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Shackled and Drawn
°•.•°
She's sixteen years old again, giddy, because quarterback Ricky Anderson kissed her under the bleachers after class. Except the boy who kissed her last night didn't just kiss her. And he was definitely not a boy. No, this six-foot-five body of muscle had made her see stars until gravity became a concept and she'd weightlessly floated above the heavens. Twice. Pretty good for a first date, she thinks as a smile tugs at her lips.
Thomas Kessler, CEO, furniture designer, Springsteen fan. Not a bad combination. Throw in some kindness and humor, a full head of hair and eyes as bright as the sun, and he might just be labeled perfect. The best part: He wants to see her again tonight, and it has her counting down the minutes.
The elevator dings, and she gets off with a jolt in her step. Putting one foot in front of the other causes a slightly sore sensation between her legs—a delicious reminder of exactly what she'd been doing some six hours ago. The lack of sleep is counterbalanced by the exhilaration bubbling below her skin, and with a fresh smirk she has no intention of hiding, she pushes open a door that, by some miracle, and after over a decade of hard work, bears her name. Donna Paulsen. COO.
She's now Chief Operating Officer of Pearson Specter Litt.
Yet Pearson has been disbarred and has moved to Chicago, and Specter has taken it upon him to fill her shoes. It's no surprise he has stumbled getting used to those five-inch heels. But he's doing alright. They both are, finding their new footing.
So much has changed in a short time, but as she sits down and watches her phone light up with Thomas' name, her heart flutters, and she muses on the idea that change might not be so bad after all. In fact, her life feels pretty goddamn perfect this morning.
At the end of the day, in the office next door, Harvey absentmindedly answers his buzzing phone in an effort to kill the nuisance—the mounting responsibilities of being managing partner occupying his mind. Disconcertingly, Mike went behind his back to work on a case for the legal clinic that now involves Frank Gallo, and aside from feeling betrayed, he misses having his trusted side-kick near to fight his battles with. To top it all off, a few nights ago, Donna mentioned he's been acting differently, and he lied to her face when he didn't tell her he has been seeing someone. Unfortunately, the longer he keeps the truth from her, the worse he feels. But as far as he is concerned, Paula's not going anywhere, and he knows he'll have to bite the bullet soon.
"Hey, you."
His girlfriend's voice on the other end of the line cheers him into attention, and he drops the manilla folder on the desk and smiles.
"Are we still on for tonight?" she asks.
"I made reservations at Gem. I'll pick you up at seven," he says, grateful for the temporary distraction as they briefly exchange pleasantries before ending the call.
After years of floundering and covering his loneliness with an array of women, now nothing more than half-remembered names and faces, he's finally in a committed, mature relationship. Unlike with Scottie, there are no ties to his past. Paula has given him a clean slate. One in which she already knows all about his history and there are no skeletons left to find. It's liberating to be with someone and not have to pretend. For the first time in his adult life, he's not bolting or dragging his feet. He is not sabotaging things, hoping she'll get tired of his bullshit and end it for him. There are no big secrets like Mike not being a lawyer looming over him. He is even opening up about issues that bother him, something so unthinkable he always shied away from doing so. No. This relationship is different. He's in this. One-hundred percent.
If you don't count his heart.
And the absence of butterflies and rose-colored glasses hasn't been for a lack of trying. Initially, he thought the feelings would simply grow over time. He was physically attracted to her. That should have been an excellent starting point. But as the weeks, eight and counting, passed, he didn't feel any different. There were never any eager nerves when they were set to meet. He doesn't yearn to see her after a long day in court. She isn't the first person he thinks of when he has news to share—good or bad. Hell, she still isn't even the first woman that comes to mind, although in the past few months, he's learned to quell the impulse to call Donna at all hours of the day—and night.
But he's trying. He wants this to work. He needs this to work, because if it doesn't, he is looking at an ominous future with lots of late nights in shady bars with nameless faces and too much Macallan, while the people around him find love and move on. From him. No goddamn way. Besides, he's already told—almost—everyone close to him he is seeing Paula, and as with his new job title, he is driven to succeed. Failure is not an option.
Luckily, he's still adjusting in his position as head of the firm. It's enough of an excuse to keep him occupied and not worry too much about his personal life.
A week and four dates later, Donna sinks into her chair after another too short night in the arms of her new lover. Just thinking about him brings a smile to her face, and she has to keep herself from closing her eyes and getting lost in memories and fantasies of her… boyfriend? True, she feels like she's known him all her life, and they behave as if they've been together forever, but it's only been nine days since their first date and subsequent night together. And yet, she is already jonesing to see him again.
Because she's falling in love. Head over heels, crazy, stupid, love.
So much so that Harvey finally telling her yesterday he's been dating his former psychiatrist actually had the impact of a firecracker instead of a stick of dynamite. Had she been single, the news might have landed differently, but honestly, the fact that she has someone to snuggle up with at the end of the day makes his confession nothing more than a headline in the newspaper she can skim over because it doesn't affect her life in any way, shape, or form. If he's happy, she's happy for him, even if the urge to slap him upside the head surfaced like a spouting whale when he mentioned Paula's name. What in god's name was he thinking? His therapist? Of all the women in the world, nearly half a million bachelorettes living in Manhattan alone, he has to date her? The worst part is: It's easy to dissect his motives. But she won't go there, for no other reason than she'll likely find his choice in partner a misguided attempt to be with a woman who knows him through and through, who's helped mold him into the man he is today, and who isn't afraid to look past the rough exterior and set him straight when he needs it.
Besides, that's not her place anymore. Back when they worked endless days together—and she knew everything about what was going on in his life and, in turn, he got her presents for anniversaries with boyfriends who are nothing more than long-forgotten memories nowadays—she had felt compelled to voice her opinion. In their current state, commenting on private matters feels like a violation.
Deep down, there is a longing for those days gone by. But he's moved on, and so has she.
On top of her desk is a note from Louis. Actually, it's more of a brief on the minutiae regarding next month's Annual End of Summer mixer—an event Jessica agreed to have, after Louis' incessant, month-long whining—to celebrate the start of the fiscal year and everybody being back from vacation. In recent years, spouses had been welcomed, and each year, the party had grown in size, with currently not only spouses but dates being allowed to join as well.
While there's still a good two weeks on the calendar and handling the details is now part of Donna's responsibilities, leave it to Louis to be his anal self and micromanage the whole shebang.
The event details need no further debate, yet she uses the opportunity to pay the name partner a visit.
"Donna, I know what you're gonna say, but we have to have those crab cakes flown in from Maine. I mean, we're not some goddamn second rate firm—"
"Already taken care of, Louis. I actually came in here to talk to you about something else."
"What is it, Donna?"
