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It starts, as always, with the suits.
It’s the best first impression you can give. Mike gets that. What he doesn’t get is how any of the suits he bought were that bad. Sure, he’s playing in the big leagues now, but there’s no way Harvey “drinks three hundred dollar scotch nightly” Specter is right about the necessity of a tailored suit. That kind of excess is just obscene—and Mike thought the five hundred he spent on what he’s now going to need to return was already pretty up there. It’s fine. He looks fine.
And then Harvey drags him out of bed on a Saturday to go to Rene’s. Suddenly, Mike’s getting an eyeful of all the ways he was wrong and Harvey was right.
Most of what Harvey and Rene are arguing over is going over his head—knit type and fabric weight and what’s in season versus out—but give him time, he’ll learn. That’s not really what Mike’s focused on right now, anyway. Right now, he’s focused on the way this new suit is making him feel powerful. The jacket pulls in his waist and brings out his shoulders. The pants elongate his already-tall figure so he looms instead of looking sad and lanky. He feels like a new man. He likes the excess. Most of all, he likes the way Harvey looks at him, in between provoking the man currently sticking pins in the clothing on Mike’s body and throwing around clothing not on Mike’s body. He’ll concede just this once that maybe, just maybe, Harvey had a point.
That’s kind of the thing about Harvey, Mike’s learning: Harvey doesn’t say things he’s not prepared to back up. Sometimes immediately, sometimes extravagantly, always with glee when it’s in direct opposition with something Mike has said. Never go to court if you’re not gonna win. And Harvey Specter does not lose. Or do skinny ties.
The list of things Harvey Specter doesn’t do is much longer than its opposite. Of course Mike has lists for these things—it’s only practical, and also in part survival tactic. And maybe a little bit science experiment. He’s had lists going since that day at the Chilton. As it turns out, most of the information on the lists Mike gains from tracking Harvey’s approval (or disapproval) like a good little associate, so the point is to gather as much as he can so when Harvey inevitably throws him into the deep end, he won’t sink. Current data is as follows:
The Don’t List, Item One: Skinny ties. Item Two: Paisley. Item Three: Lose. And so on, and so forth, with a few hypotheses Mike has added in between all of the practical observations, not unlike a wildlife researcher (“And here we have the elusive Lawyerum Specteri in its natural habitat. Watch as the alpha male asserts his dominance over the lesser species, Lawyerum Associatus.”).
The Do List is shorter. Item One: Be fucking awesome. And a little bit insane.
Insane, being: hiring Mike after he dropped a briefcase full of weed at his feet. Standing up for Mike after Mike threatened to blow up this whole little scheme in both their faces. Dragging Mike out on his own dime on their day off just to make Mike (and by association, Harvey) look good. And so, Mike lets Harvey play dress-up (or technically, Rene is playing dress-up while Harvey directs with Great Authority), because Harvey’s a little bit insane and well, who’s Mike to say no to crazy? It’s not his paycheck this time. It is, however, precious time that Mike is currently spending listening to Harvey argue with Rene for an hour. About paisley. And Harvey’s imperious opinion weighing down on Mike while he dresses and undresses and, okay, he really should’ve read that packet HR sent him in the mail.
“Harvey?” Mike calls, because now Harvey is staring, and the silence is weirder than being argued over like he’s not even there.
You wouldn’t know it, but Harvey jolts. Mike only knows it because he was paying such close attention in the first place (it was either that or stare at Rene while he was taking Mike’s measurements, and it’s hard enough to keep a straight face with another man up close and personal with his inseam without direct eye contact). At least Harvey makes a good recovery (The Don’t List, Item Four: get caught with his pants down). He nods at the blue tie in Rene’s hand and says, “Not that one. Try the green.”
“Paisley’s coming back around,” chides Rene, not for the first time. He leaves anyway, which means they’re once again alone. In the world’s smallest dressing room, with a three-fold mirror magnifying Mike’s every little fidget, and Harvey’s eyes between his shoulder blades like a brand. The silence stretches—which means Mike rushes to fill it, because it’s one of Harvey’s weird, loaded silences that pins Mike to his mental corkboard by his butterfly wings.
“Harvey.” Mike calls his name again, eyes forward. If he turns around right now, Harvey will be right behind him, and if he has to look down at Harvey while he’s trussed up in ribbon and measuring tape like a Thanksgiving turkey, Mike is going to bolt. It’s already bad enough he’s going to owe Harvey so, so much money after this. He doesn’t need to run out before the bill even arrives.
Right. Filling silence. Being normal. Mike can do that. “How do I look?”
“I wouldn’t count on a Victoria’s Secret callback,” Harvey says, finally. There’s a look there in his eyes that makes the brown pop, brings out the amber undertones. “But not bad. For a rookie.”
Mike smiles. Good. Normal accomplished. “So you can say something nice.”
And there’s that half-smile that means Mike not only has he amused Harvey, Harvey doesn’t feel the need to hide it. Or—maybe not hide, but withhold. Mike gets the feeling that Harvey’s using his approval as motivation to steer Mike without saying it, which would be insane to say, if it weren’t Harvey Goddamn Specter. Of course people want his approval, so of course that includes Mike.
