Author's Notes:
Hey guys! Many thanks for the Reviews. Sorry for the delay, it's been a crazzzy week, I had to move my office. Here's a big chapter to make up for it. (Will flip flop back between our favourite couples.)
. . ….
Chapter 3
. . ….
Tell me this
Does any of this love exist
Or is it just a fire
Keeping out the cold
Fear of the unknown
Turning us to coal
Oh those lips
The heavy way we used to kiss
We'd set the world alight
Live years within a night
And memories never lie
Tell me that I'm right, tell me that I'm right
'My Own' By Whitaker
. . ...
He should have stayed.
He should have followed her and…
He shakes his head, shutting the thought clean out of his mind, his right fist clenching as emotion holds him. The other slides back into his pants pocket, his jaw tightening as he sinks his back against the wall of polished metal, feeling that grind of a rise as it pulls him towards his floor.
He is tired of the emotions that pull on him, that threaten to drag him under. He knows that he feels too much, and he knows that everyone he cares about has to deal with the push and pull inside of him. No matter how he tries to temper the rush and exceed the fall, the dichotomy within him never lessens. And everybody knows now. That he can be a force of nature when the world is tearing at him. But it doesn't stop the hurt, or tame the sense of sadness to still linger in his heart.
Mike Ross is leaving him. Leaving them all. Rachel with him.
Lately, he had been so proud, of Mike finally being able to be a genuine lawyer. To show off his true potential. Of him finally owning something he should have won long ago. Harvey thought that now would be the time to really enjoy it; for the Junior Partner to plant his feet in the ground and begin carving out his own future as the next rising star of New York City's world of law.
And he was, in a way.
Just not in his city. Not in the best city in the world.
He should have known that Mike would follow his own path eventually. And in his own way, he was proud of that. Of the things that he had taught the once Associate, that had helped in filling him out into being the capable lawyer he now was.
But both he and Rach always had that overly honorable streak running through them. That innate need to do good in the world. Lacking the full ability to do the wrong thing, or the necessary thing without feeling a heavy bought of remorse. That fundamental fluidity in their souls, that drove their moral compasses towards good instead of the grey. In the end it has divided them. Mike and Rachel, and then he and…
He frowns, deeply, dashing the image of her from his mind, shutting the door behind him and flicking on the lightswitch with a forced absent-mindedness, paying no mind to the change as the entire apartment fills with a golden hue. He crosses his open plan lounge, walking into the bedroom, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket and laying it on the chair next to his bed with a sense of care. He pulls at his black tie, his fingers pulling roughly at the first few buttons on his shirt, relieving himself of the restriction that he has grown so used to over the years.
He rolls up each of his sleeves to the elbow, toeing off his shoes in favour of relieving his slight back ache, and pads back into the lounge.
He longs for one thing above all else right now, and that - despite a growing headache and a deliberate stubborness to linger on the night - is a glass of scotch.
At home, it's a rarer kind than he has at the office, a limited edition with it's reflective black bottle and neat gold etching. He hadn't bothered to decant this one, having far too much reverence for the design. He pauses again to examine the bottles sense of regality, before his fingers grasp at the cap to pop it open and free it from the bottle, overturning it to lay on the small bar-table, before he pours a vaguely heavy measure - maybe over four fingers or so - of amber whiskey into the tumblr beside it.
He lifts the glass to his lips, dashing half of the measure as it pours down his willingly open throat, the sting heavy, and smoke laden as it warms his insides. He takes but half a beat, before downing the rest of the glass, frowning at the double hit that lays on a night of steady drinking and a less than full stomach. He had been flushed with Macallan over the course of the night - of course she made it available to him on the bar's menu after such a chaotic flight back to the city - but he hadn't managed to eat much in the hectic schedule of the past few days. He frowns, planting the glass with a weightedness onto the bar-table, picking up the bottle once more, and pulling a more respectable measure into the glass. He wanders over to his couch, dropping onto it with a muffled thud, as his muscles succumb to the very long day.
He leans back, the tumblr cradled in his lap as his head falls back onto the square backrest, the leather welcomingly cool on the nape of his neck. He closes his eyes, sighing deeply as he feels the levelling up in his pre-inebriated state. He takes in the blind feelings of his surroundings.
The last time he remembers sitting on the couch, Paula had been curled up in a blanket, frown laden and ultimatums ready for him after a complicated dinner with his Mother.
He can't help that sting of something unmatured, spiking down the middle of his gut.
He is always at risk of giving her up.
And people are starting to make him chose, now.
But he just can't help it. His mind turns over to the thought of her so willingly.
He is like a moth to that very constant flame haired woman in his life...
