Chapter 2. (Beat'd)
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The light is glaring, and grey tinged, as he wakes up to the folding of the night. He rolls over, his right shoulder giving him some resistance, in a crack and several pops. He had brought his overnight bag from the car, before finally succumbing to the need for sleep, as he now witnesses the action in his suit, staring at him from the back of the door and his suitcase resting near an old wardrobe.
He stretches, moving his neck to warm it slightly against the coolness in the room.
He pulls on a pair of slacks that he'd laid out the night before, and an old sweater, before wandering into the en suite, the toilet bowl calling as part of his morning routine. He washes his hands after, his reflection catching in the mirror. He looks tired. He looks like he needs a vacation. There was nothing worse than taking time out from work and it not being a relaxing experience. He sighs against the slightly selfish thought. He is here for Donna's benefit, and that is enough to temper his underlying frustrations.
He opens the door to his room, noticing that all the other doors in the hall are closed. He wonders if she's still asleep. Maybe she was too pre-occupied to sleep. He's been like that, tossing and turning all night until the sun rises, and then suddenly falling asleep to the golden hour of the morning twilight.
He pads downstairs, into the kitchen, the only room that he had been shown the night before.
She's not here. He wonders if she's out, or else asleep still.
Either way, he's starving, having not eaten much the night before, and then having driven an adequate amount, only to drink coffee when he finally arrived. By now, his stomach is lashing with a sear, and crying out for food. He pauses, realising that coffee is still a dead cert, and goes about finding the certain things he needs. Two cupboards and three draws later, and he's loaded a fresh jug of coffee into the percolator, and is now staring into the fridge.
He needs protein, and carbohydrate, in that order.
He figures, that given her current state, and the situation at hand, she wouldn't mind him knocking up a little something.
He knows that Donna is an only child. Unlike him, she doesn't have siblings to pick up the slack, making it all the more important, that if Mike and Rachel weren't here, that someone should be, at the very list.
And so, it's him.
Maybe they had also assumed it would be him, he thinks idly, as his hands pop a carton of eggs on the countertop and he goes in search of the mere insinuation of some sort of bread.
He's not sure if some may have been here from her Father, or if she picked some up. It occurs to him that he has no idea what she eats when they don't go out to dinner. He assumes she wouldn't want to eat out, especially if she's not up yet.
He thinks he's scored big, when he opens the tiny freezer to find some toasted muffins, and suddenly his mind is on an end game. Some butter, and some ketchup and a coffee, and you have a mildly healthier Egg Mcmuffin. It's then, that bacon starts to flit into his mind, and all at once the opportunity to up the anty is an all too attractive a course of action.
He finds linked sausages, but figures that going all out is not really in spirit of the day. Donna's never been able to eat much when she's nervous, so given that she has to do the unthinkable today, he prepares himself for some resistance.
He feels odd, and yet oddly at ease here, fixing things in the kitchen of a man he freely disliked.
Jim Paulsen and Harvey Specter never got on. And never would, it seems.
However, Harvey has absolutely no guilt, whatsoever, at the thought of such a thing.
In his mind, the man never once looked after Donna. Not as he should have. He never protected her, or provided for her, as he should have. And that is just one step of bad parenting too far, for Harvey Specter. Add to that, putting her in jeopardy, several times over the course of them working together, and it left a very bad taste in his mouth.
He was only sad for the loss that she would feel. Today. Tomorrow. A Year from now.
Donna Paulsen had loved her father, regardless. Because she was loyal, almost to a fault.
"Are you cooking?" Says a familiar, if not humour filled voice behind him.
He freezes on the spot, before turning around to witness her looking at him, a note of intrigue on her fresh looking face, suddenly covered in caramel freckles. He's never seen her like that, with a towel around her head and dressed down with a casualness about her. He has to check himself, the sight of her distracting him from the small omelettes that are frying in a pan, and the muffins that are defrosting, slowly under the low setting of the grill.
"Believe it or not, I do actually cook, Donna." He tells her, before his attention focuses between the grill and the stove.