Inhaling deeply, she says, "Thomas Kessler and I have been seeing each other. And I know he's a client, but—"
"Say no more. Thomas is a good man. And as far as I'm concerned, as long as you two are okay with seeing each other while he's still a client, then I'm okay with it, too."
"Thanks, Louis."
"Of course, Donna. I just have one question: Have you told Harvey yet?"
She can't be sure if his motives are personal or professional, but they are likely both. "Not yet."
He smiles faintly, as if offering her his sympathies, then dips his chin slightly, and she steps out into the hallway.
With Louis' kind words about Thomas echoing in her ears, she decides to ride this wave of cheer and face the music. No need to delay the inevitable. Now is as good a time as any.
As more platitudes surface, her bravery increases. But when she reaches her old desk, she can tell Harvey isn't there, and her valor wavers under the disappointment.
Soon enough, her attention is consumed with day-to-day activities. Perhaps it's for the best. It's all still fresh, and who knows how things might turn out. Maybe she should wait with notifying Harvey until there's actually something to tell, she tells herself.
She brought a date. And from the looks of it, this isn't a recent development.
Harvey's central nervous system fires off warning signs in all directions.
Had Donna hid her relationship from him? Right. Like he went running to her to share the news when he started seeing Paula. But although it wasn't easy, at least he told her, eventually. Neither he nor Donna has ever been great at concealing their bitterness when it came to the other person's love life. He just wishes that instead of blindsiding him, she'd had the balls to tell him in advance, or in the least, introduce them tonight. Not that he needs an introduction. He knows exactly who Kessler is.
With his own partner chatting with Louis about her recent case against her ex, Harvey is temporarily released from the confines of her jealousy. Suddenly, he's looking over Donna's shoulder, standing a few feet away, and staring her new man in the eyes.
"Harvey. It's nice to see you again," Thomas says.
"Thomas."
In his peripheral vision, he catches Donna's surprise as her gaze lands on his hand shaking her date's.
"I didn't know you two knew each other," she stammers.
"We've met before," Harvey answers before protocol compels him to ask about the man's business. He listens with an uninterested ear, irked at being forced into pretending to give a shit.
"There you are," Paula cheers, appearing out of nowhere at his side. He's not at all surprised she'd materialize just when he was about to talk to Donna, but he shrugs off the unease her presence brings.
As the other couple makes room for her, he is drawn to Donna's reaction at seeing Paula there. He isn't sure why he is interested. Perhaps because he wants to see a glimmer of envy or even approval. But she shrouds her feelings with an artificial smile he's seen a thousand times before: Disdain disguised as joy.
His stomach churns as his resentment for her judgment rises.
"Donna. It's nice to see you again." Paula says.
"Paula. This is Thomas," Donna says, snaking a hand up his arm.
Harvey watches Donna's every move. Although they've met before, seeing both Paula and Donna interact short-circuits his brain, and he notices the same discomfort etched in the lines on Donna's face as she wrestles her features under control. Now that she's no longer single, she should at least be able to pretend to not care, but she's not even trying to conceal her feelings, and her disapproval annoys him deeply.
"It's nice to meet you," Paula says.
"You, too." Thomas nods. He is about to ask what the blonde does for a living, yet somehow, in the last few seconds, the air has shifted. He isn't sure why, but the next moments are cloaked in an uncomfortable silence, with Donna's eyes darting between Specter, his date, and the floor, and Harvey staring unabashedly at Donna, a hint of anger behind his gaze.
Thomas frowns. This is not the time nor place to walk into an unmarked minefield, so defusing the situation seems like the logical choice. "Well, I think it's time for a refill," he says, holding up an empty glass. "Can I get anyone anything?"
Harvey shakes his head, flooded with the relief Kessler provides. "No. I gotta talk to, eh… Louis." He motions at the crowd, then looks at Donna. "See you later," he says.
"Yeah. Sure," she mutters.
"What was that?" Thomas asks when Harvey and Paula are out of earshot.
"Nothing," she replies, slipping her fingers in his. "Let's get you that drink."
Thomas musters a half-smile. The way Harvey showed up, a fire in his eyes he only ever recognized as territorial, and Donna's dry reply do zero to placate the concern winding around his heart, and Thomas makes a mental note to inquire about the matter at a more appropriate occasion.
·•·•·
A while later, catching her date's obvious object of interest, Paula notices how Harvey flinches slightly when she speaks, catching him off guard. "Looks like Donna is having a good time."
Although he'll never admit it, she knows him well enough to know he's bothered by the sight of his former secretary and her new partner. Had she not been his therapist first, she might never have grasped the full extent of Harvey's complicated relationship with the redhead, but unfortunately she does, and his behavior makes it nearly impossible for her not to be worried now.
Harvey ignores the statement and diverts his attention. He's never known Donna to take well to public fornication, and yet she's all over Thomas and he's all over her, and it's like a train wreck he can't look away from.
In all their years, there was an ever-present level of surreptitiousness they shared whenever they weren't alone. Because, for the longest time, they carried a rather big secret, wrapped in unspoken desires and what-ifs neither one of them was willing or able to unwrap. But the memory of strawberries and whipped cream would linger in the background each time they were in the same room. By contrast, the carelessness on display now is everything he's never been or will ever be with her, and for all they share, it stings there's a part of Donna that will never be accessible to him.
He watches her laugh in ways he has rarely seen; private, intimate. And when she catches his gaze, the light dims in her eyes briefly before flickering back to life when her escort requests her attention.
Any non-corporate jackass she dated he could take, hands down. If not on a professional level, then at least in a boxing ring. But Kessler, being built like a brick house, as well as being a successful entrepreneur, has a lot to offer a woman like Donna, perhaps even more than he has, and the thought she finally found someone better than him makes him loosen his tie absentmindedly, in desperate need of oxygen to clear his head.
"Harvey? Are you okay?"
Her voice is hardly soothing. There's something about the way Paula pronounces his name that sounds wrong, like she's calling out to another man, to a version of him she prefers to see instead of who he really is. And he realizes he might have been trying to live up to that version for a while now, and perhaps that means he has been pretending after all.
He closes his eyes at the sudden pulsing pain behind his temples.
"I'm fine, Paula. I just have a headache."
Her hand squeezes his arm gently, then slender fingers readjust the silk noose around his neck as if he had no business undoing his tie. "There. How about we go home and I'll make you some chamomile tea?"
"Sure, Paula," he says, the urge to be anywhere else pushing him to concede. "That'd be nice."
·•·•·
As the evening progresses, Thomas catches Louis at the tail-end of an animated conversation the man is having with a group of young servers, who all wear a spooked expression on their pale faces.
"Louis. Do you have a minute?"
As soon as he opens his mouth, the waiters scatter like haunted mice to different ends of the room.
