Author's Notes:
Beta'd.
Okay, I've written the next two chapters. I wanted to get this out before the weekend, but 'The 100' has had me in Darvey free-fall.
To all the shippers :
May Donna finally find happiness.
And may Harvey one day fight to keep her.
Donna
By Atheniandream
Come on now, will you wait
I was wondering if you will wait
And I was wondering to what seems
Is that us all that we dreamed?
I was wondering, if I could wait for you
I was wondering, will you wait for me?
Come now, what's 'a break'?
Can you tell me if we're on or off
So I can let go what I need
Tell me where's the door and I'll leave
I was wondering if I could wait for you
I was wondering will you wait for me?
I can't wait any long to chose me
I could chose you
Or nothing at all,
I don't need you like I used to
I can't wait any long to chose me
I could chose you
Or nothing at all, 'Will You' - By Daniel Wilson
The cold hard wind streaks through her hair, as she rides with the window down, her hands cold and powdery dry as they clench the steering wheel with an almost white knuckled intention. She blinks against the harshness of air that whisks around the cabin, the midnight teinted streak of the middle line blurring past her left periphery as polished wheels glide along the darker end of the highway.
She hasn't eaten. She hasn't changed. She hasn't even really prepared, save for a few things she'd thrown into a suitcase with sense of abandon.
She had just...left work, hailed a cab, packed quickly, rented a car,
And then started driving north.
Far away from New York City. Away from it all.
She can't explain it. It's a feeling, mostly. Pure and ripe and raw. A realisation,
That she had wasted her life.
She can't quantify it, and every time she does, she's met with this contradictory panic, that reverberates through her being.
She thought she had worked it all out. That she wanted more from life. And what that 'more' was. Only to be met with the galling understanding, that maybe what she had truly wanted, deep down,
Was Harvey.
And more than that,
The crux of the problem,
Was that she'd given everything up...for Harvey.
The Theatre.
Her dreams of a family.
Marriage.
Travel.
Love.
She'd given everything up and she hadn't even noticed until she realised that he was 'the' thing. The one thing missing from her life. Even as they sat there, side by side, day after day until she started to witness her life stagnate and the days started to lose their colour,
He was it. And she hated that fact.
Her eyes are streaming now, the tears salty, and evoking a pulsating pound to echo in her head. She's dehydrated. That was a given.
But she daren't stop.
She can't go back. And she's gone too far now.
Donna Paulsen let a man get under her skin. A man that didn't want her.
A man that didn't love her enough.
Her eyes blink at the words 'Connecticut Welcomes You'
She thinks of Mark, and the regret at calling him up after almost five years.
Another mistake. Another one that didn't fight for her.
She had been so lost and so desperate to connect with someone that she had loved, that she had almost done the one thing she swore she would never do. Rachel had caught her. Had reminded her of her standards. Of her worth. Where others, more important players in her life, had not.
They never fight, she reminds herself. They never seem to find the energy to keep me.
And then it hits her,
Fire. Unbridled in her gut, enough to make her seethe.
So, she jumps to the 287, streaking further north.
Dodging Mark.
Dodging her Mother in Cortland.
Dodging the city that she's had a real love affair with,
And Dodging the man, who still remains in that city.
The one who has her heart in his suit pants pocket.
She needs to get somewhere.
And nowhere
Anywhere.
All at once.
She makes only one stop, after a few hours, and only as the counter reaches past the red line. Picking up a pack of Big Red, and a vitamin water as she pays for the refill of gas with cash in her purse. The guy behind the counter looks at her messy auburn hair and lavish dress and gives her an expression that leads her to assume she looks like one half of a duo. Like Bonnie and Clyde or an uptown Alabama and Clarence. Even Thelma, but without the Louise.
Without that other half.
Like there's a story to tell there, and they're somehow not quite 'caught up' on the drama...
She swallows thickly at the thought, and slides back into the car. It's not sleek or imposing, like others she's seen. Like the cars that orbit her work day. It's just a standard light silver Hyundai. Nothing like her lifestyle, and nothing like his.
But she feels like nothing, right now.
And maybe that's the point.
