These are facts:
Donna does not need Harvey.
Donna is a perfectly capable woman who will move on with her life and not look back.
She doesn't regret what she did.
(Donna has also spent a large amount of time with lawyers, and she's learned from them how to tell only part of the truth.
It's not lying. Not really.)
She wakes up at exactly 5:25 a.m. She grumbles a little when she sees the bright blue numbers on her clock and rolls over, fully intending to sleep in until it's time for lunch.
Her mind has other ideas, and thirty minutes later, she's wandering around her apartment, munching on a slightly burnt bagel, her hair still wet from her shower. She has an entire day of absolutely nothing to do, no obligations.
She eyes the small amount of clutter gathered on her coffee table, the set of bookshelves she bought a few weekends ago and hasn't found the time to put together yet. She meanders to her fridge and glances inside, notes that she has only two sticks of butter, a water pitcher, and some eggs.
She decides that it's the little things that count, especially since they'll keep her busy so she won't decide to pull out a few wine bottles and waste away on the couch watching reality television.
She checks her phone as she pops the last bit of her bagel into her mouth. There are a whole slew of text messages from pretty much everyone who works at Pearson Hardman. She deletes those immediately because, honestly, she doesn't have the time. And she doesn't really care to read a thousand different variations of what happened?...are you okay?...let me know if you need anything.
Her voicemail is full with various messages from Rachel, Mike, Louis, and even a couple from her desk phone number—no, it's not hers anymore, it belongs to Harvey's new assistant. She considers listening to them for a moment.
She ends up deleting them and pretends not to notice that there isn't anything from Harvey.
There are downsides to her incredible competence. The most notable at the moment is the fact that she finishes all of her little projects by early afternoon.
She's put together her shelves, stocked them with books she's bought over the years, promising that she'll get to them and never has found that spare time. Her apartment is immaculate, and she has actually pried open her bathroom windows because the smell of bleach in there is so overpowering.
Her phone beeps again, reminding her that she has received fifteen text messages, most of them from Rachel, and three voicemails over the past few hours.
She turns her phone off, turns her television on, and collapses onto her couch.
She puts the lid on her cardboard box. The summation of twelve years of work, hours and days of her life sitting at this desk, listening to Harvey's conversations, watching, teasing, and it can all fit into one box.
This almost crushes her—in a different way from fucking up so badly and losing her job in one fell swoop—but she keeps her chin up as she makes her way past glass-paneled offices and shocked stares accompanied by whispers.
When she doesn't see Harvey waiting for her at the elevators (because she was so sure he wouldn't let her leave without saying goodbye, because he's been her best friend for the past twelve years and she always thought that meant something), tears well up in her eyes, and she just barely manages to push the elevator button, standing with her back ramrod straight.
Then, from behind her, "Donna!" And again, "Donna!" accompanied by the sound of feet pounding across thin office carpet.
Donna turns just as Harvey reaches her, a hand clutching at her arm, and there is a moment where she looks at him, eyes wide and pleading, where he tightens his fingers around her arm and shakes his head.
He kisses her. Suddenly pulls her close, crushing the box between their bodies and kisses her desperately.
(Except that this is not them, not Donna and Harvey, only a fantasy born from every romantic comedy cliché that her mind can conjure.
It would be humiliating in a whole other way, because Donna does not need Harvey to fight for her or to rescue her. She is not a damsel in distress.
There is a huge gap between need and want, and Donna is all too familiar with the difference.
She wants Harvey to fight for her. Because she wants to mean something to him, wants to believe that twelve years of friendship is worth more than a few things in a cardboard box.
But Donna does not need anything from Harvey.)
That night, Donna opens her apartment door to see Rachel standing out in the hallway, holding two large bags and grinning.
"You didn't answer any of my phone calls or texts," Rachel says as a way of greeting.
Donna tilts her head to the side and pulls her t-shirt down over her yoga pants. "I watched Keeping Up with the Kardashians today. And I caught some of this Dance Moms marathon."
Rachel's mouth falls open a little, and there's a flash of pity in her eyes, but it's gone the next second as Rachel steps inside, shoving one paper bag into Donna's arms.
"I have carbs, chocolate, and booze," Rachel tells her as Donna sniffs at the garlic aroma floating out of the bag in her arms. "There's a really good Italian place near my apartment, so I got us some food. Where do you keep your dishes?"
Donna rolls her eyes and moves into the small kitchen. "In the cabinet beside the sink."
Questions burn in the back of Donna's throat as she watches Rachel pour them both glasses of wine, questions that will leave the acrid taste of regret in the back of her mouth since she won't ask them. Unfortunately, Rachel has the good sense to not bring up Harvey or the firm or the lawsuit.
"Your apartment is really…clean," Rachel says as they settle on the couch, their plates piled high with chicken alfredo and breadsticks. "And you put together your bookshelves."
"Yeah."
Donna shoves a forkful of pasta into her mouth to keep herself from saying something that might lead back to talking about what happened.
Rachel raises an eyebrow. "So, what kind of mood are you in? Crying over some sappy movie or making fun of zombies?"
"Zombies, definitely," Donna replies before taking a long swallow of her merlot.
Rachel nods her head and grins as she slides off the couch and pulls out a handful of different zombie movies. Donna manages to smile back.
