Weather Chapter 1, a suits fanfic

Weather

By Atheniandream

He had been trying to find her, for something. He can't remember what that something was, now. A stray file, maybe. The last page of a document for a merger, perhaps. Something that he'd needed another signature on, and she'd taken, to verify, only to not give it back when the shit had hit the fan, after yet another squabble filled with unimportant words to cover things that they were both too afraid to say to one another.

She wasn't answering her phone, when he'd tried to call about it. He couldn't work out if she was screening his calls in particular, or if she was out to a late and over running lunch. He never knew where she was anymore, and after the fourth month of her not being his secretary, added together with their string of now famous fights, it was starting to distress him, quietly and slowly.

She always let him know before. They used to be within one another's orbit almost constantly...

They were in a strange place right now. He was so angry at her. And yet, despite that, he didn't feel welcome in her company, either. Especially in her office. It had become a fortress against him, which considering the close proximity was hard to take. He'd spent an entire decade being able to walk in and out of her cubicle without a word, and now he was reduced to knocking. To weighing up the legitimacy of him entering her personal space with or without her there.

He had walked in, carefully glancing over documents that lay spread out on her desk. Fanned, like she used to do for him. He felt the pinch of regret in the space between his lungs at the sight of such a thing.

She had gotten him a secretary, recently. He had been too annoyed with her, still, to comment at the time. To even say thank you.

It was the last remaining strand between them. Cut swiftly, by her hand.

He had found himself lingering on little items on her desk. Flowers, and a stapler with an engraved 'D.P' on it - no doubt a ridiculous gift from Louis, when she'd acquired the space, a 'welcome to your own office' gift of over-the-top proportions - before his eyes caught at one of the drawers, slightly open.

He's not a snoop. He would never be, but the contents of said drawer shook at his mind for a second, so he leant back, and with one index finger, and pulled the drawer open on its runners.

It sat there, silver and battered and bruised. Like their relationship.

They hadn't used it once...since he'd told her about Paula.

And he hadn't wanted to ask because it hadn't felt right. Especially after the key. And then she had stopped offering it before trial.

Everything seemed broken now. Off kilter. Topsy Turvy...

"Mr Specter?"

He glances up in a second, his body straightening, like a boy who'd just been caught, until the familiar face of his rather young Assistant, Julie, sharpens his features.

"Someone's on the line for Ms Paulsen?" She says, looking at him for direction.

"Have you called her?" He asks, hoping to understand if she's taking calls or not. And who exactly is on the 'accept call' list..

"Yes. No answer. I'm afraid it's urgent." She explains, her face worried.

"Just uh...leave a message." He says flippantly, waving his hand at her.

"Actually, Sir, they're insisting that they talk to someone. now." She replies, her face unsure.

He groans, walking back around Donna's desk.

"Patch them through and I'll take it here." He sighs.

His assistant nods, disappearing back to her newly assigned desk.

He pulls out the chair of her desk, feeling like he's betraying the sanctity of her space as he sits down there.

Her chair is different to his. It's softer. There's not the support there like there is with his. His mind wanders oddly for a second, before he picks up the phone, noticing the red rectangle flashing at him, and presses the button beside it, connecting the call and placing it to his ear.

"Harvey Specter here. Donna's out at the moment. What is it?" He says, his hand tapping on the desk.

He listens on the other end, his mind halting with each word that's said.

"I'll...I'll find her. I'll...get her to call you." He stutters, his voice a mere ghost of what it was before.

He places the receiver down, noticing his own breath catch in his chest with a lumpiness.

"Harvey,"

His eyes dart up, to witness orange and peach and and pale pink, as two large and seemingly light brown eyes bore into his with an annoyance at his presence in her office.

It if weren't for the words floating about in his head this would be an entirely different encounter.

All of his frustration at her is stripped away, replaced with an entirely new emotion.

She narrows her eyes, her own slightly ornery demeanour dissipating into the air between them as she notices the difference in him. "Harvey, what is it?" She says, alarm in her voice.

He stands up, in one fluid motion, his eyes feeling glassier than they should for someone that he held complete contempt for.

"I uh...Donna...I'm so sorry." He says, stepping towards her.

She frowns, noticing his sudden closeness and how alien it has become, of late. "Harvey, tell me what's going on?" She orders.

"Your Dad...he, uh..." He swallows, his face charting a hundred words.

She steps back, catching almost every one.

"No..." She says, her face bending immediately with the pressure of everything he's not saying but inferring all too well. Her bottom lip trembles, her hands hanging limp by her sides.