Confused, Louis shifts gears from being annoyed at the staff's incompetence to delighting in the arrival of a new conversational partner. "Thomas. Of course. I heard about you and Donna. Congratulations."
"Thanks, Louis. About that. Can I ask you something?"
"Sure, Thomas. What's on your mind?"
"What's going on between Donna and Harvey Specter?"
Louis frowns. "Nothing. Why? You think there's something going on?"
"No. I don't know."
"Listen, Thomas. Harvey and Donna have known each other for a long time. She was his secretary for well over a decade and they've been through quite a bit together. But I wouldn't worry. I know Donna and I know Harvey, and they would never do anything untoward."
"Okay, Louis. Thanks. I appreciate it."
The next morning, Donna is about to sit down behind her desk when she decides to swallow her pride and knock on the glass of the office next door. She knew she'd caught Harvey off guard by showing up with Thomas last night, but it's not like she owes him anything. The fact she's about to apologize is only out of respect for their friendship and nothing else, she tells herself.
With a heavy step, she tentatively crosses the threshold, then immediately regrets the decision. Because walking into a meat locker would have offered a warmer reception.
Briefly glancing up from his desk, Harvey acknowledges her presence with eyes that go from inquisitive about the intruder to tormented about the intruder's identity before he returns his attention to his screen without saying a word.
"You left early last night."
"I had a headache."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he mutters, not looking up.
"Listen," she says, stepping closer, hands folded to keep herself from fidgeting. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Thomas. I was going to, but—"
"Yeah, well, it would have been nice to know you're dating a client."
"Technically, he's Louis' client," she responds, inspecting his body language for clues about the origin of his hostility, like it's still a mystery. Because it is, for as long as she won't allow her intuition to conclude his anger is fueled by jealousy. Betrayal, on the other hand, she can understand. Especially when she adds, "And I did tell him about Thomas and I."
She watches Harvey wince at the revelation, and his reaction is exactly how she would feel, too.
Although a part of her she has no business acknowledging now that she's with Thomas is delighted Harvey's upset, he doesn't have any right to be. Not when he is in a relationship himself. "Do you have a problem with me dating a client?" It's not like he's my therapist, she thinks.
"You can date whoever you want, Donna."
There's a sadness saturating his words, and coupled with her guilt, the mix softens her voice, giving him an opening. "It clearly bothers you."
"I'm not bothered. I'm just busy. So, if you don't mind, I need to get back to this."
And just like that, he flips the switch, and she reminds herself not to look for hidden meanings anymore. Nowadays, half the time, she doesn't even know what's going on with him. And while she'll always consider him family, the friendship they once shared has morphed into something she no longer recognizes. "Fine."
He remains silent, eyes focussed on his laptop, and she marches out of his office and into her own.
The meeting puts a foul taste in her mouth she isn't able to shake all afternoon. How is it that whenever she asks for 'more' they end up like strangers? It had taken him almost two months to tell her about Paula, and she had every intention of informing him about Thomas, but the timing was never right. Okay, so maybe she was partially to blame, but that doesn't take the sting out of the rift between them.
She misses him, despite a big part of her recognizing they might never go back to what they were before. This is the first time they are both in a relationship simultaneously, and that's exactly the problem. Things were always off when one of them was seeing someone. And now, it's like they are opposite sides of the same coin, living parallel to each other, out of touch, out of sync. Apparently, they can only be connected when they don't have to divide their attention and worry about hurting other people. And as much as it pains her to realize, perhaps, this is their new normal going forward.
For all the wonderful developments in her life, that notion hurts like hell.
"So, why did you want to meet me here?" Rachel asks as a bartender puts a martini on the bar.
Thomas smiles as the same man places a glass of scotch in front of him.
"I'd like to get your opinion on something. I know Donna is quite particular about certain things, and well… I could use some advice about a ring," Thomas says, leaving the insinuation up for interpretation.
He watches Rachel's mouth fall open. Her eyes twinkle with delight, and he hopes to see a similar expression once he poses his girlfriend the same question.
"Oh my God, Thomas! That's great! I'm so happy for you! Oh, I can't wait to tell Mike. You have to let us take you out to dinner soon! Everybody at the firm is gonna be so happy for her!"
"Yeah?" He's pleased to be with someone so widely loved by her colleagues. And yet… "You think Harvey will approve?" He adds a smile to mask the seriousness of his absentminded query, and he regrets the comment immediately. Especially as Rachel pauses, and the deer-caught-in-headlights look reveals more than he bargained for.
"I'm sure he'll be thrilled as well," she replies. "Now, what do you have in mind?"
The change of subject is appreciated, and he shoves his unease aside to make room for the task at hand: Get her the finest ring ever, so she'll have no choice but to say yes.
·•·•·
"You will never believe who I had drinks with tonight," Rachel cheers as she crawls into bed beside her fiancé.
"Who?"
"Thomas. He's going to propose!" she squeals, the idea of her best friend being engaged at the same time as herself pumping her full of exhilaration.
"Really? Wow. That was fast." Mike's heart bounces from jubilation for his redheaded friend—who no doubt will say yes—to worry about his other friend, who's struggling in his own relationship and for whom this news would fire like an unexpectedly loaded shotgun. "I'm sure Harvey will be excited to hear that," he scoffs.
"Well, that's on him. Donna deserves to be with someone who isn't afraid to show her how he feels. And Thomas is great, and she's completely in love with him. Besides, Harvey's with Paula. Why should he care?"
"Oh, come on, Rachel. You know what an idiot he is when it comes to relationships. And I believe he's having second thoughts about Paula."
"Did he say something to you?"
"Not directly. But it's more what he isn't saying that has me worried."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I suggested we go out, with the four of us, and he said he didn't think Paula would be up for it. But I'm pretty sure he meant he wasn't up for it. He never mentions her. He never refers to them. I asked him how his weekend was, and his reply was: 'Yeah, fine, finally went to see It.' I assume he went with Paula because I know he hates movie theaters, but I honestly don't know."
"Well, you're his friend. You should ask him."
"Yeah, I guess I should."
"Thomas made a comment about Harvey tonight. I guess he also picked up on something."
Mike sighs. There has to be a statute of limitations for being an idiot.
Harvey's stomach growls as he stares at the New York skyline. He was supposed to have dinner two hours ago, but the sky has turned dark, and he's still stuck in his office, listening to his dad's saxophone coming over the speakers—music that will never be heard by the general public again because he made Vic sell his catalogue containing all that repertoire. As always, Donna was right to suggest he get Vic to sell, but it goddamn hurts to know his father's legacy is fading. To make matters worse, he's dealing with this all by himself. Paula has no idea what's going on because he hadn't felt the need to share. And Donna isn't here because, these days, her priorities lie mostly outside of the firm's walls. Had this happened months earlier, she would have been here with him, sharing a drink, recalling memories, and for a while, he'd forget about how much he misses his dad. But tonight, the hollowness in his chest is not just from missing his dad. He misses Donna and what they used to be, too.
