Hello to the long-suffering Darvey supporters! I'm not entirely sure what this is but it was born out of my intense frustration with season six. The style is probably a little different from what I'm used to writing so I'd love your feedback. Let's pray for a decent scene in the finale for these two. Happy reading!
She can hardly remember a life before New York, before the law, before Harvey.
Realistically, twelve years is just roughly a third of her life.
But before the law, there was music, theatre, months spent backpacking through Asia, crappy apartments and crappier roommates, cold nights with warm, pliant lovers. She remembers a version of herself – if only vaguely – a younger woman with idle dreams, loud opinions and a vicious stubborn streak.
She misses her sometimes, when she's biting her tongue or playing mediator in somebody else's life. In twelve years she has spent most of her days propping up Harvey and neglecting that young woman.
She loves him, she knows that much. But it's a toxic kind of love that hollows her out as much as it comforts her. She's given her best years to him, and he never asked her to, not explicitly, but it was an unspoken request all the same.
She had been happy, for the most part. Perfectly content with the career she carved out for herself alongside his. Donna isn't ungrateful or naïve to the fact that she has been afforded more benefits than most people and Harvey is largely the reason for that.
Except now she is on the other side of forty and if she strips away her Manhattan apartment, her expensive jewellery and designer clothes, she has little to show for her forty-one years.
She's grown weary of being sidelined in her own life. Content simply doesn't do it for her anymore.
Instead Donna finally allows herself to want.
She's merely a teenager when her father costs her family everything.
There are fights (her parents).
There are threats of divorce (her mother).
There are tears (her sister's).
And all the while, Donna paints a steely smile on her porcelain face, bright enough that it could crack.
Her family better prepared her for an acting career than any brightly lit stage ever could.
"I'm leaving, Harvey."
"Me too. I'll be done in five, I'll walk you out."
"No, I'm leaving, leaving. For good."
"You don't mean that."
"I'm done, Harvey."
"You're done? How the hell can you say that?"
"You can't be surprised. This hardly came out of nowhere."
"Don't do this again."
"I'd give you my two weeks' notice but I know how well you took that last time."
"That's real nice, Donna."
"I am so goddamn tired of being nice."
"Is this about –"
"No, Harvey. This isn't about you."
She's twenty-three, restless, broke, auditioning for bit parts in plays and living in a share house in Brooklyn with four other would-be actors. They workshop together, run lines, drink all night and smoke all afternoon. She's having semi-regular sex with one of her roommates and it's explosive and stupid and he throws around I love you's like cheap commodities.
She dodges her mother's calls and politely declines her numerous offers to move back to Cortland.
But her savings run out and her rent goes up, and after a month of living on basic carbohydrates and tap water, her father's suggestion that she start temping no longer sounds entirely ridiculous.
It begins with a few days a week, mostly basic reception work that pays for her share of the bills and keeps her occupied when she isn't out auditioning. The work is woefully beneath her talents and one of the other temps tells her that she can make more as a legal secretary with little more than a certification.
She's sharp and has incredible memory retention so it's hardly long before she actually finds herself in a start-up law firm with a grown-up job.
Donna learns very quickly that this is a field she could excel in – a career without the harsh rejection and unpredictability of acting. And she likes the satisfaction of surprising those who underestimate her. Her official title may be secretary, but she could very well be a lawyer if she had the passion for it.
Her acting 'career' has already been relegated to that of a hobby by the time she meets Harvey. She's impressed and intrigued by him right away – his drive, his wit, his tempered arrogance. He's going to rise straight to the top, and dammit if Donna isn't charmed by his promise to take her there with him.
She doesn't give him a final day, let alone a final two weeks.
He sulks in his office, watching her with a hard stare while she packs up her desk for the third time in as many years.
Except this time there are no tears, just lengthy silences, punctuated by the rattle of her belongings as she places them into a box with more care than Harvey has shown her.
She doesn't break, not once. Not when Harvey stands and slams his office door shut, so hard that she's sure the glass will shatter, and certainly not when her fingers wrap around that goddamn can opener that holds far too much sentiment for an inanimate object.
She takes the item and drops it into the box. She won't leave it behind and give Harvey the satisfaction to throw it back in her face later. Maybe she'll throw it in the trash on her way out. Maybe she'll stash it away in her apartment, out of sight, out of mind and all that crap. Hell, maybe she'll just let it sit in the partners' kitchen and someone can use it for the purpose it was actually intended for.
She can feel his eyes boring into her, knows he's torn between maintaining his pride and following her to the elevator to re-enact another one of their dramatic showdowns.
Because if ever there were a time for him to tell her, I love you, it would be now. One last ditch effort to make her stay.
Donna refuses gives him the chance. She takes her cardboard box, the same one that amounts to thirteen long years spend with the same beautiful, damaged, infuriating man and marches straight to the elevator.
When she reaches the first floor she heads straight fir the exit. Outside, she hails the first cab she sees, slides smoothly into the back seat and offers her address.
Her phone vibrates in her pocket. She knows it's him. She throws it out the window.
"I don't just sit here to look good and answer the phones," she tells him during their sixth or seventh fight, and fight they do. Months into her new job and they're still breaking each other in.
