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For Harvey, it was less a ‘what do you get a man who has everything?’ problem and more a ‘what do you get a man who is used to having nothing?’Every year, Mike Ross got a little bit harder to shop for. In the beginning, VIP seats at sporting events and nice menswear elements he wouldn’t necessarily buy for himself were easy options. But over time that was beginning to feel routine. Then Harvey had shifted to something a little more acts of service, babysitting and favor granting. When their relationship became more intimate those presents began to feel startlingly unromantic—even for Harvey—so he switched to more legacy-style pieces.Mike already had a nice wallet, a good watch, and three (maybe four) sets of beautiful cufflinks. He didn’t wear jewelry (thank God). He preferred Bic to Montblanc. He was just impossible.Not that Harvey was great at finding the perfect gift otherwise, but Mike was especially hard. He was always appreciative. He never complained about a gift. When he received gifts he always smiled and joked around about them, turned them over in his hands and studied them as if this made his ‘thank you’s more believable.But he never looked at any present the way he might look at a good case file. He never smiled at a present the way he smiled at their inside jokes.“The problem is he has no taste,” Rachel observed, and Harvey had to agree. If you appreciated the finer things in life, there were any number of wonderful presents to buy that you would not buy for yourself. But if you were used to your whole life blowing to pieces on roughly a ten-year cadence, you did not get overly invested in stuff.And it was basically a ten year disaster cycle: being orphaned, being thrown out of school, being sent to prison … Harvey was not unaware that Mike was overdue for another climatic personal disaster. He tried not to think about it, but he was sure that Mike thought about it all the time.Mike had simple tastes. He had no appreciation for fine food. He had no favorite bands. He was just as likely to turn down an expensive single malt for a cheap beer as he was to partake. It was difficult to know what his favorite movies and books actually were because he remembered everything. Quotes and trivia and fun facts were no indication of special interest. It took no devotion at all for him to commit those things to memoryHarvey had, of course, imposed some of his tastes on Mike. Same way Rachel had imposed some of her tastes in other parts of his life. Mike seemed perfectly happy to go along. He looked stunning in Burberry and had them do all his suits, but Mike did not actually know that those sleek wool sets were Burberry. Rene knew they were Burberry. If Mike wanted a new suit he would just call Rene and Rene would make all the decisions for him. If Rene told Mike that Sharkskin assless chaps were all the rage in professional circles, Mike would probably shrug and ask if Rene had underwear to match his tie.Harvey felt utterly helpless.Rachel sipped her latte and studied him like she was waiting for him to say something specific. It had become a tradition of sorts, meeting up for coffee in secret to compare notes, because the only thing worse than trying to find the perfect present for everyone was having the same idea about what the perfect present was as someone else.But this year Harvey was officially out of ideas.“Maybe something like a pizza-making class? He likes pizza.”Harvey felt pathetic even just saying that. He couldn’t stop the glare when Rachel choked back a giggle, but he didn’t disagree with her either.“Oh, this is impossible,” He sighed. “I’ll just get him socks and fuck his brains out.”This time the response was a divisive little snort. “Can’t,” she said. “I’ve already gotten him the socks this year.” * * * * * * Harvey was bad at dropping hints and fishing for information.In theory, he should be good at it. Being a great lawyer was about knowing the answers to every question before you asked it. It was about reading people. His whole career was about knowing the unknowable—either deducing it or acquiring it through private investigators and subpoenas.And yet… When it came to finding the perfect Christmas present for Mike Ross, he was drawing a blank.“What is your happiest Christmas memory?” he asked before he thought better of it.Mike looked confused by the question and Harvey had to admit it was an unusual thing for him to ask. Not at all his style.He was in that much trouble. Seconds away from just asking “What do you want for Christmas?” except that wouldn’t even work. Mike would just shrug and say something stupid like “anything” or “let’s just hang out” or “get the kids something good and don’t worry about it.”Mike was brushing the water out of his hair with one of Harvey’s fluffy towels. Another towel was wrapped around his waist. Soon, he would flop back down on the bed and Harvey would make the shower pointless.“Honestly?” Mike asked. He turned his head and stared into space like the past was playing out on a projector in his mind. “The Siemens suit.”