"Hey, Harvey, do you have a minute?"
Mike's voice invites him out of his thoughts, and he lifts his head to face the lawyer. "Sure, Mike. What's on your mind?"
Lowering himself on the couch beside his friend, Mike folds his hands and starts cautiously. "How well do you know Thomas Kessler?"
Harvey purses his lips in consideration. "Not very well. Why?"
"I think things are getting serious between him and Donna."
Mike pauses, like he's giving Harvey time to brace for impact, and so he does, a sense of doom creeping up his spine and settling at the nape of his neck.
"He asked Rachel for help picking out a ring."
Out of nowhere, his body forgets how to breathe as a tornado of despair wreaks havoc on his thoughts and feelings until all there's left is a barren wasteland where his heart used to be. Should he act surprised? Indifferent? Will Mike even notice? He opts for the most familiar of armors, professional nonchalance, and he sits up in his chair, chest puffed forward.
"I'm assuming Donna doesn't know, so why are you telling me this?"
"Because… I just thought you should know."
He has a feeling there's more to Mike's statement than what he vocalizes, but he lets it go, in no mood to hear the younger man's opinion on how he should live his life. "Mike, if Donna wants to marry him, that's her prerogative. It has nothing to do with me."
And yet, even as the words leave his lips, the nausea sloshing around in his stomach demonstrates just how bad of a liar he is.
"I know, but I thought that if you ever wanted a shot at being with her, you better act fast, before it's too late."
"Mike—"
He throws up his hands. "I know, I know. I've said my piece. So, things between you and Paula are going well?"
"They're fine."
Halting for a moment to see if Harvey will elaborate, he gives up when the man reaches for the record sleeve on the tabe and pretends to read the liner notes. "Right. Goodnight, Harvey."
"Night, Mike."
As soon as Mike is out of sight, Harvey expels a captive breath and collapses into himself, his previous misery forgotten as Mike's warning rumbles around in his brain. She's getting married. And there's nothing he can do about it.
The dread pulsing through his veins makes his heart kick unevenly. Because he might still be a novice at this whole relationship thing, but he does know one thing for sure: He doesn't want Donna to get married. And for the first time after finding out about her bubbling love life, he's not afraid to ask himself why.
Because he wants it to be him.
Perhaps not the marriage part, but he longs to plan for a future with someone. And for some inexplicable reason, he always thought Donna would be a part of that equation. That they would somehow end up together. But life had other plans, and he's stuck in a relationship he has no business being in, and Donna is going to marry someone else, and if anything, he's a survivor, making the best out of a shitty situation. So, he kills the music that has been playing, gulps back the leftover Macallan, and heads for home.
"You worked late again," Paula says, pushing the blanket aside to create room for her man. It's well after ten, and being a morning person herself, she hates his nocturnal tendencies. But she's pleased he's home, and perhaps she can entice him to make it an early night, still.
"Yeah, big case," he mumbles, his eyes set deeply as he sits beside her.
She slides her palm into his. "I'm glad you're ho—"
"Move in with me."
Surprised and a little alarmed, Paula scrutinizes his expression, the way he carries himself. From the trepidation in his eyes to his collapsed shoulders, he seems to be sincere, if not downright afraid. She reminds herself he's never lived with someone before, so for him to propose the option is a big deal, and she shelves his nervousness under genuine jitters. "Harvey?"
"I'm serious. We've been dating for a while, I think it's time to take the next step."
"Where is this coming from?"
Her push-back is received with him gearing up his armor, like he expected her to just say yes. But there's no way they are ready for this yet, and he has to know as much. Therefore, the therapist in her waits eagerly for his explanation.
"It's coming from me wanting to move forward in our relationship."
Right. So this is fueled by his abandonment issues. Of Mike Ross getting married soon; of Donna moving on with her life. She should have known and shakes her head at her own naivete. "You want to move forward?" She shoves the blanket aside and perches herself on the edge of the sofa. "How about you tell me you love me first?"
"What? What does that have to do with anything?"
"Do you love me, Harvey?"
"Paula…"
"Just say it. Do you love me?"
"I… I'm… I just…"
"Yeah, that's what I thought." His silence confirms everything she feared to be true until she can no longer deny the reality of their situation. "What are we even doing here?"
"Paula…"
"I'm such a fool. I thought, with time, you might eventually develop feelings for me. But I know now that's never going to happen." She gets up. "I think it's best if I sleep at my place tonight."
"Paula, wait."
"I'll just get my things."
As she leaves the room, Harvey feels like punching a wall, or throwing something, or screaming really goddamn loudly. Once again, his entire life is falling to pieces while he sits on the sidelines with shackled wrists tied behind his back, watching it crumble until there's nothing left to salvage.
He closes his eyes to ward off the anxiety he feels rippling beneath the surface; remembers the breathing techniques Paula taught him when he first came to her for help—when Donna had abandoned his desk and he felt like the world was ending. The memories only boost his panic, and he waits for the wave to crescendo and crash.
Luckily, the inhale-exhale-repeat sequence aids in keeping his anxiety from peaking, and after a few moments, he gets up, pours himself a drink to take the edge off, and watches how his girlfriend says goodbye to him with tears in her eyes—tears he caused. If he held onto hope she wasn't leaving him for good, the duffel packed to the brim tells him he's sorely mistaken, and as the door locks into place behind her, he howls his frustration into the empty apartment, followed by the tumbler flying with lightning speed against the far wall where it shatters into a million pieces.
The piercing sound of breaking glass hurts his ears, but he welcomes the pain as a distraction from his tortured mind. He doesn't bother cleaning the mess and instead heads for bed. Nothing good can come of seeking solace in the bottom of a bottle. He's already fighting the urge to give Donna a call, tell her he and Paula just broke up and suggest she might do the same with her boyfriend—before it's too late. Adding some liquid courage to the mix would make that idea suddenly sound damn near irresistible, but he knows he can't risk losing more than he already has.
So, he also starts avoiding Donna at work.
Every time he spots a vision of auburn, or she seeks him out for a chat, he braces himself, thinking she'll flash him her engagement ring. But she doesn't. Although he realizes, every moment he spends not acting on his feelings is a moment closer to losing her forever, and the actuality feels like barbed wire around his heart, constricting an extra inch each passing day, making it bleed, over and over again. Until one Thursday morning, after two weeks have passed, he's finally had enough. And decides to talk to her.
Goddammit. He stares at the clock and notices it's nearly 7pm. All day, he's tried to get Donna alone, to somehow shove all his hesitation aside and tell her how he feels; ask her if she might feel the same. But something came up whenever he had her alone, and now the evening is nearing, and he's running out of time. Because he overheard her talking to Rachel in the kitchen about her plans for tonight, and apparently Kessler is taking her out to a fancy place, and he can't help but think that tonight's the night.
