and all that jazz ; harvey/donna ; R (NC-17) ; 4,193 words ;
1, chapter 1
- it's 1921 and prohibition is in the air
a/n: this came from a prompt about harvey and donna in 1919 and turned into a much bigger, much different idea. this concept will be different because it's making the good guys on the other side of the law and putting the bad guys in the good side of the law, but it's not that simple - the "good guys" are still going to be the bad guys. if you aren't interested in reading it then don't read it
"Mister Specter."
Harvey halts with his fingers on the doorknob, his head turning at the voice like it's interrupting him on his quest. It's a voice that's all too familiar, probably will haunt him in his sleep as he curls up against his mattress deep down in Brooklyn. His eyebrows furrow in a silent accusation as his body follows close behind in the movement, his suit jacket tightening at his sternum.
His mouth curves upward in a tight smile, "Miss Scott."
"Been looking for you," she says.
He laughs as he shoves his hands into his pockets, "well, ya found me."
His eyes travel down the length of her, noting that her skirt is a little short but it's made of the finest material he's ever seen. It's made of her Sunday best but also reveals enough that it's far beyond unholy. Harvey looks because she's silently asking him to but he isn't really interested - he's been there, done that.
"You're a tough man to find," she probes.
He sighs in annoyance. "Did you need something, Dana?"
"You only call me Dana when you're sick of the bullshit," she muses.
"Quite the mouth on you," he points out, "but you're avoiding the question."
She smiles, a mixture of flirtatious and condescending, "a lady is never easy."
"You're hardly a lady," he counters with a laugh. His lip curls in disgust as he looks at her practically throwing herself at him. They have a shady history, one that should come with a warning sign. Harvey doesn't make a habit of repeating his mistakes and Dana Scott is nothing but a mistake. "Can I help you with something?"
"I just thought I would drop by and see how everything was working out for you, you know, since the law passed." Her voice is accusatory, like she's trying to catch him in the middle of something. He doesn't like it. It isn't his something to be caught in the middle of.
"Oh, everything is great," he replies dryly, "people love to listen to jazz without booze. Dad's business is surviving. Stop coming around and asking me questions like you care."
"I loved you, Harv-"
"It's Mister Specter to you. Don't pretend like we're friendly. You have a husband and he isn't me. Leave me alone and don't come around here anymore."
She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth in an attempt to silence herself. He was once charmed by her inability to stop talking, intrigued by the words that came out of her mouth and the sheer intelligence that she encompassed, but not anymore. It's his first night back from Boston and she was the last person that he wanted to see.
He bids her goodbye with the nod of his head and proceeds into the building. He nods to the man behind the counter, some kid named Dean or Dan or Cameron - he doesn't fucking know - but he's sure he'll learn the names of everyone eventually. Now that's he's back from Boston with a law degree, he hopes to talk his dad into letting him take over the business. He's turning into an old man and he needs to retire.
He opens the secret door in the floor and takes a step onto the top step; he descends the stairs a whole new world comes to life. The music is louder. The people are brighter. The laughter echoes off of the walls over the sweet sounds of jazz. It's welcoming but knocks him off kilter at the same time.
Marcus sees him from the poker table and offers him a nod, one that is a professional courtesy rather than personal. Harvey has to give it to the kid for really shaping up since he last saw him. He leans against the bar top with ease, squeezing in between the crowd. The lights dim, the room darkens and a spotlight singles in on the stage - Harvey's eyes follow the light.
The stage lights up and the redhead standing behind the microphone is so elegant that she looks out of place. She has sex appeal and she dresses in a way that reveals enough to still keep it a secret. She's putting on a show but she isn't giving it up. He can feel his fingertips tingle at the sight of her because he's dangerously intrigued by her. She is no Dana Scott. She's something else.
More.
He clears his throat and digs in his pocket for a cigarette, something to busy his hands. The air isn't even in his chest anymore, like his lungs decided to fail him now, and he's finding it difficult to swallow the moment her mouth opens. The way she sings isn't the jazz that makes the world around him move, it's the kind that makes the world around him seem non-existent. His gaze finds her mouth and he watches it intently, the words falling out of it echoing in his head like he's under water and drowning.
He brings a stick to his lips and perches it between them, fishing through his pockets for a matchbook to light it. He sighs in annoyance when he can't find one and nearly gives up to let the taste of tobacco linger on his lips. A waitress passes him and he's barely able to control his limbs enough to reach out and touch her elbow to keep her from getting too far away.
"Excuse me, Miss," he says quietly, like if he speaks too loudly he'll interrupt the woman at the front singing.
She offers him a genuine smile and supplies her name - "Rachel."
"Rachel," he corrects himself with a breath of relief, "do you have a light?"
"Of course," she replies.
