Disclaimer: I don't own suits or the characters, but I'm certainly a fan!
Summary: What if they'd made different decisions along the way. How would these decisions affect the rest of their lives and the lives of those around them. The question is, are they still inevitable in a world re-written.
We're going to cover a lot of ground by the end, nearly 13 years! I hope you enjoy. As always thank you so much for reading. It would be lovely to hear your feedback and reviews.
P.S. my sincere apologies for any typo's founds, I've been having a nightmare with the page!
Bella x
The Butterly Effect
Part 1 - Made in a Season
It takes them a season to set in motion a decade of near misses and close calls.
Among the chaos of their early days at the firm, they fail to notice that the little moments are shaping their entire future.
If the straightening of a tie was the flap of a butterfly's wings today, it was triggering a hurricane for tomorrow.
Their fate was built upon their loyalty to the mistakes of their choosing.
It's his first big meeting. 'Their' first big meeting she supposes.
Despite his outward cockiness and confidence, she can tell that he's nervous. It's the small things that give him away. Things that most people wouldn't even notice or be looking out for.
"You OK?" She asks searching for his eyes as he collects his things from his desk. Things that she's diligently laid out for him. He doesn't answer, instead he offers her a cocky grin. She knows it's just for show.
He's been to court and put hardened criminals away. He's faced down his mentor and negotiated dozens of deals. But nonetheless, this is a big moment for him. In the absence of words, she knows he falls back to the dependability of arrogance and gestures. He's a man prone to routine and superstitions.
She takes a small step towards him and grabs hold of his tie. It's blue and silk and has the faintest hint of a sheen. It's expensive and new and intended to show he means business. She winds her fingers into the knot and pulls and pushes the fabric by just a few millimetres in order to perfect its edges; to perfect him.
It's symbolic of what she does to him as a man and as a lawyer. She makes small adjustments, alterations and manipulations that he consents to, in order to make him the best possible version of himself.
It's the closest she's been to him in weeks. If he's registering this fact as well, then he's doing a good job at pretending it hasn't crossed his mind.
Her attempts to perfect him feel different now. He's no longer an object of fantasy and aspiration; he's forbidden fruit, he's pandora's box, he's something more meaningful than he used to be.
She realises how close they're used to being. It's a closeness built from two years of whispers, camaraderie and conspiracies.
They stand closer than boss and employee should. They stand closer than friends should. They definitely stand closer than two people who've recently slept together and are trying to pretend it never happened should.
So she quickly takes a step back and admires her handy work, while purposefully avoiding his eyes.
"Perfect." She says, more to indicate praise for herself than for him. When she finally moves her gaze to his eyes, he's smiling softly at her. It's a smile that says - I'm glad you came with me. We're a team. We can make this work. But she's not so sure.
He quickly clears his throat and turns towards his desk to do a final check of all the documents he needs to take with.
"Knock 'em dead." She calls after him as he purposefully strides towards his first negotiation at the firm.
He turns on his heel and winks at her, "They won't know what's hit 'em." Gone are the nerves. He's ready for battle, and everything about him says so.
It's amazing what a perfectly straight tie can do for a man.
He's running late for a client meeting. He looks terrible. Handsome, but exhausted nonetheless.
He's been up all night looking for the key to unlock this case. He's wearing a fresh shirt and his spare suit, so she knows he hasn't been home.
"Why didn't you tell me you were going to stay all night, I could have helped you." She reasons with him.
"There's no point both of us being tired and sleep deprived. Besides, I need you refreshed and vigilant in case Louis decide to stop by and be ridiculous in my presence." He says trying to joke, but she can see he's struggling to even form complete sentences he's so tired.
It's far from ideal. He needs to go into this meeting and dazzle.
"Let me get you a coffee." She offers, already turning around before he answers.
"I must look awful if you're offering to make me coffee." He mutters after her.
"Your words, not mine." She throws back over her shoulder.
She leaves him gathering his files and checking last minute details, while she heads for the kitchen to make him a coffee. She puts in extra sugar and an extra shot of espresso. He's going to need it she thinks.
She hurries back to the office and passes him the cup. Her fingers graze his and both their hands linger a fraction of a second longer than they should. His lingering hand is the consequence of impaired motor functions through sleep deprivation, rather than the desire to be close to her.