The urgency in his fear pushes him to close his laptop and check in next door, only to find her office dark.
Shit. He has to keep himself from running towards the elevators, but he still makes it there in time to catch her signing something at the front desk.
"Donna, wait," he says. "I really need to talk to you."
"Harvey, I'm late. Can it wait 'til tomorrow?"
"No, actually, it can't."
Not one for desperation, the panic in his eyes sends off alarm bells, and she pauses. "What is it?"
"I just…"
The elevator dings. He ignores whoever gets off, but when the voice rumbles, 'there you are,' he can't ignore Thomas as the man joins their little party.
Harvey watches her face brighten, thinks about the ring Kessler no doubt carries in his pocket, and as the couple shares a kiss in greeting, he realizes he's already too late.
"Could you wait for me downstairs, Thomas? Harvey and I need a minute."
Her request gives him a temporary respite that's about as essential as oxygen is to life.
"Actually, we're already running late."
And the respite shatters.
Donna glances at Harvey, a somber expression on his face, and he shakes his head. "Go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow." When you'll happily tell me you're engaged. He shuffles his feet and puts his hands in his pockets. The floor beneath him seems solid, but it opens up, ready to swallow him whole, and he can't wait for the sensation, because anything feels better than the suffocation happening inside his chest.
He gives her one last glance.
Their eyes meet. She doesn't even try to read him and assess why he's being so weird. And the absence of everything they ever were tears him apart. He's truly lost her in every way.
And then she saunters off, flanked by her boyfriend, and in a desperate effort that will probably have horrible consequences he can't begin to oversee right now, he blurts, "I love you."
The world stops spinning.
She turns around, almost in slow-motion, with wide, bulging eyes below a deep frown, her mouth slightly agape.
Donna waits for a follow-up, an explanation that this is some horrible joke, anything. But all he does is stare, like she's supposed to read the motive or intention behind the proclamation in his gaze. He couldn't possibly have said he loves her. She must have heard him wrong.
"Donna?" Thomas calls, and her momentary daze dissipates while reality sinks in.
She faces her boyfriend, and Harvey's heart breaks. He's seen all he needs and moves to walk away, when she says, "Thomas, I'll call you later."
Harvey freezes, glances at the couple. Thomas looks enraged, his jaw set, his hands balled into fists.
His fury permeates the air, but Donna sees him on the elevator where they exchange a few words he can't make out for the ringing in his ears, and suddenly they are alone. His heartbeat quickens, his hands become clammy. This is it. The moment he's been waiting for. He stands up a little straighter from the hope blooming in his chest.
She turns around and her face is one he'll never forget, inclining him to take a step backwards. Out of self-preservation.
"Man, you got a lot of nerve," she says, stomping in his direction.
He squares his shoulders. Not exactly the reaction he'd expected. But then again, what did he expect? For her to run into his arms and profess her undying love for him? Maybe. Dammit.
"How dare you say that to me now?"
Because! He chews on the truth Mike told him, knowing it could make things worse. But it's the reason he's here, and he might as well use it in his defense, because the rage in her eyes tells him he needs a solid argument to make his case. "He was going to propose. I couldn't let you go without telling you how I feel."
Her eyes grow wider, her mouth falls open. "Excuse me?"
"Mike told me. Apparently Thomas asked Rachel for advice on the ring."
He wonders where she gained superhuman speed, because he never sees the open palm as it nears his face, yet the force is like a collision with a semi, and he's grateful for all those hours spent boxing to keep him upright and not stumble on his feet.
"You selfish sonofabitch. Just because you broke up with Paula doesn't mean I want to break up with Thomas!" She takes a few steps away from him.
Rubbing a hand over his cheek, he peers at her. He may be surprised, but he's not undeserving, so he lets it go. "So, you're gonna say yes?"
Flailing her hands, she replies, "Assuming your little declaration hasn't already sent him packing, I probably will." Then she marches back towards the elevator.
He resigns as the truth pulls his heart under. And just like that, he has nothing left to lose.
Weirdly, the feeling is liberating. Because there's no need to restrain himself, to adhere to unwritten rules or even spoken agreements. He can do or say whatever the hell he wants. So, he gleefully nods at that newfound freedom, then says, "Tell me you don't love me."
"Right now, I could kill you," she growls, relentlessly punching the arrow pointing down.
He grabs her wrist to stop the frantic motions and forces her gaze on him. As soon as she does, he releases his hold. His voice is calm, his words measured. "Tell me that if you say yes to him you won't wonder for the rest of your life: What if?"
"Stop it, Harvey." Goddamn elevator. What the hell is taking so long?
"Tell me you haven't waited all those years for me to get my shit together and be the man you want me to be."
Another step closer and he can feel the heat coming off her body, and the fact she isn't retreating fuels his courage.
"Tell me you don't want to be with me," he mumbles, watching her outrage melt ever so slightly.
He thinks she might say something, to engage him in a discussion he finally has the balls to have. Instead, her cold eyes water, and through gritted teeth she spits, "I hate you."
Donna watches the words land and leaves in the direction of the stairs.
Below him, his knees buckle, and he has to lean back against the wall as a new ding! announces the elevator's arrival.
The cab ride to Thomas' place is long enough for Donna to shake the adrenaline and find some measure of equilibrium. Goddamn Harvey. Why would he do this to her now? He really is the most selfish bastard she knows, and the memory of slapping him conjures a sense of validation. She chooses to focus on that part of the exchange, not all the other things he said. Tell me you haven't waited all those years for me to get my shit together and be the man you want me to be. Yeah, definitely not touching that one.
Screw him. She has a relationship to rescue from the brink of destruction; a boyfriend to apologize to. All thanks to him.
Despite having a key, she rings the bell. Nerves jump and dance up and down her spine, coupled with dread and determination twisting around her heart.
Thomas opens the door without saying a word, pushing it open wide enough for her to walk inside.
She slips out of her coat and slumps into his couch. The comfort she'd endured here before reminds her of what they have, and faced with the very real possibility all they've built will vanish in a couple of minutes, she buries her face in her hands, out of shame and regret and a dozen other things she is afraid he'll read in her eyes if she doesn't.
"Should I be worried?"
Ever since Donna coaxed him onto the elevator, Thomas' stomach has been in knots. She chose to stay with Harvey after he blurted he loved her. What the hell did that mean? And that lawyer sure has some nerve. He should have been more mindful of Specter from the moment he caught the guy leering at Donna from across the room at the party. There was something off about him, and his initial instinct—that he had competition—turns out to have been correct, and he never wished more to have been mistaken.