Not for the first time, it irritates Mike more that he’s right.
—
They leave with a small army of garment bags and enough (wide, sensible; see The Don't List, Item One) ties to hang a jury with. Harvey leads Mike down the avenue—hands in his pockets, because god forbid Harvey Goddamn Specter carry anything himself—until Mike stumbles into him at the crosswalk. Mike just barely avoids dropping any bags. Harvey barely avoids withering Mike to death with the little look he shoots over his shoulder.
“Keep up,” Harvey snipes, smile half-cocked. Then he crosses at the green without waiting to see if Mike obeys. There’d be no point to. Mike follows like always.
Apparently, Harvey Specter doesn’t do walking either (Item Thirty-Seven). Harvey Specter strides briskly through downtown until his destination arrives at his feet, leaving poor associates in the dust dragging fifty pounds of added weight in fabric. Or he has Ray ferry him around so Harvey can sit in the backseat and lawyer at Mike sideways without interruption. (“Not that I need my full attention span to argue circles around you,” mini-Harvey says from Mike’s memory. It’s a little annoying how much of his mental storage is getting taken up by Harvey Specter quotes.)
“I can hear your mocking thoughts,” says Harvey, just a few paces ahead now, which jolts Mike like his grandmother’s elbow in his side to ‘fix his face.’ He fixes it a beat too late. “Penny for them?”
Now, Mike is no lawyer (technicalities notwithstanding), but he can call a loaded question like he sees it. He gets so far as an “um” before Harvey’s quick look back (seriously, how does he say so much by not saying anything?) makes him pivot quickly. “Nothing. Where are we going?”
Harvey smirks. Mike’s both impressed and irritated that he can tell, because Harvey’s been a few paces ahead this whole time (with the occasional glance back for punctuation), so Mike really has no business knowing what Harvey’s face is currently doing, except Harvey Specter is a master of silence. Of making you feel the silence. Yet another Harvey-related list of Mike’s details each kind of silence, because that’s Item Seventeen of Things Harvey Specter Does (know when to shut the fuck up, or “the most important lesson I’ll ever teach you.”). This silence means Mike’s done something that’s either amused Harvey, or earned his ire in a way he can throw sarcasm at for his own amusement. It’s just slightly different from the silence that means Mike has impressed Harvey, which is slightly different from the silence that means he’s surprised Harvey.
Mike’s starting to hate having so many goddamn lists.
“Drag brunch,” Harvey drawls, and there’s that sarcasm (The Do List, Item 12). “Look around and give it a guess, rook. Use that big brain of yours.”
Mike has started lagging behind so Harvey keeps having to crane his neck as they talk. It’s a tiny, petty rebellion, but then Harvey keeps pulling tiny, petty bullshit like this. Why can’t he just say where they’re going? Mike asked a straightforward question, you’d think Harvey would appreciate a straightforward answer. Fine. Harvey wants a performance, he’ll get a performance. Nevermind that Mike’s starting to feel like a show pony. Or a pack mule.
They’re walking through the largest shopping district in Manhattan right now, Mike knows that much. They’ve just left Rene’s, and Harvey hasn’t deigned to pack Mike up into the car and ship him back home just yet. Obviously, they’re here to shop. But what else could Mike possibly need? They (read: Harvey) just bought enough new wardrobe that Mike is going to need to cram all of his other clothes into the other side of his shoebox closet so he doesn’t wrinkle any of Rene’s hard work. Surely Harvey can expect Mike to groom himself, so no visits to the salon. It’s not quite late enough in the day for lunch, plus there’s nowhere for Mike to put all of these bags while they eat, so the restaurants are right out. Mike’s arms are starting to get tired from carrying everything, so it better be somewhere he can sit the fuck down and not have Harvey throw even more money at him. A client? A gala? But where is he going to put any of this—
Before he can voice any of that, Harvey makes a buzzer noise with his mouth and points down the street. Like cavalry in a black town car, there’s Ray, Mike’s saving grace.
Huh. So much for not getting shipped home.
“Time’s up,” says Harvey, opening the sidewalk side door for Mike (which Mike tries not to make into a Thing, but he’s thinking about The Don’t List, Item Forty-Three: get in streetside). He claps him on the shoulder as Mike clambers in. “You were overthinking it. Sleep some of that brain fog off before you come in on Monday, yeah?”
And then Mike is looking up at Harvey, and the sunlight is haloing him and bringing out all the warm tones in his hair and his skin and his eyes, and suddenly Mike is speechless. A personal addendum to The Do List: He just stands out. Or maybe that’s grandfathered into Item Five on The Don’t List: Be boring.
Ray pulls away before Mike can say anything else. It takes another three blocks before Mike realizes Harvey made Mike walk five from Rene’s just to get picked up and driven home. The Do List, Item Six: Fuck with the poor, beleaguered associates.
All right, fine. Maybe Mike needs to do some restructuring of his mental load. But is it really his fault when his priorities are, at Harvey's own behest, Harvey's?
Mike knows better than to answer that. Some things are better left unsaid.