Author's Notes: Sequel to Mountains. Another Add-on of sorts. *Set between 7.14 and 7.15*.
Oh Harvey Specter, how you confuse me. I'm starting to wonder if the way Korsh will write Donna and Harvey will be very different from the way if spent years writing them as a couple. With a layer that pulls away from their easy humour, and plays at a subtly of two young loves.
Let's wait and see...
. . ...
Gold
By Atheniandream
. . ...
Sold out to those in confidence
Empty glasses
After kissing each one of her good friends lips
So steady in red she staysail the black and white
Are you ready are you really alright
Are you really alright
And i wonder if she knows in the back of her mind she knows
She brings me hell
And i wonder if she knows in the back of her mind she knows
She knows herself cause i can't tell
- 'Wonder if she knows' by Family Wagon
. . . …
There's something to be said for the silence of a spirit...
Harvey's eyes peel slowly to the growing light and palpable heat of an oddly summery spring as he feels the breeze of an open window fall across his skin and brush the hairs on his forearm. He rubs at the corner of his eyes and rises with a lightness that he hasn't felt in him for a long time, stretching out any knots and kinks in his bad shoulder as he awakens fully to the day, having sleep soundly for what feels like the first time in a year.
His eyebrows knit for a moment, pulling at a thought that sifts slowly and collects in his lips as they slowly twist into a smirk.
She has finally stopped haunting him in his dreams...
He should have known that the two were intrinsically linked.
And of course, he thinks of her fully after that. His first official thought of the day, like the figurehead of a boat, leading him gently out and into the fray. This time doesn't bring such an ache to his heart, or pull at him like it has done in his very recent past. There is no anguish attached to the image of her in his mind. Instead, this time, there is a growing need to have her with him, and an impatience to see her in person. Even at this early hour. It's an acknowledgment of her absence, but not such harsh a longing as it has been in the past. Just...the simple urge to be around her. To have her in his life, as more than she ever has been before.
He needs Donna Paulsen in his life.
He remembers having told Scottie a similar thing. And it's the same feeling, effectively, only slightly different in ways. With Donna...there is a ripe pull attached to the need. One that has been there, in the background, in all the times they've spoken of and the times that she brought up...at 6am...at midnight, when he needed someone and she was the only person in the world that he could think of to seek out. With Scottie, he had had her. Slept with her. There had never been a sense of not having her, like there is with Donna.
He needs her like air to breath and a star to follow.
That need...for her...it's always been there, hiding in the nooks and crannies of his mind like a caged animal, only let out in the ripest of circumstances. Mostly to keep her, or collect her or save her, or to save the world around them.
Now, after all that has happened, enough to grind them both down to truths as plain as day, only now he is finally allowing the need to taking front and centre stage, over and above doubt and reservedness and fear.
He's aware that he's spent his entire adult life lessening the feeling of wanting her, and replacing it with that need.
And now he's taking a chance on such a notion.
It's becoming a simple application in his mind.
Just. Spend. More. Time. With Her.
Alone.
He dresses with a sharp attention to detail, picking a suit he knows that they both like, and making sure every little element of his attire is over the line of perfect, right down to the shine on his shoes.
And it's easier. Everything about his life is becoming easier, these days. There had been a time, until very recently, where he doubted the firm, and doubted his place in it. He doubted his relationships and the people around him. But things have changed, now. It seems that the dice of life has finally rolled a lucky number. A number finally in his favour. He senses the shift of such a thing in the air around him and in himself. His chest is less heavy, less bogged down with problems that seemed to come at him in threes over the past year. He always been ready, but now he actually feels it, feels more applied to the day, taking the moment to flick on some music, as some upbeat rhythm and blues floods into his kitchen. He absentmindedly stirs his coffee, the aroma of italian double roast and vanilla mixing into the air as he chews on a croissant that he's plucked from the cupboard.
He looks to the coffee in his hands, a returning smile tugging at his lips.
Coffee is a ritual to him. He's slightly unsure how he managed to drag Paula into a sacred thing. How she didn't catch onto it's origins.
He looks over his shoulder, planting a look at the little piece of greenery that sits by the sink. He had moved it from the guest bedroom a few days ago, deciding that it needed looking after. After all, if she turns up suddenly, and sees that he's let his care of it slip more than a millimetre she'll be disappointed, and she'll have won her deduction of him.
So he plants another ritual. Water every two weeks, as directed.
He wonders if he's been planting rituals around them for years. Ones that mean more than just the can opener…
. . ...
Down in the waves
She screams again
Roar at the door
My mind can't take much more
I could never drown in
They wanna get my
They wanna get my
Gold on the ceiling
I ain't blind
Just a matter of time
Before you steal it
It's alright
Ain't no guard in my house
. ...