His expression falters, just for a moment, as his eyes scan over her figure in response to her looking good comment. She is fully prepared to roll her eyes when his gaze snaps back into focus, a frown colouring his brow.
"When and if I need your opinion on a case I will ask for it."
"And I'll give it to you either way."
"This has absolutely nothing to do with you."
"Yet it has everything to do with you, which, funnily enough, encompasses my entire job."
He sighs in frustration, running a hand over his eyes. They've been circling each other for the better part of an hour, having the same argument in ten different ways.
"I know you're only representing this sleaze to pull favour with Cameron."
"Guilty people need lawyers too, Donna."
She groans, "God, Harvey, are you hearing yourself?"
"Stop trying to protect me," he snaps. "I need a secretary, not a goddamn babysitter."
Donna sees a few heads sharply turn towards Harvey's office. She narrows her eyes at his tone as she pulls his blinds closed.
"Oh, excuse me, I forgot I'm just supposed to send out your dry cleaning and organise dinner reservations for the ever-revolving door of women in your life."
His mouth reluctantly twists into a smile. "You noticed that did you?"
She crosses her arms over her chest and scoffs. "You would only pay attention to that part."
Harvey's shoulders drop, he smiles ay her ruefully.
"I – what can I say? I'm not used to this."
"Women who say no?"
Harvey tilts his head impatiently. Donna unfolds her arms, smirking.
"You're not like other…secretaries."
She nods once. "Damn right I'm not."
"Maybe I'm being –"
"A dick?"
Harvey laughs. "I was going to say unfair, but sure, dick works too."
Donna purses her lips, unimpressed with the obvious double entendre.
"See that's funny because –"
"You're a wordsmith, I get it."
Harvey fiddles with his tie and clears his throat.
"I'm going to get the guy to plead out, it's the best shot he has."
Donna moves over to him and reaches for his tie. Harvey tries to intercept her hand but she bats his slow fingers away.
"Don't do anything on my account," she says innocently, straightening his tie.
"This isn't for you."
"Pfft. I know."
"If Cameron wants to attack some innocent woman's character he can get in front of a judge and do his own dirty work."
"I know."
Harvey meets her eyes. She averts hers, concentrating on making his tie look presentable.
"Do you always do that?"
"What?"
"Know everything?"
"Pretty much."
"It's really annoying."
Donna purposely tightens his tie enough to crush his windpipe. "Oh, you'll come to rely on it."
Harvey coughs, a stupid grin stretching across his face. "I know."
She doesn't mark the change by doing something as drastic as bleaching her hair or getting a back tattoo. This isn't a divorce, though the irony of comparing it to one is not lost on her.
Surprisingly, her first instinct isn't to look for a new job. Donna has had offers pouring in since she worked at the D.A.'s office. Sure, things may have slowed down in the last few years – the memo fiasco and liberty rail incident did not go unnoticed by other firms – but she is still highly sought after.
She told Harvey that this wasn't about him, and it isn't – not completely. It's about being in her early forties and having her entire life revolve around somebody else's.
The first thing she does is cull her life of everything that reminds her of Harvey Specter. And yes, that may be making it all about him again, but if she is ever going to start over for real, she's going to have to pick at her scabs until they bleed.
"Donna, are you sure you want to get rid of all this stuff?"
Rachel stands in the middle of her closest, wine glass clutched in her hand, eyeing her endless racks of clothes in awe.
"I don't wear half of it, it's just taking up space."
Rachel reaches for her butterfly-print Cavalli dress and holds it up to her.
"You would really get rid of something so beautiful?" Rachel gasps.
Donna chuckles at her friend. "I have no need for it."
Rachel's shoulders sag, she smiles sympathetically. "You don't have to give your entire wardrobe an overhaul, Donna."
"There's too much clutter," she protests.
"Just because he paid for –"
"Rach, don't, okay?"
Rachel's mouth forms a thin line. She shuffles over to the racks of shoes and plucks out a pair of nude pumps.
"You're an eight right?"
Donna nods. Rachel smiles as she slips the heels on. She points at a navy Marni bag. One of the many bags Harvey gifted to her in lieu of an actual apology.
"Please tell me you are keeping that, at least?"
"Nope, all yours."
Rachel frowns. "You're sure?" she says, letting the real implication of her question hang in the air.
"What does it say about our relationship that he had to throw money at our fights just to make them go away?"
"He was generous."
"He was stupid with money."
Rachel shrugs. "He wanted to show you that he appreciated you."
"And he couldn't just say it?" Donna snaps. Rachel widens her eyes. "Sorry Rachel."
Rachel waves her off. She drags over a nearby cardboard box and starts plucking dresses from coat hangers and folding them into neat piles, adding the odd handbag and pair of shoes.
Donna couldn't be more grateful.
Her resolve is really beginning to weaken.
It's not that Harvey hasn't made advances before, hell, he all but admitted he wanted to sleep with her within fifteen minutes of meeting her.
It's different now, though. He's not just a man she knows by reputation, and she certainly isn't just some pretty redhead that cornered him in a bar.