"How did it..." She asks, before the threat of the truth is too much. "No." She says, snatching the word. "I don't want to know...I," She bends, a wave of panic making her shoulders turn in as she slumps, a cry falling out of her. "Oh my god." She whispers, looking about herself.

It breaks him, watching his own life in reverse, the emotion pour like liquid all over her pale face. He strides towards her, folding her into him without a second thought. She stiffens, before he feels her mouth, silent of sound and yet grimacing against his neck.

It feels strange, and for a moment his head is screaming at the contact and yet his mind feels lost, out of body, as she racks with sobs, his wider arms holding her steady on those enormous heels of hers.

He feels himself on autopilot, his hands rubbing at the middle of her back when she finally grips the fabric of his suit as it hangs down his back, her breath thready in his embrace as she tries to stop the freefall of salt ridden tears.

"I'm so sorry Donna," He repeats, his voice softer then, and feeling almost mute in such a moment.

With his Father, they never touched once. They never so much as hugged. But she stood there with him, silently as he faced the wall, his eyes blurring into vinyl with every painfully gulped breath. She didn't leave until he was done, and he owed her the same, at the very least.

His right hand slides up into her hair, sliding against the back of her head for a moment, before he checks himself, and drops it, a question of where the impulse even came from in the first place drumming into his mind.

She straightens, leaning away from him, an awkwardness at the black smudges that have appeared around her eyes, as she wipes at her cheeks with the side of each index finger. He stands there, unsure of what to do.

"I need to...tell my Mom...I need to...wait, who called?" She suddenly asks.

"Your Uncle...Joseph, I think?" He recollects.

She nods, the name familiar to her, as she runs at hand through her coral tinged hair.

"I need to...take the day. I need to..." She slides past him then, her eyes directing themselves to her bag.

"I'll call Ray," He says.

She slides her bag over her shoulder, her expression vague. "Thank you, Harvey."

He nods then, watching her walk away from him, on autopilot.

. .

He realises something, in the moment between her leaving and the inhale of breath.

He needs to be there for her.

He wants her to need him, in this moment.

He doesn't know where to start.

And that is the thing that catches at him the most...

. .

She's been gone all weekend. Paula has noticed, that sense of distraction in him. That when Monday morning comes, his tie is dark blue, all of a sudden. She's starting to pick up on things that Donna knew long ago. After everything that's happened, there's no space for the truth anymore. He can't tell her what's occupying him. It would cause another argument. And he can't handle that right now.

On Monday, when he enters the office, she's still not back.

He asks Rachel how Donna is doing, knowing that they'll have most likely been in touch several times. She gives him a guarded expression - still not happy with him, but never giving up the fact - and explains that the funeral is on Wednesday.

He nods, and spends Monday night pushing things around with a fork, as Paula tries to encourage casual conversation.

He realises, for the first time in his life, that the place Donna used to occupy within his life, is taken now. There are certain things that he can't do with her anymore. Certain things that are no longer her job. And it has nothing to do with her not being his Assistant anymore…

He comes out with the words on Tuesday night, in his apartment, as if he's been gearing himself up for three days without realising.

"I can't do this with you." He says, suddenly.

Her light blue eyes blink against the words, her face scrutinising his.

"Can't do what? What's going on?" She asks, leaning back into the sofa.

He decides to tell her the truth.

"Donna's Dad died. I...hated the guy...but she was there for me when my Dad died. And I need to be there for her." He tells her.

"Why?" She narrows her eyes. "Surely she has someone who can do that, Harvey. It's not your responsibility to be her emotional crutch, no matter how much you care for her."

"Paula, this is a non-negotiable." He argues.

"Well...I'm sorry Harvey, but I don't like the idea of my boyfriend going to comfort a woman that outright kissed him!"

"Paula," He says, trying to discourage her.

"You're unbelievable! It's like you can't see the truth, when it comes to her." She says, examining him.

"Paula, it's not like that, Donna and I, have been in eachother's lives for well over a decade."

"Yes. Well. I'm starting wonder why. Maybe it has nothing to do with her. Maybe it's all down to you." She accuses. "Maybe it's always been that way?"

"What?" He narrows his eyes then, a weird feeling stirring in his gut.

She stands up then, seeming to need the space. Either that or the advantage of height.

"Are you in love with her, Harvey?" She fires at him. "Are you in love with Donna?"

He swallows, feeling cornered in an instant. "No."

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe you." She says, a bitter laugh falling out.

"Paula," He says her name like a warning, his arms flapping. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't want you to stay anything to me right now." She says, her face sharpening as she turns away from him. She doubles back on herself. "Look," She says, her head shaking slightly. "Do us both a favour, and figure out how you feel about her. Because I can't be in this relationship, watching how she affects you the way that she does."