It's the first time that he's touched her skin since he'd really touched her.
It doesn't feel like it used to; innocent and fun, or even accidental.
The sugar and the coffee must do the trick because he kicks ass that day. He's now firmly on Hardman's radar, and she's yet to work out whether that's a good or a bad thing.
He's made her laugh. Not her fake or polite laugh. It's her 'I genuinely thought that was funny laugh'.
They seem to have hit it off. He doesn't like it. He knows she's making an effort with everyone for his benefit. That she's networking, building connections, accumulating favours to be owed. He knows that every time they speak she's gleaning information. That she's working out what makes him tick and what he cares about.
It was an area where she excelled; him not so much. Not that he would ever admit that. He has little patience and little time for the man she's talking to or the endless small talk involved to understand what he's actually talking about.
He knows she's just trying to smooth over the obvious tensions between them and avoid Harvey upsetting Jessica in the process.
And so when he over hears them talking about their shared love of theatre, ballet, the opera, Shakespeare and Scandinavian cooking, he shouldn't be surprised.
But something about Louis hanging around her desk, talking to her, bothering her, and her tolerating it; well it grates on him. So he does what he always does, he takes it out on her. He presses the intercom button and asks her if she's not got any work to do.
He knows from the look she throws his way, that he's being unfair and that he'll pay for it later.
He also knows that Louis has been bugging Jessica to get his own assistant and complaining that he gets special treatment. Louis was irritated at his early return to the firm, and that irritation doesn't seem to be fading.
Therefore, he doesn't trust that while chatting to Donna about the latest performance of Cats, that he's not scanning her desk for something to snoop on, to hold over him, and to screw him over with.
Louis always wants what Harvey has.
Louis acts like an over excitable puppy in Donna's presence, and it makes him feel possessive and protective of her.
All Harvey knows is that he'll never let Louis Litt beat him at anything, including reaching senior partner first.
It's weeks before she really gives their night together any proper thought. Of course it had crossed her mind once or twice. She was being extra careful to make sure they didn't cross any lines or test any boundaries, so inevitably she'd thought about it.
But this was the first time she'd really allowed her mind to wander and explore.
It isn't because she wants to tear his clothes off or because she needs to get laid. It's not because they've stayed late at the office and brushed legs or hands. It's not because they've had a few drinks and he's said something flirtatious. It's because she misses who they used to be; before that night happened.
She just wants to go back. She wants them to be easy and effortless in each other's company. Trying to put a normal veneer on a very non-normal situation is becoming exhausting.
She wonders if maybe it isn't going to work out. That maybe they should just go out with a bang.
Burn bright, before they burn out.
"What's with you today?" He says, frowning at her. She can see he's trying to work out if it's something he's done; whether or not he's in trouble.
"Me?" She says looking up at him with her big hazel coloured eyes.
"Yes, you. You're all jittery. It's very . . un-Donna like." He says smirking, clearly starting to enjoy catching her less than perfectly poised and in control.
"Do you not have anything better to do than monitor my moods?" He gives her a look that says don't deflect. "My mother. She's coming to town. More specifically she's coming for dinner." She huffs. "She's bringing her new boyfriend." Harvey sits down at the edge of her desk and gives her a look that prompts her to admit what the real problem is. "I just . . I feel like I'm being disloyal to my Dad."
And suddenly he gets it. This he understands. Being caught between two parents. Your loyalty subconsciously or intentionally residing with one, more than the other.
"Plus you're a terrible cook". He says trying to lighten the air around them and make her smile.
"Yes, thank you for pointing that out." She says annoyed, but he knows this is not brand new information to her.
"I can cook." He blurts out. "It's one of the many things I do very well with my hands." She can tell by the look that crosses his face that he wishes he'd shut his mouth five seconds earlier. It was a statement made for a different version of their relationship. A time before she's had a demonstration of exactly what those hands could do.
"Then why do you eat so much take-out?" She says trying to smooth over his discomfort and get them back on track.
"Just because I choose not to cook, doesn't mean I can't." He says with trademark arrogance.
"OK, this conversation really isn't helping me, so why don't you scurry back to your desks and try not to screw up your case again." She says with sufficient sass and humour that he skirts over the insult.
He marches back towards his office before he slowly turns back on his heels. "I'll cook." He says. She looks up at him with questioning eyes. "I mean I'll help you cook." He clarifies.