Donna can't exactly pinpoint when Harvey became the person she spent all of her time with but she had a rather rude awakening when her sister visited the city last week and reminded her that she hadn't been back to Cortland since Christmas. Before that, her College roommate told her in the last six months she'd had more conversations with her answering machine than Donna herself.
Donna has never been the type of woman to prioritise a boyfriend over her family and friends, and her boss should be no different.
Except, well, they aren't purely employer and employee, and even calling them just friends would be a stretch.
Sure, she's always found him charming and handsome, even if it was in a pompous kind of way, but that's hardly why she finds herself attracted to him. She meets charming, handsome, confident men every week. Investment bankers, business tycoons, more prosecutors.
She likes Harvey because he is stubborn, not dissimilar to the way she is. She finds it oddly endearing. He's passionate, about law, about sports, about family. Not many people know this, but Harvey calls his father once a week on Thursdays at four pm, regardless of what he's doing. His window-less office is lined with records because music was his father's greatest passion and become one of his by extension.
And he works hard because he has something to prove, which Donna can certainly relate to, but it has less to do with besting others, and everything to do with proving that he's worthy of the opportunities others have given him.
This is why, when he asks her to stay back on a Friday night to go through discovery with him and break into Cameron's collection of cheap scotch, she does. It's why she ignores the knowing looks she gets from Bertha every time Harvey's hand brushes the small of her back. It's why she's been slowly collating evidence of Cameron's corruption for when it inevitably catches up with him. It's why she's never truly convincing when she tells Harvey she doesn't get involved with co-workers.
Donna knows she's playing with fire. This can only end in one of two ways.
She wakes up in the middle of the night with his mouth between her legs, strong hands kneading her thighs.
She moans his name before she can suppress the urge and she feels his mouth curve into a smile. She tugs his hair a little too hard just to wipe the smirk from his face.
He draws her orgasm out of her slowly, languidly, so the intensity creeps up on her. Of course he is good at this, the arrogant bastard. When her thighs stop quivering and her breathing evens out, he kisses his way up the expanse of her stomach, breasts and neck. She pulls him in for a lazy kiss, tasting herself as she slides her tongue against his.
Afterward, they joke and laugh as he reaches for her hand to tangle their fingers together. She's bashful like this, has to tamper down the instinct to flee from her own bed. He slings a hand over her hip, squeezing softly, smiling knowingly because sees right through her. She falls asleep with his head in the crook of her shoulder.
He's gone before the sun rises.
Here's the thing;
She didn't have expectations.
She wasn't heartbroken.
And she certainly wasn't in love with him.
But she made a choice in that diner and twelve years later she's starting to question if it was the right one.
He's almost startled to see her and it causes a dull ache in her heart because too often she associates him with Harvey or Rachel that she forgets they once a had friendship all of their own.
She hugs him fiercely.
"Donna…it's really great to see you," he chokes out.
"I'm so sorry I didn't come sooner, Mike."
They take a seat opposite one another and share a warm smile.
"Rachel broke the bad news then?"
She nods, not quite able to speak. Even when she said goodbye to him in that church, she never once stopped believing that he and Harvey would find a way to shorten his sentence.
"How are you handling it?"
Mike expels a long breath. "I'm okay, actually. I came in here with the mindset that I'd be facing a full two years. Now I just wish Harvey never told me about the possibility of getting out sooner."
Donna reaches for his hand and squeezes it tightly.
"Nineteen short months," he says blithely.
"You can get through this, Mike."
Mike swallows thickly, meeting her eyes. "I know. I'm just worried what my life is going to look like once I do."
"Rachel is still going to be there when you get out."
"Will she?"
Although it's a rhetorical question, Donna's reflex is to offer more words of comfort, no matter how inflated or cliché. But she doesn't want to make false promises, they are long past the point of lying to each other.
"How are you doing, you know, after everything?" he asks.
"Rachel filled you in?"
"She told me she called you in a panic one morning when she walked past your desk and all of your things were gone."
"Did she also tell you she made off with a third of my wardrobe?" she tries to joke.
Mike doesn't bite. "What happened, Donna? Rachel said you've barely talked about it."
"There's really nothing to say."
Mike scoffs. "That's exactly what Harvey said when I asked him about it."
Figures.
"I'm…adjusting."
"You working at another firm? Please don't tell me it's Rand, Kaldor and Zane."
She laughs, "No Mike. Actually I got a small part in an off-Broadway play."
Mike raises his eyebrows. "You're still acting?"
"It's no six-figure salary but it pays the bills and keeps my ego in-check."
"Wow," he marvels. "I can't believe I didn't know."
"Well, Ross, there's a lot you don't know about me."
"Guess we'll have to make these visits a regular thing now, huh?"
She hears the sad hopefulness in his voice and in that moment feels such a rush of affection for the kid. Man, she mentally corrects. Old habits do die hard.
"Count on it," she promises.
In the sleek new offices and overcrowded bullpen of Pearson Hardman, Donna discovers she can largely forget that she and Harvey had a sexual relationship, however brief. There are rumours of course, they didn't stop following them just because they left the D.A.s office – a place worse than a book club for gossiping suburban housewives.