Hours pass, until she starts to glimpse burnt orange and candied pink as it peeks above the flat horizon line and it lights up the space around her with a ordained glow that bounces off the dashboard. For a moment it's like the entire night has flown by in a second, until she regards the road signs that remind her of the next checkpoint. The i87 has fared her well, as she sees the 'border control' looming.
She takes a moment over the C-A-N-A-D-A.
She's never been.
To Canada.
It's not something that Upstate New-Yorkers do, unless they're seriously into their camping, which she never has been. She'd nearly gotten the chance, with her Junior Pistol Championship, until a case of Mono had completely quashed her chances, and she'd vowed, from there on in, never to regard Canada as anything other than a bad omen.
Right now, anywhere but the familiar was a good omen.
And so...Canada was back on the map.
Her mother always told her,
'If you ever get in the car with no place to go,
Always take your passport'.
She smirks at the memory, her hand sliding into her Balenciaga bag, and sure enough... she had remembered it. It wasn't a dream, she thinks, starting to fold with a tiredness.
The guard looks at her strangely. Again, she's dressed to the nines and now seemingly ropier looking than before.
When he asks her why she's coming to Canada, and she responds with 'Holiday', he looks at her strangely.
She decides then, never to go to Canada on a whim.
It's looks exactly like what it is…
Like she's running away.
She would have gone to her Mothers. Travelled the short distance to see her. Enveloped herself in nostalgia and hugs and warmth and pie.
But oddly, she is ashamed. Ashamed at how she's gotten herself tangled up in this mess. And so angry at herself, for letting it go so far. She doesn't want to connect with any of that right now.
She wants to get away.
So...she continues.
Only an hour or two more. Just something to push her over the line. To neutral country.
Canada is….greener and quieter than she thought it would be. The water overlooks part of the city, now splashed with after-dawn. She needs to find a hotel, stat, she thinks to herself, and pulls over for a moment, searching on her phone and silently thanking her international cell plan.
She swipes the phone quickly, avoiding things like the Ritz-Carlton, the Sofitel Montreal, - all too much like Harvey's expectations - and The Mount Stephen - far too ironic - until she pauses at the perfect choice.
Hotel Le St James.
It's rich in french architecture, and lavish with a big dose of dramatic and overly rich decor.
It's the perfect compromise between something different, and something close enough to counter her much needed drive. Her head is clearer now, but It's almost seven in the morning as she arrives outside a large stone fronted building on the corner of St Jacques Street, with ivy that streaks up one corner of its imposing facade.
She sighs, pulling her suitcase onto the tarmac and up the stone steps, handing her keys to the young busboy that waits for her, as she glides through the door.
She sighs, as she enters the lobby, full of walnut antique panelling, and dark green tiled floors, that open up to a beautifully lit hall, with apple green and silver chairs the promise of unbridled elegance, and two mirror glasses letters stood on a ledge that spell the restaurant 'XO' that's she's heard good things of.
She realises, she's finally somewhere.
The need for a shower and some sleep is imminent, now. Overdue, almost.
She slides up to the counter, her suitcase rolling with a whirr.
"Bonjour and Good Morning Madame, welcome to the Hotel Le St James - can I take your reservation?" The youngish man with a slightly french lilt to his accent asks her.
She swallows, her expression deliberately plain. "Hi. I don't….have...a reservation." She replies, reservedly.
"Okay… bear with me for one second. Please?" The man asks. There is a fussiness to his tone that speaks of the french-ness of the place. She struggles not to smile to herself. "Now, what kind of room are you looking for?
"Is your...Junior Suite available?" She asks.
"Let me a have a look. Yes, It is…" The man replies, typing on the screen in front of him. "For how long would like that for?
"About a week? Five..days?" She says, off the cuff.
She blinks, regurgitating the words in her mind.
Okay. So she's staying in Canada...for a week.
So much for 'one' Personal Day...
"That will be…. With the Junior Suite...a total of three one two five."
She balances a game face, the numbers falling together.
"Canadian?" She enquires, inferring the currency.
"Yes." The man clarifies.
She's never paid thirteen American dollars for a room before, let along in Canadian dollars...But, she has the money now. Even after her buy-in she still had two hundred grand in change.
She smiles then, picking out her savings card - ignoring the Corporate card of Harvey's that still sits in her wallet - and hands it to the Concierge, watching as he processes the payment, only pausing for a moment to hand her the payment device so she can sign her name. Her hand moves, noticing the Paulsen.