He tempers a hitch in his throat as he relives the moment, not long passed enough to have been properly buried. Her lips, warm and enticing and flavoured so strangely to his liking, as if she had planned it from the very start. Her short dark trademarked fingernails, scratching down his skin and marking him lightly, like the time before and the time before and the other time, before that…
His eyes snap open, his pupils dilating into the night as his brow furrows deeply.
He's only ever kissed her three times. Not four.
The second time...it didn't even exist.
He frowns deeper, caught against his own stupidity.
No matter how hard he remembers every little detail about that moment, her hair, bright and soft to the touch, her lips, vanilla flavoured, from the coffee he had waited for her to make, for what felt like an hour. The way she had swanned in, cool and calm and collected in nothing but his shirt, holding her offering of their ritual. The feel of his dress-shirt, worn by another and brushing against his bare skin and that slightly lazy, contented look in her eyes...it wasn't even real.
None of it.
It had been a dream.
A fucking dream.
He really was completely screwed up in the head...
And it appears...that everyone around knew all along.
...Did Donna have anything to do with that complication?...
….And Donna is?...
...Everything okay with you and Donna?...
...maybe there's a part of you that likes it, and doesn't want it to stop…
….Love me, how?...
He doesn't understand her, and he'll wager that maybe she doesn't even understand herself at this point.
He knows that staying would have been a mistake. It's never the right time, and the idea of such a thing plagues him more than he'll ever admit.
He is...changing, though. And she brought all of that into action. He is now scared of the future. Of their future. Of things changing beyond his control.
She was the one...who forced him to care about another living person more than hisself.
Now, that person was leaving him.
She had nudged him into countless relationships with people, all of which ended, and mostly because of her.
They all leave, in the end.
Even she tries to leave. But only ever for him. To save him, to help him.
And he just...can't let go anymore. He's finding every second with her harder and harder to ignore.
Now...he wants more. Of her. Of them.
He's tired of being a bachelor, of seeing the people in his life find that 'special other person' and settle down and move towards their own dreams. Something shaped beyond goals and successes.
I don't have dreams...I have goals. And now onto the next...
Things change. And now he wants someone who will keep him. Forever, more than steady. Someone who understands him and doesn't fear or judge the complicated facets of his being. Who he can come home to and share something that isn't his endless day of work.
He's been bringing his job home at night for over fifteen years.
It's time to bring something else instead. Greet more than silence and distant lights and expensive Whiskey.
He doesn't even own a television. He doesn't even have a life outside of those walls.
His only problem, if it even presents itself as such, is that right now, and for a while, amidst all the others, when he looks at the ideal woman in his head, despite all of the words said, and the people that have passed him and the ones that have intervened. Even when he ignores all of that,
All he can see, is her.
Donna.
And there's only one problem with that.
She said she 'didn't feel anything when she kissed him'.
Was it possible that she lied, about that? Like she's been known to do before? Or were her actions tonight, born out of sadness and fear and losing people swiftly, like he had done, also. Or perhaps, in knowing how the kiss had affected him, had she played on that? Reaped her own selifsh sense of comfort born out of the information that she knew he would reciprocate.
He dashes the last thought. She's never been cruel to him. It's not in her nature. The last cruel thing she did was impose a rule, and even that had understandable reasons attached to it.
There is barely anything in this world that he would not give her, if she asked him for it.
But what is he to trust now, other than that she loves her job, and loves her new position - completely apart from him now - and she too is glad to have something of what they had shared before.
Back to Normal? If they are for you then they are for me...
He downs the rest of his glassful, knowing that if he sits here any longer, he'll begin to tie himself up in knots that will lead him angrily to bed, and waking in no better a mood.
That night, he dreams of her.
But instead of a dream,
It's a memory.
She's moaning, purring almost with that rich, luxurious tone of hers, every sound in reaction to his tongue, as it makes deliberately lazy swirls against her skin only to change tact, rotating it in a figure of eight, following the dots of whipped cream that she had placed to his exact specification as she bucks and arches her back against his every touch.
He's never done this with anyone in his life, and he's sure that they are both raving mad, her; for allowing him into her apartment and finally shedding her rule, whipped cream in hand, and him; for holding out on such a thing for longer than he's ever chased any woman. Her skin is fragrant and pale and silky soft and he finds himself falling for her unique charm, all freckles and knock-knees and peach tinted porcelain as he all up laps her up with a sense of vigour and youth about himself. His arousal is peaked, and he's nearly finished which means that he needs to pull out all the stops if he is to make this last any longer. But she's whip smart, even in her thorough enjoyment, her fingernails gently scratching against the back of his neck in a way that has shivers running against his chest, and an innate urge to crawl up her body and into her arms, just to have her do it again. His eyes flick to hers, immediately spotting that purposeful look in her hazel orbs, mixed with the hazy pull of the beginnings of orgasm as he sucks at her and delves his fingers into her just to see her hips raise up and forward, encouraging him deeper. It excites him, this eager reaction in her, from someone usually so held together, someone so restrained at work and in his presence. It's something he never thought he'd get to see in a million years, and it feels fleeting, even in it's heightened sense.
