Hi there, let's start my fourth (crying endlessly) week of quarantine with an update.
I've had to make a few adjustments to the storyline, to make my actual story work: Louis and Tara are not together anymore, Rachel and Jessica have already won Leonard Bailey's case and Mike has accepted the job as a consultant, waiting to get into the Bar.
Thank you for your support, reading your reviews is the best part of it all, keep them coming!
Last but not least, the biggest thank you to Stefanie for being there and helping me with her encouraging words.
G-
Chapter 5: In the crosshairs
When the worst day of your life comes, you never know that it will be the worst.
When you live your last peaceful moment before all hell breaks loose, you never know that it will be the last.
When it all changes, you never know that it will change.
Until it happens.
And when it does happen, it's too late.
You wonder why: Why did it have to happen to you?
You wonder how: How could you have prevented them?
You wonder what: What do you do to keep yourself safe?
You wonder who: Who will be lucky enough to get to tell this story?
These are the most common things that go through a man's head when an emergency situation occurs.
It's reflex, it's science, it's statistics. It's something you can't argue with. It's a response mechanism, one that pertains every human brain.
Almost, every human brain.
Because when it happens in the place you have always felt safest at, right before your eyes, with the people you love at stake and no possibility to escape, it all sums up to one thing.
Who will make the ultimate sacrifice.
The firm used to be home.
Home: noun, "the place where you live".
Under that aspect many people could have agreed with that definition. Pearson Specter Litt had always been the place hundreds of people, lawyers, associates and assistants, have spent the greatest part of their twenty-four hours of the day.
Being part of the team meant busting your ass off day and night, giving every ounce of blood and sweat you've got left, and investing all of your energies and focus.
It also meant being available whenever you're needed, answering every call. It didn't matter if it was 1 p.m. or 1 a.m., the law didn't know any hour. So eating and occasionally spending the night at the firm came as a natural next step, almost out of convenience.
But the truth was that the firm was so much more than that.
Most people considered their offices a way station, preferring their comfortable couch or the intimacy of their own bedroom. Glass walls and dark furniture didn't provide a relaxing place, didn't exude a positive vibe, and many employees just waited for the day to end to finally go home.
But for Jessica Pearson, this was home, in every sense of the word.
For starters, this was the place she had helped build with her own hands from the ground — since she took the scraps of what Gordon, Schmidt and Van Dyke used to be and gave it a new form. She had managed to erect this empire brick by brick, challenge by challenge, sacrifice by sacrifice, almost all by herself.
And as much as she felt incredibly proud of it — almost braggingly, but again, it's not bragging if it's true — the people who inhabited that dreamland were the ones that made it home.
Because they were family.
Not the kind that falls into your lap, that you're forced to coexist with and hope to see just once a year, but the kind that you choose to love. Even if it's hard, even if you don't really know how to, you simply do it. Because these people, who have apparently nothing to do with you directly, are the ones you care about the most.
They were the soul and the beating heart of the institution; they, with their voices, their presence, the senior partners with their confident strides, the newbie associates with their hesitant first steps. Without them, the place would be aseptic — a regular office with empty desks, black screens, and silent phones.
Not that they hadn't had their fair share of conflicts, but after all this time, here they were: still standing. Maybe all the heartaches left them a little bit limping, but certainly more united than ever.
Harvey, Mike, Rachel, Donna, Jessica, god - even Louis, all of them had been each other's safe place. A cozy, dwelling and warm refuge to hold onto the memories of what they were, and the promises of what they would become. They had been there when everybody else left.
So yes, the firm was home to that little — a little dysfunctional, if you asked — family.
At least, it had been home.
It had until the moment it became a battlefield.
And yet, they still didn't know.
There was a psychopath, shooting at everyone who came into his sight — only to warm up — just a few floors below them. Blood was leaving a trail up to the Pearson Specter Litt offices. They were going to be shocked to their very core — most of them would never entirely recover from the experience.
And yet, they still didn't know.
Everyone was living that day like it was any other.