She keeps curling her fingers under the hem of her skirt then smoothing it back down over her knees as she nods her head along with what the lawyer across from her is saying. She's not used to being inside an office without something to do, so she's creating a deep crease in the bottom of her skirt.
"Now, I don't think we'll have any problems with keeping you as uninvolved in this lawsuit as possible," he says as he looks up at her with a smile.
Donna starts and slips her fingers out from under the fabric of her skirt. "Well, that's good, Mr. Baker."
Mr. Baker's smile widens as he nods his head. "Yes. It all looks mostly like a misunderstanding, really."
A sharp retort forms on the tip of her tongue, but she manages to force it back and swallow it. She wants to inform him that she is not just some idiot secretary who accidentally shredded an important document. She did this on goddamn purpose, and she doesn't give a shit if she broke a law or not.
(This is all said in her head, though, because even if he is her lawyer, he's still not Harvey, who would just quirk an eyebrow and shoot something back.
There are a certain amount of her thoughts that tend to fall outside of normal boundaries. And she can't afford any more enemies at the moment.
She has to start looking out for herself first.)
Donna tightens her smile and just barely nods her head in agreement.
"And as for my fees, I think I can waive those for this case."
"No, I can afford to pay you," Donna replies quickly, frowning. "I don't need anyone's charity."
"Oh, no, that's not what I meant." He slides a business card to her. "I would like you to think of this as an incentive to come work for us after this case is wrapped up."
"Work for you?"
"Yes. Of course, it would have to be after this lawsuit is over, but I want to get a head start on all the other offers I'm sure you've received."
She picks up the card and says slowly, "I'll think about it."
"We'll be in touch."
She lets herself out of his office with a lukewarm thank you, the card clutched tightly in her numb fingers.
She throws it away after she walks outside.
As Donna walks up to the elevators, her heart sinks further in her chest when she sees Harvey standing there, waiting. He presses the button and steps back, letting her pass him by as the doors slide open.
She stares at him, eyes wide, her lower lip just barely trembling. The doors start to close, and, suddenly, Harvey shoves an arm between them. He pushes his way into the elevator beside her.
He bows his head, and the doors close fully, the car starting its descent. She curls her fingers tighter underneath the edges of her box, knuckles turning white.
He doesn't look at her, doesn't touch her.
She closes her eyes, breathes.
The elevator doors open on the ground floor, and Donna steps out, almost expecting Harvey to follow behind.
She glances over her shoulder and catches a glimpse of his face before the doors close again.
Rain pounds against her window as she curls up further on her couch, pulling her blanket up to her chin as her finger hovers over the send button of her phone.
She grimaces and pushes the button, raising her phone to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Mom."
"Donna! You haven't called in awhile."
"I've been busy, Mom." Donna chews on her bottom lip and sighs. "I actually need to talk to Dad, if that's okay."
"I'll get him."
Donna listens as her mother calls for her dad. This isn't exactly the conversation she had planned, but Donna just can't find a way to make hey, I got fired roll off her tongue.
And as much as Donna loves her mother, she knows all too well how that conversation would go. There is a reason she doesn't call home all that often.
"Hey, sweetie." Her dad's voice comes through the phone's speakers, and Donna feels all the heaviness of the past few days settle into her bones.
"Hey, Dad." Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. If she doesn't bite the bullet now, she won't be able to say it. "I, um, well, I got fired."
"From Pearson Hardman?"
"Yeah."
There's a pause, and she can hear his heavy breathing that only shows up when things are silent and still.
"What happened?"
She tightens her fingers around the smooth plastic of her phone. "I screwed up on something really big. There's a lawsuit against the firm. I, well, I got a lawyer."
"And what did Harvey do?"
She can hear the unspoken disapproval, the dislike that only arises when her dad feels someone is taking advantage of his daughter.
(Years ago, a warning: he's the kind of person who will only look out for himself and sell you out if you get in his way.
It wasn't true then, not when her parents came to visit and met Harvey for the first time, and he was the perfect gentleman.
It still isn't true.)
"He couldn't do anything, Dad. He could have lost his job, too."
"Do you need anything? Will you be okay for the next few months?"
"I've already gotten some job offers," Donna says with a wry smile. "I'll be fine."
A pause, and then he says, "You know you can call whenever you need something, right?"
"I do. And you'll tell Mom for me?"
"Don't worry about it. Just take care of yourself, sweetie."
"Okay."
He hangs up after that, and she lets out a long, shuddering breath.
The rain is still coming down hard outside.
This is what happens:
Donna packs up her desk into a cardboard box. People stare and whisper as she makes her way to the elevators.
There are only rumors right now, but the truth will be out by the end of the next day. She doesn't know which will be more humiliating in the end.
She sees Harvey standing in front of an elevator, his finger pressing down one button as he watches her walk closer. A muscle in his cheek twitches, she can see from fifteen feet away that he is clenching his jaw.
She draws even with him. The elevator doors open.
Pulling her box tighter against her abdomen, the blunt edge digging in just enough to remind her of her surroundings, she steps into the elevator.
She turns to look at Harvey, barely able to keep the tears from falling down her cheeks. He shakes his head the slightest bit, devastation written in wrinkles around his eyes.
The doors close.
These are facts:
Harvey is Donna's best friend. They've been that way for years, and Donna gives while Harvey takes, and it's worked.
She wants a second chance, but she will not beg for one because she does not need one.
Five days have passed, and she misses him.