She walks away from him then, disappearing down the hallway.

He hears the door slam soon after.

He doesn't run after her.

He wonders if, in some sardonic way, he's planned her exit.

If he's planned the entire thing, all along.

We fought our fights in silence

But the war's not done

No ground was gained

But the fear from our past howls in the wind

It's a foolish and a dangerous endeavor

It's a cut against the grain

It is not wise to go against the weather

Just to get caught out in the rain

And through it all

Your words remain

Like teardrops in a hurricane

'Hurricane' by Jordan McKampna

He packs a bag, picks a black suit and books out a dark blue 1971 Plymouth Hemi Barracuda from the Car Club. It's a two hour drive, and it's already ten, but he needs the time to think, to process his conversation with Paula anyway. Ray had text him with the address of where Donna had been dropped off, and confirmed that it was her Father's place in Hartford, Connecticut.

It serves as his final destination of the night. He figures if she wasn't there, then he'll get a Motel, and look for her in the morning.

The weather is cold on the drive up there, as he turns up the A/C on the dashboard, the sound of smooth jazz playing in the background.

His life is a mess, and yet he's never felt calmer. He always did, when he had a clear objective in his mind. It helped direct the frustration in him. Something to focus on. Something to work towards.

She'd only featured twice in his life, in that regard.

The first, when he had asked her to come to the firm with him.

And the second, was to get her back, after Jessica had boldly fired her ass for a memo that she'd never even seen before, but had acted impulsively against.

When it comes to him, Donna is impulsive. He has learnt that now, since she had kissed him.

And he had kissed her back. He was well aware of it, after a time. So was she, it seems.

It had been everything else after that, that had ruined them…

He arrives quicker than he had expected he would, a direct result of his foot pressing firmly down on the accelerator most of the way there.

He pulls up to a humble looking family-sized home. A strange size for a single man with no immediate family close-by. It occurs to Harvey that perhaps the man had always been trying to claw back everything he once lost. He observes it's white furnishings, and a large porch gleaming in the lamplight. It's homely, for a house with no future. It's a morbid thought, but there it is.

It's almost twelve. But the lights are still on, he notes.

He pushes the car door too, leaving his suitcase for the moment. He climbs the stairs, coming face to face with a door decorated with lead and coloured glass. He knocks, inhaling a tired breath at his very long day.

He adjusts his footing when a mottled figure of orange, white and tan grows closer to the door.

The door opens, as his eyes find hers.

"Harvey," She says, her shocked face bending into a frown.

"Hey." He says, biting his lip.

"What are you doing here?" She asks, her trademark dryness as she observes him.

"I'm...being there for you. Just like you did for me." He says.

"I never went to your Dad's funeral, Harvey."

"Well, maybe you should have."

He means it. His Father had loved Donna Paulsen.

Her expression falters then, her hand sliding down the door's edge.

"You gonna let me in, or what?" He infers, feeling left out on a limb.

She gives him a strange expression, before leaving the door open.

If her Dad hadn't just died, he wouldn't be here, he tells himself.

The legitimacy of that statement doesn't linger long.

He shuts the door behind himself, before following her down a long white hall, the usual middle America decor popping out at him in pictures of the countryside, and a framed flag. He wonders if James Paulsen was a war-reenactment fanatic, as he observes little trinkets here and there.

He wanders into a large kitchen, spotting Donna in the corner, her finger flicking a kettle on as he smells the faint over-roasted smell of coffee, coming from a percolator in the corner. He gravitates to a nearby bar stool on a counter in the middle of the room. Her hair is now in a loose bun atop her head, and her cream and tan cardigan is wrapped around her thin frame. She's heelless, and smaller and for a moment he wonders how long it's been since he's seen her like that, without her laid in his office, or holding onto a door frame with a notable expression. She's oddly quiet. No doubt, still angry at him, and shattered from the news about her Father.

He watches her pick up the coffee jug, pouring what he assumes is his coffee, and wanders over to him, then, placing the coffee down in front of him, her hands folding neatly, if not slightly defensively across her chest. He notices her stand on one leg, like a yoga instructor, her lifted foot spreading against her other calf.

"Does Paula know that you're here?" She asks, her tone of voice serious, her eyes finding his for a moment.

He nods, chewing on his lip. "Yes." He manages.

She nods once, before the click of the kettle has her wandering over to the remaining cup, pouring hot water on what he smells as something fruity and sweet. She wanders back over to him, staying on the opposite side of the counter as she places her cup down, holding her hands around it for warmth.

"How's it going?" He asks her.

