Notes:
Thanks so much to everyone who's fed. It's gonna be a Rollercoaster on this one so stay with me people!
'SUITS' - Chapter 4 – By Atheniandream
When Rachel catches Donna in the Partner's kitchen, she's holding the Cheetos; having taken them hostage from all visible associates at least half an hour previous. And this time, Rachel's never been more interested in Donna's life and less in her own.
"So; have you…made a decision?" She asks her friend, watching with dark browns and a twitch in her lip.
"Don't look at me like that, Rach."
"Like what?"
"Like that. You'll make me cry." She warns, scrunching the foil packet in her hands.
"You've said yes?" The panic in her friend's face is enough to warrant a clarification.
"No. Sweetie, I'm going to wait and go there first before I make a final decision. I do…want to say yes, though."
"You're going to say yes." She says like it's a statement of fact. Rachel has a habit of jumping the gun. "I'm so sad that you won't be here…but London, that's amazing. That's a whole new life."
"I know. What will I do?"
"What do you want to do?" She asks, stirring the tea in her hands.
"Right now I want a drink. A big one. "
She laughs at her friend then.
"Maybe you should think on it, wait until you've gone and come back?" Rachel offers. Ever the steady rock.
"I don't think it's going to change my mind, Rach. This is more about the guy than it is the location. And of course I'm going to miss New York and my parents and everybody like crazy, but…I actually feel good about this; the idea of leaving it all behind being an option. A fresh start, and…some possibility."
"Judging by my last few months I complete get that… but, are you sure? This isn't the first time a guy from a foreign land has tried to sweep you off your feet."
Rachel was on to something. This wasn't the first time that she'd been proposed to in some sort of way. Luckily Rachel was always the steady ground that clung to her when she feared her friend was losing sight of reality. She couldn't help it. There would always be a flight in her. But this was different. This was…comfortable.
It was real.
"Rachel…I'm sure." She says.
"Dare I say it, what about…?" Rachel made a face.
"Harvey? I can't think about him right now."
"Donna," Rachel protested, looking at her like a School teacher who was scolding a 7 year old.
"Don't."
"What if…?"
"Don't say it." She warned, a frown threatening on her face.
"But… what if?"
"Then…nothing. Nothing will change. Trust me."
She ignores the lingering look of doubt on her best friend's face.
Her lunch with Stephen puts a complete grounding to the flighty feeling the conversation with Rachel had left her with. He was becoming the steady rock to her flood-like apprehension.
"I've been asked to help close the Mercer case up in Connecticut this weekend, before I return home." He says, chasing his chicken salad with a fork.
"Wow they're really utilising your time here," The sarcasm tainted her slight glare as she minded her own lunch.
"Tell me about it. And I've been assigned Mike, to accompany me for the two days."
Her face flicks up at the utterance of Mike. Mike had been seldom in her life the past month. It was starting to feel like an absence.
"Oh. Well…good. It's not like he's working for Harvey at the moment so it's good that he's finally getting picked up again. He's a very smart kid."
"You don't think that it will create unneeded strain…if Harvey finds out?"
"I'll handle it." She says, placating him.
"You sure?"
"I can handle it." She reaffirms. If there's one thing in the entire world that she can handle, it's Harvey Specter. "I gotta go. I have a ton of filing to do. You gonna pass past mine tonight for a proper goodbye, or leave me high and dry?" She asks, getting up from the table.
"What do you think…" He says, meeting to kiss her lightly.
"I'll take that as a 'yes'." She cocks an eyebrow at him, looking back to see him enjoying her sauntering away.
She smiles all the way to the file room until a temp idly stares at her.
She glares, "What?" the word biting.
Despite Donna's best efforts to keep the fact from him, Harvey finds out almost immediately.
She expects irritability for days and curt replies to questions she has to ask him. Instead, she gets complete absence. She finally corners him in the file room before the day is almost about to finish and she's already late for meeting Stephen, who's probably outside her apartment already counting the minutes down.
"Since when do you come in here?" She asks, almost accusingly so, gliding amongst the aisles filled with boxes until she finds him at the end by the desks, file in his mouth as his fingers work through a wadd of paper.
"Since I don't have an associate anymore," He replies through paper and plastic.
"You could fix that, you know?" She folds her arms, an attitude in her stance as she watches him flick through files once more, before placing them on the table with the others.
"I kicked Mike for a reason. I hear he's… doing well with my British counterpart."
She ignores the bad temper in his voice.
"He is. But…you're going to need him in the future, so."
"Why…for when he takes you instead?" His eyes flash 'danger'.
"Harvey, no one's taking me I-" She starts.