Miss Donna Paulsen.
She sighs, as she hands the device back.
She's too young to still be a 'Miss'. And it's not the pressure of feminine conformity. It's the expectation that one places on oneself. If she's honest with herself, she's tired of signing her name as just that. Of seeing the familiar scrawl, and their not even being the whiff of insinuation at more than what she writes. It's a dismal thought, but it's sadly true. She wants...more. She has been so resilient, but she needs more, now. She wants to be 'someone's'. She blinks, feeling out of body now, at the blanket of tiredness that falls over her, as the Concierge hands her the hotel key. Another piece of plastic, She thinks to herself, sighing before smiling limply at the gentleman as she wanders away from the desk and over to the elevator.
She realises she's been in a daze, when she stands in front of the number '206'.
It's a gut wrench. The door is walnut coloured, unlike the black of the now or white of her past. But there's something in the coppery letting that catches her attention, and falls on the achingly familiar. She slots the card into the holder, a click emitting from it as she presses the door handle, opening out into a very different space to that of her little apartment in Midtown.
The room enters into a hallway. She walks of the threshold, closing the door behind her, before placing her suitcase to the side, figuring that she'll sort her things out later.
The room is large, with a sense of Indian Occupation and Upper Class French Revolution about it, with the ornate bed and lounging chairs in caramel and coffee colours, offset by white panelling and cream shutters. There are plants littered about the place, and a beautiful fireplace in iron and goldleaf.
She assumes there's more to see here. A bathroom, and a door to another room.
Her eyes zone in on the bed, the twisting four poster style becoming immediately inviting. She slips off her shoes, her hands bending behind herself to unclasp the top of her dress, as she unzips herself out of it.
She's more a awake for a moment, pushing herself towards the last mile, as she wanders into a marble clad bathroom, with a shower and a slipper bath, in various pearlescent shades. She discards her underwear, turning on the mixer tap and pulling the shower door to, twisting her hair into a knot atop of her head.
She lets the steam build, the large room beginning to cloud into a foggy white mist, as she leans against one side of the cubicle. When the temperature is just right, she puts her entire face under it, closing her eyes against the feeling of heavily dropping rain like water.
She wakes up to the familiar sound of a door closing, as she looks about her room.
He's gone, she thinks to herself, the pit of her stomach dropping as she lays back down.
Typical Harvey. She swallows the disappointment in his unwatered character.
She closes her eyes for a moment, letting herself concentrate on the faint ache just under her abdomen, and the smell of him still on her sheets. She'd spot that cologne anywhere.
An image flashes in her mind, of him on top of her. Of his his eyes, electric and dark and piercing into hers with every thrust. The feeling of the smooth skin on his muscular shoulders, and the way her fingers pressed into them, her burgundy nails scratching lightly at his back...
Suddenly she's frowning again, a strange feeling of loss morphing inside of her.
She rips the covers back,
And jumps into the shower.
To rid herself of all possible expectations...
She realises she's been in the shower so long, she'd forgotten to keep her hair out of the water. It's now soaking, having dropped out of it's knot and fallen down her back. And she's finally tired out. The shower gel has the faintest hint of bergamot and lemon.
Just
Like
Harvey.
She doesn't cry. But she mourns her own self for a moment longer.
For the first time in her life,
She feels like she got it all wrong.
Like the first time, The Other Time, was a marker,
Of something important,
A warning. That she had missed completely.
Rachel Zane wakes up to an unnatural start, her arm flinching under the weight of her other half's as he groans, and rolls over, a mess of blonde hair and boyishness. She whispers her apologies in his ear, kissing his cheek as they both hear her phone buzz. At first, her inclination is the alarm, until she scrambles, silk nightie clad and moves to flick through her phone.
It's a message from Donna.
Her stomach drops for her friend.
All it reads is: Rach. I had to get away. I've messaged Louis. D x
She sighs, her eyes closing for a moment.
She decides not to tell Mike.
She doesn't want to get in the middle of things.
If Mike knows, and Harvey asks...it won't make things better.
Harvey Specter feels great. He woke up to a beautiful woman this morning. No one is coming after his firm after he put the world to rights and buried the threat. The world is his, now. For all intents and purposes, he's onto a winner, as he swaggers into his firm.