"I...didn't know that about you." She says, walking over to him.
"I mean, nothing...foodie, or anything." He adds. "Eggs?" He asks, looking to her.
"I uh…" She pauses, reticent, and not, it seems, because of his cooking.
"Donna. You need to eat something." He says, delicately skirting around the main feature of the day. "There's coffee, by the way." He points out, before adding a little more pepper and salt to the eggs.
He glances at her, as she wanders over to the coffee pot, picking up a mug hanging on a mug tree nearby, and pours one out for herself.
"You need a refill?" He hears her ask. He glances back at her, watching her chin jut to the cup alongside him.
If he has any more coffee he'll end up with an ulcer, he thinks to himself, before turning down the eggs, and reaching towards the grill.
"No. I'm good, thanks." He says, flipping the eggs. "Did you get any sleep?" He asks her.
"A little...I have a lot to do today." She sighs. "I have the florists coming here at ten, and the caterer at eleven." She explains.
He notices her gravitate next to him, as he turns off the eggs, placing the frying pan on marble chopping board.
"You need me to do anything?" He asks, half occupied on the grill.
"Plough me with wine at the wake?" She offers, a smirk ready for him when he looks at her.
"Why do you think I'm making you eggs?' He smirks back at her, pointing to the food in front of him. "Anything else?" He asks.
"Not really." She says. "I spent the past few days cleaning up a bit. Getting things ready, you know…" She shrugs.
He carries the bread swiftly to the marble counter. As he's dusting the crumbs off of his hands, and reaches for the butter - that he placed next to him before he started - he witnesses two plates slide onto the countertop.
She always could second guess him.
They are a well oiled machine in any situation. No matter the task, they always seem to be able to navigate it together without so much as a word.
He resists the urge to smirk, when she pops the ketchup bottle next to him.
He starts to assemble the muffins, placing two pieces on each plate, before loading them with the mini omelettes. He picks up the glass ketchup bottle then, giving it a hefty shake, before undoing the top and tapping the end to witness a blob slip out of the end, and then a second.
He places the breaded lids on top of each, watching the butter as it runs across the outside of the sandwich, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Dining Room?" He enquires, watching as she walks to him, plucking a plate from his hand.
The dining room is light and airy, different from the rest of the house. He wonders if the man ever used it, having never really had a family in his later years. It's a sad thought.
He let's her sit first, watching her take the head position - no doubt her Father's seat - and sits on the seat left of that, just on the corner.
He places his plate and cup down, and takes a seat.
He wants to ask her about her Father. If she knew of this place. If she spent time here. But it wouldn't be right. She was grieving and maybe not even in that place yet. Hell, he'd avoided it for weeks. Trust Donna to get a funeral arranged in under a week. She always could make the impossible possible.
He picks up his muffin, his stomach growling with an insistence, as he takes a bite. It's then that he hears her moan slightly.
His eyes flick to hers, to witness her rather comically chewing with a look of almost ecstasy on her face. "You okay, over there?" He asks, entertained with the look on her face.
"Oh my god. This is amazing...it's just eggs...what did you do to it?" She asks, in disbelief.
"Just whipped, by my very own hand." He brags, not an ounce of pride left out.
"God, it's so good I could screw it, marry it, divorce it, and then re-marry it just to screw it again..." She remarks, a touch of Louis about her as she licks the fingers on one hand.
He splutters, spitting a piece of egg across the table in a laugh, causing her eyes to go wide, as she witnesses a piece of egg in the middle of the table.
It's the first time she's seemed like herself since he arrived.
Their eyes meet, and suddenly they are laughing, like teenagers, in between him banging his chest, and her licking her fingers. He coughs slightly to dislodge the chaos in his mouth, before placing his muffin on his plate, as he picks up his coffee, taking a large sip.
"Please don't choke." She says. "If you die too, I'm just gonna leave you there, as an act of protest." She warns, the awkward edge not lost on them both.