Silence reigns, unsettling him further, and he wonders if she didn't hear him or staying quiet is an answer. "Who are you to him? I know you guys used to be close, but I get a sense there's more there."
The comment strikes a nerve. Used to be. They were close once, in another lifetime. But there isn't much left of them now, and yet here she is. "Harvey and I have a very long history, Thomas."
"I knew there was something going on between you."
He turns his body away, and she places a halting palm on his underarm. "Thomas, there's nothing going on between Harvey and I."
"You sure? Because he looked pretty jealous at the party."
Her gaze drops to her lap. With the memory of recent events still ricocheting inside her head, the next words out of her mouth suddenly sound very unconvincing. "He wasn't jealous."
"Donna. Don't fool yourself, okay. The man just professed his love for you, so don't tell me there's nothing going on."
He had, hadn't he? Harvey had said the words she had wanted to hear for years. The first time he did, their friendship had collapsed like a house of cards. And now, here she is again. Only this time, someone she loves is caught in the crossfire, and she can't bear the pain her elusive relationship with Harvey has caused. Again. To top it off, deep down in her soul, a fury is raging, and she has to channel the emotion to keep herself from unloading a decade's worth of grievances onto the wrong person. So, when the tears threaten to overflow, she lets them.
A large palm lands on her back as Thomas tries to soothe her. It's a testament to the man he is, and she remembers something else Harvey mentioned. She exhales the last of her sobs and asks, "Were you really going to propose?"
Thomas pales. "I was." He shakes his head. "I can't believe Rachel told you."
"She didn't. She told Mike, and Mike told Harvey, and Harvey told me."
Of course he did. Goddamn asshole. Harvey sure used all the ammo in his arsenal. But she's here, and he scoots closer before wrapping his fingers around her hands.
"Do you love me, Donna?"
"I do, Thomas," she nods. "But I don't know if it's enough."
As she sits beside him, each falling tear slashes away at the foundation he thought they had. "Because you love him, too."
The whimpers intensify, and she is defenseless against them. "I wish I didn't," she stammers between breaths. "You're such a good man. And I—"
"Would you have said yes?"
She blinks, meets his eyes, and nods without hesitation.
He contemplates her response, tightens his grip while his mind struggles to find a way out of this mess, because he feels her slipping away and it's gutting him, to the point where he's about to throw overboard the last of his sanity and let desperation dictate his actions.
Fuck it.
He retrieves the box that's been burning a hole in his pocket all day.
Flicking open the velvet, he offers her the carefully chosen diamond. "What would you say if I were to still ask you? Just forget Harvey said anything, and let's get married."
Stunned eyes swing up at him, swimming with a longing for an alternative universe where he could continue being her leading man, but as she drops her head, he realizes there's no such thing as alternative universes or miracles or coming out of this unscathed.
He has lost a fight when he was blind to even having an opponent.
"I can't, Thomas. I am so sorry. I wish I could." Her voice breaks.
Like his physical being is all she has left, she clutches his hand with both of hers until her knuckles turn white, and she weeps. "You have no idea how much."
He pulls his hand free, gathering his limbs so at least his body is still intact, because his soul has been crushed, and although it continues to beat, it feels like his heart is about to cease functioning, too. "So, that's it then?"
"I'm so sorry."
He sits back, shaken by the night's untimely events and rather unnerved by the sadness on display before him. They just broke up, and yet the compulsion to comfort her moves him to cradle her close to his heart, where she's carved a nook for herself he's pretty sure will remain forever. "It's okay," he offers.
The sense of hopelessness she emanates makes it clear she never meant for this to happen. He truly doesn't doubt her feelings for him; the same way he doesn't question her feelings for Harvey. With emotions this deep and with a decade of lead time, he never stood a chance. Perhaps if they'd made it to the altar, things would have been different. But the lawyer's timing was impeccable.
Guess he has to look for new representation in the morning.
The spray of the shower feels good on his sweaty skin. After tossing and turning all night, Harvey finally gave up an hour ago and decided to go for an early run, hoping to take the edge off the persistent feeling of imminent doom nipping at his neck; prickling his entire body unremittingly. Physical exertion is a sure-fire way to calm his spinning sanity—when he has shit to deal with he'd rather not face or situations to solve he'd sooner avoid but has to address. He did the same thing on the morning he went to Donna's favorite diner to talk about her dating Stephen Huntley. And he considered doing the same today but then realized she might not even be home, and he would be sitting there like an idiot. Or worse, she'd walk in with Thomas in tow.
No, the safest option is to catch her at work, toss all his pride out the window, and simply beg for her forgiveness. The tape recorder that had repeated the words 'I hate you' in his brain all night needs to end. He hates himself for the both of them, and she has to know her happiness comes before his own. Always.
The halls of the firm, familiar though they may seem, provide little relief from the nervousness keeping him on edge. As much as he wishes to see her, he tries to prolong the inevitable with a trip to the coffee cart, then to the bagel guy, and then proceeds to chat to the security man downstairs. But as he approaches his office—and hers—the air is different, void of her presence, so it's no surprise he finds her workspace deserted.
Her secretary then informs him Donna took the day and that she has no knowledge of her whereabouts.
He slumps in his chair with an anvil sitting on his shoulders.
Instinctively, he reaches for his phone and opens up his messages to type: I'm sorry. Let's talk about this. For a few minutes, his heart pounds wildly in anticipation of a reply, but his screen stays dark.
The day sweeps him up in staff meetings and client lunches and banal chit-chat with people he has no desire to talk to. Every time the phone rings, his heartbeat quickens. But as the hours pass, the paralyzing worry that he has gone too far this time and she'll leave him for good, ties an invisible noose around his neck. So, when dusk settles and he's still not heard from her, he decides to stop by the one person who, most likely, hates him even more than Donna does, but whom he owes an apology, as well.
"Harvey. You have no business being here."
"Thomas, please. I came here to apologize."
Thomas crosses his arms, not only blocking the entry but making sure Harvey knows he's standing his ground. "I'm listening."
"I never should have said what I said. I messed with your relationship and I never meant to."
The actions of the man before him effectively ended his romance with Donna. He should want to knock the guy up and down the hallway, but not only is he a pacifist by nature, Thomas actually feels sorry for the bastard groveling with his tail tucked between his legs.
Three words were all the lawyer had needed to have Donna reconsider her choices. All night, he'd wondered exactly how much had to have happened between Donna and the guy for her to relinquish her happiness. And if she did, the man winning her love better be worth it. So, he asks, "Did you mean it?"
Blinking once, Harvey answers steadfastly. "I did. But I should have kept my mouth shut. She loves you, and if she wants to marry you, then that's all that matters."
"Actually, she doesn't."
Wrangling his features under control, Harvey's heart rate spikes as hope flares at either love or marriage being off the table. He has to know, but for all the blood rushing to his ears, he's not even sure he'll hear the answer. "Doesn't what?"