The associates speculate and the partners make assumptions. It's difficult not to when Harvey appears to be the only associate with a secretary. Donna has questions of her own about her hiring, but she and Harvey have managed to strike a delicate balance between colleagues and friends, and she wants to maintain that more than she wants to satisfy her idle curiosity.
Their sexual tension still lingers, sizzling beneath the surface of their exchanges, but Donna has gotten better at shutting it down, steadfastly avoiding unnecessary and familiar touching whenever possible. Harvey teases her about her dates and Donna mocks him about mixing up the names of the women he sleeps with. It's a familiar shtick and Donna discovers that she isn't at all bothered by his sexual escapades, because she means more to him than a fling with some nameless woman at a bar.
Then she meets Dana Scott.
With her degrees, extensive resume and impeccable style, Scottie is by all accounts, a very impressive woman. Her smile is sharp and her mind even more so. She is without a doubt, Harvey's intellectual match, a fact of which she is keenly aware.
"I'm Dana Scott, you must be Donna."
This throws her. Not only does Scottie know exactly who she is, but Donna has never even heard of her. Donna shakes her delicate hand but Scottie's grip is strong, sure. They share a polite smile but Donna can feel Scottie scrutinising her.
Harvey's gaze flickers between the two of them and he must get the sudden feeling that he is being rude because he says, "Scottie and I are old rivals."
There's a smirk there, but it's directed at Scottie and Donna feels like she is intruding on an inside joke. In that moment she wonders just how far back their history stretches and she has to banish the insecure thought that it probably predates her own with Harvey.
"I'm running late for a meeting with Jessica. Scottie, I'll see you tomorrow – at the deposition."
Donna thinks he added the "at the deposition" for her benefit, lest she get the wrong (correct) idea about them. They don't embrace or kiss goodbye, it's hardly Harvey's style, but the look they share stretches on just a moment too long to be platonic.
Before he leaves, Harvey glances at her and she can sense that he's paranoid about leaving the two of them alone. Donna quirks an eyebrow at him; you can't be serious. Harvey smirks, this time for her and she pointedly ignores the fluttering in her chest.
Scottie turns to her, a question poised on her lips but she hesitates, flashes a brilliant smile instead.
"It was nice to meet you, Dana."
"You too, Donna."
After dealing with seven weeks of intensive rehearsals, precious actors and half a dozen internal freak-outs, Donna is ready to collapse from exhaustion, but by final curtain she's flying. As the sound of applause reverberates in her ears, she remembers with a sharp clarity why she spent so many of her formative years chasing this elusive feeling.
Her cast mates beam and smile, giving her tight, congratulatory hugs, making her promise that she'll meet them later to celebrate. This experience has been so different from when she performed in The Merchant of Venice last year. This doesn't feel like a once-off or something she crammed in between her extensive work hours. This feels like she's picking right back off from where she left off, only she's not so terrified of failing this time around.
She finds Louis and Rachel waiting for her backstage with a completely ostentatious bouquet of roses.
"Donna, you were breathtaking. I couldn't keep my eyes off of you."
Donna warmly accepts Louis' hug and places a grateful kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Louis."
Rachel smiles proudly at her, arms outstretched. "I'm so happy for you, Donna," she says, practically squealing. "The flowers were Louis' idea," she adds with a whisper.
"I figured."
"So what happens now? Broadway? A movie deal?"
Donna laughs at Louis' enthusiasm. "Getting a little ahead of yourself there, Louis."
Louis pushes the bouquet into Donna's arms. She has to steady herself so she doesn't tip over. "You deserve it, Donna," he says earnestly.
Rachel nods emphatically. "Really Donna, everyone in the audience couldn't stop gushing about how great you were."
"Stop it, you're gonna give me a big head."
"Come on," Louis announces, "I am taking you to the most expensive restaurant in town and I am getting you the most expensive bottle of champagne."
Donna and Rachel share a look, knowing they will most certainly be going Dutch.
"I just have to run to my dressing room to change."
Rachel's hand flies to her chest as she gasps, "She even has her own dressing room."
"You bet your ass she does," Louis says.
"Give me five minutes, you lunatics."
She flees to her dressing room and makes quick work of shedding her costume and stuffing her makeup and hair rollers into her bag. She stops abruptly when she notices the bouquet of pink lilies carefully placed in front of her vanity mirror, a small card poking through the petals.
She doesn't need to read it, she knows exactly who left the flowers for her. She plucks it out from the bouquet anyway.
You are incredible. I never said it enough. – H.
She leaves the lilies to rot in her dressing room. But the card…that she takes with her.
Her phone hasn't stopped ringing since she was fired. Rachel, Louis, Mike, her father. The texts and voice mails all just start to blur after a while.
She doesn't have answers for their questions, not when she's white hot with anger and completely adamant that she did the wrong thing for the right reasons.
She doesn't hear from Harvey. Not a single text, phone call or email. She does, however, receive a myriad of calls from his new peppy, male assistant, twisting the knife even further than if he never tried to contact her at all.
She fills her days with Pilates and meetings with her attorney, while she fills her nights with wine and old friends who know better than to ask why she suddenly has so much free time.
She called her mother on Tuesday.
"Mom, I got fired."