She hands him a matchbook from her drink tray and turns to leave; he stops her again before she can get too far. He gestures towards the stage, striking his match, "who's that up there?"
"Donna," Rachel answers.
Harvey's eyebrows furrow as he tries to rack his brain on whether his dad has mentioned her before or not. He can't recall. "She new?"
"She's the best of the best," Rachel replies.
A smile tugs at the corner of Harvey's mouth, "Thanks, Rachel. Have you seen my dad - Gordon Specter?"
"I'm sorry, I don't," Rachel answers apologetically; her lips quickly slide into a smile, quick recovery time, "I'd check his office though."
"You're an angel," Harvey says with that Specter smile he inherited from his father.
She turns on her heel to deliver a small glass of Bourbon to some fancy pants British guy who Harvey suspects is there more for business than for pleasure. The guy looks too well kept, a little bit of meat on his bones and a smile that plays a little on the conniving side. He wonders if he's dad even has the first idea of what's going on, that he has a suspicious looking gentleman loitering in his club.
He decides that it isn't his problem right now, that if his father did know only accosting the man would cause problems for the business and that's the last thing that's needed around here. He takes a puff of his cigarette and stands upright, resting his weight on his heels as his eyes cast in the direction of the singer. He wants to stay, to watch her, to learn all of her secrets but he knows he should probably find his father before it gets too busy.
He sighs in resignation as the song comes to a close, having already let time pass by too much so he could listen to her. Good music is hard to find and in Boston, they don't even know what that means. He takes another long drag of his cigarette before he taps it out in the ashtray on the bar. He halts in his step as he locks eyes with the singer, Donna, and she tosses him a smile - an all knowing smile like she's known him for months or years.
He steadies his breathing as he returns her smile, the Specter smile that he inherited from his father and makes women swoon while making men envious. He balances on his heels as she winks, his hands settling in his pockets as he lightly shakes his head like his heart doesn't skip a beat. He thinks that men probably fall in love with her on a daily basis.
In a moment of vulnerability, he lifts his hand to offer her a tiny wave before tilting his bad back in the direction of his father's office. His head slowly follows, begrudgingly like he gaze is unwillingly to budge away from the sight before him - away from the redheaded woman in a stunning, glittering black dress. She owns the stage, the room, with an ease that almost makes him jealous if he weren't so intrigued.
His shoes echo in his ears but not half as loud as her voice rings in them, although the sounds of celebration drown out as he slips into the back behind the bar. The door swings on its hinges behind him, hugging the frame quicker than it used to like it's trying to keep the business away from the party - sealed off like it his something to hide. Soft voices echo off of the walls down the hallway, the hallway lights falling dimmer and dimmer as though he's disappearing into a cellar (but then again, he may be).
His father's voice is all too familiar but in a comforting way and it warms the ache in his joint, the chill in his bones. His lips curve upward at the corners in preparation in greeting his father for he hadn't gotten to see him since his return. He'd gotten in too early or too late or too something and had only stumbled upon notes scrawled in Gordon's handwriting.
He lightly knocks on the door of his father's office before poking his head in, hoping that he isn't potentially sabotaging a deal or interrupting something that is direly business related. He's met with a smile graced on a woman he's never met before, but it's both daring as well as welcoming at the same time. He quirks an eyebrow almost immediately before sliding his gaze over to his father.
"Harvey," Gordon greets, promptly pushing himself to his feet, "you made it home safely. I was starting to think that I was making you being here up."
"In the flesh," he returns, slipping all the way into his dad's office and letting the door click shut behind him.
Gordon gives a gentle chuckle while crossing the room, "I'd like you to meet my business associate, Jessica Pearson."
"Nice to meet you," Harvey says immediately. He takes two steps at a time to close the space between them and take her hand, lifting it to press to his lips. She gives a rather elegant bow in return, makes Harvey realized that this woman is some kind of powerful. "Was I interrupting?"
"You're never interrupting, Son," Gordon answers honestly.
"Your father here is quite the charmer," Jessica admits, "and he has a magnificent way with words."
Harvey's eyebrows furrow in confusion but the polite smile never leaves his lips, "it's part of the Specter charm. At least that's what I've been told."
"Marcus has the same smile," Jessica supplies, "smart boy."
"The good qualities came from our father," Harvey agrees.
Gordon doesn't miss the dig at Harvey's mother and even Jessica takes pause. She maintains her elegance. Harvey suspects she doesn't know how to be anything but class. She pushes herself to her feet, purse clutched tightly to her waistline, and stares at Harvey for just a beat.
"I suspect I better be going," she announces.
"Jessica," Gordon interjects, "let me walk you out."