She is fire and flame and his undoing, and when she comes against him for the first time, it's like he is seeing his future in the perfect picture of her, and he knows.
He's a little done for.
But she's not going anywhere. Not if he has anything to do with it...
. . ….
Good night sweetheart, till we meet tomorrow
Good night sweetheart, sleep will banish sorrow
Tears and parting may make us forlorn
But with the dawn, a new day is born (so I'll say)
Good night sweetheart, tho' I'm not beside you
Good night sweetheart, still my love will guide you
Dreams enfold you, in each one I'll hold you
Good night sweetheart, good night
Good night sweetheart, till we meet tomorrow
Good night sweetheart, sleep will banish sorrow
'Goodnight Sweetheart' By the Flamingos
. . ...
Donna Paulsen dresses for the work day, right on the apex of focus.
Half for herself, as armour, the newer style of sharp lines and suit-tailored dresses,
And half...to offset the man she's sure will be in a muddy mixture of moods today.
He had asked if he'd see her in the morning. Worried that she wouldn't stay.
But even with that, it didn't discount that after she had all but thrown herself at the man - for the second time in such a short while - and then ripped herself away from his growing reaction, that he would be particularly displeased with her actions, overall.
He had asked her to promise him that that, which happened, would never again happen.
She had agreed, wholeheartedly, at the time.
And now, she had...done it again. Oops.
She was glad he hadn't followed after; knocking on her door and demanding answers that she didn't fully possess.
But there is a small part of her, the somewhat wicked kind, subordinate almost and born out of the stubborn refusal to accept her feelings for this man, that actually supported her lack of answer that she had for Paula.
She couldn't promise the woman that it wouldn't happen. Because there was only one absolute when it came to them.
And that, was that they remain in one another's lives. Indefinitely.
He couldn't let her go. She knew this to be gospel, now.
Everything else between them, it seems, is up for debate.
She looks up at her choice, examining it in her long mirror. It's a Nero teal coloured sleeveless sheath dress. It has a sheer plunging neckline that's partly concealed with shimmer material, and a rosette of wave like material that extends from one hip. It's sexy and tantalising, but form fitting enough to be all business.
She is no longer someone's assistant. She is now her own person, with her own job role. Of course, she still aids Harvey. That's never going to stop, as long as they work together. And she'll always have access to his calendar, his clients, and the inner workings of his cases and workload.
Some things will never change.
She thinks of pinning her hair up like she had done the night before, but it's a bld move. One with too high a risk.
A little too much, considering the facts.
He has a eagle eye for detail, after all.
And she doesn't want to invoke the beast.
. …..
It ain't easy but it's almost over
This heart was made to wonder
But I will conquer
'Conquer' - By RIVVRS
. …..
Harvey wakes with a heaviness. As though his brain has been so active, so vividly entangled in a state of his own minds eye, that he hasn't so much as properly rested his body.
He takes a long shower, feeling the need to release the tension of the past week or so but knowing that it will only drown him deeply into a sense of emotional self indulgence. He's too tired for a run, instead favouring a very strong coffee to perk him up.
It's Ray's day off, and so the drive to work is quiet and uninterrupted, the day looking rather busy in the back to back traffic that's forming up fifth.
He assumes everyone will be in late today, nursing heads and -
It dawns on him then, that save for Donna, only Alex and Louis will be in attendance from last night.
He dashes the strong pull on his heart, as he focuses on the meetings he knows he has scheduled for the day, running them down one by one in his mind. Robert Zane and his posse aren't due for another week yet, but no doubt Robert will be in an even more paltry mood, after finding out that he won't be merging with his daughter's firm, but instead, a firm that has stood as a rival for near on decades.
He's sure he's going to lock horns with this guy. He can feel it, in his gut. And his two biggest assets against that kind of complication won't be there.
He steps out of the cab with even more dread about him, gliding, despite his lowered mood, with his usual amount of purpose, sliding past the turnstiles and into the elevator.
He looks for her, but she's not with him, instead he's flanked by a bunch of associates that are too afraid to directly meet his eye. The slightly sardonic side of him inwardly smiles at the idea that he can still terrify an elevator full of people with his sheer presence alone.