"Harvey fired you? When?"
"Three weeks ago."
"And you are only telling me now?"
"Yes. Please tell Daddy."
She hasn't called her father Daddy since she was nine. The phone call to her mother didn't last longer than a few minutes after she'd grown tired of her mother's tirade and hung up on her mid-sentence. She has no doubt she'll hear about it at Thanksgiving.
Donna tries to ignore the date when it rolls around. She avoids looking at her calendar the week leading up to it, hoping she will lose track of her days until she misses the date it completely. But her body betrays her and she wakes up at seven am and knows exactly what day it is, her fingers itching to reach for her phone and call him.
She spends the day keeping busy. She walks through central park and reads by the fountain. She meets Rachel for coffee at her favourite café in midtown, steering the conversation away from all Pearson Hardman related subjects. She takes a kickboxing class in the afternoon but it only serves as a reminder of the person she is actively trying not to think about. She cooks an elaborate meal for herself without half of the right utensils or ingredients because it's been years since she truly attempted to cook.
She puts herself to bed by nine o'clock hoping that if she lies there long enough, her brain will finally give up and she'll fall asleep.
Her phone vibrates sometime before eleven.
"It's late," she says when she answers.
"I know."
There's a long pause.
"I just got back."
"I figured."
Donna hears him breathe softly on the other line, wonders idly if he's lying in bed as well. She hears him suck in a shaky breath.
"I shouldn't have called."
"No, probably not."
Another pause. This time she breaks it.
"I've been trying not to call you all day, Harvey."
He chuckles. "Yeah, me too."
"I'm still mad at you."
"I'm still mad at you."
She smiles, despite herself.
"I should go," he says reluctantly.
"Okay."
He doesn't hang up right away and she can feel that he wants to say more.
"I miss him."
"Of course you do."
Another beat passes between them.
"Are we gonna get through this, Donna?"
She shuts her eyes tightly, trying to summon her voice.
"We will."
"When?"
"I need time Harvey. You really…"
She hears him sigh. "I know."
"Goodnight, Harvey."
"Night, Donna."
She's coming out of a call-back that she absolutely nailed when she runs into Mitchell. He catches sight of her and almost does a double take. She's assumes that he's going to walk right past her but he stops in the middle of a crowded side walk and smiles at her.
"Mitchell, hi."
"Donna, it's great to see you. How have you been?"
"Good. Great, actually. And you?"
"Enjoying my time off."
"Right, of course. Mid-semester break."
"Well, you look like you were heading somewhere so I'll let you go."
"Oh, actually I just finished up."
"Oh." He pauses. "Do you want to grab a coffee? That bakery you love is only a few blocks away."
Donna smiles. Mitchell was the type of boyfriend to remember inconsequential details like that.
"Sure."
It's a warm day so they take a seat outside. He orders for the two of them which would normally irk her with anybody else but she's a little touched that he remembered her favourite pastry and that she will still order a piping hot latte even when it's humid outside.
Mitchell smiles genuinely at her, not at all bothered that she trampled all over his heart just a few short months ago. He leans back in his chair, sandy hair ruffled just so, shirt rolled up to his elbows, glasses balanced precariously on his nose. He's beautiful. Kind and open and good for her. God, she had been unfair to him.
"You look good," she tells him between sips of her latte.
"You look different," he says. "Not in a bad way, just, lighter."
"Happy?"
He shrugs. "You tell me."
"I quit my job."
He raises his eyebrows. "You left the law firm?"
She almost laughs at the casual way he refers to her work. He knew almost nothing of Harvey, of all the years she devoted to Pearson Hardman/Specter - whatever. He'd never met Rachel, Louis or Mike. Certainly never Harvey. She'd been very careful about keeping those worlds separate. She understands now what a problem that posed to their relationship.
"I did," she answers. "I've been auditioning more. Actually I was just leaving a call-back when we ran into each other."
He beams at her. "That's great, Donna. Your talents were wasted in that place."
It's meant as a compliment but the words nag at her. There's so much about her that Mitchell never knew – her doing, not his.
"I'm sorry about how I handled things between us."
Mitchell waves her off. "It's okay, Donna. We were – are in different places."
"Still, I'm forty years old, I shouldn't have been so terrified to move in with my boyfriend."
He stares at her a moment, seeing right through her words. "You didn't love me."
"I could have," she admits, and means it. She had wanted so badly to love him. "I've missed you."
"But not enough, right?"
They share a sad smile. It's a wistful kind of closure for a relationship that she never truly put her heart into.
"I just want you to be happy, Donna. Even if it's with somebody else."
The insinuation is deliberate and Donna wonders just how much Mitchell knew after all.
"You're not wearing your ring."
She snatches her hand from his grasp, running it through her hair idly.
"My day was great, how was yours?" she deflects.
"Don't change the subject."
"I walk through the door and the first thing you say is, you're not wearing your ring."
"I gave you that ring on Sunday. It's now Thursday. You haven't worn it once all week."
"Keeping tabs on me are you?" she tries to joke. But his face is serious, he's hurt.
"I'm sorry," she amends. "I don't want to wear it until I've told everybody."
A perfectly reasonable excuse.