"I'm not going anywhere." He says, an all too natural reaction to her words.
She gives him a look that makes him regret the words instantly, before he checks himself.
Suddenly he's not so afraid to make the statement a point of fact.
"I mean it, Donna." He tells her.
She nods then. "Thanks for being here, Harvey." She says, her lips bending into a guarded smile that encourages a mirrored expression in him.
They both settle then, against the starkness of today's heavy subject matter, continuing on their muffins and coffee in a somewhat perfect silence.
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By eleven, the entire house is filled with flower arrangements, on twisted mahogany stands, a mixture of lilac and sun burnt orange.
It would seem an odd choice, if you described them badly, but in the flesh they are rather beautiful, he decides. Donna had explained, before they arrived, that she had chosen the same to be placed on his coffin, and at the service.
He helps the caterer carry in food for the upcoming wake, watching as it fills up the large kitchen, with some dry items being placed on the dining table. He smiles evenly, noticing the slightly yellow stain, from his earlier 'infraction' at breakfast as he covers the stain with a platter.
It's almost an hour till the car arrives, he thinks to himself, as he walks upstairs, wandering to the guest room.
He looks out the window, noticing that the sky has not changed since the early morning. The day hangs limply with a sad undertone. He supposes that it's fitting, in some ways. Nobody wants the sun to shine on the loss of a person; not unless it's the peek of shimmering sunrays through moody clouds, as their loved one is ceremoniously lowered into the ground.
He turns, the thumb on his right hand pressing the last handcuff through a buttonhole, before he regards himself in the long dress mirror beside him.
He has a flash of a memory, of dressing for his own Father's funeral. Today is different, but all at once the same. He stretches to the bed, snatching the black tie that he had laid out moments before, and slides it around his neck. He looks at it, before a thought occurs. It's the first time he's thought this, and the first time he's able to exorcise the right.
He lets go of the tie, leaving it limp, as he walks to the door, opening it. He halts when his eyes collide with two hazel orbs, a little higher than they've been before. He swallows, his eyes flicking down to black Manolos and bare legs, gradually rising up at the sight of a black sheath dress, demure and elegant, with a laced detail over the shoulders and chest.
Her hair is wavy, and her face is made up. Her freckles disguised with a peachiness.
"Hey, can you help me with the clasp on this zip?" She asks. "It keeps...catching in my hair." She explains, her expression guarded again.
"Sure," He agrees, his tone lighter than hers, stepping to the side and allowing her into the room, as she turns around for him. He walks towards her, watching as she twists her hair in her hands and pulls it over her shoulder, allowing him to bend forward and hook the two clasps together.
She turns around to face him, a slight frown above a grateful expression. "Thanks." She says, before her face turns a self-conscious. "How do I look? Good enough to bury my Father?" She half jokes.
His head tilts at her rather blunt question. She never was one for sugar coating. "You look...beautiful." He tells her.
Her eyes widen at his words, and he feels the unease at their situation. "Seeing as you're here, you may as well," He says, immediately changing the subject, and inferring his tie with a faked annoyance.
Her head tilts for a moment, giving him a look.
"You're only gonna fix it anyway." He accuses softly, a twisted smirk appearing on his face, that she copies, in her own cat-like fashion. It folds into a reservedness, but she steps towards him anyway, her hand expertly flying into the creation of a windsor knot. He focuses on her eyes, and their level concentration. With heels on, her gaze is just above the arch of his cheekbone. It's not lost on him, that he's starting to keep a finite attention on her proximity to him. Height, distance and gaze. They've all become strange factors in their situation, since that night. And he's been playing against every single one.
He frowns, moving his weight onto the other foot, as he watches her maroon nails work against the black silk and the cotton of his shirt.
He realises, that except for last night, she's not been this close to him since she kissed him. He had spent the past few weeks distancing himself from this kind of closeness.
And it isn't as though that what Paula had said to him, makes it any easier to endure. If anything, it should make him more reticent.
His girlfriend doesn't like the connection that he and Donna share. Fact.
