The rest of the afternoon felt like a blur. Mike felt as though he was experiencing an out-of-body experience: though his fingers rifled through file folders and his eyes scanned blocks and blocks of texts for subtleties and exploitable loopholes, his mind was far elsewhere.
It was with Trevor, back in high school, back when Mike had felt so terribly awkward with his gangly limbs and thick glasses. Trevor had been the cool one, the star wide receiver, the one who threw the best parties. Hell, he'd even gotten Jenny, the prettiest girl in the school, to go out with him. And most importantly, he hadn't ever let anyone dick around with Mike.
It was with Harvey, several weeks back, when they'd first met, and the best words he'd heard in years: "I'm inclined to give you a shot..."
It was with Trevor again, back in fourth grade, as they pressed grubby, bloody palms together. Trevor's voice, unnaturally solemn, ghosted through the years..." now we're official blood brothers."
Finally, finally, it was seven at night, and Mike declined to order food when the other associates did. He had other plans.
Thirty minutes later, he was locking his bike to a rusting rack, next to a sign that read Sobreto Village Nursing Home.
"I hope you brought a pizza," were the first words his grandmother said to him. "They tried to feed me stewed carrots today."
He couldn't quite bring the smile to his face. "Next time, Grammy, I promise. How does a supreme with extra cheese sound?"
She looked at him keenly, then, and he knew she had seen right through his attempt at levity.
"Uh-oh, I smell trouble," she said, as he took a seat at her bedside. She reached out a wrinkled hand for him, and he instinctively took it. "Tell me what's wrong."
Mike stared at their intertwined hands, trying to formulate the whirlwind of emotion in his heart into some sort of coherent thought.
"From the beginning, Michael," she prompted gently.
Amazing how even after all these years, she still gave him strength.
He took a deep breath and found the words came a bit more easily, "Trevor's been arrested in Montana. He's been charged with assault with a deadly weapon - a car - but he claims he's innocent. He asked me to go defend him, but when I brought it up with Harvey, he was - well, he won't let me go."
Her grip tightened slightly at mention of Trevor.
"He gave me a choice," Mike said, "I can go to Montana and do what I can for Trevor. But if I do...I - I - resign."
"Oh dear."
He searched her face closely. "Are you angry at me?"
"Heavens, why would I be?"
"I made you a promise, Grammy. I got my chance at a better life, and now I might throw it away."
"I always said that boy was a bad influence," she sniffed.
"He's my oldest friend," he said, helplessly. It came down to that. It always came down to that.
She pressed her lips together and didn't comment.
"You must be mad at someone. You're squeezing my hand harder than you have in years."
"Isn't it a wondrous thing what anger can do for your arthritis?" she quipped lightly, but she loosened her grip. "Oh Michael, you are correct. I am angry. In fact, I am quite cross with both those people who claim to be your friend."
"Harvey's my boss," he said automatically.
"And I always said the worst thing you can do is lie to yourself. You know Harvey is more than that. But that is a conversation for another time. The fact remains that now, at a time when he should be your friend, he is not doing a very good job of it."
Despite himself, Mike grinned slightly. "Nobody criticizes Harvey Specter, Grammy."
"Well then he certainly needs to be knocked down a peg or two!" she exclaimed. "Listen carefully, Michael. I can indeed understand Mr. Perfect Specter's reasoning. I too would rather you never have anything to do with that boy Trevor again."
"You don't think I should go."
She was shaking her head. "That is what I think, but what matters is what you think. What must you do, to sleep soundly at night? What does your heart tell you is right?"
He looked down, his mind flashing back to the mock trial of a few weeks ago. He had been on the cusp of winning. All he had had to do was break Rachel: to tear her apart on the witness stand, to use what he knew of her vulnerabilities - the secrets she had trusted him with - to break her.
He hadn't done it then. He hadn't been willing to pay the price of his soul for a pretend victory.
But everyone else had.
"The firm...they want me to be someone. A great lawyer. An asset to the firm. But the person they want me to be...Grammy, it's not me. Maybe I'm not doing the right thing after all."
Her brow furrowed as she stroked his hand thoughtfully. "Did you ever get a business card?"
Grateful for the opportunity to disguise his emotion, Mike reached into his wallet and fumbled for one of the cards. He remembered how proud he had been the day Harvey had dropped them off at his desk. My mistake is now official.
"Pearson Hardman," she read quietly, "Mike Ross, Associate." She smiled.