He wanders out of the elevator and into the lobby, his eyes casually glancing around for any sign of her.
Nothing.
The absence of her makes him feel like a fool, for investing so much brain power in seeking her out. He draws a breath, deciding to avoid looking into her office just to reclaim a little shred of dignity, as he calmly treads into his own office.
He still misses the morning greetings, and the sense of occasion at her being sat outside his desk. He understands that she needed more, and is the first to defend her deserving of her new role, but he is at least honest enough with himself to admit that it still stings a touch, at her not being there.
Thirteen Years, they had been together. Not ten feet away, six days a week. Thirteen years he had said good morning to her, talked with her, listened to her or on those occasions avoided her lectures. She had framed the start of his mornings, their calls in between and the beginnings of his evenings for so long, that for a creature of habit such as himself, it was a hard thing to lose willingly.
He sits at his desk, trying to bury his head in the day.
But when a streak of red and green darts across the front of his office, he finds himself unable to completely focus. He huffs, his mouth bending in distaste as it awakens a recurring feeling.
All at once,
He misses Mike Ross.
The only other person that could pull him out of this.
. . .. ..
"Good Morning Donna, I have the new budget list you asked for, with that ten percent adjustment?"
Donna looks up to spy Louis Litt, chirpy and practically effervescent as he marches into her office, blue suit clad and laying down the document with a sense of overstated gravitas about the action.
She suppresses a grin, picking up the document. "Morning Louis. Ah...amazing. You," She regards. "Are a star." She compliments.
"And you are very welcome." He says, lingering near her desk. "And I come with other news,"
Her eyes flick up, wide and rather comical. "What is it, Louis?"
"In exactly one week, three days and six hours, Sheila is moving into my house. With Me. And...we're going to try for a baby."
"Oh my god," She grins instantly, moving to stand. She loves Sheila. Despite the woman's rather strange temperament, she could see from last night just how much the woman loved Louis. She had spied, from Harvey's arms, the way that the woman held onto him, wrapping herself around him with a tenderness and a care. It had warmed her heart to know that Louis Litt finally got the woman of his dreams. And they fit. Completely.
It seems that everybody gets somebody that fits them. She's not sure where she fits into that ideal anymore.
"Congratulations, Louis. I'm so pleased." She pulls Louis into a hug, hearing him hiccup a smile of pure joy, as he squeezes her gently.
"I just keep thinking, is this real? Is this finally happening? This wonderful woman wants to be with me, and share a life with me and I'm actually getting to have that?"
"For what it's worth, you two looked adorable last night." She notes.
"We did didn't we," He agrees, mirth ridden, his cheshire cat grin wider than she thinks she's ever seen before. "But enough about me...what about you? I noticed you and Harvey were….close, last night."
"It was just a dance, Louis." She defends. They had spent the night rather closely entwined. But that doesn't mean... "People dance." She adds, shrugging defensively.
With them there are no absolutes. For all she knows, he'll run out and get another girlfriend.
"Alright, Alright," He relinquishes, his hands flying up to excuse his indulgence. "All I wanted to say, was...you two look...good together."
"Thanks Louis." She smiles softly, allowing him his one thing, as she watches him retreat back out into the hall. "But I wouldn't hold out on anything," She assures him.
"I'm not so sure...I have a feeling, your luck is going to change," He says, ominously, as he wanders out into the hall with a retreating smile.
She's glad that he hadn't mentioned Mike and Rach.
One complication is enough for the day.
She sighs, returning to her work, ignoring the feel of the man on the otherwise of the wall.
. . ….
Can't keep my hands to myself
Think I'll dust 'em off, put 'em back up on the shelf
In case my little baby girl is in need
Am I coming out of left field?
'Feel it Still' By Portugal. The Man.
. . ...
Harvey's day has been too boring to keep his mind fully off of a certain redhead, and without the adequate distraction of his starkly absent partner in crime, he is hungry for a problem to fall into his lap and adequately pull his focus. They had both managed, by some inexplicable turn of events, or some kind of frustrating coincidence to miss one another in the morning, that flash of her passing his office being the only time he had managed to lay eyes on her. After finding her not at her desk on two separate occasions, in between him dragged out to various meetings, it is fastly approaching early dinner by the time he actually starts to make his way back to the office. But now, a heavy field of yellow and black traffic is blocking his final destination. He frowns, looking around the cars, a nugget of doubt, born out of idleness starting to embed itself into his brain like a stubborn tick.
Is Donna...avoiding him?
He fishes his phone out of his pocket, hating himself for the mere decision of such a thing, as he speedials her number, raising the phone to his ear as he clears his throat of any doubt.