Louis had planted his roots in the kitchen, as he religiously did every day just before lunch. Nursing himself a generous glass of prunie, he sat down glancing around the corner at the associates working in the library. He took great pleasure watching his 'children' doing as he instructed — the new generation morphing into the lawyers of tomorrow under his expert guidance. He licked his lips after the first sip, welcoming the slightly bitter taste of the fruit.
Mike was living his second first-day at the firm, this time as a consultant. He had already agreed to try and get his license back; but again, he never really had one. Anyway, this time he wanted to get into the bar, following all the legal procedures, and he was already working with Harvey to obtain a hearing in front of the Character and Fitness Committee. Until then, he settled for being basically a lawyer, even if the plaque on his door said otherwise. He made a pit-stop at Rachel's office first, stealing a kiss from his brilliant fiancée and hoping to not find her too busy.
Rachel gladly welcomed Mike's visit. She watched as he settled on the edge of her desk, enjoying the feeling of getting back to their old habits, and walking him through everything he had missed. She told him about Louis and his new crazy adventures, their newest 'roommates', and somehow she got caught up talking about the success with her death row case. She had been adamant about not letting the victory get over her head, but Mike had always been her biggest fan, and it was easy to loose her good intentions when all he wanted was to celebrate.
Harvey hadn't been able to see anything beyond the tons of emails that had been accumulating in his inbox. Getting Mike out of jail had been his only focus, and now he was trying to persuade the committee into admitting him to the Bar. Jessica had gone ballistic, her outburst making perfectly clear that she wasn't appreciating his inability of handling both his superhero complex and his normal duties. So, in order to keep her quiet and gaining back her trust, he had promised to get a move on with the consistent pile of motions he had left behind. His eyes, though, couldn't help but flicker to the empty chair at Donna's cubicle, longing for his redhead.
"Jessica," someone called her hesitantly, the managing partner's name coming out cracked, to say the least. It was just above a whisper, like it had been forced out.
A cry, a pray, a warning.
Jessica sensed it instantly — that familiar anxiety building in the pit of her stomach, a feeling of uneasiness clouding her emotions. The way she had been addressed didn't mean anything good. She could tell. She could feel it deep within her.
But she had been elbows deep in all the paperwork it had to be handled to finally put Leonard Bailey's chapter behind her, and she couldn't be bothered by anything else. Especially so if it wasn't good news.
"It will have to wait," she announced, never once tearing her eyes from her computer, turning a page of the document on her desk at the same time. An absentminded gesture, considering she was doing her best to not look up. Her brain was purposely avoiding to bring her eyes to her counterpart, like she was subconsciously already aware that she was going to be blown away by the view.
"Jessica." It came a second time. This one was more adamant, sure and almost devoid of any quivering.
She recognized the voice — male, a marked accent, sharp and husky. Not Harvey, definitely not Louis. It had been familiar, yet she wasn't totally used to the strong tone.
Stu Buzzini.
Jessica lifted her eyes from the screen for a fraction of second, then back to the device. She caught up with the image a little later, but when her brain had registered what she had actually seen, the oddity of it urged her to raise her gaze again. This time it settled steadily on the bloodstained figure of Stu.
She cringed at the sight and couldn't help but blink a few times, maybe hopeful that the horrible view would go away. It didn't.
Stu stood on the threshold of the door, keeping it open with the dead weight of his beaten body. He had one foot inside and the other one outside — just like he seemed standing between life and death. Little did Jessica knew that the damage was more psychological than physical.
"Stu, what happened?" Jessica stood up way too quickly and approached the trader, almost shoving her chair in the process. She was almost afraid to touch him, like if she dared to do it he would definitely break. Though, she could see right through the creases of his soul how broken he already was. She wasn't sure if he was aware of it, but he was displaying the classical signs of PTSD, his breath labored and his body shaking.
"I- I don't know what the procedure is here, but- but," he kept stammering and Jessica was afraid he would collapse before he was able to finish the sentence.
"What are you talking about?" she whispered gently.
He didn't seem to hear her. "You may want to know that a man with a gun opened fire in the bullpen."
"Hello, my dear. What a beautiful day it is today!" Mike greeted full of energy, pushing the door open and waltzing into Harvey's office.
