I totally have something about these two and exercise, I don't really know why! Also I said I wouldn't write any more fic, but I let myself drabble for like 15 minutes, so I'm sorry it's short. Also, I seriously doubt this would happen because I seriously doubt Harvey and Donna share a gym, but there's a ton about these two we don't know, so bear with me?


see me here in my little black world

kissingonconey


He doesn't go to Equinox often, even though he has a membership (he prefers boxing in the ring or running the park, old school things his father taught him), and he certainly hasn't ever run into Donna there, even though he made her get a membership too (she was looking for a gym and he slipped her a name easy as that). Seeing her running on the treadmill is a shock.

He hasn't seen her for days, and she isn't picking up Cameron's calls, and she isn't calling back, even though she is Donna and she has always been on top of all things communication. This means she is avoiding him. This fact pulls at his chest a little, although he remembers that he is supposed to blame her, that she fucked up. But that's what he's supposed to think, and what he's really thinking is that he could care less at this point the whole firm is going to shit and he just wants his best friend back.

Donna looks young on the treadmill, her hair braided back (she never wears it like that around him, maybe because it makes her look so young), and there is sweat on her face (and he fancies maybe tears, but that's ridiculous because no one cries when they're running, how could they). There is sweat on her shoulders, dripping into the pink of her tank top. She breathes heavily, like she's been running for years.

He stares at her body, in a way that he doesn't allow himself to do anymore, and her legs are toned (and her ankles don't taper strangely in that way that women's ankles sometimes do), and her breasts bounce appetizingly, but her stomach pouts out just a little. Probably from age, or sitting, and it looks to him like the type of stomach that a woman would have after having a child, one that would never go away (he wonders if she ever wanted children and if she can still have children and if that is what she might go and do now that she has left him).

Harvey wonders if he should go talk to her, but the arms of the treadmill keep out the whole world, it's just her and her running, and he isn't welcome.

He wonders if maybe he should wait for her, jiggle his ankle impatiently while waiting outside the women's locker room, and then stand, and say, Donna, hi, fancy seeing you here. But he's not sure he can handle that either (she will be fresh faced, he knows, the skin shining with cream, and a little red from her rubbing, and she will smell like lilac shampoo and meadow fresh soap), because this is not who they are. They do not occupy the world of a shared gym, they occupy Pearson Hardman, rules unspoken and lines marked.

He doesn't want to see her here, in this gym, but at the same time, he can't look away.