Author's note:
I wrote this right after 3x16 and just recently came across it again. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own suits nor do I claim any ownership. All characters belong to their respective creators.
Maybe We're Doomed
She doesn't think about the what ifs.
She doesn't ponder the maybes.
She only meddles in the 'is' and the 'are' of things. It's better that way–safer.
Because then she knows she's not setting herself up for hurt. Not building herself up, just to fall.
She wants to help Harvey–wants him to succeed.
She does help him–to succeed.
Professionally.
Personally.
And every relevant adverb in between.
When she pushes him, it's because he needs it.
When she pushes him further still, it's because she knows he needs that too–he wants it.
-/-
She doesn't know what to feel when she learns that Scottie is staying.
For Pearson Specter.
For Harvey Specter.
She doesn't stop to assess her feelings; she doesn't stop to think about any of the possible outcomes or the most probable one.
She knows he's asked her to stay.
Harvey wants Scottie to stay.
Ergo, Donna wants Scottie to stay.
She wants it to work out for them. For him.
Because Donna knows, that in his own complicated way, Harvey wants this.
Donna tells him to be honest with Scottie–to open up.
An expensive bottle of wine won't let him off the hook anymore.
Donna micromanages his affairs.
She manages him.
He puts on an affronted act, but he knows she's right.
She always is.
-/-
She tells him to lie. Tells him not to let Scottie know about Mike.
'Wait, what happened to the truth setting you free?'
He's angry.
He's confused.
He's out of his element.
-/-
He ends up telling her.
Because it's the truth.
She leaves him anyway.
She wanted him to change and be different.
Apparently he's too different–too changed.
It's the way of the world.
-/-
Before she can fish out her spare, his door opens, revealing a still-dressed, haphazard Harvey, sans suit jacket.
"She's gone."
She simply watches him, her earlier suspicions confirmed. She doesn't have the opportunity to think because he continues.
"The kid's leaving."
He has trouble getting out the last two syllables.
His words lead her thoughts straight to poor, tormented Mike. She knows this decision has weighed heavily on him. She knows he would do anything for Harvey. But she also knows he needed to do this for himself. Sadly, nothing will fulfill him like his love of the law. Except, at some point, the risk just isn't worth it.
She looks up to see that Harvey's moved out of the doorway, giving her room to come in.
She sees a bottle and an almost empty glass of what she can only assume to be scotch on the coffee table; the one she still remembers picking out years ago.
She can picture him–sitting on the leather couch, swirling his drink, staring at the blank television screen, phone in hand.
-/-
She wouldn't have come.
She wasn't going to come.
But with Harvey, the silence is worse than the actual words.
She had excused herself from the table for two during a date that had been planned three weeks in advance, making her way to the powder room.
At first she heard only breathing, the soft hum of his inhales and exhales.
She allowed him exactly one minute.
"Harvey."
"Donna?" he managed to get out.
"Sorry, must have pocket-dialed. You know I don't know how to use this silly thing."
"Of course, good night Harvey."
He doesn't reply, but she can still make out his breathing on the other end of the line.
It takes her all of ten seconds to decide that she'll be leaving dinner–with Alex the actuary, her surprisingly decent date–behind.
She apologizes, offers to pay the bill–he doesn't let her–and thanks him for the pleasant company.
Her exit is so abrupt; she doesn't hear his last words.
Another time then, for sure.
-/-
He sits back on the sofa, doesn't ask her to join him.
She knows her way around–better than he does.
She stands in the foyer.
She loses track of how long.
She doesn't know what she's contemplating.
The last thing she remembers is thinking what will become of them.
Resistance is futile.
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
When in Rome…
Before she realizes it, she's set her belongings down–somewhere–taken a glass from his cabinet and made her way to where he's sitting.
Harvey takes her glass and fills it with the amber liquid, holding it out to her once she's settled in her seat.
She doesn't broach the subject of petite brunettes only because she's too emotionally exhausted to deal with that can of worms. If he brings it up, that'll be something different altogether.
"So this is what parents feel like when their kid goes off to college; empty nest syndrome, they call it?"
Her voice, on the surface, appears to be light, but Harvey can pick up on the heavy undertones.
They've been through a lot, the three of them.
He gives her a look–of understanding, of concordance–that says it all.
He raises his glass.
"To not having to clean up the puppy's messes anymore."
She's not falling for that load of bull.
"Nice try, I almost believed that one," she lets out, making eye contact.
She sees emptiness in his eyes.
"This is good for him," she reassures.
She doesn't know who it is she's trying to convince.
"He'll just be down the street, Harvey."
She knows it won't be the same.
Harvey saw something in Mike–maybe a part of himself, who knows–and with much difficulty, trusted him and let him in.
Letting go is just as hard, if not more so.
"He told me, that it technically made him my boss," he says rather absent-mindedly, sounding almost like a proud dad.
"I hate to say it, but he learned from the best," Donna speaks into her glass.
"I guess you could say he had good teachers."
His use of the plural doesn't go unnoticed by her. And neither does the realization that she may be a little tipsy.
How many glasses has she had?
Why is there only one cushion separating them?
She simply looks ahead, letting the city skyline calm her, reminding her to inhale and to exhale.
"Everybody leaves."
His voice is so raw, so resigned.
"But you're still here."
She asks herself why, more times than she cares to admit. She always comes up short an answer.
"Maybe we're doomed Harvey. Maybe that's our curse," she sighs. "Our burden to bear."
Does she really believe that?
He gets up and takes the empty bottle and glasses to the kitchen and then disappears into the bedroom.
He's back a few minutes later, in a t-shirt and flannels, blanket and pillow in hand.
"I laid something out on the bed; you know where the toothbrushes are," he explains without making eye contact.
She nods, getting up to help him make up his bed for the night.
And just as she turns to leave, he grabs her hand, rubbing his thumb once, lazily across her palm.
"We are not doomed Donna, not in the least."
"Certain…lines were drawn years ago that need to be remodelled–for the sake of both our sanities."
"Good night Harvey."
This time, he answers.
"I'm thinking waffles for breakfast; been a while since you've had those."
With her back to him, she smiles.
Maybe they aren't doomed after all.