"You don't have to do that." She says, not wanting to drag him into what will be a god-awful evening.
"I've never met your mother." He says as though providing an explanation.
"Yes, there's a reason for that."
"You've met my dad." He reasons.
"Harvey, I don't think that's a . ." before she even has a chance to finish her sentence he interjects.
"Donna . . . can you just let me help you for once." She can tell he's beginning to get frustrated with her stubbornness.
Sometimes they really were two peas in a pod. He wonders if she doesn't like the idea of them revisiting the scene of the crime only weeks after they'd vowed to rebuild their boundaries. Hell - now he thinks about it, he's not so sure it's a good idea himself. Him cooking in her apartment, her bedroom close by, meeting her mother . . . But he just wants to help her.
"Fine, but this better not be like the time you told me you could speak french." She agrees as though she's doing him a favour by accepting his offer of help.
"On peut faire bouillir le chat." He declares with one of the worst French accents she's ever heard.
"OK, except you just told me you want to boil my cat." She says rolling her eyes. "Just try not to be . . . "
"What? charming, entertaining, witty?" He says smugly.
"You." She says bluntly. He just grins widely at her before heading into his office. "7pm . . don't be late." She says through the intercom.
She's on what can only be described, as the verge of a total meltdown.
"Oh thank god you're here." She breathes out in a panic, quickly turning around and heading back towards her kitchen, not offering to take his coat or to get him a drink.
So he does as is clearly implied, and follows her down the hallway. She's clearly too panicked and flustered to give any thought as to what they'd been doing the last time he'd been at her door. He removes his jacket and places the wine he brought on the dining room table.
He'd not had much opportunity to look around the details of her apartment during his last visit. He thinks it's tasteful and cosy; very Donna. There's splashes of colour and personality on every surface and wall. it looks like someone's home.
"Jeez are you coming?" She shouts from the kitchen.
"Is this how you greet all your dinner guests? If so, I can see how you'd be worried tonight won't be a success."
"You're not a guest, you're the help." She says emerging from the kitchen, hair all over the place, cheeks red from the heat of the stove, and wearing a slightly wild eyed expression.
She throws the tea towel draped over her shoulder in his direction and he catches it with ease. She holds out the glass of wine in her right hand towards him, and he steps towards her and takes it from her. He downs half the contents in one and she looks at him like he should be on his way to the nearest AA meeting.
"I'm going to need something to get me through this evening and eat whatever it is you've cooked." She looks at him with her lips pursed in objection.
She begins to walk back to the kitchen and he follows after her. When she turns back to face him, she gestures towards all the ingredients laid out on the small counter in front of her.
"So about that . . I was thinking maybe we could eat something you cooked." His eyes go wide as he looks at the clock above her head.
"Donna, they'll be here in half an hour." He says looking at her like she's gone insane. She grabs his arm and pulls him towards her. All of a sudden, all he can concentrate on is her warm and soft finger tips wrapped around his wrist. When he doesn't instantly work out what she's showing him, she orders him to focus.
"Look!" She demands while using her other hand to point to the contents of the trash can. When he removes his eyes from where her hand is resting, he looks at the contents of where she's wildly gesturing.
"Ah." He can't even identify what is lurking in the dark recesses of her trash. It smell awful and burned, and like it has an excessive amount of spice and alcohol poured over it. He thinks he can still see small puffs of smoke coming off of it. When they both look up out of the trash can and towards each other, they burst out laughing.
"OK Paulsen . . go lay the table, put out glasses, put on music. Do whatever is safe and not flammable, and remove yourself from this kitchen."
"What are you making?" She inquires hopefully.
"Whatever takes 30 minutes to cook and can be made with shrimp, carrots and what on earth are these?" He says holding up an exotic looking green. She just shrugs.
"Thank you Harvey." She says finally looking a little embarrassed now she has calmed down.
"Sorry, I didn't quite hear you?" He says putting his hand up to cup his ear to emphasise his point.
"Don't push it." She says sassing him on her way out. When she reappears 20 minutes later, her hair is brushed, her lipstick is in place and she's wearing a fresh if not slightly revealing black dress.
She quietly watches him chop vegetables at her counter. The blade works in easy and smooth motions to perfectly chop the carrots in front of him. She wonders if everything he does, he does perfectly.
