal emotion. It was tugging on him even now. He wanted to be angry but there was that overwhelming calm that came from being around Harvey that refused to let him explode like he had earlier.

"Sorry," he grunted again.

Harvey was standing by him then, and he put a hand slowly, hesitantly, on Mike's back. "You alright, Mike?"

"Not really." Mike raised his head back up and looked passed the railing again. He had already decided not to ask Harvey about the crush. He didn't think Harvey knew, and even if he did, Mike didn't want to give Harvey any false hopes. "My head kind of hurts... and my chest... and my stomach."

"Well you haven't eaten. Come on." Harvey held a hand out in front of Mike. "We'll order up some sushi, and then you can tell me about my living room."

Mike loved sushi. He slid his hand into Harvey's and let himself be led out of the chair and back inside. When the sliding door shut, the wind cut off and Mike shivered. He didn't realize how cold his body had become. He let his eyes wander over the sight before him, the ransacked state of the room with cushions thrown and the table on its side.

Harvey was on his cell phone, ordering food without needing a menu. His choices sounded delicious, sounded exactly like Mike would order for himself, and Mike wondered how often they'd ordered food together. As soon as Harvey hung up, Mike started talking. He didn't let Harvey say whatever had been at the corner of that false smile.

"I was looking through the picture album, and... I don't know. I got really, really angry. I was confused and depressed and... Shit. I don't know, Harvey. I took it out on your furniture. If I broke anything, I'll pay for it, I swear." Mike ran his hands down over his face and grunted his annoyance at his own childish behavior.

When he looked back at Harvey, the man's expression was melting from his fake calmness into something akin to relief.

"Don't worry about it. I'm pretty sure it's just a mess. I knew I was bringing a child home when I offered to let you stay." He shrugged. "The important part is that you're alright now. Right?"

Mike took a deep breath and looked over the chaos again. A realization hit him – it looked like a fight had happened here. He imagined Harvey walking into a dark and silent condo to find his living room torn apart. He felt guilty now, about worrying Harvey more than any damage he might have done.

Trying to make up for it, he nodded and smiled tightly. "Yeah. Yeah I'm alright." He motioned to Harvey's attire, still dressed up in a suit. "Go change out of your lawyer get-up, and I'll put the couch back together."

Harvey looked, for a moment, as if he might argue, but then he just nodded curtly. "And the table," he said before turning and walking into his bedroom.

Mike sighed and started picking up cushions, starting with the one he'd punched. He spent a lot of time thinking only of himself, but he should really be more considerate of Harvey's feelings. Mike barely remembered their relationship, but Harvey had lost a trusted partner in this mess.

Mike put the last cushion back and looked up at Harvey's door as the lawyer strutted back out in old jeans and a grey t-shirt. Harvey's phone rang and he answered it after a quick glance at Mike.

Mike wanted nothing more than to find that partner again... for Harvey's sake.

He was just afraid of what else he might remember in the process.

Preview chapter 6:

"I'm taking you to the office." Harvey stopped his searching and turned back to Mike. "Hang on. You seem really calm."

Jessica Pearson slid into the otherwise empty elevator just before the doors shut. Mike tensed up instantly, and Jessica gave Harvey a serious side glance.

"Morning Donna," Mike greeted with such normalcy that Harvey was shocked and Donna literally started to cry.

Seeing Rachel fret over Mike was irritating Harvey in a strange way. Her fear made Harvey's look like a cold, unfeeling black hole.

Mike's forehead kept creasing and though his speech was normal his chest suggested a breathing change. Mike's pulse was quick under his hand, quick enough and hard enough to feel without trying.

And that's when he saw the man standing fifty feet behind Mike, arm raised and gun in hand.

Mike hesitated and then finished buttoning up his shirt and folding down his collar. As he reached for his tie, he said, "It's just an office, right? I mean... we're lawyers. What could go wrong in a quick visit?"