Harvey wraps his hand around the door knob and pulls, tilting his body at an angle as he steps back so the pair can slip passed him. He hears murmuring all the way down the hallway, listening intently as their voices bounce off of the walls. He doesn't mean to be so rude (even though he'd simply call it being perceptive) but his father is a very quiet man and Harvey sometimes feels as though he barely knows him anymore. Besides, he'd like to see his father move on from his mother; he has a lot of unvoiced opinions regarding the woman.
Despite Jessica's color, he's intrigued by the fact that she's risen in power. Although she's clearly powerful in a world that is mostly supposed to no longer exist and Harvey is beginning to learn that there aren't any more rules in this world. He doesn't want to be in it but he doesn't want his father to be in it either and the way to get his father out of it is to put himself into in his place. Still, he hadn't expected to see a woman, let alone a black woman, wheeling deals in his father's office - not that he has anything against it, just that it's practically unheard of.
His father's voice cuts out but he hears footsteps echo down the hallway. His steps are firm but lighter than they used to be, at least from what Harvey remembers, but some of his memories are gone – his memories from before are fading, drowning out in the sounds that he's tried so hard to forget. The sound of his father's footsteps resembles the echoes he can't get out of his mind.
He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the air in his lungs - in through his nose and out through his mouth - and feels the air tighten in his chest. His chest feels tighter and tighter to the point that he almost has to brace on something for support, but he's brought back when he feels a slight tug on his sleeve. Harvey opens his eyes to be met with a smile that mirrors his own, his father's shoes sliding on the floor as he steps back.
"Walk with me," Gordon says.
Harvey swallows and does a half nod, following Gordon's lead down the hallway. His pace is just a few strides behind the older man and Harvey tries to match the strides. It takes a few moments but his father is more accustomed with the floor than he is.
"You seemed a little friendly with Miss Pearson," Harvey teases.
Gordon laughs, "it isn't the way it seems, Son. Things are not much different than before you left."
Harvey hesitates because he's been gone for a really long time, at least that's the way that it feels. He doesn't talk about the things he's seen, the things he's done, all that much. He isn't even sure that he would know how to put it into words if he were to try and he sure as hell isn't about to try. He doesn't want to burden his father with the memories he's only trying to forget, no, because his father is a loving, caring and gentle man so much so that he would try to make Harvey's memories his own.
"Things are quite different, Father," Harvey counters gently. He doesn't need a fight on his hands, not one that could potentially spill all of his secrets out in the open. He paints the most convincing smile on his face, the most convincing lie that he's ever told, and carries the weight of his burdens with him. "Prohibition is in the air."
"I'm not talking business with you, Harvey. I told you that this is a world I don't want you to be part of and I refuse to discuss it with you. I don't want to talk ins and outs with you, Boy, and it's for your own good. I think we both know you've been through enough."
"Dad," Harvey replies, voice edged with annoyance, "I don't think it's fair to be in this world, to have Marcus in this world, but keep me out of it."
"If I go down, you're not going down with me," Gordon says firmly, "I sent you to law school so you could have a different life than we lead here. I want you to be on the other side because you hold your morals near and dear. You are the most wholesome person I know and I don't want to see you lose that."
Harvey sighs in defeat, their voices echoing down the hallway in a trail behind them, "you know, you're not like the rest of them in this world."
"But I am in this world. Everything about this world courses through my veins – the music, the people –"
"The corruption," Harvey interjects sarcastically.
"That's why you don't belong here. You see it that way and it isn't about corruption at all. This is about our rights, our freedom which is the very foundation we built this country on. This is bigger than you and me, Son. It's bigger than all of us and if we don't do something about it now then our government will become something it was never meant to be. We aren't an innocent nation, we just got out of a war, and the last thing that we need to focus on is how to limit the people when we should be rebuilding in every way that we possibly can."
Harvey smirks, "if you feel this strongly about it then maybe you should run for office."
"Can't," Gordon replies with his own smirk as they stop in front of a door, "I have too many secrets now and it's too late to go back."
Before Harvey can retort, Gordon's fist balls in front of the door and he lightly racks his knuckles against it. Harvey can only assume that their conversation has come to an end or is at least on pause. He'd never noticed how long the hallway seemed until now, until the knock echoes around them and it sounds a bit like the war.
The door opens, the creak of the hinges disappearing as everything around him stops. His mind plays tricks on him, tells him that the light is a soft orange and highlights her frame in a way that he's never seen before and her voice replaces every thought that he's ever had. Immediately he wants to replace his own voice in his head with hers because he doesn't want to hear anything else.
"Mister Specter," the woman with the fire colored hair greets, "what a pleasure to be seeing you."
"Miss Paulsen," Gordon returns. Harvey gulps at the sight of her, a satin gown tied around her waist but the v of the neck dipping dangerously low between her breasts. Harvey tries not to be rude and let his eyes travel there, reveling in the milky white tone of her skin, but he can't help himself; his breathing becomes shallow. "How are they treating you?"
