This chapter may be rated M, but nothing major. This is the first actual time I've written a little dirtier, so please let me know if I messed it up. I the last few weeks I haven't felt like many were still following this, but I still wanted to let you know that we're getting closer to the end. Though, I still have surprises in hold for you. As usual: Enjoy!
G-
It had been awkward for Stephen to be carried around by Harvey Specter's personal driver, but it had also been the most rational choice. Ray was the one to have a spare key to Donna's apartment, trusted with it after years of loyal service. Penelope was also familiar with him and if sitting in his car could make her less suspicious, he was totally on board with that. Honestly, it had been for the best.
Ignoring the hostile look the employee throws at him, he digs into his pockets to shove out a more than generous tip and offers it to him. The man replies with a polite smile that doesn't quite reach his gaze, declining the offer and saying that he's not a taxicab, and that giving a ride to miss Penelope isn't much of a job, but a pleasure. A sheepish look takes hold of Stephen's features, who prefers to just nod and thank.
He lets Penelope open the car door on her own and head directly inside of the building. A tall concierge is leaning against the front desk, he's wearing dark jeans and a cheap/not-so-cheap suit jacket, the kind of clothes that not everyone can afford, but certainly nothing extravagant. His wardrobe suggest his relaxed but put together persona, and his five o' clock shadow helps his casual attire. As soon as he steps him, the man eyes him with weariness. It could be just a feeling, but it seems like everyone's screaming that he doesn't belong to this.
Penelope greets him with a cheerful 'hi Johnny' and introduces him to Stephen. The porter seems genuinely relieved that the little girl knows who's a stranger to him and decides to let them take the elevator up, wishing them a happy continuation of the day. Nevertheless, Stephen swears he still keeps an eye on him.
The toddler pressures him to open her home's door and then let him in, since he's the guest and she's the host. He smiles at her attitude, which he grows to find adorable, yet pretty much too forward for her age. She's going to be a lot of trouble when she grows up, if you ask him.
As she leads the way, Stephen's eye can't help but fall on the little details of the house. The female touch is far too obvious, but in view of the soft patterns and taste. Plus, it has spacious open rooms and light comes from everywhere. The little succulent plants scattered on the shelves and coffee table - yet with some kind of method - give a green vibe to the atmosphere. Stephen believes they must have chosen them in order to add life to the environment, but to spend as less time as possible looking after them as well. Light wooden forniture soften the surroundings and it's all very cozy. It's probably the pictures hung on the walls.
They include everything, from the photos of what he assumes are the couple's parents, to photos of birthdays and mundane moments. He's particularly captured by one. The snap portrays Donna, holding her baby bump with a big smile. The nubbin is present, but small enough to make him think she's about four months pregnant. She's wearing a laminated silver dress that hugs her ever growing curves just right. Around her it's dark and her make-up is well handled, so she must have been out celebrating something. Her hair are thicker and brighter, perfectly styled with long curls falling over her shoulders. Her skin is free from any imperfection and the light rose color is compact on her cheeks. He can't see any big difference than her usual self, only for her face that is a little rounder, but it's almost imperceptible. Her body - except, of course, her tummy - is almost untouched by the changes it was going through. Yes, he decides growing a human really suited her. He regrets having missed this.
"My mom told me that's a special memory." A little voice snaps him back to reality.
"What?" Stephen asks, a little dumbfounded, as he puts back into place the frame he had previously grabbed.
"The picture. She told me I was in her tummy back then." She explains as if she knows what she's talking about. She comes to stand near him and points a finger at the image. "Right there."
"You must have been very tiny to fit there." He comments playfully.
"Silly, I was tiny but then I grew!" She replies at his almost rhetorical suggestion with a roll of eyes.
"Oh wait, did you just call me silly?" He asks with simulated offense. A hand comes to pat his chest.
"You're a big man, you should know how it works." When she cocks a brow, he's painful to admit that she does look like Harvey. Or maybe it's just the cockiness in her attitude.
"And you know how it works?" He inquires, full of curiosity. He's a little afraid to have spoken those words, not deeming it appropriate for them to venture in those kind of topics already. So I t doesn't matter how curious he can be, he has to stop before he says something he would instantly regret and guarantee him a bad death.
Lucky for him, she seems to have lost interest in their on-going conversation, liquidating him with a confident 'yes' and diverting her gaze to the toys in the box next to them. She starts taking the items out and playing with them, not minding his presence at all.
