Despite Harvey's predilection towards flashiness, he was not fond of the nightlife. Bright rooms and pulsing music irritated him. It was something Jessica had learned from experience. During his Harvard days, she'd taken him and a few lawyers to a bar downtown, hoping to get Harvey a bit more on good footing with his superiors. It had gone terribly. Not terrible in any overt way - no one fought or stormed out or insulted each other. No career-damaging conflicts went down. But Harvey had stuck by her side, like a puppy at first and then like increasingly aggravated wild animal being poked through his cage bars. Girls asked him to dance, he declined. Someone tried to buy him a drink, he'd glare. She'd ask him if he was having a good time, he'd sigh.
She tried to leave him there, he literally growled.
Now, 15 years later, she knows him well enough to suggest a quiet bar just on the outskirts of the city to celebrate the bagging of their most recent client, an up-and-coming fashion magazine that had been the bloody meat to so many circling law firm pit bulls. The magazine had been infuriatingly reticent about signing a contract - until Harvey closed the deal. As usual. Despite all his flaws, it was times like these that Jessica remembers exactly why she spent so much time and money on him, and why she had endured so many rumors and whispers behind her back about her and her little pet.
The bar is empty and low-lit. She wiggles into the booth across from him and expects the boyish, charmingly arrogant smirk he graces her with. He's in a good mood. She likes him in a good mood. She also likes him in a bad mood. She likes him in any mood, to be honest, because he's always on top of his game, no matter what.
He has two shot glasses already in front of him and shrugs when she cocks an eyebrow at them.
"You get started without me?"
"I'm sure you'll be able to catch up," he responds, still smirking. His coat is slung over the back of the booth next to him, but his tie is still perfectly placed, collar smooth. She realizes that this finicky need to be always put-together was something he had developed after meeting her. When she had found him, he'd been a mess.
On cue, a shot of scotch appears in front of her. Exactly what she likes. She tries not to smile at him and fails miserably. She takes a sip of the drink and lets it warm her into relaxing against the leather of the seat.
"You've had a good month," she remarks, after a nice silence has passed.
The smirk turns into a smile - one of his real ones. "Well, considering the fact that every month is a good month for me, I don't know what you could possibly mean."
"You brought in a client today that most firms had already given up on. Last week, you proved a woman's innocence - something you may claim you don't care about but I know you do - and the week before that you won a case that saved Ray his job. Sounds like an especially good month to me."
He shrugs. "I didn't win that case, actually."
"Ah." She raises her glass to her lips. "That's right. You settled that one out of the goodness of your heart."
"Goodness had nothing to do with it. I didn't' want to run the risk-"
"Oh, shut up."
He stares at her for a minute and then laughs. "Okay. You win. But I have a reputation to maintain, so let's keep that between us."
"Of course. I'll add it to the list of things we keep between ourselves."
His gaze flickers in that peculiar way that's just Harvey. She's grown a bit inured to it - she gave up a long time ago trying to figure what goes on in that mind of his. So instead of contemplating the brief change of his mood, she merely takes another drink and holds his stare until the twinkle returns to his eyes and he raises his own glass to his mouth.
She knows he doesn't like to be reminded of his softer side. It's crippling for his career, true, but she knows he also needs to remember it to keep him grounded. To keep that ego from becoming too swelled. Sometimes she wonders what he would do without her there to link him to his past - and she is the only link to his past. Parents both dead, brother up and gone, Harvey's alone. She knows it would be easy for him to forget where he came from. Knows he probably wants to forget. But all she has to do is look at him the right way and she knows - somehow knows - that he's right back in that old neighborhood with the weeds and the graffiti and the old beer bottles dotting the curb. He can't escape from that, and she knows that he shouldn't. That it's part of who he is, part of the reason why he can always be counted on to give a little push to others that he sees are clawing their way out of a bad situation. Why he gets protective, in his own way, of those he thinks are being treated unfairly. Those who are honest people - he may try to act like he guards Ray like some mother hen just because it benefits him to have a driver he can trust, but she knows that's bull. And she knows, in time, he'll realize that as well.
Usually, she'd push and prod him a bit more on the subject, but she lets it drop this time. He's in a good mood, and that's something she's a bit protective of.
The waitress comes over and asks if they want anything. She tells her she could go for another shot but Harvey declines.
Then the waitress - seriously - asks, "Is this a special occasion? Anniversary, perhaps? If so, I can offer you nice bottle of Pinot Noir free of charge."