He realises then, his eyes roaming about her face, his lips absent-mindedly moving against the tip of his tongue to moisten them, that he is like a moth to a flame, where she is concerned. He reciprocates everything that she gives him. But only that. He feels like a stiff reaction to her actions, in the way that she reacts to his decisions at work. He is so rooted in her leading the personal, and him leading the professional, that perhaps, that's why he's so at a loss with her.
In the professional, he leads in strides and they accomplish.
In the personal, she withholds, and pulls them back, and they remain measured.
The truth is, they're never gonna change unless he changes them.
She tried, and he bailed. Fact.
So now it's his job...to equalise them.
Same, as they can only fail, if she's not with him to help him take the prize.
"There. Perfect." She resolves, picking up his jacket to hand to him.
"Thanks," He says, feeding one arm through his Tom Ford suit jacket, before it levels out in the other arm.
Her eyes linger for a second, as he straightens it at each wrist.
"The car's gonna arrive soon," She tells him.
"Okay." He says, watching her slide out of the doorway and down the stairs.
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Whilst you were sleeping
I sat in the dark
With all my offenses
The creases on my heart
And all these bad feelings
From my teenage boy brain
And for all of my offenses
I will count the grains of salt, salt
'Salt' By Jordan McKampna
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Donna hadn't called any immediate family to join her in the funeral car.
Turns out, her Mother wouldn't be there until the funeral itself. She obviously still had unresolved feeling about her ex-husband. He's caught between annoyance at the fact, and a tempered understanding of the woman's past.
Harvey's glad that he came, now. He couldn't bare the thought of her going it alone. Suddenly, he's disgusted with the amount of pressure that Donna has had to endure alone.
He watches her falter when she sees the black hearse, the beautiful arrangement draped over the wooden panelled coffin. He feels a panic in him, and takes her hand, squeezing just to distract her from folding completely. Her hand hangs limply in his, until her left hand grasps the arm that keeps their hands joined, her face bending slightly before she lets go.
The car slides towards them, and he watches her double take, before glancing at him.
He feels a smirk bending into his lips, as they both watch the passenger window slide down, and the familiar face of a man that's been in their lives for so long.
"Ray?" She blinks, frowning slightly in disbelief. Harvey's driver smirks back at her, before looking to his boss, nodding in respect. "Harvey,"
"Morning Ray," He greets, winking to his driver.
Donna looks to him, her face reading a gambit of emotions, every one of them hanging on a question.
"Thought you could use a familiar face." He reasons.
She smiles tiredly, squeezing his hand as he opens the door for her, and she climbs inside the car.
She slides across the black interior, as he follows, shutting the car door. The window partition is rolled down, and he watches Ray wink at her from the driver's seat before the partition rises again. He mentally thanks Ray. Donna's not going to want to focus on the image of her father, in a coffin no less than twelve feet away. She looks to him then, her expression full and slightly watery.
"Thankyou Harvey."
"You're welcome." He says.
He hears her sift a heavy breath through her lungs, that his own breath measures, their gazes drifting as the car follows behind in a procession-like fashion.
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It's not long before they reach the Zion Hill Cemetery, in the middle of Hartford, a large expanse of a plot, edged by large trees. It's more spread out, and flat, but nothing like the packed in Cemetery where his own Father is buried.
There are a wealth of cars, and people walking in the direction that the hearse travels. No doubt, some from Cortland, her place of birth, and even New York and the local Hartford area.
It turns out that, Jim Paulsen was well liked, despite his desperate streak, he thinks, as he watches people take note of the town car.
He opens the door, watching Donna slide out beside him, as he shuts the door, giving the black frame a gentle knock of thanks, as Ray drives away to park.
Donna is visibly shaken, people milling past her, as her eyes scour the drove of people.
He frowns slightly, his hand sliding around hers in the vain hope that it will calm her.
She flinches, giving him a slightly distressed look, as her hand moves away. "Harvey...people are gonna think…" She says off the bat.
He blinks, looking about them. "Who cares what people think?" He counters.
