♛ ┇ ▒ ⋅⋅⋅ WALKER ENT. V. GREENFIELD CORP. ⋅⋅⋅ ▒ ┇♛

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐃 about Pearson Hardman was how hectic it was.

She'd expected it, of course, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Every morning, it was like walking straight into a Category Five hurricane where everyone expected you to stand your ground without getting blown back by the wind. And every night, they expected you to flourish in the storm, to weather the rain and come to know the claps of thunder like you knew your own heartbeat.

Harold was afraid of the storm. Quinn expected that. She couldn't judge him for it, but she was certainly getting increasingly more irritated with each passing day that his cubicle remained empty.

Louis was stone-faced when she came to him, asking if she knew where he went. He spitefully treated the situation like it was Quinn's responsibility, and told her that if he didn't show up before settlement negotiations, she'd be drafting the damn things herself. He was far too good at switching sides from approving to irate, and Quinn wondered if Louis was the reason she was facing the hurricane in the first place.

Quinn didn't like bad weather, but she wasn't going to cower from it. Four days after her meeting with Louis in the drug testing room, she'd finished reviewing all the evidence pertaining to the case for the fifteenth time. She'd called several digital forensic experts and asked them to examine the blueprints and email exchanges. She'd devoured the witness profiles on both sides of the case to figure out how to best dissect whoever sat opposite her come deposition day.

She'd even called Maya Johnson – the in-house technical expert at Walker Enterprises – and scheduled a mock deposition for her tomorrow.

It had been an incredibly busy week from start to finish, and Quinn was more than ready to sleep in on Saturday and not arrive two hours early in order to manage her obscene workload. Since she'd taken that deal with Stirling, she'd been absolutely swamped by paperwork. Even though the Mercer case was on her back-burner, it was never quite out of her mind.

She'd given Luderman a call and asked him to look into it, more to reassure herself than anything. She just wanted to be able to offer Lorelei something substantial if she decided to swoop by her desk like a hawk, demanding results.

She would be someone to do that, Quinn surmised.

For now, however, she was all but forgotten. And Quinn hoped she'd get to end her Friday night on a high note, because Mike had called her saying that he wanted to give the briefcase back to Trevor.

Smart as he was, Quinn knew that it wasn't entirely his idea. She was sure Harvey and his grandmother had something to do with it, telling by how Mike asked her to pick him up from her care home. He never asked her to drive him anywhere. Mostly because Quinn was a very shitty driver.

They'd made it to Trevor's apartment in one piece, however. Quinn parked her old Honda Civic in a sliver of space in front of the old brickstone, and Mike got out on the street-side, clutching his briefcase and fixing his tie.

She turned off the car and stepped onto the sidewalk, a cool night breeze instantly meeting her face. She took a moment to relax, before the loud honking of a car snapped her out of it.

"Sounds of the city," she said to herself, before looking over at Mike. "You ready for this, man?"

"I didn't think you needed to ask." Mike ran a hand through his close-cut hair.

"Well, I've been waiting to one-up this guy for eight years," Quinn responded with a crooked grin. Mike rolled his eyes at her. "Come on, Mike. You care about him a lot more than he cares about you."

Mike walked up to the door, his thumb rubbing the briefcase handle. "I guess."

"Trust me," Quinn pushed the door open for him. "He doesn't have your best intentions at heart."

"Sure, but I think he still cares about me."

They ascended the stairs and went three flights before Quinn responded. "Mike... I had a friend screw me over, too. It's not easy, reconciling their current actions with their past ones." She gave him a squeeze on the shoulder as they approached Trevor's apartment. "I'll try not to savor this too much."

Mike snickered, before clenching his jaw and steeling his nerves. He swung the briefcase a little bit, feeling its weight. Then he pushed the door open, Quinn following close behind.

"Mike!" Trevor exclaimed, equal parts concerned and surprised. Quinn chucked Mike's key to Trevor's apartment at him, trying her best not to aim for his eye socket. It fell into his lap, and his eyes switched to her. "Quinn?"

"Hey," Jenny said in a breathy voice, looking up at Mike with wide blue eyes.

Quinn stayed in the doorway while Mike stepped forward, holding up the briefcase like it was made of animal feces. "I'm not giving this to you because you need it. I'm giving this to you because I don't." He set it down, the steel latches clattering on the black glass coffee table. He pointed an accusing finger at Trevor. "And I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you or not, but I do know we're even."

Trevor had a resigned look on his face as Jenny turned to him, silently asking for an explanation. Mike's animosity was unheard of – Quinn knew it, too. He wasn't an aggressive person by nature, which was probably the reason Trevor managed to stay friends with him so long.

Mike paused near the entrance. "Wait a second."

He power-walked into Trevor's room and shut the door behind him, and then Trevor turned to Quinn, more than hostile. "What're you doing here?"

"Don't even look at me, Evans."

Jenny recoiled at the venom in Quinn's tone. "Quinn... what's the problem?"

"It's not my place to say," Quinn replied firmly. "But Jenny... I like you a lot more than I like your boyfriend. If you have any respect for yourself, you'll consider other options after tonight."

As if on cue, Mike exited Trevor's bedroom with five suits over his shoulder, clinging onto his finger by a hanger hook. Trevor scoffed in abject disbelief, and Mike walked over to the briefcase, fingers snapping the latches.

Trevor grimaced. "Don't–"

The briefcase opened, and Mike met Trevor's gaze with squared shoulders. "Now we're even."

Jenny's mouth fell open at the contents of the briefcase, her eyes flitting to Quinn, who looked slightly apologetic. Jenny was just caught in the crossfire here. She hadn't done anything particularly deserving of this: figuring out your boyfriend was a drug dealer.

Mike spun on his heel and followed Quinn out the door, a satisfied smirk on his face. This time, Quinn didn't humor him by asking how he felt – she knew they shared the sentiment. Instead, she tried another line of inquisition.

"You remember that old twenty-four hour diner down Twelfth?"

Mike shot her a lopsided grin. "I thought you'd never ask."

Quinn clapped him on the back like she was a middle-aged golfer, and they went down the stairs together. Some part of her felt like she'd just dragged Mike into her own anti-Trevor agenda, but it was quickly reassured by one simple fact: Trevor was a douche, and he dragged Mike there all by himself. By being a douche.

So she could have dinner, guilt-free, and with no bruised knuckles, which was a complete turnaround from her last interaction with Evans. She hoped that this would be their last.

But Quinn wasn't stupid. She wasn't afraid of a storm, and neither was Mike. In fact, he had a penchant for running in blind. If Trevor decided to peek his head up again, asking for help, Mike would give it without a thought. And Quinn knew that if Mike needed her for that... she'd run in blind right beside him.

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Uh... fifteen chapters later
and we're finally done with
the two-part pilot.

Quinn won't be in every
episode. She's got her own
shit to handle, but if
you guys have any requests...
I'll get it done for you.

I'll probably update every Monday.