The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up to his elbows and he's removed his tie and undone the top two buttons. His hair is a little softer around the edges from the heat of the oven and another long day at the office.
For a moment she allows herself to imagine that this is what all their Friday nights could look like. Them together - cooking, a glass of wine in hand, the whole weekend stretching out ahead of them.
It sparks a longing inside of her that she knows is dangerous. She knows she's breaking her own rules by even thinking about it. But he's standing there looking like everything she didn't know she wanted, until she walked up to an up-and-coming ADA in a random bar.
"It better be nice!" She says leaning against the door-frame and smirking at him.
He looks up and she takes his breath away. He realises how domestic and romantic the whole notion of tonight really is. Like they're a couple and he's meeting the family for the very first time.
He doesn't want to think about what his Dad or Jessica would say if they knew he'd turned down a date tonight to stand in her smoke filled kitchen chopping vegetables, with the promise of nothing more than helping her out and making her happy.
"Do you have any dill?" He says as she heads over to take a peek inside the pan that he's now turned his attention to.
"Smells good" she says not answering his questions.
"Non-burned, edible food generally does." He says leaning back against the counter by the cooker and taking another sip of his wine.
"I think there's some in this cupboard." She says returning to his original question and skirting over the truthful critique of her own cooking.
She walks over to where he's standing and leans over him to reach for the cupboard above his head. When she looks back down he's staring straight at her. They're frozen to the spot, neither daring to move a muscle while the same memory plays through both their minds.
They'd stood in this exact same spot only weeks ago, her wearing nothing but his shirt and looking like the best night of his life. That morning he'd grabbed her around the waist and kissed her deeply. They'd quickly abandoned the idea of coffee and headed back towards her bedroom. He's struggling to think of a single reason why he'd shouldn't do the same thing right now.
He knows there are reasons, he just can't remember them.
But before the thought has a chance to mature, they both abruptly step back from each other at the sound of the door being knocked loudly.
"Here it is." She almost whispers, before reaching up again and passing him the small pot of herbs in her hand.
"Thanks." He says giving her a small smile, noticing that she's started to look nervous again at the prospect of meeting her mother's new boyfriend.
"Hey, we'll pour you an extra large glass of wine." She smiles at him and his attempt to provide some reassurance.
"Here" She says grabbing the apron she abandoned earlier, "don't want you getting your shirt dirty." She says looping it around his neck. He watches her exit the kitchen and head towards the door.
He hears her mother knock again before Donna manages to reach the door. He pours another glass of wine and takes another long sip.
He wants to make things easier for Donna tonight , but he knows that after their strange moment a minute ago, he can't be this to her on a regular basis.
They need boundaries and personal space. They need home and work to be separate. If their lines keep blurring, then they run the risk of slipping up and destroying everything else in the process.
In the last few weeks he's considered having his cake and eating it. Of trying to persuade her to rethink her policy. But as every new day passes, and she continues to improve his life in every conceivable way, he's more convinced than ever that it's just not worth the risk.
He thinks that he wants her in his life forever. But her offering him her heart, and him accepting it, is the biggest obstacle to achieving this.
He might be the fool that's throwing away the winning lottery ticket, but he's also not foolish enough to think that he can have it all.
She over hears some of the interns and the assistants to the Senior Partners gossiping around the coffee machine. It's cliche and its unprofessional, but she kind of wants to join them.
That is until she realises that it's her they're talking about in a round-about kind off way.
It's Harvey they're actually talking about. They can't seem to figure out how he's managed to get his own personal secretary while only being an Associate. She can hear them bitching that their bosses think it gives him an unfair advantage over the others. They say he's always been Jessica's favourite.
She thinks it's strange that for someone that picks up on everything, that she hadn't yet picked up on this.
Why was he the only one that had a secretary? If there was no job available for her, then why did he insist on bringing her to the firm. Sure, he'd said he didn't want to find out what kind of lawyer he'd be without her, but it's odd nonetheless.
It's later that day when most of their other colleagues have cleared out the office to go home or out to bars, that she decides she's going to raise the issue.
They're sitting opposite each other in his small office, highlighting and researching and making notes.
"Why are you the only associate that has an assistant?" She says tilting her head at him, encouraging him to lift his gaze from the page in front of him.
"What?" He asks looking tired and bleary eyed.