Jessica's drink is halfway to the table when she freezes, processing the words. Anniversary? How could this girl possibly think-
She glances up at Harvey and sees the same surprise on his face. For a moment. Then his expression nearly melts into some combination of mischief and amusement. Her brain tells her that he's about to do something, and that she should really head him off before he embarrasses her, but it takes her mind just a second too long to flip through all the things he might have planned, and he's already smirking and nodding at the pretty waitress before she can react.
"That's right," he says, smiling widely, putting on a real good show of being sincere, "nine years, today." Then he stares right at her, face nearly aglow with downright glee and says, all syrupy-sweet, "You thought I'd forget, didn't you, sweetums?"
A bottle of Pinot Noir sounds really good all of a sudden. A whole bottle of Pinot Noir. She forces a smile back. Tries not to glare. "Well, after last year-"
"Let's not talk about last year," he interrupts, looking suitably panicked. She has to hand it to him, he's really good at acting. "The wine sounds lovely," he tells the girl and watches her scoot off with a look that would irritate her if he was her husband.
"You realize that bottle only costs about $35. You really don't need to hustle for a free one," she says after she has his attention again.
He wiggles his head in that annoying (and endearing) way of his. "Yeah, but free is free."
She lets it go because if she afraid she might feel the need to point out that he's not poor anymore. "I think you just like the idea of pretending to be married. No commitment but a little taste of domesticity."
"And free bottles of wine."
"You think she would have noticed that we have no wedding rings."
"Not all couple have rings - especially if you're rebellious, like us." He actually wiggles his eyebrows at her, and she finds herself laughing.
"I'm going to ignore the whole Oedipal vibe to this little charade and enjoy the wine."
He frowns. "Oedipal? You realize you're only 3 years older than me, right?"
"Not mentally."
He glares, but quickly smiles as the waitress reappears at his elbow, wine in hand. She puts two wine glasses on the table and then shows them the bottle. "Our best Pinot Noir for the happy couple. To nine beautiful years and hopefully many more."
"Hopefully," Harvey says, with annoying brightness, and reaches for the wine.
The girl pulls it away. "Ah, ah. It's customary for the husband and wife to share a celebratory kiss before we open the bottle."
Harvey's smile suddenly looks frozen in place. A deer caught in the headlights is the best way to describe it and, from Jessica's smug vantage point, an absolutely glorious thing to behold.
He falters. Rubs his forehead and laughs. "Actually," he start, voice rueful, "we-"
"Come on, Harvey," she says, feeling the need make him as uncomfortable as possible, "don't be shy." She leans over the table, and she is certain that he can see the mocking gloat in her eyes.
He stares at her for a while, mouth open and eyes wide and she does a victory dance in her head at how much this whole plan has backfired on him. A second passes. Then two. She's pretty sure he's gonna come clean any second now to the waitress and she's just waiting for him to break. And then his eyes suddenly take on that stubborn determination she's so familiar with. He cocks an eyebrow at her (challenge accepted) and then he leans forward before she can register what he's doing and presses his mouth to hers.
He smells like the scotch he's been sipping and some faint whiff of fading cologne. He tastes like the scotch he's' been sipping and...red bull? Probably. His face is warm and a bit flushed from the alcohol and his mouth is soft and gentle against her. It's just a faint kiss, nothing too get all up-in-arms about, but his nose is pressed against her cheek and she can feel the scratch of growth on his face and the whole thing is just a little too intimate, so she holds her breath until he pulls away, eyes dark and a bit worried.
He scans her face for a reaction as they both lean back in their chairs. The waitress pops the bottle and puts it on the table, wishing them a good night, and disappears somewhere behind the bar.
A tense silence presses down on them. He doesn't look like he knows what to say and neither does she. Finally, she pours herself a glass of wine (might as well enjoy it after all that trouble) and tries not to down the whole thing in one gulp. She sips calmly.
He smiles at her, uncertainly.
She shakes her head and laughs. "Well." Her voice is raspy and she coughs to clear it. "Well," she repeats, stronger, "I hope you're proud of yourself."
He exhales and his lip twitches. "Don't act like you didn't like it."
She pours him a glass and slides it over. Watches as he drinks it, eyes on her the whole time. She can tell that beneath the smarmy bravado, he's deathly afraid of her anger.
There's something else there too, under all that. Something familiar and old. Something she saw years ago when she first put so much of herself out there for him. Something he's pressed down and buried over so well that it rarely peeks through anymore, but sometimes just enough to remind her of his attachment.
Before she can stop herself, she asks, "Was it everything you dreamed it would be?"
His face shuts down. No smirk. No smile. No anger or indignation or joy of the fight. Just a calm stare at her across the table. He doesn't look like he's breathing at all.
After a painful moment of silence, he grins at her, though it's obviously affected, forced, and says smartly, "Not at all."