Stephen takes off his coat, hangs it and pulls up his sleeves to start cooking something. He finds most of the work done in a container inside the fridge, assuming fish, vegetables and rice are healthy enough for dinner. It's probably what they should have eaten anyway. As he works, he keeps glancing at the little girl in front of him. He scans her in search of similarities between them, but to be honest, she mostly looks like Donna, so it's kind of hard to find any. She may have his nose and his lips, but its still early to tell.
Time passes relatively quickly, as Stephen keeps himself busy with the stoves. He plates the food and places it on the table, joining Penelope as she eats, but not touching a carrot himself. They make up casual conversation about her day at school and as soon as she finishes, Stephen whips out his ace in the hole. He sets a tub of ice cream in front of her and watches as her little hazel eyes twinkle. He knew it, every kid can be won with ice cream.
Penelope bites her lip, "I'm not allowed to eat ice cream on Thursdays." She reluctantly confesses. She mentally kicks herself for having given this piece of information when she could have just taken advantage of the situation.
"Well," Stephen sighs theatrically. "What a shame your parents aren't here to find out if you have it or not." He eyes her with purpose, a playful smirk that matches her own.
"I like you!" She almost screams in a high-peached voice, reaching for a spoon and making the cold dessert hers.
Stephen's heart warms at her declaration. He knows he shouldn't be so taken aback by her words, since he kind of bribed her, but he can't help it. It's like the very first share of thoughts towards him, and they're positive ones.
"So you won't tell my dad?" She makes sure before getting her hands dirty with the proof of her crime.
"Yeah, it'll be our little secret." He states, happy he has gained some kind of leverage, and against Harvey to say the least. "If I was your dad, I'd let you eat ice cream anytime you'd want."
The answer goes lost in the air, Penelope being too preoccupied trying to cut through the still stone-cold food. Maybe he has pushed too much, and it's better she hasn't been paying attention. What he had hoped for anyway? An 'I'd wish you were my dad'? Even he recognizes that it's too soon.
"You know, as a matter of fact, I'd really want to be a dad too." He approaches the matter more cautiously.
"You don't have a baby?" She asks mind-absently, while getting a mouthful.
"Honestly, I might as well have, but we haven't seen each other very often. I'm afraid she won't want me." He confesses, paying extremely attention to the words he uses.
"So it's a girl like me?" He manages to catch we attention.
"Yes, she is." He answers with a soft curve of his lips. "As regards, since you're both so similar, what do you say? If it were you - hypothetically - would you like to have me as your dad?" He eagerly asks.
As soon as the question leaves his mouth, he hears the key jingle in the lock and the door open.
"Quick! Hide the ice cream!" Penelope instructs, as she leaves an overwhelmed Stephen covering her tracks. She runs as fast as her little legs allow her and greets her parents, the talk long forgotten.
"There you are!" Harvey exclaims, picking her up in a bat of an eye. "Oh, I missed you so much!" He says, squeezing her little self a little too tightly.
"I missed you too." She gives him a soft peck on the forehead.
Stephen emerges from the bottom and waves at them. "Tuberculosis free, I assume."
"Disappointed?" Harvey bitterly inquires.
"How did it go?" Donna intervenes, before the two men jump at each other's bones.
"Oh, we had fun." Stephen simply replies.
"Yeah, Stephen is nice." Penelope winks at him. Harvey feels his blood boiling into his veins.
Donna senses the urgency of the moment and takes the toddler from Harvey's arms, excusing herself, and announcing it's bed time. As soon as they're out of sight Harvey demands, "Grab your things and leave."
Stephen grimaces as his usual: pouting, raising is eyebrows and eyeing the floor with a hint of disapproval. He takes painfully long to accomplish his task, and - when he finally comes to stand on the threshold - he lets out, "We have a wonderful daughter."
Harvey chuckles darkly. "You had fun playing house, didn't you? Well, mark my words: it doesn't change shit."
Their looks are filled with hate now.
"Oh really?" Stephen dares.
"Really. You want to know why? Because I'm the one who's going to tuck her in, the one whose clothes are in the closet, the one she calls 'dad'. " He affirms forcefully, battle in his eyes. "Because I'm the one who belongs here, and you're the one who's getting kicked out."
.
Light footsteps approach the man currently splayed on the couch, back to her, glass filled with sweet poison between his fingers.
She's almost afraid of compromising his apparently peaceful state of mind, but the urge to be near him is overwhelming and she quietly finds herself placing a hand on his shoulder.
He flinches when the movement begins a descendent path down his chest, so that she's hugging him from behind. She's lightly straddled too, confused as to why her touch would be reason of nuisance. She tells herself it's probably just because it's late night and she's taken him off guard.