He leaves his apartment with a spring in his step, treding a polished heel into the stone sidewalk, bending to open the car that's been waiting for him. He slides onto the backseat without effort, closing the door behind him.
"Morning Mr Specter." His driver Ray calls behind himself.
He smiles casually. "Morning Ray," He says. "How was your weekend?" He asks, picking up the fresh copy of the New York Times that's waiting for him on the backseat. A gesture that Ray has bestowed every day since he's employed the man.
Clearly Harvey's not the only one with rituals...
"Good. Got to see my kid's piano recital." He divulges.
"Oh yeah?" Harvey remarks. "Chopin?" He offers.
"Debussy."
"Nice…" He smiles. "My brother Marcus's eldest daughter has a thing for the piano, too." He divulges.
The times he's tried to buy the kid a piano just to be met with the brick wall of his Brother's own stubbornnesses...
"Really?" Ray smirks into the rear view mirror. "Are we looking at another budding musician in the family?"
"Maybe..." He offers, hit for a moment with a sudden pang of feeling. He dashes the negative, the slight hit of losing his Father's legacy, just about the only thing that still has a hold on him.
He's pretty sure that that will be permanent scar on his heart.
"Have you never thought of...settling down?" Ray offers. "Having a few little 'Specters' of your own?" He asks.
He chokes back a slight surprise, smiling to his friend. "That, Ray...is a million dollar question." He toys, his jaw tightening to offset the way the question throws him so. "And...I need to find the perfect woman, first, before I even have an answer that question." He says.
It's a rather open response for a man like him. But then again, Ray, is a trusted friend. A confidant. And there are worst people in his life to spill to...
Mike Ross, apparently being one of them, he's found out recently.
"It's not so much about perfect, when you find the right one." Ray adds, a knowing smirk falling on the man's face as he looks into the rearview back at Harvey. "Trust me." He says.
The right woman…
He's not even sure how to approach the concept of such a thing.
"Of course," His driver adds, clearing his throat with sense of awkwardness at Harvey's sudden silence. "Sometimes all it takes is a beautiful woman to turn your head."
His eyes flick up then, a softness lifting his face out of thought. "You're right about that, Ray." He agrees with a smile. "You're right about that."
"Speaking of beautiful women...how is Ms. Paulsen?"
He almost rolls his eyes.
He should have seen that coming.
He wonders if Mike has descended on every single person in his life to innact a multi-pronged approach to his rather naive wish. That kid needs to get a hobby...
He abbates the urge to shake his head at his long-time-friend and employee. "Donna is...Donna. She's good."
"I guess it must be strange, to not have her as your Assistant anymore?" Ray offers, casually.
"It was…" He nods. "For a really long time." He admits. "But now...I mean, we share a wall, so." He shrugs.
In truth, he hates the wall.
He can't see her, and he hates it. Hates the separation, even though he knows that there's something unhealthy rooted in the feeling.
He thoroughly hates the wall.
"I gotta say, I miss talking to her every day." Ray's voice cuts the doubt in his head.
You and me both, he thinks to himself.
"I think she misses you too, Ray." He says. "I'll get her to give you a call." He offers. "You know how she likes to stay in the loop of things." He adds, smiling to himself.
"Thanks, Harvey." His driver greets.
They fall into a collective silence then, as he readies himself for the day. In all honesty, he feels as ready as ever. And for more than just work.
It helps that the sun is shining; that spring is finally taking shape around the city, framing the iconic concrete jungle with soft pinks and peach and lemon yellows of flowers in bloom, despite the obtuse temperature that's pulled a curtain of heat over the city much to it's confused inhabitants. He watches as the colours streak in between bright yellow cabs and jet black towncars.
They all remind him of her, of course. But he's not a chump. She is adorned in them now. It's a simple jog of his memory that she exists in the world. In his world. Still, even after everything. And he's not the only one to change. She's changed too; long gone are the black and white and stark monotones that had washed her into nothing but red hair and a bold expression every time she saw him. Now, she is a goddess of the springtime, and it soothes his heart to see her demonstrate her own gradual ease.
The last week was hard on them both.
The car pulls up along the familiar sidewalk, as he opens the door, nodding to Ray via the side mirror, shutting the door behind him as he hears the man wish him a good day and glides towards the doors, every step with a spring as he enters the lobby of his building.
Someone catches at him as they walk ahead.
It's the signature hair that draws his attention first. If it wasn't for the coppery red and the usual nude Manolo pumps he might not have spotted her. And it, her hair, looks rather different, almost poker straight down her long back, of which seems completely cloaked, the dark material dragging into a lavish bow at the hem of what looks like a white skirt.