"Everythings...finalised." She says slowly. "Tombstone. Oak Coffin. Next to his oldest Brother." She states.

"How are you doing?" He asks her then, his face tilting to look at her.

"I just…" She pauses, sighing, her jaw cranking to the side as if the thought itself is just too potent to consider. "I realised...I barely saw him. Over the years."

"I'm sorry." He says, the sentiment automatic.

"I just...I never made the time." She shrugs.

"I know that feeling...all too well." He agrees, sipping his coffee.

"I just," She breathes...

"What?"

"Nothing." She decides, shaking her head.

"Donna," He presses gently, her name just the right pressure point to encourage the words out of her.

"He's never gonna see me get married, Harvey. Or have kids. Or be there for me…to help out."

He's been thinking. Lately. About his Brother, and his family, and everything that his brother has that he doesn't. The guy has his own restaurant, and a family, and kids, and yet...he has...a firm. And a complicated history with a woman that he's not even seeing. And a girlfriend...maybe.

"Donna," He says, noticing the way her face bends with pressure, to keep in the feelings she obviously hasn't exorcised yet.

"I've done nothing with my life, Harvey! And now there's no time to make up for that. He's not...gonna be a part of my life, anymore." She cries. "He's not going to be there...for any of it." She manages with a gasp.

He springs off of the barstool in the frame of a second, sliding around the counter towards her, pulling her roughly into his chest.

Seeing her cry is the one thing in the entire world that brings out a reaction in him.

She's too tried, it seems, to even object against the action of his embrace, as her arms fold around his sides, her hands pressing around the back of his lungs. At her real height, she's about four or so inches shorter than him, as he bends around her. Her head slides against the right side of his chest, as he folds her closer into him, her tears soaking the collar of his blue sweater.

He sighs, deeply, as his right hand smoothes up and down her back, feeling her breath catch in the pulsing waves of an almost sob. He slides his other hand across the right side of her face, his thumb wiping the moisture away, and tickling the wispy hairs of her hairline.

"You lived your life, Donna. And he lived his." He tells. "It's all you can do."

She pulls away then, a frustration scoring out of her. "You don't understand Harvey. I should have done those things, so that he could be a part of them. I had a chance to do them and I didn't, and now...I missed the chance to have those memories. Even after he's gone."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm saying that I should have said yes! To the one person who asked." She says, exasperated.

"What are you,"

"Mark Meadows? My Ex? He's...married now. Unhappily. He wanted for us to have...an affair. Something I would never, ever, have considered before." She says. "But he wanted to be with me, over a decade ago. He wanted to marry me and have kids with me, and he still does now, and if I'd have said yes, back then, then my Father wouldn't have had to miss ANY of it. His memory would have lived on in my children, and my life, and..."

"Donna," He swallows thickly, his mouth feeling dry all of a sudden.

"But instead, I'm standing here, with nothing to show for it, and my Father's gone before I could even consider anything."

"Donna. Look...it doesn't matter what you do. Losing a parent is hard. But if this guy won't leave his wife for you, then it either means that he's too much of coward, or that you did the right thing back then,"

"You really think that you should be lecturing people on not being a coward?" She fires at him, her intention soft in the space between them.

"Dammit Donna, why do you think I'm here!?" He says, his voice raising in pitch.

"I don't know, Harvey? I don't understand anything you do anymore." She says, her tone cutting as she shuts down the conversation, moving past him then.

"Donna," He objects, his voice raising with the distance that she makes.

"Can we just...not talk about 'Us' tonight? I have to bury my father in the morning." She reminds him.

He nods then. It makes sense, he thinks, as he looks to his watch. It's almost 1am. And he didn't come here for to fight.

He hears the stairs creak, immediately following her.

When he reaches the top of the landing, he notices a light on, his feet following it like a moth to a flame.

His head rounds the corner, noticing her fluff the pillows on a large bed, two towels at the end. "You can sleep in here." She says, giving him a tired look. She moves towards him, before pausing. "Did you bring a suit?" She asks, limply.

"In the car." He nods, his lips twisting.

She nods. "I'll see you in the morning." She tells him, her face unreadable, as she starts to move past him. His hand catches at hers, as his fingers close around his own.

"I'm right here, if you need anything. Okay?" He says, his chin lowering to make sure she looks him in the eye.

She nods, seeming to relax for the first time since he's arrived. "Goodnight, Harvey." She says, her hand sliding out of his.

He sees freckles in negative, as she walks away.

He wants to go to her, still, even as he lies in a stranger's bed.

He's not sure what to do with that, just yet.

The shadows appear and linger behind us

From the raging sun

No words exchanged as we speak from our hearts, and hold back the tears