“What?”“You remember? They claimed their records had never been digitized and hit us with three truckloads of documents right before Christmas?”He did remember. He just couldn’t imagine cueing up that memory first when considering his happiest holidays.“Your favorite Christmas memory is a lawsuit where fifty associates had to work Christmas Eve?”Mike shrugged. “I mean obviously it would be a Christmas with my parents if I could think of one specifically. Instead, I have a medley of memories of various Christmases blurred together. But I assumed montages don’t count.” Then he shifted, shook his head and smiled. “But … you know what? Actually, yes, that is one of my best Christmas memories. Maybe not number one, but top five, definitely. Everyone was there. Even you and Jessica were scrubbing in. Before then I didn’t think you knew where the library even was.”Harvey rolled his eyes.Mike continued, “And a handful of us had to go down to the building’s loading bay to unload boxes. Everyone was all together. Where would I have been otherwise? I would have had dinner with Grammy and then I would have gone back to an empty apartment and watched TV until I fell asleep.”His smile complemented the faraway look in his eyes and made him seem more relaxed. Harvey’s own memories of that night were suddenly flushed with a warm, rose-colored glow.“I remember Donna dug up these old Christmas albums you had hidden in your collection,” Mike said. “She put them on, and you pretended to be annoyed but didn’t turn them off. Donna and Rachel kicked their heels off and were scanning documents with the hand scanner on the floor in front of your couch.”Harvey remembered that too.“We finished at three in the morning,” he said.“Yeah,” Mike agreed. “Then you poured us a scotch and we looked over a city that was completely quiet—Of course, it’s a good memory. You’re supposed to spend Christmas with family. And that was the one Christmas where I felt like I did.” * * * * * * The Ross’s had a near-endless string of ridiculously adorable Christmas traditions. It was like to make up for being so long without a proper family Christmas, Mike Ross needed his family Christmas to be maxed out on family time. From cookie baking to crafts to decorating the tree with garlands made of colored popcorn, to a double feature of the old claymation Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and the original Die Hard.Harvey had his own set of traditions built up around the Ross’s: the acts of diversion so that the kids could sneak freshly baked cookies off the cooling rack, the avoidance of crafts, the throwing of individual pieces of popcorn into Mike’s open mouth…But his favorite by far was sitting on the floor while the gas fireplace was on and reading the kids The Tailor of Gloucester.“You are obsessed with that book,” Mike remarked.“It’s a Christmas story about the value of good menswear,” Harvey replied.“And the difficulties of humane pest control one imagines.”Harvey made a move to cover one of Jasmine’s ears as he held the toddler in his arms. Then he made a face like a gasp of horror and turned up his nose the way he did when Mike was his first year and flopping about the legal system pathetically.Mike’s mock cynicism about Christmas was the best Christmas tradition of all, he decided. Mike would pretend to be above all the cloying sentimentality. He would pretend it was really Rachel who was driving all the baking and crafting and cute family moments. And Harvey and Rachel would pretend not to notice the way his eyes seemed soft and watery in their shape, the way the light from the colorful Christmas tree—always fresh cut from a weekend road trip to the farm—would get caught in his eyes.And when Harvey read The Tailor of Gloucester with his back against the couch, the fireplace going and a cuddle puddle of the minor-Ross’s around him—part of the tradition was Mike sitting on the arm of the couch, a respectable distance away, listening along.Suddenly, Harvey knew what to get Mike for Christmas. * * * * * * What Seattle lacked in snow, it made up for in pine. Garlands, wreaths, plaid ribbons of red, green, silver and gold everywhere. Any pine trees outside were subjected to the indignity of bobbles, LED lights, and biodegradable fairtrade tinsel. Artificial frost was sprayed on the windows of houses to suggest that one had just missed a winter wonderland by a day or two.Harvey couldn’t remember ever having a white Christmas. He remembered a few white Thanksgivings growing up, but New York was stubborn and finicky about cold weather, never giving snow up when it was wanted and providing no relief from the freeze when mittens and boots had long lost their seasonal romantic appeal.Harvey came over around 11 on Christmas Day. The kids had been through most of their presents by then and the living room of the Ross household looked like a ticker tape parade had been through.