He slightly pulls the corner of his mouth up, giving her what can't exactly be considered a smile. She mirrors him, sitting down on the edge of the armrest of the easy chair alongside him. "I'd ask you why you're not into bed, but we both know what's keeping you up." She whispers, her right hand massaging his forearm's contracted muscles.
"Well," He sighs. "Doesn't take a genius to figure it out." He brings the glass to his lips, covering his ambiguous expression behind it. It's like his whole body language screams her to stay away.
The comment is unnecessary, surprisingly painful, and has her straighten up. Taken aback from the harshness of his attitude, her eyes shift to the side, "You want to talk about it?" She suggests.
"What is there to talk about, Donna?" He scoffs, really not willing to let her dive into his still fresh wounds.
"What has gotten into you?" She slightly bends herself forward, her hands coming to stand on her knees as she slightly shakes her head. It's instinctive. She doesn't feel to properly stand up and turn into the fury they both know she can be. Instead, she's tired, tired of chasing after a piece of himself he holds tightly.
"Nothing! I was just trying to enjoy my drink, so now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to do that without bothering." He announces, suddenly getting up and heading to the expensive bottle of scotch that's screaming for a refill.
"And when exactly did I become 'bothering'?" She inquires sharply.
"You know what? I'm tired, I don't think it's the best-"
"No please, let's hear it out. I'm so looking forward to know why you keep treating me like shit." The role of the petulant wife doesn't have a good look on her. Although, she is well aware that if she doesn't push him, they'll never get passed it. It's a dangerous game, poking him till he pulls it all out. The droplets of sadness that have been souring into him might come out as a corrosive rain.
He, on the other hand, doesn't like to be forced into facing his feelings. So that's a shame that reading him like a book comes natural to her. Even though, this peculiarity of hers seem to work on his advantage when he's oblivious and needs a little help. Throughout the years he has gotten better at it, but the substance is still that. The fact is, he isn't putting the littlest effort right now, because he doesn't trust himself with what he would find digging. So, instead of opening up, he locks the door, swallowing in one swift motion the burning amber liquid - alongside a few hard feelings.
"Oh please, Harvey, just drop this whole passive-aggressive behavior of yours and come clean for once." She pleads, but not making use of any sign of a soft tone. It sounds more like an imposition, and Harvey doesn't like those.
"You don't always know how I'm feeling." He knows it's pure bullshit. He's not blind, and he has certainly gotten used to her showing him what's really the solution behind his puzzled head. For years she has known better, and has been patient enough for him to figure it out himself. It had gotten to a point he took it for granted that she would be there to save him from himself, no matter how much in denial he could have been.
"That right there." She holds her index up. "You can lie to yourself as much as you want, but you're not fooling me for a second. There's something else."
"That's enough." He senses he's about to burst, and really wishes it doesn't happen at all.
"Oh for god's sakes, Harvey. Just say it!" Her hands fly up in frustration. "Because I know we're going through hell, but it's not my fault!"
"Yes, it's your fault!" He spits out of the clear blue sky. "Because you just had to break your rule for that asshole. Because you just had to finally do the same for me after over a goddamn decade, but end up pregnant with god knows who!"
The vein on his forehead beats furiously, according to his labored breathing. Perfect simultaneity with the rise and fall of his chest. That was the last straw that broke the camel's back. She shouldn't have dived into the turbulent waters of whose fault it is, because deep down he knows he resents her.
It's nothing logical, really, and he hates himself for even thinking that. She had the absolute freedom of choosing whoever she wanted, and it was most certainly not her fault that said person turned out to be a monster. Plus, when it came down to them, he had been the first to jump at first the occasion of being with her - the fact that she was in bed with Stephen just a few days prior never once crossing his mind. Maybe not being careful enough to avoid a pregnancy concerned her a little bit, but she had had enough on her plate to be justified regarding that too; and it was not like he had been giving it a lot of thought himself.
So what is really blaming her for? Subconsciously, that - no matter what happens - her relationship with Penelope will be untouched, while he could lose it all.
"Good!" She yells, expelling a breath that seems to free her of all the pent up turmoil that was threatening to burst out.
"What you mean good?" He questions, certainly confused and surprised of such a positive answer to his blowout.
"I mean, we both knew there was something haunting you, and it's good you were finally able to say it!"
"This is ridiculous." Is the only thing he can say.
"No, it's not. Because, even if your words are hurting me, they're the first authentic ones I've heard in forever!" She argues.
So right now he fells worse than he already felt. It's painful to acknowledge she's too good for him. Donna has always been an altruistic soul, but undergo his frustrations and actually being happy about it because it's their first true interaction in weeks is too much even for her. He tears his eyes away, the sight of the emotional pain she's going through doing wonders to his own ache.
