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Mike plans his trip home months in advance—he wants to face Harvey and show him how much he has grown. He has meticulously charted the course for this case, and he knows exactly how it's going to end. Now, sitting in the Seattle-Tacoma International airport terminal, he fiddles with his client's case file.
Already, he has memorized the files from front to back—his eidetic memory better than most people's. He's comforted by the little details; the numbers on page twelve, the words that should be highlighted for emphasis on page twenty-eight but are not because they're trying to trick the reader, and the little signature line on page thirty-two which is slightly longer than usual because he knows Harvey is an asshole and makes his signature large.
Admittedly, Mike is a bit nervous for it all—but again, it's the little details that comfort him. He's plotted every single square inch of the case for months—it'll be a success. He'll terminate the contract and win the case. It's open and shut. Harvey will be proud of him because he's become such a mastermind and they'll go out for drinks after. It'll be like when he was an associate on one of his best friend's better days. (The days where Harvey didn't make him do all the paperwork and would take him to that fancy bar, that is.)
For now, he tries to take his mind off of the case and think about his condo in the city. A "Rick Sorkin" has rented it out, but it's obviously Harvey. Seriously? Mike had thought when he saw the renter's information. He wasn't an idiot. He knew Harvey kept the place in hopes of the prodigal son's return. Although it wouldn't be a permanent return, at least Harvey got a few of his hopes met. Mike was coming back, just with arms swinging.
The plane ride is awful—as expected of buying the cheapest ticket. He wasn't desperate for cash—his time at Pearson Hardman got him cozy enough for another few years, but Rachel was pregnant and he wanted to save anywhere he could. He wanted his son to have a good life—a comfortable life. It was something that Mike was unfortunately deprived of, with Granny being his only caretaker. She lived off of social security checks; she never had anything to spare for a SEGA or Walkman. (Instead, Trevor and Mike stole things like candy and comics to entertain themselves.)
The woman next to Mike kept touching his shoulder and checking him out. He now knew how Rachel felt, being objectified, but it was weird all the same. Plus, the woman looked vaguely like Granny which only added another layer of discomfort to it. He was glad to leave when the plane touched down at JFK Airport. He carried his overnight bag, hailed a cab, and went back to his condo to prepare for an impromptu, late-night meeting with Harvey.
In the taxi, Mike calls Donna to ask permission to come over. He knows they're together—he was the first to hear from Harvey about "that thing we thought Donna could do." Yes, she could do it. Mike recalls shivering a bit on the phone—it's like his mom having sex with his dad, but he's still happy for them. The moment he ran into that hotel conference room on the first day, he knew there was something between them. It took so many damned years for it to blossom, but he's happy and thankful it did. They deserve each other.
"You guys aren't busy tonight, right?" Mike asks Donna on the phone as he looks out the car window. "I was hoping to visit Harvey and hang out with him for a bit. Maybe get some drinks."
New York City hasn't changed one bit since he left. The people have certainly changed— Donna and Harvey are together! — but the city bustles the same.
(He's too damn giddy about them being together still.)
"We were going to have a date night, but this is more important. He's been waiting for you to come, Mike," Donna smiles. She's also excited for Mike to return. She's a bit disheartened that Rachel couldn't come, but that's life. Plus, she's pregnant, and she wouldn't expect her best friend to deal with the horrors of the airport with a child inside of her.
Mike laughs, incredulous. The Harvey Specter? Waiting for him to come back? Some part of Mike knows that Harvey misses him, but for now, he'd like to pretend that Harvey is the same old tough guy he's been. He's always secretly been such a softie.
"We'll see about that. He'll be mad that I'm your replacement for tonight...hope he doesn't try to make any moves on me."
"Gross!" the woman giggles while rolling her eyes. "Come by the office to grab my key. Just return it to me when you get to the firm tomorrow. See you soon."
He makes the cab turn and go to the firm to grab the key before he returns back to his condo. He needs to unpack and change into fresh clothes—he swears he smells like that Granny lookalike. Mike wants to look nice and clean for his reunion with his former boss turned best friend. After all, according to Donna, he's been waiting.
The blond unlocks the door to his house and walks in, his feet heavy with exhaustion. Dropping his overnight bag onto the kitchen counter, he sits on a kitchen stool and looks around. Everything seems to be the same, save for the ashes in the fireplace. It looks like Harvey visited recently. At least he kept the place nice and tidy for two years.
It was nostalgic seeing his former home. It was still his home, but in a way, it was different. Seattle was where Rachel and him had a nursery, a future. Though, there was something more different about this than just Rachel's absence. The air around the house felt foreign—as if he was no longer a welcomed resident. He shrugs the feeling off as just a moment of overthinking. He just needs to shower and then he can see his best friend. He'll worry about this later.
However, Mike opens up his bedroom door, and something continues to seem off. The last time he was here it was definitely organized in another fashion. The books on his nightstand were once arranged in alphabetical order, but now were fixed in a haphazardly quick way. The Machiavelli texts are next to the Adlers— that's not normal. A isn't after M.
His eyes dart to the bed— there's a different lump that doesn't match his usual shape. Was Harvey sleeping here for a few nights? Strange. Harvey always made fun of how small his bed—
Oh no.
Upon further inspection, Mike finds a long hair on the floor.
No no no.
He crouches down and picks it up, holding it to the light. It shimmers red. It's not a Harvey hair. It's a Donna hair.
Mike glances over at the picture frames hanging above a dresser—they're off-center. Why is the bicycle painting next to the sky one? Before, he had arranged it next to the inspirational print.
No. They did NOT.
He stands up and looks at the top of the dresser. There's a slight dust atop of it, but sure enough, there are four blobs which look like hand prints and a large, empty space clear of dust.
This was way too recent. They really did that in his home.
Scoffing in disbelief of their indecency in his home and their poor attempts at re-organizing his place, he turns to go to the bathroom to shower. He'll bring this up with Harvey later.
Somehow, despite their antics, Mike can't help but feel a sense of relief. He spent years watching them—their little dance—and now, that act has finally come to a close. Even if it meant that they would be having sex all over his bedroom, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for his best friend's happiness. After years of watching their restrained touches, their hesitant smiles, and their unspoken words, it's exciting to see them finally face the music.
He enters the bathroom, glad to be free of his friends' new Red Room. Unfortunately, he notices that there's something off. The soaps are placed off to the side, and the nook in the shower has been left free. Perfect for someone to sit and—
God damn it. They really had sex everywhere they possibly could.