"So...you finally remember my number?" He hears her chime down the phone, a surprising sense of confidence in her distinct voice.
"My phone remembers your number," He remarks coolly, countering her quick-wittedness, only this time he isn't quite as cool as usual. Not as calmly collected as he has been with her before. He called her. Enroute to the firm. Not for a work reason.
This is a different scenario. Like their drinking session last week.
He hears her chuckle on the other end of the phone, that ribbon of colour that her voice unleashes, sending a smile to stretch across his own face. "What can I do for you, Harvey?" She asks.
"I was just...wondering...if you're going to be in the in the office...when I get back?" He asks, trying for a lightness in his voice.
He hears her suspend a breath, something that fills him with unease for the three seconds that it takes her to answer. He straightens, his free hand tapping on his knee as a wanton distraction from the bead of sweat trailing down his back.
"Of course, Harvey." She says softly. "Why?" She asks, her natural curiosity peaking out.
"No reason," He assures her. "Gotta go," He lies, before ending the call.
He lingers on their interchange as the car halts once more.
. . ...
Donna misses Rachel.
It's times like these, when she needs the careful considerations of her friend. Donna had always been a loner, of sorts, honing her deducting skills enough to make up her own mind more often than not. It seems that Harvey, is the only subject that she ever needs an aid for. Someone to listen, to let her bounce her thoughts off of. To listen to the emotional minefild that has been she and Harvey's checkered past.
Now, she was reduced to Gretchen, who was shrewd and observational - like her - but who had limited time for her, with Louis being a full time job on top of her actual duties. And then there was Katrina, with whom she had had several impersonal interactions with over the years. They were on good terms, but essentially, out of all the women that have inhabited Specter Litt over the years. Rachel had been the only one that truly stuck.
And her absence was...palpable, now. To say the least.
She mentally kicks herself for going back on her own resolution - of pretending that the newly wed couple are merely on their honeymoon.
That self imposed lie hasn't so much as lasted a day.
She groans, twiddling her pen between the fingers on her right hand, as her eyes drift away from her current assignment. A client immediacy report - a structured list of points at which Harvey and Louis's clients would need possible extra attention. Over the years, she had structured Harvey's clientele with ease. Birthdays, Annual Board meetings, dates of revisions for contracts and possible opportunities to lend valuable aid, were all documented, in diary form, and then sent to Harvey as points of interest. After moving away from a Harvey-only focus of working, she had decided that now that Louis was a Managing Partner, it served well to gather the same kind of attentions to his finance focused clients, to keep apprised of both of their top earners and then involve Katrina once she had a functional list up and running.
She saves her document, closing her tablet against the desk, and finds herself doing something that she hasn't done in a long while. She lets the impulse take her, as she glides out of her office, and into his.
She used to wander his office on the days that he wasn't there, back in the good old early days. She had seen his office as her home just as much as his, and it soothed her to wonder over albums, or stare out at the varying views with every office change she had been party to.
But his office feels different now. It's not hers anymore. There are pieces of her, in the pictures she's hung, and the bottle of whiskey that she still orders for him, to be refilled periodically. And of course, her fingerprints are over every single record in his vast collection, perhaps a thousand times over. She's touched his basketballs so many times she thinks she might actually have smudged an autograph or two by accident, and although she doesn't refill the cartridges in his pens anymore, she's sure she still knows the number of the ink that he uses.
She sighs, looking about the room of familiar things, before her attention directs itself to a record, slightly out of sync with the rest.
She walks to his vinyl collection, her fingers plucking the record, sleeve covered.
She smiles when she turns it over in her hands.
"Back to the scene of the crime, huh?"
His suddenly close and overly distinct voice makes her visibly jump, as she shoots her wild gaze at him, eyes wide and surprised by his seemingly immediate presence, no less than a few feet away from her.
"Harvey! My god, whistle a tune or something," She scolds, flapping slightly at the sight of him, smirking in that way that makes his jaw uneven and the eyebrow with moles to arch with interest. Some of his expressions are completely beguiling, and wholly handsome on a man like him. It's a terrible mixture when he really turns it on.
"And miss you jumping out of your skin?" He offers, smirking. "Not a chance." He resolves.
She rolls her eyes as his coolly whipped behaviour, distilling a breath between her lungs as she places the record back in it's rightful place.
"What are you doing in here?" He asks. There is a softness to his voice, where hardness always used to plant this question before.
It knocks her off of her game for a second.
"That…" She says, dragging out the word to gve herself the much needed pause. "Is a rather interesting question...to which...only Budda knows the true answer."
"You're being weird...are you okay?" He frowns, pouting slightly at her strange behaviour as his hands slide into his pockets.
She thinks that after thirteen years, he would be used to her by now.