"Harvey you can't even look at me in the eyes." He doesn't have to see her to catch the desperation staining her shaky voice. It shifts something inside of him, and he actually decides to try.
The brown pools timorously make their way to her fatigued figure. He settles for just looking in her direction. He can still make out the misery written all over her face, the knots in her hair - suggesting she probably run her hands through it - , the unshed tears in her swollen eyes, but he knows what she means with looking at her. It's deeper, and it stands for seeing her - seeing what's underneath, her true soul. Funny how hard it is to see her now, when she was the only thing he used to be able to see.
"Here. I'm looking at you." He half-lies. But she doesn't need consolation prize. She sighs, letting her arms drop at her sides with a heavy thud. She falls on the couch, twisting the golden band around her finger. He wonders if it's an absent minded gesture or if it has a purpose.
"For the record, you keep talking about me, but maybe you should look in the mirror."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She looks up frowning.
"It means you haven't been yourself too, Donna. For a while." He observes.
"At least I'm acknowledging it. But you're raising your walls up!" She counters, while her eyebrows shoot up, eyes go wide and mouth splits agape. He doesn't recognize the woman that now comes to stand in front of him, a thick layer of angst covering ber light.
"But you know what?" She takes a few steps ahead. It's not until he can feel her hot breath against his chin, that he notices how close she is. Yet, she's miles away. "You can push me away as much as you want, but I'm not giving up on you. I won't let something like this get in the way between us. I will not let your stubbornness be the reason you fall out of love with me, because I still love you tremendously and-"
She's cut off when his mouth crashes against hers. The second his lips collide with hers he knows he has taken the best decision ever just going for it and shutting her up. He was honestly getting tired of talking when all he wanted to do was kissing her.
She's most certainly surprised by his bold move - and she may have taken out a muffled gasp at the sudden contact - but she kisses him back almost immediately. It's a spontaneous thing. After all they've always worked in tandem, and that hasn't changed a bit. Cherishing how responsive she was to his touch, he traces her bottom lip with his tongue, with the sole purpose of coaxing her into opening her mouth. Their tongues brush languidly against each other, and that feels absolutely paradise. It feels like they're slowly getting their previous selves back, discovering everything once again. The context is so different, yet the way she fits against him is so safely familiar and accommodating.
Harvey isn't surprised when she takes the initiative, she's a woman of action after all. Her hands sneak around the back of his head, pulling at the baby hair at the base of his neck and grinding her hips against him. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, they're everywhere - her hair, her cheeks, her rib cage - when they eventually gravitate in the natural place that are the smooth curves of her hips. He pushes her against him in a desperate attempt to get more friction. When he starts peppering her cleavage with open mouthed kisses, she tightens the grip on him, a soft moan escaping her. That's music to his hears.
Everything starts heating up even more, every kiss more urgent and hurried. She frees him of his now too tight sweat pants - along with his boxers - letting them pool at his ankles. Donna grabs his shoulders so tightly the skin underneath turns white, when he pushes her up against the countertop of their living room and finds her panties with ease, sliding them aside trough the rather accessible robe. She's aching for him and he's throbbing for her.
Even if their action had started in a hurry, when he gently slams into her, he does it so slowly that she can feel him stretch her walls and it almost drives her mad. Twin gasps escape their mouths, so they're eventually brought to break apart for oxygen - although never too distant. Her eyes find his for the first time of the night and a knot gathers in his throat upon her gaze. Now, it's now that he sees her, that he looks at her. The corners of her mouth curl up ever so slightly and he's back kissing her, never wanting a second apart again and mixing her salty tears with his own.
They set a slow tempo, as if they don't want it to end. It's too much and not enough at the same time. It's always been like this between them. The way he enters without effort lets him enjoy fully the feel of her warmth and velvet enveloping him, and he has to hold on to her for dear life - since his legs seem suddenly incapable of carrying his and her weight.
The rather silent space is filled with just their names - turned into honey as soon as the other says them - and the sound of their bodies fusing together. When he pants against her throat and she arches her back, they both brace themselves in anticipation for what's next. Their eyes lock once again, needing to see each other, as they both let go in the most natural and fulfilling way. As everything in their life, they do it together, at the same level.
"Hey," He says tucking a messy red lock behind her ear, looking her adoringly. "There you are."
"There you are." She mirrors him with commotion.
They decide that right there, wrapped in each other's embrace and their own mercy, they've never felt safer. It feels like coming home after a long time away, and maybe you don't exactly remember in which place you had your toothbrush, but it certainly feels familiar.
And here we are, they still have just a few things to discuss, but the tone it's going to be so much lighter. Hope you liked that, please please let me know if you're still there.