"Why haven't you? Told everybody?"
"I…I don't want to make a big fuss."
"We're getting married, Donna. This is probably the one time where it's acceptable for you to make a fuss."
"We just got engaged, are we really fighting already?"
"This is about him, isn't it?"
"Don't."
"It always comes back to him."
"God, I am so tired of having this fight with you."
"And I'm tired of feeling like I have to compete with your boss."
"There's no goddamn competition!"
"No, there really isn't. Every time he calls you drop whatever you're doing."
"He pays me," she deadpans.
"You're with him five, six days a week. I've never known a single secretary to work the hours you do."
"Executive assistant."
"Are you in love with him?"
"Oh please."
"Answer the question, Donna."
"You're being an asshole."
"Him or me."
"What?"
"Him or me, Donna. I want you to choose."
"You're giving me an ultimatum?"
"I want to marry you, Donna. I want to raise a family with you. Tell me, would he ever give you any of that?"
Her cheeks are stained with tears by this point. "I'm not in love with him," she finally says.
It doesn't matter. His things are gone by morning. And the worst part is that her apartment doesn't look any different. Anybody who didn't know any better would think he was never here.
"You look tired," Harvey notes when they run into each other in the break room the next morning.
"I just love hearing that."
"You have a date last night?" he asks with mild interest.
"You could say that."
"Anyone I know?"
She shakes her head. "No. Nobody you know."
Donna wakes to the sound of an incessant rap on her door. In her groggy state she manages to throw on a tank top, a pair of leggings and pull her ratty hair into a ponytail. And to think that she'd finally gotten used to not having deranged men bang on her door at all hours of the day and night.
She whips open the door, genuinely surprised to find Harvey on the other side, holding a cardboard tray with two takeaway coffees. He opens his mouth to speak just as she moves to slam the door, but his reflexes are quick and he catches the door before she can close it.
"Well that was rude."
She stares at him with a blank expression.
"I'm un-caffeinated. What's your excuse?"
Harvey seems to register the state of her appearance. "Were you sleeping?"
"No, I decided to stop brushing my hair."
"It's eight in the morning."
"And?"
"And you never sleep that late."
"Still obsessing over my sleeping habits I see." She rolls her shoulders and shakes away some of her sleep. "Rehearsals ran late."
"Can I come in?"
"Do I look fit to entertain right now?"
His eyes scan up and down her figure. He holds out one of the coffees as a peace offering. She rolls her eyes and lets him inside. She starts guzzling the coffee right away.
"It's cold," she says, gesturing to the coffee.
"Well it wouldn't have been if you answered the door ten minutes earlier."
She drops down onto the couch, hiking her legs up and folding her knees into her chest. Harvey purposefully sits on the same couch, his thigh brushing against her toes.
"How are you?" he asks – far too polite for a person who has known her for over a decade.
"Fine."
"Good."
"Great."
"I'm fine too. Not that you asked. The firm is staying afloat, for now at least. Jessica and Rachel seem to have formed some sort female pact which has Louis a little worried that she's going to substitute our names for Zane on the letterhead."
Harvey pauses to take a swig of his coffee.
"We've hired a few associates, not ivy league, but hey, we'll take what we can get. We've gotten a few new clients, even managed to hold onto McKernan Motors – though that took a whole lot of grovelling. I've been visiting Mike as often as I can, he says you've been coming by too. Still working on getting the kid out of there but he seems to be coping okay for now. Oh and I'm back in therapy too."
Harvey finally stops for a breath and Donna stares at him wide-eyed.
"Doctor Agard tells me I suck at communicating."
"I've been telling you that for years."
"Yeah, and how am I doing now?"
Donna scoffs. "That's not communicating, that's you giving me a recap of the last six months of your life."
"How about if I tell you they've been the worst six months of my life in thirteen years?"
Donna sucks in a breath. That means nothing, she reminds herself.
"It must suck having to answer your own phone."
Harvey frowns. "I'm trying, Donna."
Donna glares right back at him. "Forgive me if I'm not as susceptible to your charms at eight o'clock in the morning before I've even showered."
Harvey places his cup on the coffee table and pushes off the couch.
"It was a mistake coming here."
"Yeah probably."
When he reaches her door he pauses in the entryway. He swirls around to face her. "Happy anniversary, Donna."
She watches him leave, stunned. She walks over to the kitchen to inspect the calendar plastered on the side of her fridge. Sure enough, in the tiny square of today's date in her messy scrawl is the word thirteen.
She runs for her door, racing down the corridor to catch Harvey at the elevator, how appropriate, she muses.
"That wasn't fair," she huffs.
"I didn't come here to fight with you, Donna. I just wanted to see you, does that make me such a jerk?"
Harvey's voice catches in his throat and it tugs at her heart. His brief, sporadic moments of vulnerability have always had an effect on her. She takes the opportunity to really study his appearance. No tie – dead giveaway. He's got a five o'clock shadow which suggests he's been too lazy to shave the past couple of mornings. His hair has grown out a little too, his darker roots coming in. He looks good, casual, but his eyes are sad and weary.
She chokes back a sob. "God, it's good to see you."