“Harvey! Harvey!” The sounds of tiny, excited voices greeted him like a tidal wave as he closed the front door behind him. Adorable, chubby faces, with wide eyes that seemed affectionate but that Harvey knew from experience saw him only as a source of new presents. Their fat fingers were sticky with jams and syrups from the breakfast spread Rachel had set up on the table.To spare his wardrobe the abuse, Harvey surrendered immediately. He opened the canvas bag loaded with presents he had brought with him and distributed the bounty like he was tossing juicy steaks to guard dogs.“Merry Christmas,” he said as he walked over to where Mike and Rachel were drinking coffee and nibbling on various bites. His fingers easily found the small of Mike’s back as he moved past to greet Rachel first. That was the game, the subtle and mischievous way Harvey entertained himself—how many times could he touch Mike without drawing attention to it? Without Rachel noticing?Mike’s eyebrows lifted but that was the only sign. “What? No kiss for me?”“Can’t,” Harvey replied. “You’d want tongue.”He grabbed a pastry off the table and took a huge bite so that his smile was rounded-out and exaggerated.Mike rolled his eyes. It was adorable.Across the room, Elliott stared at his half-unwrapped present with a mix of surprise, confusion and fascinated awe. It didn’t take long for Rachel to use straightening up as an excuse to do some investigating.Her report back was a frown, a sigh and the words “I thought you liked us,” directed at Harvey and spoken with a look meant to maximize the guilt trip.Not that this was going to work on Harvey. His present was awesome. “I couldn’t help myself.”“What is it?” Mike asked. “Hey Elli? What did Harvey get you?”The kid looked up, stared at the adults for a moment, before turning the present over so that the front of it was facing toward Mike and Harvey.It was a small, colorful, plastic toy saxophone.“Like I said I couldn’t help myself.”He also couldn’t help the grin that was spreading across his face. An expression that used to be reserved exclusively for conversations with Jessica. A side of himself that was rascally and completely uncool.“Kid is entirely too quiet,” he added as Mike glared at him.“Thank you for taking it upon yourself to fix that.”Mike couldn’t really sell it. He looked annoyed, but Harvey was a good read of people and an expert reader of Mike Ross. While Mike’s brows were tipped down and his mouth in a tight line, there was also an alertness in his eyes and a stare that lingered too long on Harvey’s shoulders. He knew the significance of the saxophone. He knew that this wasn’t your typical buy the kid something annoying to troll the parents present.He also knew that if Harvey really wanted to annoy them he would have given Jamie—the more rambunctious of the brothers—the noise-making device.Harvey reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, flat, neatly wrapped box. “Here, this one is for you. Merry Christmas.”Mike seemed skeptical—more of Mike Ross traditional Christmas cheer—he took the box out of Harvey’s hand and slipped one finger under the tight folds that made up its seams. Once unwrapped, the lid was lifted to reveal a white business card with rounded edges and deep black font. No name, just an address and a time.Mike stared at it. Turned the card over a few times. “This is the present?”“Yeah.”“What is it?”“Something fun.”“Fun as in an ice luge and a room full of models or fun as in Consumer Recreation Services?”Harvey chuckled. “The Game, nice. That’s a more appropriate reference than you know.”He took another bite of pastry as Mike’s expression shifted in alarm.“I’m not jumping off a building, Harvey. I don’t care how good the champagne is on the other side.”“Think of it as a great vacation, except you don't go to it, it comes to you” Harvey replied.“Oh? And what is the going rate for a trapped-in-an-elevator adventure?”Doubtful Rachel knew exactly which parts of the conversation were movie lines and which parts were real, but she had been a spectator often enough to a quote-fest to know Mike and Harvey when they were in the middle of one.“Genre?” she asked.“Action,” Mike replied.“Of course.”“Mmmm…” Harvey interjected. “Really it’s more thriller suspense I would say.”“Decade?” Rachel continued.“Nineties.”Her face scrunched up. “What’s it called again?”“The Game—Rachel it’s not even that old. You were alive in the nineties.”“Barely.” She snorted. She peaked at the card from over Mike’s shoulder. “Does this present involve car chases?”“No,” Harvey replied.“Explosions? Firearms? Giving my children anything that involves glitter?”“Negative on all three.”“Discovering the object of the game is the object of the game,” Mike muttered.Harvey ignored him and instead stayed focused on Rachel. “Actually, you should come too. Get a babysitter for the kids and let’s all three of us go. It will be fun.”“Fun,” Rachel repeated.Mike beat him to it. The perfect quote reply.