"Want to marry me. Apparently, your timely declaration made her reassess her plans for the future."
Harvey's breath hitches. Between the wrath Donna will likely spawn, the pain he's cost Thomas, and the possibility of Donna actually choosing him in the end, he is dizzy on his feet. But he broke things, he has to salvage what he can. And yet he doesn't believe his own words when he states, "She'll come around. You just have to give her some time."
Watching the mighty Harvey Specter squirm provides some relief—and raises even more questions. "Tell me something. Who is she to you?"
"She's the most important person in my life, Thomas. I thought she knew, but I guess she didn't."
Like he's under oath, the lawyer answers without missing a beat, his tone factual and solid, and Thomas knows there isn't anything he can do to save his relationship, because Harvey's conviction and Donna's tears spell it's only a matter of time before those two are on the same page.
With a heavy heart, he drops his arms, and says, "Goodnight, Harvey," and closes the door.
Harvey stares at the wood, his head swimming with thoughts he hadn't anticipated and a million questions left unanswered. Reassess her future plans. Why doesn't she want to marry Thomas anymore? He won't fill in the blanks for her, but he needs some goddamn answers.
·•·•·
Twenty minutes later, Harvey's heart pulses in his ears, his hands are clammy, and his body is on high alert as he frantically hammers on her door. He expects her to know it's him, assumes she'll be livid, but he doesn't care. He has to see her and they need to have this out now or they might never be able to move forward.
He thinks he hears something and holds his breath, but he's greeted only by silence. He tries knocking again, but when there's no response, he realizes she's either avoiding him or not at home or both. With a heavy heart, he checks his notification-free phone, considers calling her, but instead he accepts his defeat.
At least for tonight.
On Sunday evening, Donna's cab pulls up in front of her building after a much-needed weekend in Connecticut with her family.
When she left Thomas' on Thursday night, her heart shattered, her thoughts scattered, and her emotions as clear and level as a muddy river after a hurricane, she went home to pack a bag, called Louis to inform him she'd be taking the day and would not have her phone with her all weekend, and caught the last train out of New York City.
Her parents had been worried, listening to her explain the events leading up to her visit. Knowing their daughter, her reaching out after a breakup was a first, igniting alarm bells in the Paulsen household.
Initially, Donna had tried to stir away from mentioning Harvey—as it would only lead to more questions—but her mother had taken all but two minutes to figure out something, or rather someone, had been an element in her daughter's relationship's demise. So, when she had ultimately explained about Harvey's part in the ordeal, Clara had sighed and said, "Finally." Not exactly what she had expected her mom to say, and definitely not what she needed to hear in that moment. Having found an outlet for the pent-up frustration, Donna had laid into her unsuspecting mother about what an ass he was, and how dare he? Clara had let her rave until she had gotten the bitterness out of her system, and when she'd finally calmed down enough, her mom had captured her hands and spoken in a quiet voice, despite the words having the impact of a foghorn. "Now, tell me you don't have feelings for him."
She had just stared at the woman who had given her life, the woman she'd grown to look like more and more over the years, the one person she had also never been able to fool when it came to her emotions. Because Clara saw through her in the same manner Donna herself sees through other people. And as her anger had made way for sadness, she'd simply cried until her tears had eventually dried up.
And now she's home again. And she has no clue about what to do. Her mother had suggested she follow her heart. But with Thomas out of the picture, all she is left with is a deep-rooted, convoluted, and often denied love for someone she can't stand at the moment, and that doesn't seem like much of an option at all.
Paying the driver, she wishes him a goodnight, and rides the elevator up to her floor. Her phone has likely blown up with texts and calls from Harvey, but she has no desire to be dragged into his orbit right away. Not until she has formulated a proper response; one not involving slapping him again.
As she rounds the corner in the hallway, however, the end of her reprieve is sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, his back leaning against her front door.
Harvey.
His eyes grow wide upon seeing her, like he hadn't expected to see her tonight, and she briefly wonders how long he's been waiting.
The keys in her palm jingle as she waves her hand dismissively. "Go home, Harvey," she says.
"Donna, please," he pleads, getting up. "Talk to me."
Ignoring his physical presence, she breezes past him to open the door. He steps back enough to let her pass, and she can feel his eyes burning into her. She pauses while sliding the key in the lock.
He's standing close, a faint hint of his cologne present in the air he occupied for god knows how long, and his body is likely within reach if she were to turn around. But she keeps her gaze low, only murmurs, "Did you mean what you said?"
"Every word."
As if shielding herself from witnessing something she'll never be able to unsee, she closes her eyes at his response, the honesty and what it implies still too large to digest. So, she steps over the threshold, keeping a grip on the door.
"Donna, I'm sorry," he says, moving into view.
She meets his eyes, sadness distorting the hollow gaze, and for all his faults, she knows him—even though her pride, fueled by a gamut of anger, tries to convince her otherwise. He never meant for this to happen, but actions have consequences, so all she has to offer is acknowledgment that she believes him. "I know."
"I never should have—"
"I know."
"Can you forgive me?"
If only it were that simple. She's barely had a chance to mourn what was lost, let alone provide salvation. And even with time, she isn't sure he's still worthy of her grace. "I don't know."
Everything about his body language screams he wants to argue, the struggle to contain himself visible in his twitching fingers and clenched jaw. But he surrenders to her wishes. And, with a sad nod of his head, walks away.
Having missed a day of work, her desk is loaded with a pile of folders for her to sink her teeth into. It's the distraction she needs, and she lets herself get swooped up in her job.
At the end of the morning, Louis drops by to ask if she's alright, and she tells him about her split from Thomas. He offers her a mud bath, and she promises to take him up on it when the dust has settled.
She only runs into Harvey once, when he's on his way out for lunch with Alex and a client, and it feels like she left his desk and went to work for Louis all over again. They are courteous because social etiquette demands it, but she'd rather avoid seeing him altogether. Unfortunately, that's not an option. She has to deal with him at some point, and she goes home determined to confront her emotions and find a path to move forward.
Harvey pours himself a drink and collapses into his leather seat, his shoulders tense from having had his guard up all day. Seeing Donna and not knowing what was going through her mind unnerved him to the point where he'd cut the client meeting short and cited a migraine as a reason not to return to the office. Alex hadn't suspected a thing, and now it's 8pm, and he has been home since five.
Immediately after ditching Alex, he went for a run to clear his head and grabbed some takeout on the way back.
