Big Love to all the reviewers out there, but THIS is a one shot. I'm so stoked for the new season!
'I Waited for You' By Atheniandream
"She, like everybody else, knows that it will only DRIVE you away,"
"Is this about YOU?"
"I know that your mother hurt you, but you NEED to get over it."
The Jazz, lulling in the background behind him wasn't soothing anything. The night sky, cloaking his emotions to the rushing world below him wasn't soothing anything. In these moments, he missed his father; his father's blind optimism and belief that he would make it through and that the world would right itself.
Today, Harvey wasn't making it through. The world was askew and would not be righting itself anytime soon.
He'd severed his relationship with Mike. His relationship with Jessica had gone backwards and plummeted. He was now backed into the partner 'bullpen', waiting on managing partners and answering to everyone from this moment on.
And Scottie?
Scottie…was a no-go. The revelation that she was in love with him was a shock. It didn't make sense and it only made him fear the worst of what they were. They didn't complement each other. The basis of their appeal was in the sex; the way they sparred against one another, the competition, the chance… but if she'd been in love with him the whole time then what then? Then, Donna was right. But how could they start on a level ground if she'd only ever reacted to him? For years he and Dana had only ever played against what they knew about each other, or at least he'd only ever reacted to what she'd given him. In some ways, maybe they'd put each other in separate corners. The only difference was, he was reaching for the towel, and Scottie was reaching for what…the 'white flag'?
How far did they have to go back to make things right?
His insides told him it was a lost cause. Sure, he loved her, in a measurable amount, as allowed by their tempestuous relationship. To him, it was built on more than sex, on trust, on friendship, but on romance….?
What was 'Romance'?
In his years, he'd never really come to terms with or understood what it was. To his father, it was the blind love of another. The need to be with that person no matter what crosses they had to bare. His father had loved his mother so implicitly that he himself had never fully understood the logic of it. But at least he had loved. He'd never ever share it, but he envied his father that at least; the ability to love, unconditionally. He, on the other hand was full of conditions; conditions which were now crashing down around him, leaving him no room but negotiation of pride; and Harvey Specter's pride was finite and a raw deal, a raw deal that had been peeled and segmented for all to see.
The record came to a stop, and a new one played. But he hadn't moved and inch.
"Good choice." He mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear.
Her red hair came into view as she passed his desk and sat in his lounge chair tucked in the corner, flicking off her shoes.
"It's a favourite." She smirked, rolling her shoulders, unknotting the kinks in her neck against the soft padded leather of the lounge chair.
"If I find a scratch on that…" He warned.
"You won't," She insisted.
They both sat in audible silence listening to the lulling jazz trumpet play all the melancholy that it had to give. A sublime edge of loneliness mixed with swooping chords and watery atmosphere. It was perfectly matched for this moment. He didn't want to feel high, or low, he just… wanted the music.
She was the only person that he shared this with, who he ever dared to let into the world he'd made. Mainly because at the beginning she'd bulldozed her way in, making her claim and delving with a youthful curiosity into the sacred world of his music. And then when allowed to she quietly remained, absorbing and revelling with him in the moments where he found music soothing, emotive, channelling. He'd let her stay because she'd always played by the rules. And so far, she'd never really hurt him enough to suspect her. But it didn't mean that he gave her all the rope. In some ways he gave her less than others. And she balanced it well, he had to give it her. She was always welcome on his island of solitude, however much he protested.
"So," She said. He felt the encouragement in her voice, and wasn't in the mood to challenge it.
"So… I got Scottie her job back."
"Good," He heard her say, looking up to find her face complacent, maybe a little tired if not lulled by the music.
"Derby asked me if I wanted her to work in London….or here." He looked for her, brown meeting brown for a second, calculating her reaction but not questioning why. "I chose London."
He watched her draw in a slight breath, her chest lifting, her mouth pouting slightly taking in his words. For a second he couldn't read her, her eyes distant, possibly buried in their last conversation. Again he felt that push he'd felt when she'd started talking about feelings and not fighting for what he felt in his heart. He kept the questions at bay and waited for her.
"You're not in love with her…" She reasoned. Not even a question. Was there anything this woman didn't know?
"We would both…have to change a lot, for it to work…"
He didn't lie. He wasn't sure if he'd accepted that he and Scottie would never be together, or whether he was just happy with them being 'friends with benefits', sparring partners and the ying to each other's yang. If he was brutally honest, he had never thought of them in that way. Sure they were explosive, and he did care about her… a lot. But was that really what he wanted to settle down to? Only now had it occurred to him that he had started to 'settle down'. It was a humbling notion…
"…Are you sure?" She said simply, still half lost in the music, her tight-clad toe that had been tapping to the bass line stilling for a moment.
The way she held his gaze, it unnerved him like it hadn't in SO long… like she was looking at him. Not the bravado he'd built up; this armoured wall with snipers at every corner, but the real him: Uncovered and vulnerable. Her eyes widened like dark brown orbs, round, watered and truth-bearing, waiting for him to answer and so much younger than he remembered.
"Yes." He said, clearing his throat.
He'd expected for her to challenge him again. But she wasn't a battering ram. She had told him what she needed to and he would do with it what he wanted.
And he would, in time.
The record turned to circular static.
"Well, choose another then, seeing as you have the forum this evening." He said.
"Thank you… Counsellor," She said, a little smile playing on her lips as she saved the record.
He watched her carefully place the record in its sleeve, hands smoothing down its plastic sides and slotting it back in order with all the rest, as she turned to him, arching an eyebrow to prove her ability, to counter her previous 'Miles Davis mistake'. He then watched her stretch to the 'B's', her body arching, chest lifting, slightly stretchy forest green fabric accompanying her as her hands filed through, fingers blind to what she wanted but eyes focused on going through every sleeve in search of what she was looking for.
She hid the sleeve from him, placing the record onto the deck and claiming a seat at the sofa, stretching out despite him.
"Comfortable?" He asked; no edge of sarcasm left out as he watched her spread out like a cat on his sofa.
"Very." She almost purred. He heard it...
Silence hit again, all but the whirring of vinyl spinning slowly on the deck. He waited. He loved this part; guessing what she'd put on. It had become a game between them. They knew the collection so well that catching each other out was the main aim, unless it was a solid pick in which case it was just a delight; a gift for one another.
When he heard the music, his words faltered on the title.
"'I waited for you.'"
Her eyes seemed trained closed when he looked over to her.
"I love Chet Baker," She whispered.
He loved Chet Baker too…
'I Waited for you.' ~ Chet Baker.
It's an awesome track. I found it as part of my Jazz education for this piece. Listen to it. I think it's them. Maybe in 6 months time…
Please feed the kitty.