“You know what that is, Rachel. You've seen other people have it.” * * * * * * The address was an office building in Downtown Seattle. Eight floors, half a block footprint, narrow windows, somewhat unassuming and bland. Harvey had suggested Mike and Rachel have a nice romantic dinner first and meet him there. He had picked the place and communicated to the manager the importance of their schedule. He’d even gone as far as booking a car to drop them off and pick them up.Mike had been relieved Harvey wasn’t making him wear a tux. Rachel had been relieved Harvey wasn’t making them wear knee pads. All their guesses were miles away from the truth—not that Harvey would admit it if they weren’t.Mike stared up at the building for a long time. “Are you sure it’s open?” he asked.“They’re ready for us.”Which was a cryptic answer in light of the dark floors and the dim lobby with its empty front desk. Harvey was secretly pleased Mike had already taken off his tie and shoved it in the pocket of his wool overcoat. He didn’t know how perfect that was.Harvey had a set of keys. As he let them in he nodded toward the elevator. “Fifth floor.”“There’s no company listed in the directory on the fifth floor,” Rachel noted.Damn, this was going to turn out even better than he hoped.“There isn’t,” he agreed.They wouldn’t get it. It didn’t work if he didn’t go all in. It wasn’t the sort of gift you could do halfway. It only made sense if he went to extraordinary effort. They weren’t going to get it until the elevator opened on the fifth floor and they saw it for themselves.Mike seemed to be holding his breath, looking around, taking it all in. The longer it took his first thoughts to flick off his tongue the more satisfying it was when he finally swung his head around and gasped “What. The. Actual. Fuck?”Rachel’s reaction was a bit more measured. She looked surprised but not overwhelmed. Perhaps that came from a lifetime of being subjected to grand romantic gestures from wealthy men looking for trophies.It was funny to think of it in those terms because it made Mike the trophy and Mike would hate that.And also secretly love it.“There are a lot of out of work set designers in LA,” was Harvey’s explanation.“Mmmm…” Rachel put her hand against the wall that read Pearson Hardman in chrome lettering and lifted her ankle to examine her stilettos. “I’m wearing the wrong shoes for this.”“Oh yeah?”“Yes, I would never have worn open-toed shoes to work.”Mike was still wandering around the perfectly recreated lobby of their former offices, looking completely gobsmacked.Well … okay it wasn’t perfectly recreated. He wasn’t about to renovate the building to change the positioning of the elevators, but it was pretty damn good.“How on earth did you get the skyline right?”“High-definition photos printed on what’s basically a shower curtain,” Harvey explained.“You built a set…” Mike wondered out of sight only to come bounding back seeming as annoyed as he was excited about this. “You built a set of the entire Pearson Hardman office?”“Not the entire office. Just my floor. And I only paid other people to build it.”“This is … you are living proof that wealth accumulation is immoral, you know that?”“Well since I work on contingency, as you know, really all you’re saying is that I’m fantastically good at accumulating wealth for our disadvantaged clients. So … Thank you.”Mike rolled his eyes and turned back to his inspection of all the little details Harvey had insisted on. The wood paneling was exactly the right shade of blond. The glass divider separated the empty front desk from the offices beyond exactly as it had in midtown Manhattan. The lobby flooring and trim probably weren’t actually marble, but looked it. The carpeting was the right shade. Even the offices had the names of the right partners in the right font printed on their glass.It didn’t take Mike long to figure out his present. “All the doors are locked.”“They are.”“Oh my God you built me a Pearson Hardman escape room.”Rachel snorted demurely. She had already kicked off her shoes and replaced them with a pair of ballet flats she somehow had hidden in her purse.“You know…” Mike said. “I thought it could be an escape room, but I just couldn’t imagine you doing an escape room.”“I’m not doing an escape room,” Harvey replied. “I’ll be in my office. See if you can figure out how to get in.” * * * * * * Since this was a Christmas present after all, Harvey allowed for a little—tasteful—Christmas decorating in his fake office. He would never allow it in his real office. Donna could deck her cubicle out in as much sappy, yuletide crap as she liked, but his office stayed devoid of any seasonal cheer.Sitting on his fake couch, in his fake office, staring out at a fake view of New York, Harvey had to admit the decorations weren’t so bad. His designer had picked a lot of modernist, simple stuff. Stuff that he might otherwise use as decor without a holiday. There was a set of white ceramic alpine miniature houses scattered across a bed of pine garland on the window ledge. Green marble-tiered cones were meant to resemble trees, but Harvey kind of thought they looked like butt plugs too.He took a sip of his very real scotch. He could hear Mike and Rachel laughing and talking, although not