"I heard you with Rachel." He interrupts.
The statement clips her attention. For a second she's not sure if he said it or if she imagined it as she watches him almost frozen, his fingers searching another box of files. When his eyes meet hers again they're dark with a warning she can't quite understand.
"Harvey, I-" She's about to object when he interrupts again.
"You said 'yes'. Why didn't you tell me?" He fires at her.
"Harvey look… he asked me, and I-"
"I think you're making a huge mistake." He interrupts once more, pausing, only to continue with the files.
His constant interrupting of her immediately elicits an anger that she thinks she saves just for him.
"Why can't you just be happy for me?" She fires back, taking a step forward.
"Because in the twelve years that I've known you; you have NEVER, not once, compromised on your life for some guy."
"That's because YOU were the GUY, Harvey!" She's untempered and it's the worst location to be so. Anyone could be lurking, but she's too angry and it's too late in the day to care.
He pauses.
"What?" He asks.
"You were the guy! You were the only person in my life that I made the room for."
"Donna, I never," He babbles, unable to articulate his meaning.
"No, Harvey you never do. And that's the problem. Do you know, my mother doesn't even bother setting me up anymore because she knows that they won't put up with you?"
"What do you want me to say?" He asks, hands hanging limply at his sides.
"There isn't anything you can say. Do you know what the first question Stephen asked me was?" She asks, her hand on her hip making her all the sharper.
"What?"
"It was about you. Not me, you." She says, trying to make him understand the bigger picture.
"And don't you think that's a bit odd?" He asks, insinuation all over his words. It causes an instant flash of anger at how he isn't getting it.
"This isn't about you, Harvey! He asked because even he notices it. And that needs to change…starting now. Look, I'm not going to leave until… things are settled... here. But, when your name is on that door; I'm gone."
"Donna," he shakes his head like he does when she gives too much away and he can't rustle up the courage to say what's on his mind.
"Don't. I need to start my life, Harvey. You saved me, twelve years ago, and I'm grateful. But I have more than made up for that and now… I need to save myself this time."
The words are harsh, and she never expected to be saying them. But clear as day the moment was leading to this point. She gets that now.
"From me?" He asks. You can see by the look he's wearing just how deep his own words cut.
"No, Harvey. From me. I'll see you in two weeks. Be nice to Cameron…He's not as much of a little pain in the ass as I thought." She says, not bothering to stay for his reply.
It had never felt like a break up between two seemingly single people until now.
London in a sentence is: Rain, Rain, Theatres, Rain, Buses and heavy foot traffic. It's a big city, but somehow less spread out than New York; with narrow walkways and little hidden streets; a traditional pub every 10 seconds champion even the Starbucks and Fast-Food Restaurants and an overwhelming array of tourist shops. She's grateful that Stephen will be providing a non-tourist view of the city; but she decided on booking a hotel anyway, just as a base. She figures she can have her cake and eat it; being that she can spend time with him in his apartment, but still take time for herself in her own space if and when she needed to. He seemed fine with the idea, being his usual easy-going self, and that way she would be able to test the inevitable waters of their currently undefined relationship. Of course, not the Thames waters; which were murky and worse smelling than the Hudson; having truly lived up to its putrid reputation since the times of Shakespeare himself.
She had already found the Globe; a strange building along the Southwark edge of the river, that seemed so out of date compared to the overwhelming skyscrapers, Art Deco buildings and post-war brickhouses of the skyline. And indeed as Steve had said the London Eye was the most horrific thing she'd seen in a long while; however she still dragged him up there to get what was being hailed as the 'best view of the city'. Towards the afternoon he dragged her to a little pub tucked away in Covent Garden, called 'The Cross Keys'; a quaint pub covered completely in ivy and hanging flowers, which served various Old Ale's – one passion fruit flavoured, which smelled and tasted of her experimental college days – and the promise that every Friday, Opera Singers from the nearby famed Opera House would often rustle up a rendition over a Beer. Teamed with red lighting, a dingy and eclectic mix of memorabilia on the walls it made for an interesting way to spend a late lunch.
"This place is cute." She says, eyeing her beer with a suspicion for only the things that hold the possibily of a nasty surprise.
"It's a good one. You gonna drink that or keep pretending that it's not yours?" He asks, smiling at her obvious dislike towards her choice of beverage.
"Don't get me wrong. I drink Whiskey; I'm not shy of hard liqueur… but this 'Ale' is…" The rest of her sentence is swallowed in a grimace.
"Disgusting," He agrees, grinning. "I wasn't going to tell you, thought I'd let you find that out on your own. Much more fun."
