like we're going to war (one more night, maroon 5); harvey/donna ; r (maybe nc-17 eventually); 1.239 words;
it was a tuesday but she can't remember the details; he just puts a smile on his face
a/n: i don't know why
She signs the papers without hesitation even though his eyes are on her, watching her with a slightly smug look that he knows grates deep down into her bones. Her eyes catch his and she smirks back; she can feel both lawyers in the room furrowing their eyebrows at the interaction. Old habits die hard - he wasn't just her husband, didn't just give her a child, but she knows him like she knows the back of her hand and nothing is going to change that.
She makes a point when signing not to hesitate, to focus on having a steady hand and make sure the ink is secure on the paper. She doesn't want her signature to resemble regret or hesitance, despite the fact that they are still so in sync in so many different ways. She knows that if her signature is anything less than perfect, he will know it because he knows her just as well as she knows him.
She glances at his signature, Harvey Reginald Specter, the way his h has a hitch in it like he was having second thoughts or was only signing on the dotted line to appease someone other than himeself. Her mouth curls in a way that he knows she sees it and when she looks at him again his smile fades, jaw tenses. She shifts her gaze back to the papers in front of her, signing the last line - a lone tear sneaks out of her eye and splashes on the paper because she momentarily forgets the reasons why they are divorcing, forgets the bad and can only remember the good.
She wants to tell him that just because they've divorced it doesn't mean that she doesn't love him, doesn't mean that he isn't still part of her; she doesn't have to say it because he sees it. The way his knuckles turn white as he clenches his fist, swallows like it hurts his throat - she knows that he's thinking it too. She doesn't remember the reasons why they decided they shouldn't be together, she racks her brain trying to remember.
Maybe it was never about anything other than the fact that no one ever challenged them to imagine what their lives would be without the other.
"Okay, it's done," she says with a slight sigh, one that she hopes goes unnoticed; she forces a smile onto her face before she lifts her eyes, unwilling to let him see her right now with anything more than every ounce of strength she possesses.
She notices the way he quirks his eyebrow in a less than pleased manner, the way his eyes reflect everything he isn't saying; she thinks that's been the problem all along is that just because they can read each other they think they don't have to talk. She notices his tie is off kilter, less than ideal because something is on his mind. She doesn't have to ask what, just grasps the edge of the table with a tightened jaw and silently asking him to say something - anything.
"Do you need Ray to drive you to the office?" He finally asks as he pushes himself to his feet.
She offers him a small smile, slightly condesending as their lawyers gather up papers and files off of the desk, "you're not my husband anymore, Harvey, I don't need you to take care of me."
"Do you want Ray to drive you to the office then?" He corrects himself; he smirks at her, the coy smile on his face making her roll her eyes as she wonders how they are ever going to move forward if they can't stop the ease between them.
Her lawyer touches her elbow and she tosses a glance over her shoulder to acknowledge his presence, his empty goodbye one that she honestly couldn't care less about even if she appreciates everything that he's done to help her. (Not that she needed much help in the first place because she's worked for a law firm practically her entire adult life, was married to a lawyer for the last 5 years. Despite the fact that she didn't need help, she knew it was the right way to handle it and demanded Harvey get a lawyer of his own outside of the firm. Begrudgingly, he agreed but mainly because she controls his calendar and conveniently penciled the meeting in.) Her eyes are on Harvey's, testing his resolve. There's something to be said for the way she can still read him, understand him - funny how this is all falling apart because they don't communicate.
"Harvey," she says his name with warning, "don't look at me like that. I know what it means. I'm a big girl. You have to trust me to take care of myself."
He gives her a half nod, "and what about Gordon?"
"He's four," she replies with a smirk, "and we will figure it out. Don't worry - I see the worry all over your face."
"You have to stop doing that," he teases, pointing a finger at her.
She shrugs absently as they both move towards the door at the same time, "old habits die hard."
"I have court in half an hour," he replies, a quick change of the subject, "are we going to do our thing?"
"Depends. Are you headed to the office?"
He pulls the door open for her, letting her exit the conference room first before he follows, "yeah. Why don't we just ride together?"
"But what would people think?" She counters teasingly; she can see the look on his face, the way it reads reconciliation.
She hates that all of this has ultimately turned into one fight gone too far, pride from two parties who won't back down, words that won't be heard out of either mouth. She knows he won't apologize, doesn't expect him to and never really has, acknowledges that something somewhere is off kilter and stayed off kilter for too long. She knows that she isn't blameless, that it's all of the things that she hasn't said and all of the ways she let the silence swallow her whole.
He's three paces behind her when he says, "I want to take Gordon to a Yankees game Sunday night, if you want to come."
"Are you asking me or suggesting?" She clarifies.
He tilts his head as the warmth from his fingers lights up the down button for the elevator, "I just think that it would be an experience that he enjoys more if his mom was there."
"Smooth, Specter," she comments playfully.
"I thought so," he replies, standing a little straighter with a smirk.
They step onto the elevator and ride down in a comfortable silence; she can't help noticing the way that his eyes fail into the space between them or how his elbow bruses against hers. She wonders if it's always been like this, silence that's almost unbearable as the space between them is filled with everything that they don't say but needs to be said. She wonders if that's the way it's always been but they just didn't notice it because they were too busy being preoccupied with work or sex or Gordon; she wonders if the real silence is because they no longer have the freedom to avoid anymore, instead they have to look each other in the eye.
She feels his fingertips brush over hers.