Then Harvey does something that she was sure she'd never see, he actually hugs her, a strong, tight embrace and she feels the heavy weight of the last six months as he wraps his arms around her waist.
After a moment she feels his arms go slack around her. She steps out of the embrace and leads him back to her apartment.
Harvey takes a seat at her table as she brews fresh coffee for the two of them. She slides a steaming mug over to him and takes a seat in the opposite dining chair.
His eyes flick up to her nervously.
"Sorry if that was…"
"It's fine."
"There's a lot that I want, no, need to say to you."
"Right now?"
Harvey's shoulders slump. "You have somewhere you need to be," he assumes.
She shakes her head. "No, it's not that. I'm just…"
"What?"
She smiles shakily. "I'm just surprised, that's all. Normally in this kind of situation you run off and we never discuss it again."
Harvey smiles ruefully. "Therapy, remember?"
"Right."
"You really pissed me off, Donna."
Donna scowls. Not exactly what she'd been expecting.
"You came back to me and I thought that was it, I thought we were fine."
"We were never fine, Harvey," she says softly.
She sees him swallow. "I know that now. But I was pissed off that you would come back and dangle it in my face, only to leave again."
"I bet you were fun to have around the office."
"We never talked it about things when you came back. I meant to but with everything with Mike we were –"
"Distracted?"
"Yeah."
"So you were pissed off…" she implores.
"But then I had some time to make peace with it – and plenty of people to tell me I was behaving like an idiot."
"I'll thank Mike and Rachel later."
"I realised something that night I saw your play."
Donna shuts her eyes, thinking about the flowers, the card slotted between the credit cards in her purse.
"You settled for me."
Her eyes snap open. "Harvey, that's not – I loved working with you, I did."
"I know you did. But I know you stayed longer than you probably should have."
"I agree," she says diplomatically.
"And I expected you to always be there. I took you for granted and I'm so sorry, Donna."
She feels the tears well up in her eyes but she refuses to cry in front of him.
"It means a lot to hear you say that, Harvey."
"I promise I won't ever do it again, things will be different this time, I swear."
"What? Harvey, I'm not going to work for you again."
She sees him flinch at the words, as if this thought hadn't even occurred to him. Jesus. Just when she was sure they had actually made some process.
"I can't work for you anymore."
"I know you're busy with rehearsals and auditioning but you can take all the time off you need."
"You know that's not what I mean." She takes a moment to gather herself before she says, "I love you, Harvey. I can't go back to working for you every day. I won't. I deserve more."
"I don't understand why it has to be one or the other."
"You don't – are you kidding me?"
"How long has this thing been going on between us? Years? We've worked side by side the entire time."
"And you don't think that's a problem?" she says, raising her voice.
Harvey looks her right in the eye. "I don't want to lose you."
Donna scoffs bitterly. "I've heard that before."
"It wouldn't work, Donna. I'd just end up hurting you."
"You've already done that."
"Well then I've proved my point, haven't I?"
She doesn't have a response for that. Harvey smiles sadly at her as he stands up from the table. She walks him to her door. Harvey stops, looks down and reaches for her hand.
"I…"
"Don't say it," she pleads.
He nods sharply. "Okay."
He pulls back from her, smiling.
"Stop staring."
He brushes her bangs from her eyes, smirking further.
"I'll stare as much as I damn well please."
"Still arrogant, even now."
"Of course," he says, hand sliding down her waist to rest low on her hip. "Finally got what I wanted, didn't I?"
She narrows her eyes and makes a move to roll over – but he grips her tighter.
"You know that's not what I mean."
She raises her eyebrows.
"Okay, not all I mean," he corrects.
She sits up, pulling the sheet so it drapes loosely across her breasts. Harvey sits up to join her and leans back against the headboard.
"So…you still considering the threesome with me and Bertha?"
Harvey grins as a laugh erupts deep from within his chest. She loves making him laugh.
"After that? No, pretty sure I want to keep you all to myself."
Donna tries to mask her surprise at the implication of his words. She notices Harvey fiddle distractedly with the sheet that covers her legs.
"You want to stay a while?"
Harvey leans down and drops a kiss to her shoulder. It's strange and familiar all at once.
"Okay, but you're finally going to deliver on your promise to use the cream."
She rolls her eyes. "Deal."
It's a cruel kind of joke that the first time she sees him in a year is five minutes before they are supposed to walk down the aisle together.
He almost smiles when he first sees her.
"Harvey."
"Donna.
He looks happy. Uneasy and his tie eschew, but happy.
"You ready to do this?" he asks, holding out his elbow to her.
She ignores it and sidesteps him so that she can reach for his tie and straighten the damn thing. He smirks when she catches his eye.
"You did that on purpose."
"Did what?"
He holds out his elbow again and this time she loops her arm through his.
It's a small but gorgeous ceremony, low-key but elegant, a style perfectly suited to the bride. Only Rachel's parents and the few from the firm are in attendance. In many ways, this could have been the reception for their almost-wedding. Only it isn't a quick-fix solution, but a fresh start for a couple she regards as her family.
The reception is in a beautiful jazz bar, recommended by Harvey himself. She smiles into her drink as she watches Mike twirl Rachel around the dance floor, her white dress swishing around her ankles.