"I gathered. Another…other, something else please." She mock-glares at him playfully from her end of the bar.
"Try mine." He says, pushing the Pint of Ale towards her. "It's milder, unlike that horrific specimen you have there."
She takes the Ale, taking one tentative sip, before analysing the taste. "It's a little better," She says diplomatically.
"Would like some wine?" He asks pointedly.
"No. Whiskey please…what do they have?"
"Glenmorangie is nice…orange flavoured?"
"I'll do it, anything is better than that. Double…on the rocks, thanks." She says to the old barman, as Stephen hands over a twenty.
"You don't seem like a Whiskey drinker?" He asks, intrigued by the orange coloured liquid in the glass, matching in a dance with the mismatched cubes of ice.
"Habit." She shrugs, taking a sip; feeling the slight sting and zesty flavour of the liquid.
"Where did you learn this habit, pray tell?"
"Well, it's the only thing that…Harvey keeps in his alcohol cabinet at work. Macallan 18."
"Ah. I should have known." He says, an ambiguous tone lingering there.
"I know; everything is about Harvey. It's just that I've spent…twelve years' worth of fifty hour weeks living in his world. He tends to rub off on you,"
"I can see that. Better?" He says, inferring the drink as he takes a sip of his own.
"Much; thank you. So, how are we going to spend the rest of the afternoon?" She changes the subject; a more than flirty look on her face hoping to divert the mood.
"Well… we could grab a bottle of wine, some food. Go to mine?" He offers, a smile gracing his lips.
"That sounds perfect." She smiles, downing the rest of the Whiskey in one go as she picks up her coat.
"Wow, you really can drink that." He says.
When she gets to Stephen's building, there's an overwhelming sense of deja'vu that's starting to annoy her.
"Let me guess… the Penthouse?" She glares.
"Is that a problem?" He asks, confused by her tone.
She shakes her head. "No…lead the way." She takes in a deep breath before entering the elevator.
She's relieved to find that Stephen is a little more interested in unusual décor than Harvey is. There are stucco paintings on the walls in large primary colours and a few urban looking pieces.
"I really like Street Art. It's fresh, inviting." He explains as he leads her into the open plan living area.
"Yeah, these are really bold pieces. I love them. Did you ever study art?" She asks, interest piquing.
"I dabble, a sketch here and there. My Dad's a curator so...a lot of influence."
"Oh where?"
"Oh, the National."
He mouth must be open because he's laughing at her again. "You're kidding, right?"
"No. And it's not as interesting as you'd think. A lot of old paintings. Not much room for diversity there."
"Still...that must be interesting. Are you parents sad that you never went into an Artisitc career?"
"They are happy I'm happy. But maybe...deep down. I think they're still living in the sixites." He shrugs, continuing to lead her around.
His colour scheme is richer than Harvey's; who lives in the blues, greys and silvers of a world full of light and technology. Stephen lives his day to day in rich reds and mauves and onyx.
She finds herself staring at a picture of New York City. "Well this one is a surprise."
He frowns, until his face seems apologetic, and then seems to iron out. "It's Dana's. She missed home when we lived here. And she never took it when we… I suppose, a photo is no comparison to the real thing. Either that or it was about what was in New York." He muses. It occurs to her that he's so open, that it even takes her by surprise. Even when he's hurt he's not afraid. It's refreshing.
"Well, I'm not going to lie, I'm also thankful that there's not a picture of Harvey Specter on your wall." She grins.
"Wouldn't that be a twist." He jokes with a waggle of his eyebrows. "I'm more partial to rugged kind of man."
She laughs. "I'll keep that in mind,"
It's calming how the subject of Harvey isn't quite as much of a sore point as she would have thought. Or maybe she's not in touch with that side of his past just yet. She's not sure, but either way there don't seem to be any real secrets to get in the way. And no Harvey to get in the way, it seems. She sinks into his brown leather couch as he passes towards her, wine in hand.
"For the lady."
"Thank you kind Sir." She jokes, putting on a southern accent. "What are you going to cook for me by the way?"
"Something spectacular. It's going to be heated up, and taste vaguely okay." He states with a knowing smile.
"I can deal with that." She'd gotten over the realisation that neither of them were cooks long ago; their fifth date predominantly based on laughing at each other's inability to make a rue for a lasagne, and instead ended up ordering it in from a local Italian vendor.
She hears him put on the radio behind her, and it dawns on her…
This could be her life. Relaxed, comfortable, open and new.
Her phone beeps in the night. She reaches over the naked sleeping man and deletes the message without reading it. She catches the name of the sender and nearly throws the thing across the room. She settles for silently wording every swearword in the book.
More coming soon!