The lawyer raised his head from the piles of paperwork that were covering every possible inch of his desk. Taking a mental note to ask Donna for help sorting that out, he threw the young man a dirty look.
"What?" Mike questioned. "Already moody? It's not even 3 p.m., Harvey!" he humored, throwing his boss a faux disapproving look and making himself comfortable on one of the leather chairs. He adjusted the knot of his tie, and then placed his hands on his lap, waiting for Harvey to speak up.
"Has your voice always been this loud?" Harvey complained. With a grimace, he raised his hand to cover his ear purposefully.
Mike knew his extreme cheerfulness may not be appreciated by everybody, especially in the middle of a working day. But you couldn't exactly blame the man for trying to lighten up the mood, since all he had been doing in Danbury was mainly avoiding death threats and bickering with other inmates.
"Oh, come on. I know you missed my morning greetings," he pressed with a wink.
If there was one thing that Mike had learned from his years at whatever name the firm currently had — he couldn't keep track of how many times it had changed — was that Harvey Specter, who claimed to be the toughest closer in Manhattan, actually had a soft spot for him. Not that Mike didn't feel the same way about him, but while he had no problem admitting his admiration for the man, Harvey had always been more stoic.
"You've been back for maybe five hours and you're already the biggest pain in the ass," Harvey pointed out, but glancing at Mike the way that meant he was deep down glad to have him there again.
"That is one of my many qualities." Mike smiled proudly.
Harvey rolled his eyes, pretending to get back to the boring motions he had to file for one of his oldest clients. It would be a matter of seconds before Mike brought up something else, he would pretend to be bothered by it, and then 'defiantly' accept that he wouldn't get anything done any time soon.
Before he knew it though, Harvey felt the irrepressible need to let out a yawn.
Mike snickered, "Did you miss your beauty sleep? Funny because it seemed like you got here at least an hour and a half late today."
"Not that it's any of your business, but I actually missed precious hours of sleep because I'm too busy trying to make you a real lawyer. You know, having a degree and what not."
Mike simply raised his eyebrow at the statement. He was aware of everything Harvey had done for him these past couple of months, and he will be eternally grateful for this new chance at life. Although that didn't mean he couldn't tease his friend a little bit.
"That joke is almost as old as you."
"Very funny." Harvey chuckled unhumorously. "I'm actually pretty sick of babysitting you. I don't have kids, yet I always have my hands full with your shit." He said, pushing himself up and buttoning his grey vest, ultimately giving up his obligations.
He had no idea how wrong he was about that.
"Funny, cause you are actually old enough to be my dad," Mike noted, following him outside of his office. He didn't really know where they were headed — not that he thought Harvey did or that he actually cared — he was just happy to stroll down the halls of the firm again.
"Alright," Harvey abruptly stopped in his tracks, lifting his right arm and halting Mike as well, "these jokes about my age are as old as dirt, you may want to reconsider going down that road."
Mike went to open his mouth, but he soon realized it was better not to respond, judging by Harvey's burning gaze. "And don't even try to use the 'old as dirt' against me," he warned.
Mike tilted his head to the side, "Oh, like you've never repeated jokes before."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Harvey shrugged, feigning ignorance.
"Yes, you do. You have to integrate new lines, I've been wanting to say that for weeks. But again, I was too busy going to prison for you."
"I liked you better when you were in Danbury, now that you mention it," he stated, earning an affectionate, rather than amused, smile from Mike. He knew that Harvey was not exactly the sentimental type, but he guessed that was his way of saying 'welcome back'.
"For Doctor Lipschitz: dominating your life after the tough breakup with Tara leaves you with a sense of peace and accomplishment. P.S. remind Gretchen to buy some flowers to thank him," Louis recorded into his dictaphone, walking down the hall. "And not the cheap daisies she always gets. He's not getting baptized." He added.
The man paused and laughed to himself.
"Actually, that was a good one. You're on fire today," he complimented himself, nodding in a sign of approval "Keep this in mind to prep yourself for the next Tinder match."
Online dating was probably the best idea of the millennium, Louis contemplated.