Apparently two kisses and they are both all over the place...
"Says the guy who called me just to….see if I'd be in the office when he got back." She plays the point like a counter argument, her hip popping slightly to challenge his resolve.
"I hadn't seen you all day." He shrugs. "I was…"
"Worried?"
"Curious." He counters, something spiking his eyes.
Her face flattens then, spying more of that something underneath his casual seeming demeanour. "I told you that I'd be here, Harvey. And...here I am." She gestures.
"I know." He nods, non-commital in the face of her words.
She frowns, trying to second guess this altered state of his.
"So…" He says.
"Look, about last night," She starts.
He's suddenly looking at her like he has no idea what she's about to come out with.
"Harvey, we need to talk about Robert Zane - Hey Donna,"
Their faces flash in unison, to the picture of Louis with the worst timing in the human world Litt, standing before them with an impatience, his steps halting at the sight of them both.
She watches the good spirit drain from Harvey almost immediately as he turns to Louis, reigning in his annoyance in favour of listening to his Partner.
"I'm gonna go," Donna offers, gliding out of the office without waiting to hear a reply from either.
She wonders if an office romance is even this hard for anybody else in the entire world.
Even if everybody is onboard the 'darvey' train...
. . ….
Keep on hangin' on
Stuck here 'til I'm gone
Boys still throwin' stones
Runnin' till I'm wrong
I never listened
To tell the truth
I never knew
But nobody misses
What you did
Quite like I do
Got me thinkin' 'bout it
All day long
('til we're dead and gone)
All day long
('til we're dead and gone)
'Keep on' By Portugal. The Man.
. ...
When Donna finishes up for the night, Harvey isn't in his office, with her having seen him follow Louis into the gunnells of the firm over an hour previous. Now that they were Mike-light, it would mean that they needed to find new weapons to fight with. She didn't envy Harvey or Louis's position - dealing with a man such as Robert Zane, without either Mike or Rachel present - with a merging of two houses in that manner, it was a difficult situation enough to navigate with just the two of them.
She at least, has managed to finish the two reports, ahead of her schedule, mostly in direct contrast to her minds rather frustrating urge to fixate on her broken conversation with Harvey, hours earlier.
The man was making her feel uneasy, not in the fearful way, but in the completely confused kind of way.
She taps her foot, waiting for the elevator doors to open. She is tired, after a night like last night, and the come down of their new situation as a firm, topped off with Harvey 'changing with every moment' Specter now in the beginnings of opening as an emotional flower of sorts - a strangely girlish analogy for a contradiction such as he - she's finally been drained of all she has left in her.
Her night will be simple. Streamlined. Specific. A bath. Wine. And bed.
She double takes as Harvey appears, sliding lithely in between the doors, standing beside her just in time to see them shut heavily in front of them.
She should have figured that this would happen. That he would catch her eventually. She straightens, stilling that uneasy sense of the unknown, as she concentrates on the doors in front of them for a moment.
Her eyes flick to his out of pure curiosity, spying the unrest in them, the way he's pulled at his tie, more dishevelled than the last time she had seen him. She can't be sure if it's because of her or Robert Zane, at this point in the night.
"Hey," She says, her tone slightly airy.
"Hey," He replies, frowning awkwardly.
"Listen, Harvey, I-" She reasons.
But it's too late for words, it seems, as he interrupts her, pulling her body into him with a rush, the action knocking the wind clean from her lungs, and the sturdy planting of her feet to buckle slightly under the weight of her heart as his cupid lips press against hers. He nudges her lips open as his head angles, something so potent and unrestrained about the action as he fuses them together, like a red and blue wire sparking and engulfing them both. She is helpless to even think for herself, her hands caught in the space between their chests, heaving with every desperate tugging of his lips against hers, a bruising kiss with noses bumping and his born intensity as they both fight for air, neither daring to pull away.
After a moment or two he slows, something seemingly exorcised within him as he abates his urge, kissing her soundly with the narrowest restraint, his free hand losing itself in her thick head of curls, as he sighs between their barely parted lips. She wants to pull him into herself, but she is gracious enough to let him have this one. She knows, deep down, that if she gives as good as she gets, his hand will slam against that emergency button without a second thought, plunging them both into nakedness and a rather compromising situation - one that they may not properly work themselves out of at this late hour.
She turns her palm over, her fingers ghosting against his stubbly jaw, sliding further down his neck and lingering against the stiff fabric of his open collar, her eyes examining his, the slight twitch of his eyebrows, a tension beginning to set in, contradicting the rather lustful look in his eye.