Louis and Tara aren't far from them, wearing their own hole in the dance floor.
She looks up to find Jessica taking a seat beside her. She hands her a fresh drink.
"I assumed scotch was okay."
"Thanks."
"Lovely ceremony."
"They deserved it after everything."
"I wasn't sure Harvey could actually get him out."
"I was."
Jessica regards her carefully. "Even after you left?"
"Even then."
Robert Zane wanders over to their table and extends a hand to Jessica. She eyes him warily. "And what am I supposed to do with that?"
Donna laughs, almost doing a spit take.
"Come on. For old time's sake."
Jessica playfully rolls her eyes and takes his hand. "It's great to have you back, Donna," she says earnestly as she lets Robert escort her to the dance floor.
"Why do I suddenly feel like an eighth wheel?"
She tosses a glance at Harvey as he sits down.
"Maybe you should have brought a date."
"I noticed you didn't bring one."
"Too many to choose from."
"That's par for the course."
A companionable silence falls over the two of them. Back when they were still at the D.A.'s office, Harvey used to drag her to places like these, saying she needed to develop taste.
"I meant to tell you earlier," he says, catching her attention, "You look beautiful."
Her eyes flick down to her fitted, knee-length dress. She really does look phenomenal in blue.
"I know."
She places her empty glass on the table and turns to him. "You going to ask me to dance or what?"
"Are you going to say yes?"
Her lips quirks. "Maybe. Yes."
He stands up without another word and places a hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward. She had waited for something slow, not trusting her body to move well to an unpredictable tempo.
Her hands automatically glide to Harvey's shoulders, his around her waist – she forgets just how many times they've done this before. Harvey, naturally, isn't big on dancing in public, but he always made the exception for her when she asked.
"You still suck at this," he says when she inadvertently kicks his toe.
"I'm an actress, not a dancer."
"I saw your play last month," he confesses.
"And?"
"Come on, you know you were great."
"Hey, insecurity comes with the territory. A girl needs to hear she's incredible once in a while."
She feels a mild sense of panic when the words leave her mouth. "Uh…"
"I meant it, Donna," he assures her.
After a moment of gentle swaying she says, "Is this as weird for me as it is for you?"
He breathes a sigh of relief, "God yes. Do you want to go outside?"
"Please."
Donna fetches her coat from the table and meets Harvey outside a moment later, only to find that he has a cab waiting for the two of them.
"What is this?"
"I thought we'd go somewhere."
She stares at him blankly. "We are at the wedding reception of our two best friends."
"They won't miss us for an hour."
"We're the only two people in their bridal party, I think they'll notice the second we're gone."
"Donna, one hour, that's all I ask."
"Oh for Christ's – alright."
"Are you trying to be funny?"
"I felt like coffee."
"So you brought me to the diner, our diner?"
"That's right."
Harvey reaches for her hand and ushers her inside. The place is virtually deserted on a Sunday night but Harvey gestures for her to join him at the counter rather than one of the numerous empty tables.
"Coffee?" the waitress asks, greeting them with a warm smile and two empty cups.
"Please," Harvey replies.
Donna waits until the woman passes them.
"What are you playing at Harvey? Bringing me here?"
He shrugs. "I have fond memories of this place."
"I don't," she mutters.
"You don't?"
She registers the expression of genuine hurt on his face and quickly amends, "Not in hindsight."
"Okay, the Steven thing I'll give you but this is…where we started, Donna."
She thinks about the can opener, still tucked away in her kitchen drawer with all of the other cooking utensils she never uses. Eighteen months and she still couldn't bear to throw it away.
"I told you I didn't want to find out what kind of lawyer I'd be without you."
"I remember."
"And I found out."
She eyes him up and down. "You're still in one piece."
"Yeah, now."
Donna hears her phone vibrate from inside her clutch.
"Told you they'd notice."
"Donna, this is important."
"And so is Mike and Rachel's wedding," she snaps. She softens when she says, "Do we need to do this now?"
"When are we going to have another chance? I tried to call after –"
"Once. You tried to call once."
"I'd like to point out that you didn't answer, either."
They both pause, keenly aware that they have already resorted back to their familiar pattern of bickering.
"We're really not good at this, are we?" she says.
"It's fine, we can go back to the bar," he relents, "I just want to say that I hate it when you're not in my life."
"I don't exactly like it either," she admits.
"I don't know if we can ever get back what we had before."
"Harvey…"
"And I don't want to."
"So where does that leave us?"
"Well, I'd like to finally date you if that's possible."
She laughs at the boyish grin on his face, the same one that hasn't changed in a decade.
"You're such a dork. Hurry up and finish your coffee."
They quickly finish up inside and run back out onto the street. Harvey doesn't waste a second. He slides a hand through her hair, tilting her face up to meet his. She smirks, challenging him to follow through. He bridges the distance, lips gliding to hers. Her mouth opens under his. The kiss is soft and unhurried, completely unlike the others they have shared before this. He releases her mouth, and she feels her lips curve into a smile.
"Are you going to let me say it now?" he asks, lips so close to grazing hers.
"Later. We've got time."