"I do." She says harshly, a look of disbelief on her face before straightening then, as a woman catches her eye, and she walks ahead.
He doesn't understand her. All he wants to do is give her comfort in a moment where she needs it the most.
He follows her, feeling like an ass as his phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes out his phone, noticing the Caller ID.
"Hey Mike Everything okay?" He says, sighing at the interruption.
"I was about to ask you the same thing," He hears his friend say. "How's Donna?"
"She's...dealing." He says, stifling the urge to tell his best friend the truth. "You and Louis haven't burnt down the firm yet, I take it?" He jokes harshly.
"As if...everything runs like clockwork when your lame ass isn't around." Mike says in a disparaging tone.
"Asshole." He chastens in reply, smirking at the banter. It's needed at this point.
"Just...look after Donna." Mike tells him.
"I'm…" He pauses, sighing heavily. "Trying…"
"Well...try harder." His friend encourages. "We all send her our love." His friend adds, before he can comment. He's a smart one, is Mike Ross. He still hasn't forgiven him for going Donna in the first place...
"I will." He says, ending the call.
He feels lighter after the call.
Best friends can do that, he realises.
He sighs, then, re-focusing himself. It's not personal, her behaviour...and he is still seeing someone else. And right now, she doesn't know any different. And Her father had just died. Leaving her almost alone in the world.
But she wasn't alone.
She had him.
And she needs to know that.
He follows loosely behind her, allowing her to talk with people he doesn't know and watch as she tries to put on a brave face.
She had explained, earlier in the day, that her cousins, sons of her Aunt were to be Pallbearers. That her Aunt Joan, had pretty much helped with things over the phone, and for all intents and purposes, been her guiding light throughout it all.
When they arrive at the ceremony, she's left him a seat next to her. As he sits down, their eyes collide. He notices hers, large and kohl rimmed are filled with tears, almost to the very brim. He frowns, not taking his eyes off her for a second. A silent pledge to her, that he wasn't going anywhere. That he'd be right here. She nods, sniffing as her shoulders twitched with an effort.
He looks around for a moment, observing the coffin as it is placed down onto the ramp. The site, an open space is decorated with the same flowers as the house, and a picture of Jim Paulsen, grizzly haired with eyes that look like the male version of the woman's sat next to him.
His mind falters over the Priest's words and sentiment, about the kind of man that James Paulsen was. He couldn't speculate on his entire character. He knew his essence, and that had been enough for him.
He watches an older woman, with red hair and light coloured eyes make her way to the small white pulpit, having missed the Priest's introduction.
She looks to Donna, who blinks, her eyes connecting with the woman on the pulpit.
"Good Afternoon everyone, I'm Joan." the woman says. "You may or may not know me, as Jim's sister." She regards the room. "Donna, Jim's wonderful daughter, asked, if I could say a few words about her Father, my brother." She explains.
His attention slips out again, as he notices Donna falter, collecting the stories her Aunt describes to the congregation, as her face bends and she mashes her lips together, her breath hitching once more, to keep the flood of tears at bay. He grabs her hand, as her eyes flick to him. He wonders if she's going to make a slight scene, but something in her eyes has her stalling, until she finally gives in, and her right fingers slip in between his left ones. Her hand is cool against his warm one, and her mouth bends up at the corner, before she moves her attention back to her Aunt's words.
He finds himself chuckling at things the charming woman says, in hearing Donna titter next to him, delighting the congregation in another story of the more playful side of James Paulsen. For a moment he reminds him of Donna, in her youth. Devilish and always trying to push the envelope for effect.
The time comes for them to stand, as he squeezes her hand, pulling them slightly together, as they watch the casket get lowered.