"Was there not a job for me?" She asks again more forcefully.
"Are you annoyed at me because I negotiated a good deal? I'm a lawyer Donna."
"Do you know what people say about that?" She says her frustration rising.
"Who cares what people say." He says looking back down at the brief in front of him, frowning and confused as to why she's so annoyed he managed to get her a job.
"I do Harvey. I care." She says dropping her pen on the desk and staring at him.
"Look, just ignore it." He says running his hand through his hair. "They'll be onto the next bit of gossip soon enough." He certainly hopes so.
The gossip isn't good for his career, and while he thinks that him and Jessica have sufficiently covered their tracks where payroll and paperwork is concerned, you never know what someone will find if they go looking. More than anything, he can't have her finding out that he pays her salary. She'd be out the door the same minute, she'd be humiliated, and despite his good intentions he'd look like an ass-hole.
"It's all boys slapping each other on the back for you . . but mud sticks when you're a secretary and a woman."
"Donna, I don't know what you want me to say! Do you want to apologise for brining you with me and you having a job?" She looks down and doesn't answer. "Is this about the job, or is this about something else?"
"It's just different here, that's all." But he thinks she means they're different here.
"We just need to give it time."
He hopes he's right.
Her reputation had always mattered to her. She doesn't really know why, when she thinks about it.
Most of the time she thinks fuck it! I am who I am, take it or leave it. No apologising for who she is.
But the idea that someone thinks she hasn't earned her position bothers her. She supposes it's because she's innately competitive. She'd played sports to a high level in her younger years and was an ambitious actress at one point.
She's smart and hard working. She wants people to know that.
But the implication that she may be offering Harvey more than just secretarial assistance angers her. It's unfair, it's misogynistic, and it's not true.
She wonders if she's a little angry at herself. That their one night together has unknowingly planted a seed of doubt in her own mind, as to what his motivations are for keeping her nearby.
And so when she spots Hardman lurking in Harvey's office she hangs back. He's the last thing she needs right now.
She doesn't like Hardman.
She'd taken a disliking to him from the moment she met him. She couldn't understand the trust and loyalty Jessica Pearson seemed to place in him. She doesn't know Jessica, they've yet to have their first real interaction. But she's heard things. She commands respect, she's admired, Harvey is loyal as a dog to her. And so the two things don't seem to add up.
Hardman gives off a vibe that's all sleaze, disingenuous, and insecure. When they'd first met he'd appraised her like a cow at a market. She knew that Harvey didn't like him either. But she also knew that Harvey wanted her to play the game. It was part of 'the plan', all the way to Managing Partner one day. Harvey knew where he was heading, and he'd made clear that she was an integral part of helping to achieve that.
So it comes as no surprise that Hardman's offering Harvey 'career advice' in the only way he know how. It's titillation and sleaze dressed up as wisdom and mentoring.
She can hear what he's saying from around the corner, his voice carrying across a floor that he now assumes is empty for the night.
"She's a pretty girl Harvey, I get it. But lawyers sleeping with their secretary's . . well it's all a little Melanie Griffith Working Girl if you know what I mean."
"No, I don't know what you mean." Harvey replies indignantly.
"Then let me put it more simply for you. If you like to slum it, go find a cocktail waitress. There's no need to shit where you eat."
"Daniel, that's not what's going on." Harvey says getting irritated, but she can tell he's trying to keep his cool while talking to his superior.
"Fine, you like her. Then just get it out of your system and make sure no one finds out. This isn't the DA's office Harvey. Pick someone who's your equal."
Hardman walks off before Harvey even has a chance to say anything further. When she sees Hardman walk off in the other direction, she decides to round the corner and go back to her desk.
She can see he's upset. She can see he wants to storm off after him, set the record straight and defend both his and her's honour. But he also knows it's not a smart thing to do. They also both know that even though the narrative is wrong, there's a tiny element of truth in what Daniel has just warned against.
He only has to look at her to know that she's heard every word. She offers him a faint smile to reassure him.
He knows she's going to go straight home without speaking to him. This is a conversation they both want to avoid. Because they know that if they discuss it, they may reach the conclusion that coming to the firm together was a mistake.
So she grabs her coat and purse and looks back at him one more time. He nods in her direction before she turns and heads home for the evening.
To be continued.
The butterfly effect is about to hit . . . . .