Chapter 2
He's starting to wonder if he's an even bigger masochist than he realised. Harvey stands by the elevator, clutching a cup of lukewarm coffee, calmly watching as his name is ripped from the wall, letter by letter. He might have expected it months ago when he resigned, but it's a completely different ball game when his name is being torn down in spite of his efforts to keep it there.
He wonders if the janitor is the same man who first put Specter up there in the first place, or if he carved Senior Partner into the glass door of his office, or Mike Ross for that matter. He almost feels like an asshole for having no idea. The janitor in question finally takes notice of him lingering in the foyer.
"If you're looking for the law firm, they moved their offices. I hear they downsized."
Harvey resists the urge to snap at the man unknowingly throwing salt on his wounds. At least he doesn't feel like a dick anymore for not remembering the guy.
"I'll keep looking, then," he says.
But he doesn't move an inch. Harvey plans on seeing this through to the bitter end.
"Your therapist would have a field day if she could see this."
He should have known she'd want to be here with him for this.
"It's cathartic," he fibs.
"It's masochism at its finest."
Harvey smiles at her choice of words. Regardless of their convoluted history, it's comforting to be reminded that they still know each other better than most.
"It's only temporary, Harvey."
He nods. "I know."
He thinks about the dozens of files piled up in his living room, the few loyal clients whom he's been hand-holding for the past three weeks, his basket balls and records taking up storage space in his closet, the can opener that now lives in the goddamn kitchen of all places. Every piece that still remains of their firm has been crammed into his condo. Louis is probably holed up in his spare bedroom for all he knows.
"Still feels like shit though," he says.
"Big time."
Donna nudges him with her elbow, pulling his focus from what's left of the Pearson Specter Litt sign.
"You want to get some breakfast?"
He glances down at his pathetic excuse for a coffee, then back at her. "Sure, I know a place."
"So you know a place, huh?" she teases, lips curling into a smile as they slide into the familiar booth.
He shrugs, playing nonchalant. "I figured it was about time I started coming here."
Donna eyes him sceptically. "Right."
A waitress approaches their table and Harvey orders coffee for the both of them without missing a beat. The waitress scribbles down their order and makes herself scarce.
Donna tilts her head, studying him. He knows that expression – he's surprised her.
"You know my coffee order."
"We've been friends for over a decade, Donna. Of course I know your coffee order."
Donna snatches both menus from the table and hides them over on her side.
"Alright, smartass, I bet you don't know what I want for breakfast."
"I know you'll order fruit and oatmeal and then spend the entire meal picking at my pancakes."
Donna narrows her eyes. Harvey counts it as a win. "See, I'm right."
"And humble too."
The waitress returns with their coffees.
"Would you like anything to eat?" she asks.
"I'll have the blueberry pancakes," Harvey says.
"I'll have the same, please," Donna adds, ignoring his obvious grin.
Their breakfast arrives quickly and they eat in companionable silence. If it were a different time or they were different people it may have felt like a date. Harvey brushes off the thought.
"It's been so long since we've done this," Donna remarks, cutting into the silence.
He assumes she's referring to the fact that they haven't simply shared a meal together in months. The last time must have been the somewhat awkward dinner they shared where they skirted around her feelings for him before she blithely announced she was dating someone.
"Well, we suddenly have a lot more time on our hands," he says bleakly.
"Speak for yourself. I'm still unpacking boxes at your house."
They spend another full day in his living room, Harvey putting in calls to clients and Donna sorting through ancient boxes of files, throwing out what she can and salvaging anything that could possibly be used to benefit them in the future. Harvey has a lot of dirt on a lot of people, and lord knows Donna had been a master a documenting it all.
Louis and Jessica pay the two of them a visit as well. Louis had been in Boston the past week, trying to use what little pull he had left with Sheila to try and recruit some associates. Both he and Jessica had known what a lost cause it was but held their tongues for Louis' sake.
All that remained of Pearson Specter Litt was a fraud scandal, its three name partners, a legal secretary and a first year law student. They were hardly an appealing choice for any graduate. Still, Harvey could understand the need to feel useful. He was quietly going mad in the confined space of his living room slash office.
Jessica, on the other hand, had been far more concerned about the consequences of Mike's sentence.
"I need you to compile a list of every verdict, every deal, every goddamn conversation Mike ever had with a client, paying or otherwise," she ordered he and Donna.
"You're worried his cases will be overturned?" Donna had asked.
"I'm worried this will all be for naught."