All the pieces fall in unison, like a loose pack of cards. Something that's been missing from her understanding of a man like him. This expression, his expression, it's a mixture of a look that he's given her thousands of times over the years, that restrained frustration, usually due to her pushing, or her ripe behaviour, and his acceptance of her being.
But she had gotten it wrong, before.
It's never been about him being at odds with her,
On the contrary, it's been the exact opposite.
This is all his feeling for her falling out in the space between them.
And she's never noticed - Until now.
"I thought we agreed that we'd never do that again…" She breathes the question, the humour threaded through her voice like a woven blanket, the possible answers mingling in the space between them.
"I think we both know, that I wasn't the one that broke that agreement." He says, his voice hard, but a noticeably lopsided smirk appearing across his face. "And I've been...thinking about it all day," He admits, sighing at his own admission.
She laughs, rolling her eyes at the way he manages to affect her so.
"That'll teach you to hold my hand." She jokes.
"Wow. Suddenly glad that you didn't dance with everybody at the party, if that's all it takes." He quips.
She ignores his rather cumbersome joke. "Harvey...what are we doing?" She asks.
"Well...we're…you know…" He infers their current proximity.
"It appears..." She sighs. "But..we need to talk." She says, her voice slicing through the moment like stainless steel through mozzarella.
He blinks, a bold frown falling onto his face. "Now? Now, is when you wanna talk?"
She gives him a look then. It takes him two seconds of looking into her eyes to back off. He lets go of her then, giving them some much needed space as he leans against the elevator wall, a sense of forced casualness about his action.
For a second, she thinks he's being ridiculous, leaning up against the inside of an elevator, his legs cross at the ankle, looking expectantly at her. "Okay...talk." He offers, a staunchness about his demeanour.
"Okay." She nods, gathering her thoughts. "I...lied…" She divulges.
"What?" He frowns softly.
"When I told you I didn't feel anything for you. When I kissed you?" She reminds him. "I lied."
He gives her a somewhat startled look, his chin raising, before a slightly fatherly scorn roams about his face. "Yeah…I kind of worked that out last night, after you stuck your tongue down my throat." He lies, riding the words that fill his mouth.
She makes a face at him, scrunching up her nose at his crude remark. "What can I say," She shrugs, smirking against the feeling of being put on the spot. "New habits, die even harder," She quips, waiting a beat before she asks her own question. "You...felt something...when I kissed you?" She deduces.
"Yes," He confirms, nodding cleanly at her, his jaw flexing at the sheer memory of it. He had been like a teenager, knocked off his feet by the girl next door. Out of the clear blue sky... "Both times." He notes.
"Okay." She nods, turning slightly. He watches as she breathes a long sigh.
His eyes widen for a moment, as he pushes off of the wall with his hands, challenging the about turn in the conversation. "That's….it?" He checks, frowning. "'Okay'?"
"Uh-huh." She says plainly, pulling her handbag to herself, as her eyes train on the zero that appears on the elevator console. She readies herself as the doors open, and she glides out, her long legs making sizable strides.
He frowns even deeper, confusion flooding his features as he marches to catch up with her. He's completely at a loss as to the reason she seems so...calm. So resolute on a decision that they haven't even made together, but she has clearly come to all by herself. He's spent well over a decade dodging the million conversations she wants to have with him and now, finally, after all that's happened, and all he's now half-willing to indulge in, she's cutting the verbal legs from under him.
"Donna," He calls, watching as she halts along the edge of sidewalk, peering into traffic. "Donna," He begins, planting his feet with a stubbornness. "What's going on? You say you want to talk...and then you say…'okay', and now...nothing?"
"Yes," She nods curtly, her attention drawing back to the sea of traffic.
"Are you friggin' kidding me?" He says, his voice raising.
"What, Harvey?" She asks, feigning understanding for his sudden outburst.
"All those years. Every time you wanted to have a talk with me about my life, my relationships, my feelings, you...and now...nothing?" He says, a building annoying peeling his words as his eyes narrow at her.
She looks to him, examining the frustration that reflects back at her.
"Harvey," She says, planting her feet so that they now stand parallel. "You felt something. I felt something. There's no….need...to talk at length about it."
"Why not?" He frowns.
"Because…" She inhales sharply, out of words as she looks out towards a swarm of incoming cabs.
His hand comes out in front of her, trying to direct her eyeline to him. "Donna, I'll get Ray to take you." He says hurriedly, thoughtlessly referring to her ride home. Her eyes flick up to his then, feeling that potent stare of his.
"Ray's off today," She reminds him.
He double takes, confusion riding his face at the strange brainfart of a moment. "Donna...Why don't you want to talk about it?" He fires at her. "Huh? Because, what? You're...scared?" He offers, shaking his head slightly.