The abandoned containers decorate his coffee table, and he should probably put them in the fridge. But for the last thirty minutes, he's been immobile, staring into the dancing flames of his fireplace from his favorite chair. Being home alone is a hazardous place to be. With no frivolous distractions, his consciousness insists on conjuring a hundred different ways for Donna to walk out of his life: Because she hates him. She can't forgive him. So, she'll eventually find a job at another firm. She'll quit and go back to Thomas. Marry him. Have his babies. And he'll run into her in Central Park pushing a stroller, happy to be rid of him and his pathetic, miserable existence, even regretting she spent a decade-and-a-half at his side. And he'll be alone. Forever. Because no other woman will ever compare to her, so it's all downhill from here.
His throat goes dry as his stomach churns, and he washes away the sensation by emptying his glass and pouring himself a new one. He's starting to feel the first signs of inebriation, and he can't wait for reality to fade completely, for the pain to numb around his heart, so when it beats, it won't beat with the regret of that fateful night.
If only he could take the words back, he would. Why couldn't he just keep his goddamn mouth shut? Her knowing how he feels is not worth losing her over. Period. He should be able to fix this, but even though he put them in this position, only she can pull them out, and he detests being at her mercy, being powerless.
A knock on his door draws him out of his spiral, and he guesses Mike got wind of him leaving early. He has to give the guy some credit for checking up on him. A drinking buddy is exactly what he needs right now, so he trots to the front door excitedly. As he opens the door, he says, "Mike, you didn't have to—" He stops mid-sentence when his gaze lands on the person knocking, and he gasps. "Donna. What are you doing here?"
"We need to talk."
Not waiting for an invitation, she steps inside his apartment and discards her purse on his kitchen counter, where it sags into itself like it's going into hiding.
She had meant to go home after work, but instead of waging war with her own demons, she figured she might as well rip the bandaid off.
Quickly glancing around the room, she scans the place, taking in the food and booze combo, and deduces he's probably not drunk yet if he has eaten.
"Would you like a drink?" he asks, his voice near as he walks by on his way to his seat.
She came here on a mission, and she won't let her objective be diluted with distractions. "Why did you do it?"
Bandaid. Gone.
Her demand is like a liver cleanse, because his hazy brain clears until reality is its nasty, dire self again and his body goes on high alert, debating between fight-or-flight mode. For some stability, he sits on the armrest. "I told you why."
"Because Thomas was going to propose?"
He rubs a nervous hand over the back of his head. "Yeah."
"What do you think would have happened if I had done the same to you? Paula would have insisted you choose between me and her, and you know what? I am not even sure you would have picked me."
"Of course I would have!"
She wants to believe him, but all weekend long, she kept running over a scenario in which the roles had been reversed. As if an answer to that question would give her grounds for being infuriated.
He gets up, needing to be at eye-level when he says, "I just knew things were getting serious between you two, and I needed you to know how I felt. But I never should have said it like that, not with Thomas there. But you have to believe that I never meant for things to turn out the way they did." He glances at her ringless finger, then drops his gaze to the floor.
"Are you ready for marriage?" she asks, her voice firm and resolute.
The intensity startles him, and he frowns.
"Because that's what's on the table here, Harvey. I want to get married, and although it may be late in the game, I want to start a family. So, if you want to be with me, you better wrap your head around that, because I'm not looking for a fling, and I'm also not your goddamn therapist. I have needs, too."
She doesn't mean to sound angry, but then again, perhaps she does. Deep down, in a place she is scared to explore, she knows she's pushing him away. He isn't capable of considering others, she reiterates. And she won't spend her life looking after him like she did for twelve years.
The flicker of an expression when she mentioned the m-word justifies she was right to push. He's not ready. And yet, he stands there, staring at her like he is about to devour her. She can't tell if that's good or bad, so she waits while her heart hammers inside her ribcage.
Harvey swallows, staring into tortured eyes.
Marriage. Family.
The closest he'd ever come to commitment was when he asked Paula to move in, right after he found out about Thomas' plans. And she'd turned him down, thank God. But marriage? It's everything he's shied away from his entire adult life. As if romantic relationships aren't hard enough without a goddamn legal contract. And yet, a current forms around his heart, rippling with excitement.
Although the thought of being married used to suffocate him, he realizes she's not Lily, and more importantly, she's not asking him to do this by himself. She is suggesting they do this together. And if he's learned anything in the past thirteen years, it's that he can move mountains and part seas when Donna's by his side. And suddenly marriage doesn't seem so terrifying. Actually, the idea of her wearing his name sends a delicious tingle up his spine.
His feet move voluntarily in her direction, and before he knows it, he is standing close enough to notice her ragged breathing. Carefully, he reaches for her hands. Her skin is freezing, and he rubs back and forth with his thumbs until he feels her relax slightly, her big, unsteady eyes peering up at him. Clearly, she banked on him bailing, and he smiles as his own chest swells with pride for how far he's come.
"I'm in, Donna. You are everything I've always dreamed of. And I never thought I'd be lucky enough to meet a woman like you, but then you walked into my life, and my life hasn't been the same since." He pauses, studying her from up close. All that's at stake forms a lump in his throat and he swallows thickly. "I'm sorry it took you almost getting engaged to realize you are the most important person in my life, but I'm ready, Donna."
Donna feels him interlace their fingers, and it's like two jigsaw pieces slotting together. He's not running in the opposite direction. He's staying put, digging his heels in, even, and right now, she's the one ready to bolt. But his pull is magnetic, dangerous, and impossible to resist. The fire in his eyes captures her soul until the ice around her heart melts and the fortifications crumble. She has always wanted him. And he wasn't wrong when he said she'd been waiting for him to be ready. And now he is. Question remains: Is she?
Between her lost love for Thomas and her jumbled feelings for Harvey, she struggles to surrender completely.
The closeness of their bodies provides a haven for the whirlwind of emotions rippling through her body, and when he moves even closer and she feels his chest expand with every inhale, her only instinct is to inch forward as well, occupying the space he offers.
To find out if the twelve-year-old fantasy matches with reality, she reaches up to snake her arms around his neck.
Feeling his breath on her skin, she pauses when their noses brush and then softly presses her lips against his mouth.
As if he'd been waiting for her move, Harvey's response is immediate. With a force straight out of heaven, the levees break, the dam bursts, and she feels everything she's tried to disregard for too long. All the answers are right there in his kiss, in the way he melts his body, his limbs, around her until there's no space left between them. It's there in the tangled moans when they get carried away, and in the honeyed taste of his lips as he kisses her like this is the first and last time rolled into one.
In his arms is where she belongs, and she feels the tendrils of her unlocked love for him reach every outpost of her being until she's about to explode from joy. The feeling is more profound than she's ever experienced with anyone, and she knows this is exactly where she was always meant to be.
THE END
A/N: Prompt via atSuitsPrompts. When I saw it, I knew I just had to write it. Poor Thomas always getting the short end of the stick... :D I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think by leaving a quick review. Big thanks as always to Cassie, Elle and Nina for their feedback.