He smirks, his eyes lingering on her shapely calves, as he gains a pace to catch up with her. He is halted by a crowd that flanks him only to merge like an amoeba in front of him, to a break of irritation, cause him to only just make it to the elevators. She seems to slow, standing off to the side as people file into the metal box. He watches as she turns to face him as he slides in beside her.
"Harvey?" She straightens, her neck tilting to him as he lines up next to her, planting his feet into the ground with authority.
"Donna," He chimes, giving her an easy smile as their eyes meet. He hasn't quite gotten used to the look she gives him, something unknown in those hazel eyes of hers. A less pensive stare than she gave of late but also slightly unreadable. He distracts himself with her attire, now able to see the dress head on, as his eyes flick down, the train at the back of her dress making more sense when you examine the front. The sleeves are black, and slightly tulip shaped, connecting to the back, and the front is white and straight and rather chic in his mind's eye, the neckline grazing her collarbones and her sharply straight hair making it a rather dramatic look. It's black and white, but suddenly, for all the right reasons.
Donna Paulsen...ever the dramatist...
He notices her square him a look of suspicion, as he turns to the front, his eyes settling on silver metal. He draws a breath, trying not to berate himself for the feeling it offsets.
"So...you like the dress, huh?" She says, her voice full of colour.
He turns to her, poker faced. "What?" He feigns a frown, before turning his gaze back to their settling position. "Yeah. It's...nice." He divulges, nonchalance deliberately raiding his words, a smirk on his face, ready to rile her.
"It's a gift. From a friend." She notes, candidly bending slightly with the information.
He double takes, straightening then, his chest puffing out with an emotion he'd rather not linger on. He's not sure how to take the information, diverting instead to a default angle.
"Oh yeah?" His eyebrow quirks. "Fashion based secret admirer, huh?" He offers, a playfulness in his voice that borders on the edge of poking fun. He waits a beat before his eyes connect with hers.
Suddenly she's looking at him, almost into him, peachy skinned and eyebrows raised.
"What?" He shrugs.
She sighs, squaring her eye-line to the elevator doors. "The friend's a woman, actually." She states.
His face is interested then, as he looks about him for effect before stepping closer to her. "Is this really the place where you want to tell me that you're now a lesbian?" He asks, his finger twirling.
Donna and another woman. That would be recently uncharted territory in his mind. It takes him back to the days when he would openly pursue her at work, all pomp and circumstance about himself. Talks of Big Bertha and a Threesome are still stored way back in the untouched corners of his mind...
Her head cocks, her expression flattening against his insinuation that causes his insides to burst open at the raw entertainment of their interchange. She straightens, looking straight at him. "Firstly…" She says, her index finger pointing into the air. "I wouldn't dream of placing such a tantalising image in your soggy mind...because you wouldn't be invited, and secondly,"
"Soggy?" He frowns, giving her a look.
"Secondly, she's a friend, and happens to be the Artistic Director of Givenchy," She says, her voice accenting the french name as she gestures to her attire.
"She hot?" He asks innocently, giving her a look that he knows will internally rile her.
"She's married." She counters, heading him off at the pass, with a deadbolt look.
He smirks, something akin to a held grin of being one-upped by her trademarked quick wit.
The doors open, and they walk out together, like they've done a hundred times, stalking the halls with something new to the air between them. Like old times, with a distinct upgrade. He feels powerful, and more so with her by his side. He's stepping into the offices that she recently haircut the rent of by a sizeable portion, reinstating her as his favourite secret weapon - alongside Mike Ross. He finally feels as though he has an unstoppable team around him. One that has his back. One that he can count on. Donna by his side, Mike to his right and Louis watching his back. A Unit. His true Family.
It really is a new era for Specter Litt.
He sees their offices approach, their tall strides and confident swagger noticeable to everyone around them, heads looking up at not only him, but the beautiful force of nature by his side. He senses her gravitate slightly away from him as she zones in on her own door. He holds the sigh growing within him at her impending departure into her own work day.
He turns his head before she's about to leave, glancing at her bright face, like a secret gift to himself. A reward for good behaviour.
"Have a nice day, Donna." He well-wishes coolly.
"Don't forget your four o'clock with Marty Webber," She reminds him with wide eyes, before smirking, and disappearing through her own door with a sway.
He smiles broadly to himself, taking a seat at his desk.
He breathes in a breath, looking out at the people passing past his open doorway.
Today, is a new day.
Full of fire.
And hidden gold,
That he's only just begun to mine for.
. ….
Clouds covered love's
Barb-wired snare
Strung up, strung out
I just can't go without
I could never drown in
They wanna get my…
They wanna get my
Gold on the ceiling
I ain't blind
Just a matter of time
Before you steal it
It's alright
Ain't no guard in my house
'Gold on the Ceiling' By Black Keys.
. . ...