He looked up at her, at those kindly eyes he knew so well, and somehow it was harder now, harder to walk away, now that he had finally put the proof of his newfound success in her hands. That business card meant he was somebody - somebody other than a screw-up.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, "I can't keep my promise."
"Oh, Michael. Did I ask you to promise me to be a prominent lawyer?" she said, "Did I ask you to promise me to be filthy, stinking rich?"
He shook his head silently.
"Well good! I thought that sounded rather unlike me. The point is, Michael, don't you see that you are honoring your promise? You are living to your potential. You are a man honorable enough to be willing to give up all those things - fame, money - things every person dreams of having, to save a man who deserves the sewer. I have never been prouder of you."
Something suspicious stung his eyes; a lump welled in his throat.
"If this is not who you are," she waved the business card before his face, "then so be it."
And with that, she tossed the business card to the floor.
He didn't pick it up.
Around ten in the evening, after most of his fellow junior associates had left for home, Mike began to pack up his desk. In all honesty, there wasn't much. He gathered several case files he'd been working on into a stack, jotting down a quick Post-It note about his progress and findings. His meager office supplies he threw into his top drawer.
"Tidying up?"
Mike straightened slowly from where he'd been hunched over clearing out his bottom cabinet. "Hi, Rachel."
Her sharp eyes swept over his desk. "You're not tidying up," she accused.
This was a conversation he really, really didn't want to have.
She leaned forward, lowered her voice to a hush. "Nobody...nobody found out your...secret?"
"That isn't it. But thanks, I appreciate your concern."
"Talk to me," she insisted, "What's going on?"
He shook his head. "I'd really rather not."
"Come on."
"Rachel - "
But what he'd been about to say was cut short.
"So Harvey's little pet project couldn't cut it," junior associate Kyle sneered, walking in from the hallways with a mug of coffee cradled in his hands. "Why are you even asking him what he's doing, Rachel? It's clear he's been fired."
If a wall had been readily available, Mike would have banged his head against it. Of all the people to run see at this hour, why did it have to be his mock trial opponent, Louis' protégé?
Rachel flashed Kyle a smile that was all teeth and no humor. "Just because your mind is only capable of holding one possibility doesn't mean it's truth. For all you know, he's moving to a real office while you're stuck in cube land."
Mike wished she would stop. He was touched that she was speaking up for him, but oh, it was just going to hurt more when they came back in the morning and saw him gone.
"Ooh burn," Kyle said mockingly. "Why don't we place a bet then, you and I?"
"Don't be childish," she snapped.
"Come on," Kyle said, grinning broadly, "If Ross is gone by tomorrow, you go out with me. One date."
"Hey," Mike interjected, rising to his feet.
But Rachel didn't need help defending herself. Her stance welled with indignation. "Back off right now, Kyle, or I'll slap you with a dozen sexual harassment charges. We all know you've got a personal vendetta against Mike just because you're jealous. Wouldn't you just love to be Mr. Specter's protégé instead of Louis'?"
His eyes narrowed. "I beat Mike at mock trial. You helped me."
"And it's the last I'll ever do it again. If you were dying of thirst, I wouldn't even spit on you."
With an annoyed huff, Kyle spun sharply around. "See you, Ross," he smirked, "Rachel can deny it all she wants, but we both know you'll be gone tomorrow."
Once he had disappeared from sight, Rachel turned back around, her eyes glittering with new intensity. "Is it true?"
"Rachel," he avoided her gaze.
"You were going to leave without even saying goodbye?" She stared at him incredulously. "What's going on?"
Mike unclipped his badge and tossed it onto his desk.
"You're not serious. Mike, tell me you're joking."
With slow, deliberate movements, he picked up his satchel and slung it over his shoulders. "Goodbye, Rachel."
"The hell? This isn't funny," she burst out, following him with quick, angry steps as he headed for the elevator, "Don't think you're getting away that easy. Tell me what's going on or I swear I'll - "
The elevator doors opened.
Revealing none other than Harvey Specter.
Rachel's angry tirade drew to an abrupt halt.
Mike stopped where he was, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
Harvey looked the two of them over, his dark eyes lingering for just a second too long at where Mike's badge used to be.
Silence.
Harvey's austere expression never changed as he stepped out of the elevator and swept past them. No anger. No sadness. No goodbye. Nothing.
Mike's breath returned to him in a whoosh. "Harvey - " he said, turning around to face the man.
But Harvey was gone.
He bought his ticket to Montana that night.