Donna had decided not to have the mourners gather around the coffin, the action slightly morbid considering the guy was going into the ground. He notices her clench his hand, as her Father's coffin draws past ground level, lowering into his final resting place. His eyes flick to her, bending over slightly, her breath heaving as tears fall freely across her face. It tears him into pieces as he almost rips her to him, his hands wrapping around her, feeling the stutter of her breath that racks into a sob. His collar and neck are suddenly wet, her hands fitting around him as they had done almost twelve hours ago. He leans back and kisses her temple without so much as a thought, before she disconnects, wiping at her eyes. She leaves him, knowing that this is the moment, as she walks to the grave, throwing a pile of dirt into the hole, as a last act of sacrifice and acceptance to lay her Father to rest.
She walks back to him, before his hand rests in hers once more. She squeezes it, a look of genuine thanks on her face as the funeral workers cover over her father's grave, and music plays in the background.
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I cross the desert
I cross the sky
Look for you forever
Wake up tonight
Just around the corner
Maybe tonight I'll find you
Oh, some people fall
Some people fall apart
Some people fall while running in the dark
Some people fall when they run out of luck
Some people fall, some people fall in love
'Fall' By Cider Sky (Acoustic version)
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As they reach the town car, a woman comes into view. Harvey remembers her instantly - how can he not, the woman left a terrifyingly vivid imprint on his mind. Half of fear and half of utter hilarity at his own actions. She is much older now, her hair a little lighter brown than he'd remembers, but the same slightly lavish sense of dress. She looks like a character on Dynasty, with Donna's nose and mouth but slightly cat-like eyes. Her hair is still hair-sprayed to within an inch of his life, he notes, almost like a bike helmet, with half of it draping along one side. A man is with her, greyed haired and slightly more classic looking than the dope that Donna had to attend to at her god-awful dinner party. The man examines him, and their joined hands, that separate instantly as she kisses her Mother on each cheek.
"Donna," The woman regards, her hands sliding to her daughters to examine her. "You look beautiful." She compliments, smiling warmly.
"Thanks Mom." She says with a smile, before the older man regards her.
"Donna...I'm so sorry for your loss." He says, a smoothness to his tone.
The guy looks like he's built upon the kind of money that her father had lost. With a slight Burt Reynolds vibe to him. It figures that her Mother would have met a man like him.
"Thankyou, Steven." Donna smiles limply. "I'm glad you're both here." She notes, before his eyes look square back at Harvey's. "Mom, you remember Harvey?"
"I do…" She smirks, something akin to Donna, as she nods in Harvey's general direction. "Harvey, good to see you. You've certainly grown up." She says, smirking in a way that borders between mothering and slightly predatory.
It's a strange statement, to say the least. But it has been over a decade since he's seen her, so perhaps it's apt.
"Nice to see you again, Natalie." He says evenly, before turning to the man beside her, a hand stretching out with a confidence. "Hi, Harvey Specter," He regards cooly, to the man with only one name, as the man shakes his hand, exchanging pleasantries with a measured smile on his face. "Steven Rivers. Nice to meet you, Harvey." He replies.
Both men nod as Donna seems to fidget then.
"How was the drive from Cortland?" She asks her Mother.
Her Mother had jumped back to her roots, jumping out of Hartford the moment she had dropped her husband.
As far as Harvey knew, she never really saw her Mother that often, as a result of her leaving. It had splintered her family immeasurably.
"Oh...we flew." Her Mother responds, looking towards Steven. "A far more efficient way to travel." She notes with a smile.
Clearly, he was her financial lifeline...and knew nothing about global warming risks...
"Are you still coming to the wake, after?" Donna asks her Mother, her look rather expectant.
"Of course, Darling." She says, softly. "He was your Father, after all."
"Mom," She warns, feeling her Mother's swift slide into controversy.
Her Mother leans in, squeezing her arm. "I'll see you both there." She says, before tugging at the man next to her.
He watches Donna's face turn from affable to concerned.
He leans towards her, his tone hushed against her hair. "Who's the guy?"
"Husband number four." She remarks with a distasteful frown.
It occurs to Harvey, that Donna's family life is even more fucked up than his seems to be.
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Author's Note: Sorry Guys, it needed Beta'ing. Will get on the last two chapters tonight. A