Choosing to let Tara go after she had told him she was pregnant with Joshua's baby had been one of the most altruistic things he had ever done. If he had to be honest, he was actually pretty proud of himself. Of course, that didn't make the recovering after the heartache any easier.
Doctor Lipschitz had been the greatest help so far, guiding him through his issues and letting him slowly heal. Meanwhile, his phone kept buzzing every time his dating profile had a match, and Louis welcomed the distraction with open arms. Getting to filter the research of the future Mrs. Litt definitely gave some insurance.
"Asking Jessica to supply only You just got Litt up mugs." Louis pressed the button to switch the device on again, resuming his walk, "But maybe start with that and confess you've broken the blender after." He took one last note, pausing just outside the managing partner's office.
He gave himself a once-over. Smoothing down the creases of his jacket and then being satisfied with the result, he mustered up the courage to gently push the door open.
He held his breath, well aware that Jessica would kill him once he told her about the mess in the kitchen. "Jessica, do you have a minute?" He acknowledged her, completely ignoring Stu's somber presence on the couch.
The woman had her back to him, rummaging through a stack of dusty papers with one hand and keeping her phone close with the other. Louis couldn't see her face, but she was visibly shaking, flipping the pages with clear urgency.
Maybe that wasn't a good time, after all.
"Not now, Louis." She briefly turned around, but he could still make out her features scarred by worry and her labored breathing.
"Is there something that I can help you with?" he proposed, glancing around the room and noticing for the first time they weren't alone.
"Stu! Sorry, didn't see you-" he stopped mid-sentence since his jaw dropped, almost hitting the floor.
His eyes roamed with macabre curiosity over his blood-soaked body. His brain was telling him to look away, utterly disgusted by the state he was in, but there was some magnetic force that kept his eyes on his body.
"Oh my- you- what-" he stammered a couple of times, "are you hurt?"
Stu imperceptibly shook his head, still too traumatized by the latest experience. He said, "No, this..." he took a big breath, "isn't my blood."
His eyes watered at the statement, and it was clear to Louis that something huge was obviously going on.
"Stu," Louis said more steadily, "what happened?"
The broker swallowed hard. The cruelty of the previous events and the shock about the near-death experience were obviously still too vivid. "I was just working in the bullpen. Out of nowhere, we heard gunshots. Everyone started panicking, people were screaming and running everywhere. I didn't know what to do so I- I hid under a desk, but my colleagues..."
Louis understood from the way his lip quivered that the sentence wasn't holding anything positive. The story didn't have a good ending.
He nodded, "Any survivors?"
Stu shook his head, slightly sniffing. "Don't think so. I tried to help as much as I could but..." he had to pause.
It was like reliving it all again. He could still hear the ringing in his ears after the gunshots, the fear making his skin tingle, the unwavering sense of nausea.
"Many tried to take the emergency way out but he- he shot them on sight. I don't think anyone has made it safely," he let out.
Louis felt a wave of emotions rushing through him. He was just processing the shock of having heard the whole story, and now... a thought occurred to him. The killer was still on the loose. In the firm. On this very floor. His head spun fiercely as the reality of the danger they were in finally sank.
"Fuck!" Jessica's cursing stole their attention, "no there's nothing here."
She slammed her fist onto the table and closed the envelope of emergency procedures with so much force it could break the glass desk.
"I don't know. How am I supposed to know? You're the experts!" She yelled at the officer on the other line. "Alright, yes I heard you loud and clear," she said after a couple of seconds, before handing the phone to Stu. She claimed the police wanted him to describe the shooter.
As soon as she was dismissed from the call, Jessica took her head into her hands and collapsed onto the couch. An exasperated sigh escaped her and, as much as Louis was sorry to have her thrown into the chaos again, he needed to know, "Jessica, what do you think you're doing? We have to get out right now!"
"No, Louis we don't," she said raising her head to offer him a tired look.
"I don't think you understand. There's still someone with a goddamn loaded gun walking around the floor! We can't just stay here doing nothing!" he reasoned, increasingly raising his voice as his own words made it all more real.