It takes about forty five minutes, until he remembers he'd left a file with Donna the night before.
He rounds the corner, peering into yellow and peach decor.
Nothing.
No Donna.
And no files.
He frowns. She's always there before him. He's noticed, that in gambling his secretarial duties, and her own role, she's in the office by at least eight every day, and most nights she doesn't leave until ten.
Suddenly the impulse strikes him. A possible answer to his question, as he marches down the hall.
"Morning Louis." Harvey greets, looking down at his Partner.
"Harvey." Louis regards. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asks. Harvey notices the man is throughly distracted.
"Do you have any idea where….Donna is?"
"She's not coming in today." He says simply, continuing to type with a fury.
He frowns immediately. "Why not? Is she sick?" He asks.
"Not that I know of." He says calmly. "She's taken some...Annual leave." He says.
"Oh. Right. She didn't clear it with me…" He says, absent-mindedly.
"Well, she doesn't need to. As long as one of us is aware. I signed off, so.." Louis explains, before continuing to type.
"Of course." He says, remembering then. She's not your secretary anymore...he chants in his head He's still getting used to that. Fourteen Years is a long time to break out of an ingrained habit. "You don't happen to know where the uh..."
He pauses in his train of thought, as it occurs to him that Donna will be the only one that knows about that file.
"The 'what'?" Louis asks, giving him a strange look, before continuing once again to type furiously.
"Never mind." He nods then, half-frowning and leaving a rather distracted seeming Louis, as he wanders back to his own office. He pauses before he gets there, her office catching his attention once more. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contacts before finding her name. He presses it to his ear as he reaches for the button of his suit jacket, sitting behind his desk.
Hi, this is Donna. Leave a message. He hears the familiar tone, before clearing his throat, a slight annoyance at her answer phone chiming in.
"Donna. Hey… Sorry, I know you've taken the day… It's just that I need the Weistmann file? I can't find it in your office. Or mine. Call me back. Bye." He says, before stuffing his phone back into his pocket.
"Morning," He hears Mike round the corner into his office, as he glances at the man, a mixture of the youthful bounce from his 'Associate' days, and a swagger that he's sure the young man's tried to steal from him.
"Morning." He responds, smirking slightly at his younger counterpart.
"How was your night?"
"By you asking me that...I assume that you had a...memorable one." He counters, giving the guy a look.
"I did." Mike agrees. "There's nothing like burying a threat, and then finishing off the day with...lots and lots of sex."
"Ditto." He remarks.
He notices Mike decline to comment, when a breach of silence bounces between them.
He hasn't had the balls to ask his friend, what gives, just yet.
He has a hunch that he's not entirely comfortable with broaching with his best friend.
"By the way, where is Donna?" Mike asks, a notable change in the subject.
So he's not the only one noticing her abrupt absence.
He clears his throat, straightening in his seat. "She's...taken a personal day." He replies, his eyes flicking back to his work.
"She okay?" Mike frowns, a concerned look on his face.
Mike's always had a soft sport for Donna. Their friendship has never once faltered in that regard.
"You tell me." Harvey responds. "Has...Rachel...said anything to you?" He asks, carefully moving over the insinuation.
"No? Why? Did she not tell you that she wasn't going to be here?"
"Uh...No." He says, swallowing the truth of such a thing.
"Oh." Mike says, frowning slightly in a way that makes him want to pick up on his earlier silence.
"It's nothing...I was just...looking for a file." He says, shutting his laptop then. "Shall we see how many more deals we can knock out of the park, today?" He offers, standing up.
"If you're game, I am." Mike smirks, following his Boss.
Over the course of the day, Harvey calls her four more times than he ever has in one single day.
All from his own cell phone.
Won't you be the one to calm the storm yeah
Won't you be the one to calm the storm darlin', right now
I said I need somebody baby
Calm the storm, calm the storm, calm the storm, calm the storm yeah
Calm the storm, calm the storm, calm the storm, calm the storm yeah
Calm the storm
Sometimes I try to
Calm the storm
Sometimes I want to
Calm the storm
Sometimes I wish I could
Calm the storm
Sometimes I try to
Calm the storm
'Calm the Storm' by Graffiti 6
More coming very soon. A_