Harvey could certainly share in the sentiment.
He and Jessica hadn't explicitly discussed their plans for the next two years, and other than trying to right their sunken ship, Harvey hadn't a clue what Jessica was going to do with herself. He could still recall their conversation from over a year ago.
"You could teach."
"I could also kill myself."
Jessica had been at this even longer than he had. She needed the law, she needed to fight. They were so alike in that way, Louis too. They were equally disgraced now too. After skirting the law for so many years, Harvey may have deserved this punishment, but his partners didn't.
It's after dark now, Jessica and Louis having left for their own homes hours ago. Meanwhile Donna lingers, eyes straining as she reads in the dim light, heels kicked off and feet curled under her. Harvey takes to the kitchen, pouring her a glass of wine. He joins her on the sofa and she gratefully accepts the glass.
It's the fourth time this week that they have ended the day like this. It reminds him so much of their first few years at Pearson Hardman, back when the lines between them were only faintly drawn and they'd spent dozens of odd hours together, simply because he liked being near her. In thirteen years that much hasn't changed.
He finally takes notice of her attire – another fine example of the many figure-hugging dresses that categorise her professional wardrobe.
"You're staring," she says.
Harvey peels his eyes away from her.
"You didn't have to dress up for me."
The comment causes her to glare at him. "I've never once dressed up for your benefit, Harvey."
He's not entirely convinced that's true, especially considering how much she revels in torturing him, but he decides not to press the issue.
"I mean we're working from my apartment," he explains.
Donna picks a piece of lint from his shirt. "I don't see you ditching Tom Ford."
Harvey rolls up his sleeves, suddenly self-conscious. "Force of habit, I suppose."
Donna cradles her wine glass to her chest. "So what do you suggest? We start instilling Casual Fridays? "
"Well that depends on how casual you want to get," he leers.
Donna playfully kicks his shin.
"I'm just saying there's no need to be so formal."
"I don't think anyone could ever accuse us of that," she says before taking a sip of wine.
Harvey laughs – it's about as close as she ever gets to referencing their past. He hasn't dared mention the morning after Mike's arrest when he woke up in his bed alone with his sheets smelling distinctly like her. Maybe in another ten years she'll finally bring it up.
"Stay for dinner?"
Donna shakes her head as she places her wine glass on the coffee table.
"I shouldn't."
"Why? You have plans?"
"Not exactly."
She stands and begins to tidy up. Harvey quickly finds himself irritated by her vague answers.
"You have a date," he deduces. "With that guy."
Donna huffs. "That guy? Wow, great attention span, Harvey."
"Mitchell."
Harvey notices a brief falter in her movements, but she covers it almost immediately by tossing her hair and stepping back into her heels.
"Actually, no. That ended a while back."
"I'm sorry," he manages.
"Yeah, you sound it."
He smiles apologetically. "Was it because of –"
She cuts him off before he can even properly formulate the thought, "Mike."
"Mike?"
"I was preoccupied – his words, not mine. Though I can't really fault him for pointing out the obvious."
He feels like a prized asshole. It seems that it's only ever after the fact that he realises how much collateral damage he causes – too often at Donna's expense.
Harvey stands from the sofa, walking Donna to the front door. She reaches for her coat from the rack, but he beats her to it. He holds it out to her, allowing her to slip her arms inside.
"He's an idiot," he mutters into her hair.
"As sweet as you are to say that, it really only makes me feel like a bigger asshole."
"Donna, you've done nothing wrong. If anybody should be apologising it should be me."
"Alright then."
"Or Mike."
Donna grins, pulling her wavy hair out from under her collar.
"So if you don't have a date…"
"I've got a call-back tomorrow morning. This star needs her beauty sleep."
"Wow, congratulations, Donna. That's…"
"Not a big deal," she waves off. "It's just a little play off-Broadway."
"It's great, really. I wish you'd audition more."
"Well, there isn't a great deal of parts available for women in my age bracket."
"Early thirties," he smoothly replies.
Donna winks at him. "Precisely."
They hover at the door for a long moment, Donna not quite prepared to leave, Harvey not ready to let her.
"I want…"
"Yes?"
I want you.
I want you to stay.
I want you to say it again.
"I want you to be happy, Donna."
"I know, Harvey."
She offers him a soft smile, squeezes his hand and walks out the door. When Harvey can no longer hear the melodic echo of her heels down the hall, he sighs and berates himself for losing his nerve.
"I'm the idiot."