exactly their words. The puzzles had been the most fun for Harvey. An opportunity to work all kinds of references to old cases and office politics. Things he knew Mike would remember because Mike remembered everything. Memories that had feelings tagging along with them. Moments of pride, inside jokes, and personal accomplishments for them both.It took Mike and Rachel about forty-five minutes to figure out how to get Harvey’s door open. The trick—of course—involved positioning a can opener just right on Donna’s desk to close a circuit and release the latch keeping the door locked. Harvey could see them bounding over from the corner of his eye, and for a moment the Mike without a tie, with his hair ruffled, attentive and engaged like a live wire was not the Mike Ross with three kids and his own firm in Seattle. He was Mike Ross, Harvey’s personal first year.“I’ve finally figured out how to keep you from barging into my office,” Harvey said as he turned towards the sound of the door opening.Mike was flushed and slightly out of breath from laughing. Maybe that’s why he seemed so much younger.Harvey had already poured them both a scotch of their own in crystal tumblers that were not as nice as the ones he used to have but worked for the purposes of the evening.“That was actually pretty great,” Rachel said. She took a small sip of her drink and tapped her nails against the crystal ridges.“That was amazing,” Mike corrected. “I can’t believe you made us mix the exact combinations of milks Louis used to give his cat.”“I can’t believe he knew that in the first place!” Rachel laughed.People always assumed that because Harvey didn’t seem to care that he didn’t pay attention, but Harvey knew all sorts of things about the people he cared about.“Of course, I know about that,” Harvey said. “I always found it funny because milk is actually terrible for cats.” * * * * * *They talked for a while, hopping from story to story and telling only the best parts because they all knew the endings. Rachel sipped her drink but did not sit down and once she had gotten to the bottom of it she watched the final drop roll around the glass before handing it back to Harvey and saying, “You’ll get him home alright?”“Of course.”“Good. I’m going to relieve the babysitter from active duty.”His fingers brushed up against her wrist as he took the glass from her and moved to stand and walk her out.“No stay,” she said. Turning back to Mike she noted, “He spent a lot of money on this you might as well make the most of it while you can.”It was only once the elevator doors closed behind her that Mike settled down on the couch next to Harvey and slid close enough to be tucked under Harvey’s arm.Harvey reached over and poured them another drink.“This is the most ridiculous present I’ve ever received. Even from you.” Mike noted, still studying the set for all its details. He tilted his head back and Harvey could tell by the way his eyes were moving that he was reading the tiny spines of the records on the shelves behind them and comparing them against his mental inventory of Harvey’s record collection.Of course, they weren’t actually Harvey’s records. The little smirk that curled on Mike’s face confirmed the moment he realized that.“When do they come to break this all down?” Mike whispered.“Who says they do? Maybe I’m going to make it a permanent installation.”When Mike laughed it was barely more than a huff of breath. “Maybe,” he agreed. “I was just thinking that as long as there weren’t a half a dozen dudes about to show up … there were things I always wanted to do in this office that I never had the guts to do at the time.”Mike had a wild look about him. A younger man’s look. A mischievous look. A horny as fuck look. A look that wanted a response—non-verbal, preferably.Harvey was not going to give him the satisfaction. He slid a little further down on the couch, spread his legs a little further and tilted his head back to look up.They hadn’t done the ceiling. Instead of a smooth white expanse it was open. Like they were sitting in a dollhouse for some giant to play with.Harvey sighed contently.“Just because the balls are fake, doesn’t mean you can fondle them.”He could feel Mike’s hand against his chest and his hot wet breath against the base of his throat.“I think you should keep the one signed by Billy Hoyle and add it to the collection,” Mike said. “That’s a stroke of genius.”Now Harvey smiled, but tried hard not to show it. “Billy Hoyle. Okay, Billy... can you count to ten, Billy?”“I don't mean to brag... but I'm the greatest!”“Now…” Harvey turned, suddenly very serious. ”That is definitely my line.”“Too bad…” Mike straightened up enough to kiss Harvey on his cheek. It was the sort of polite touch that escalated. Mike’s lips lingered close enough for his breath to stroke hot trails against Harvey’s jaw. Another kiss, this one a little less polite. “I got to it first.”Harvey closed his eyes. The faint smell of pine in his nose.“Merry Christmas, Mike.”Mike hummed in response as he shifted his weight and straddled Harvey’s hips.