"I don't want the money. I want something more. And I've never said that out loud but I can't pretend that's not true anymore."
"What do you mean more?"
"I guess I'm going to have to figure that out."
He's fine, really. Donna moving on at some point was inevitable. Like buildings crumbling, contracts being broken, or shared shitty Tai leftovers in his fridge growing mold.
He'd found another secretary before- Gretchen -and made it work. He'll do the same thing again.
Big changes are happening in his life. Better to start fresh with everything at once. He'll move on, and Donna will move on too.
Dryness itches his throat. He pours from the bottle of water with a slight shake of hand and it sloshes out of the glass. Laser focus keeps his wrist steady as he swallows.
He's been through this. He's fine now. He's done the therapy; recovered. Stopped taking the goddamned pills. Paula Agard had gotten him through. He could live without Donna if she's leaving him again.
With the last thoughts a disordered thump beats in his chest and he downs another glass of water.
Deep breaths. He has this under control.
This is just the habit of old anxiety. It isn't about Donna, or even a big problem.
He doesn't even need his therapist in that way anymore. Fuck his therapist. He could even fuck his therapist.
She's hot enough.
Maybe that's what he needed. She'd be easy to talk to, could help him with troubling issues. It doesn't have to be Donna.
Maybe he should see her.
No, not Donna. His therapist.
Not for an appointment. Because he doesn't need one. Just to catch up and have some fun. Get his mind off of work stress. Not Donna stress in particular because he doesn't need Donna. Just work, which for the time being, Donna is a part of.
The next morning he picks the 365 Spider from the garage, and drives to Paula Agard's. He'll throw her a few lines, shine a spectacular Specter smile, close the deal and he'll have a new support in place. A new confidant, a new bedmate, and new fun. Donna could leave him; he'll be fine.
It's a fucking coffee Specter. Any of those goddamned secretaries could bring him a coffee. He doesn't need her for that.
Why is his collar so tight today? He needs to take a couple extra runs this week, maybe he's getting thick in the neck.
She's standing there, looking vulnerable like she wants to say something about more. He can't deal with more right now. Because of work, not because he can't handle Donna.
Later. He needs to push her and her something more off to later. Stall her since he needs things tidied up before he can let her go. He can handle life without her. The timing is just not right yet.
Senior partner? No, she's his secretary, for now anyway. Donna close-but-not-working-for-him again didn't work out the last time. If she's going to go, she needs to go. But not yet.
It's not that she's not capable. She is. Probably more so than Louis was in many respects. Maybe even more than him. Donna helps him manage most of his decisions. The firm surviving without her...
He has too much to do today. Louis, Mike, senior partner bullshit. He can't deal with her right now, because he's busy.
He's getting out of his office. But only when he's good and ready. It's not because of Donna, or avoiding her request. It's not because he's afraid of a big change. He's doing a last case with Mike for old time's sake, not to stall. His office and world changing can wait. He ignores the voice that pesters him to let him know he started packing his previous offices as soon as the change came. The silent voice sounds an awful lot like hers.
The satisfaction from hitting on gorgeous women falls flat. They're into him. They smile brighter, pout their lips, lean in to touch him, swing their hips with emphasis, offer him their best to entertain his event for a price. He could take his choice of them to bang in the building right now if he so desired.
But the usual desire is gone. The case, it's the case. Too much office stress.
And oh shit. His date with Paula Agard. He's getting older. Maybe he's craving someone who could help him with his problems. Someone more mature. She must be the reason he couldn't manage to entertain getting hard over all these young, beautiful women. He's maturing.
He calls her, flirting some more, securing their date. Getting Paula to fold is easy. A business deal he's handled a million times before. No complications or history. No risk of losing something he values deeply. This makes sense.
If they're not having fun, what the hell are they doing at a party filled with models? The drinks soothe enough to wipe out the tips of his unease, but the depth of an internal monster without a name remain. He blames his lackluster response to what he used to call the life up here on his upcoming date. He ignores the way his stomach drops like a plunging elevator of disappointment when a fiery redhead catches his peripheral vision and she's not the one he's most familiar with.
He sees her. He recognizes her. The more he recognizes her importance, the further she fades away. She's the gamble he can never afford to lose, and you don't make bets on what you can't bear to lose. He doesn't want to see her anymore. He wants her to remain like an undercurrent of reassurance he can push deep within his subconscious. Anything else with her threatens him like a tidal wave to his sanity.
Donna's words stick to him like tar. They always stick to him in a way he can't quite shake, seeping into the crevices he can't manage to reach. How can he fully focus on his date when her words are so tied into everything bothering him?
The disinterest is not about Paula.
This is about the crisis.
It's not about Donna.
Paula Agard walking out on their date should bother him more. He should go after her; make a grand gesture. Her words bother him more than her action. He doesn't need help. He's figured it all out. His mother. His panic attacks.
Dealing with Donna leaving.
He has it under control.
He's not panicking, but he wants to use one of his leftover pills in his medicine cabinet that night.
If he tells Donna no, she's gone. A tornado of frustration is swirling in his head right now, and he doesn't even have a name for the cause.
He can't deal with her angry with him. Maybe seeing her each day as she faded further away is better than her frustration with him. Maybe since he's kept her at arms length he can keep her at the length of the 46th floor, and somehow it will be good enough. She wins. She deserves it even if he's too much of a selfish asshole to want to be the one that lets her have it.
He gets another drink at a random bar he passes. The liquid clarity makes him realize he needs to get to Louis before she does. If Louis is involved, he'll detonate and he doesn't want the shrapnel aimed at her. Mike stops him from going to help Donna, and he hates feeling their special bond of loyalty is already developing fractures when he deals with the sale first.
His entire office is boxed up. Everything could move on and end today.
He's a pussy. He knows he's a pussy. He doesn't know how to manage the firm the way Jessica did. How to handle Louis without wanting to rip his windpipe from his neck with bare hands. He never expected to face this without Donna by his side. He's not sure he's up for the challenge anymore. He's not sure how to be the Harvey Mike's talking about without Donna.
He finds a way. She'll be at a distance, and he'll always protect her. This is what she wants, and he's not going to deny her what she wants. He owes her that. She's capable, god how he knows she's capable. This is the closest he can have her without the risk of losing her, and it will have to be enough.
Every other advancement over the years they'd celebrated together. But the office is gone, the cubicle is gone. No more direct line from his voice to her desk by way of a nosy intercom. He leaves because he's okay with letting go. He's not crumbling inside. He just needs some sustenance.
He goes home and changes, feeling like there's a chasm of unfulfilled endings to the night. The fresh air of his car numbs him by way of chill.
His ex-therapist is the place he ends up at.
He can do grand gestures, even romantic ones, and do them well. There's no risk here, because this is a safe bet.
The kiss is like a choreographed and well practiced routine. She responds, and a part of himself that was empty gets fulfilled like a small rock in his gut. Heavy, but somehow the edge he's trying to ease soothed.
He's Harvey Goddamn Specter. He can survive without Donna.
I should have posted the update for Fight Club, which I swear is in the works, but the premiere has had me so down all I can do is think of ways to fix it. I rarely write in present tense, so I'm sorry if I missed something. I'd love any thoughts if you have them. Thanks for reading!