"They are quite accommodating, the best I have ever worked with," she admits, "and this must be Harvey."
Harvey takes that as his queue to speak and jumps forward offering his hand for a shake, "Harvey Specter."
She laughs lowly and he can only assume it's because he seems so flustered. The always calm and collected Harvey Specter thrown off by a woman - oh how they'd laugh at him back in Boston now. But he'd be willing to bet his right arm that they've never seen a woman with this kind of caliber.
"Donna Paulsen," she replies, taking his hand. She turns on her heel, her tall heels that makes her taller than she already is, that demands he look her in the eye despite everything else she's offering him to look at. She leaves the door hanging open before she says with a smile, "please, come in."
Harvey follows his father's lead, stepping over the threshold for a reveal of how the other half lives. He thinks that if circumstances were different, she'd be a big stare and not a soul would be able to take their eyes off of her. If they lived in another time, she'd be a starlet and everyone would want her and those who didn't want her wanted to be her.
"And how are the patrons treating you?" Gordon presses.
She smiles radiantly, "they are wonderful, without a doubt."
"I'd be lucky to get up there and perform a song or two with you," Gordon admits.
"Oh, I'd be the lucky one," she returns. Harvey's beginning to feel like he's interrupting something until she turns her focus to him. He feels like he's having an out of body experience. His gaze becomes softer and he tilts his head in anticipation. "Gordon tells me that you're home from law school."
Harvey's taken aback by the fact that this woman is on a first name basis with his father but he does his best not to be shaken by it; a polite smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, "that's right. But that's boring. We don't have to talk about that."
"I've never been to Boston," she says with a small twinkle in her eyes, "tell me all about it. What did you do?"
"We threw tea into the harbor," Harvey jokes. She laughs and there isn't a moment that he thinks it might be just for his benefit. Her laughter makes him smile. "No, it's boring. I read a lot of books, spent a lot of time in the library."
"I somehow find that hard to believe," she says gently. She lifts a cigarette to her mouth and he jumps, digging through his pockets for the matchbook he'd gotten from Rachel earlier. He strikes the match and houses it to light her cigarette for her - she takes a puff and smoke rises from the corner of her mouth. "A man like you probably had plenty of other things to occupy his time with."
"What does that mean?"
He asks as he leans against the corner of her vanity with his hip. It's only then that he realizes his dad has left the room. He instantly feels safer around her, like it's the only way he can forget his troubles. Nothing is as loud as her and nothing has been able to take him out of his mind before now.
"It just means you're a handsome man, Harvey Specter," she answers pointedly. He furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head to take her in, absorbing her words as he feels his heart beat a little faster. She takes another drag of her cigarette and smirks. "You don't have to pretend to be so surprised for my sake."
"I'm just not used to women being so forward," he admits.
She lightly, shakes her head, "you've never had a woman tell you that you're handsome?"
He shrugs, "not one as beautiful as you."
"Are you coming on to me?"
"Miss Paulsen, please," he returns, "I'm a gentleman."
"You don't have to call me that," she replies with a light shake of the head.
He purses his lips as he watches her flick the ashes off of the tip of her cigarette and they fall into the ash tray. He swallows and lets his gaze finally shift away from her, eyes tracing the floor like he's looking for comfort. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing, not so soon. He slowly shifts his gaze back to her and her offers her a small smile. His eyes crinkle a little and it feels more real than anything else he's ever knnown.
He reaches out and lightly touches the back of her hand, her skin soft beneath his fingertips, "then what would you like me to call you?"
Their eyes lock and she turns her hand over beneath his fingers, the tips of them sliding into the deep creases of her palm. Her gaze shifts to their hands, his fingers pushing towards her body until they slide just past her wrist. He watches her throat, watches her breath hitch there, watches her swallow, and his lips slightly part as he watches her.
"You can call me Your Highness," she finally replies.
He laughs, "I'm not calling you that."
"Then just Donna is fine."
He swallows hard and retracts his hand, feeling vulnerable in the moment and like he can't stand himself. He thinks that she couldn't possibly be comfortable being this close to him, being touched by a stranger, and he should know better. Worse things have happened for less than this.
"I'm sorry," Harvey says aloud, "I'm being inappropriate."
"Hardly," she insists all too quickly, "I feel like I know you so well even though I just met you."
"You know more about me than I know about you," he points out.
She quirks an eyebrow, "and I'd like to keep it that way."
"What do you have to hide?"
"We all have secrets, Mister Specter."
"Harvey," he corrects, "call me Harvey."
"Harvey," she corrects; the way that his name tumbles off of her lips makes him suck in a breath in an attempt to steady himself.