"But we are. We are waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Harvey suddenly questioned, making his way into the office, Mike in tow. "Why are you all here, is someone throwing a party?" he joked, clearly oblivious of what was really going on.
"You haven't heard?" Louis spoke, "We are waiting for a psychopath to kill us all."
Mike's eyes were now wide open, mirroring his shock "What?" he asked, blinking a few times.
As if on cue, Stu hung up the call and turned around to face the others, providing a very tangible proof of the reality of the statement.
Harvey recoiled at the sight, his stomach turning unpleasantly as his nostrils were hit by the bitter smell of dry blood.
"Jessica." Mike seemed to demand an answer by the way he said her name.
"Look, I spoke with the police. The SWAT team is on its way, but there's a protocol to follow," she explained.
"What kind of protocol? The one that makes us all die prematurely?" Louis started pacing around the room.
Harvey rolled his eyes at his friend's antics. He was this close to losing it as well, and he didn't need anyone to fuel his anxiety. Someone needed to stay functioning, and Jessica obviously could use a hand.
"They have to get us all out safely. We can't start running away and breed chaos. We have to stay in our offices and wait for them to clear all the floors involved, to make sure they catch the shooter," she said poignantly.
"Floors?" Mike asked between gritted teeth.
"Apparently it started on the 46th."
Louis scoffed, "Great! So now they have to go through four goddamn floors before getting to us!"
"Louis..."
"No, right. We can always hide," he said mockingly. "Too bad everything here is made of fucking glass! We're basically served on a silver plate. At this point let's go find the man and ask him how he would like to kill us!"
"Enough!" Jessica shouted, and everyone's eyes closed around her. "This is what they told us to do, so it's supposed to be the safest option. Do you have any other suggestions? Tell me, Louis, do you have any experience with terrorist attacks?"
She had slowly taken a few steps towards Louis' short figure and was now towering over him. "Answer my question! Do you have any experience with terrorist attacks?" she asked once again, but it sounded more like a threat.
"No," he murmured under his breath, looking at his shoes and with a sheepish expression across his face.
"So, we follow their orders and have faith that this nightmare will soon be over," Jessica concluded, dropping her shoulders.
"Actually," Stu spoke for the first time, "it wasn't a terrorist. The shooter kept asking where he could find somebody."
"Who?"
Stu's eyes left the ground and settled on Harvey. The lawyer felt everyone's gaze burning his skin, and the air suddenly left his lungs. The world was spiraling, closing around him and taking him under. No, it couldn't-
"Harvey." Stu said at last, "The gunman is looking for Harvey."
His mouth instantly dried as he slowly realized they were all in danger and many people had been killed because of a personal vendetta.
Harvey took a quick glance at Mike, who was staring blankly into space. He gently nudged Mike's shoulder, who, after looking up, announced, "I'm going to get Rachel."
"Are you stupid? Didn't you hear what Jessica just said?" Louis pointed out.
"I did, and at the risk of being shot, I'm going to get the love of my life."
Harvey's heart made its way up his throat as he realized something. The unfortunately familiar wave of panic washed over him. He didn't understand how his mind hadn't gone there sooner.
"What?" Jessica instantly noticed the change in his behavior. Hearing an armed psychopath was planning on killing him hadn't affected him as much as what had just occurred to him.
"Donna," he choked out, "Donna- I have to call her. She's been out for her lunch break and I have to make sure she doesn't come back here."
The others shared a knowing glare. Truth to be told, lunch hour had been over for about fifteen minutes, and Donna would have already gotten back. They were sure she had, but if Harvey hadn't gotten ahold of her...
Harvey's trembling hand pulled his phone out of his pocket. The sweaty digits pressed on the numbers he knew by heart and then moved the device closer to his ear. His foot kept drumming on the floor. One ring, two rings, three rings.
He waited, then tried again.
Nothing.
"So?" Louis asked.
"She's not answering."
Soο, betting is officially open! What do you think happened to Donna? Where is she? With this chapter we're finally getting into the real story, it's going to be one hell of a ride!
Forgive me if I take some liberty with the SWAT procedures, I have made some research and I'm trying to be as consistent as possible, but I'm most certainly not a cop.