"No." She frowns, a little more animated than he deems to spy a truthful response to be.
His head tilts, challenging her denial of the matter, his eyes ping ponging back between each of hers to spot the reasoning.
"Please just...tell me what's going on." He half-pleads.
Even when he half-ass's the emotion, she can't resist it.
"I….just...think that….if we're on the same page, then we need...time...to...figure things out." She says, holding her bag against herself.
Her response stumps him. Rolls him over flat like a Golden Retriever waiting for the last morsel of his Master's meal, only to watch her clean the plate without a word.
"Time?" He answers finally, his lips mashing together with a distaste.
"Yes." She nods. "Time." She confirms.
"You realise that you're the most complicated woman that I've ever been with in my entire life,"
"Well someone had to keep you one your toes." She reasons with a heavy smirk. "And if it wasn't going to be Scottie,"
"What is it with you two?" He accuses.
"What?" She frowns, pouting slightly.
"You...sniff each other out."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What it's supposed to mean is, that she came to my office to apologise the other day, and ask if I had worked out my shit, and then, before I know it, I'm telling her about Paula, but she's asking about you."
"What did she ask you?"
"If you had something to do with the break up."
The expression on her face falls flat against the words. "Oh."
"And I didn't even need to answer for her to work it out."
"Did she want to start things up again?" She asks, her face ridden of all emotion.
"Not now, she doesn't." He remarks, rather irksome.
"I'm sorry, Harvey."
"Don't be." He says automatically. "This is...not about Scottie." He tells her, his eyes planting the emphasis of the fact.
She nods, falling into a moment of thought as she gestures an oncoming cab to pass on by.
"Listen…" He says, planting his attention firmly on her. "I'm going to...do something really stupid, and ignore your needing this...time you're requesting and….ask if you would...like to have dinner, with me. At mine. Tonight."
"Harvey," She huffs. "I said-"
"I know what you said." He interrupts, snatching at her line of thought. "And I think, for once...it's not a good idea."
"Why not?" She frowns, blinking.
"Because…" He sighs, trying to find the words. "Wouldn't it make more sense to...explore what's going on, instead of brushing it under the rug...again?"
"Perhaps." She reasons, before another thought comes to the fore. "But-"
"No buts, Donna. Have dinner with me." He presses.
"At your apartment?" She clarifies.
"Yes." He nods, observing the look of unease in her eyes.
"Why do I feel like I'm getting…'Harvey Specter'd'?" She says, a wary expression framing her delicate features.
"Did you just use my name as a verb?" He checks, giving her an amused look.
"...Maybe..." She divulges, smirking at him.
"What exactly do you think I do with women when they come to my apartment? Prey on them?"
"I've seen American Psycho." She notes, a familiar wickedness returning to her.
"That's not funny." He says, dead-panned.
"But seriously," She scoffs. "Every guy has his...bit, you know." She tells him.
"His bit?" He says, pouting slightly against the question.
"Yes." She shrugs the nearest shoulder to him. "His bit. His checklist. Let's call it a...practised line of action when...seducing a woman."
"You think I'm...trying to seduce you?" The way he says it makes her want to reach over and lick the entire antihelix of his right ear. She draws a breath trying not to engage in the daydream of what that could potentially feel like, over ten years down the line from the last time...
"Well, aren't you?" She throws back at him.
He smirks at her then, like a man caught at his defining purpose. His face flattens soon after, innocence deliberately charting his features. "Maybe...I just...want to spend time with you, with no interruptions, outside of this place," He says, nodding to the towering building beside them. "One that we've...practically lived in for a decade." He adds.
And perhaps, he has absolutely no idea what to do with this rather beautiful woman...
"Will there be...wine...at this so called time-spending endeavour?" She offers, something slightly cheeky about her words.
"Wine. Whiskey. Water." He shrugs, his lips twitching.
They are momentarily offset by the sleek black car that jogs their memory, slowing alongside them.
Harvey waits, seeing the possibilities turning in her mind like a rigged slot machine.
"Well?" He encourages, watching as a smirk appears on her face.
He steps forward, opening the door as he witnesses her slide silently on to the backseat.
He suppresses a pang of nerves that stir with within his gut, as he joins her, shutting the car door behind them both.
This entire day is a game changer.
. . . ..
Take all the love you're given
Through the gap in the wall
Seal it tight with the light blue ribbon
Then unlock the door
But your ego won't let you love
And your fear is your downfall
If you won't take the love you're given
Then at least let me go
'The love you're given' By Jack Garrett.
. . ….
It appears that I've been forced to write Louis Litt, something that I'm under-practised at. Bare with me, and as always, please feed the kitty. A x