This is a big one, but first things first.
A guest told me in the reviews that the previous flashback's timing was incorrect, and as a matter of fact it was. (Pardon my dumbness. I corrected it, thanks again.) The guest was also curious as to why Harvey has still his own apartment, and by chance, right in this chapter I explain everything.
This is also where we find out why they have named the baby Penelope ( hope you like it! The whole thing is kind of my personal reason) and where the plot-twist happens.
Thank you for your kindness and as always let me know what you think, mostly because this is the most daring chapter I've ever let out.
G-
Do you know when you have lived in college for several years and then come home for the holidays? How you find yourself in your teenage bedroom that feels in some kind of way familiar but oddly unaccustomed at the same time? How the only reality you've ever known suddenly represents just a memory? How what's supposed to be your home becomes your past? Yeah, that's just how Harvey feels about spending the night at his old condo.
Years ago, when he had pushed his ego aside for the sake of Donna, concluding it was better to move in her apartment, he had decided against selling his own anyway. Not because he had ever thought he'd needed it again, but because he couldn't bring himself to let it totally go. Harvey Specter isn't certainly the sentimental type, but that place holds so many memories, has witnessed winnings and losses and- okay, maybe he is a little bit sentimental. Of course, they could have rented it and gained some money, but they aren't exactly poor, they can afford not having an outcome.
The place has served its purpose by being mainly a big storage room and less frequently a personal study. That way Donna's happy, Harvey's happy, everyone's happy.
Though, as he enters the glacial space - privy of heat, since it's cold outside, or any sort of homely warmth, since no one has spent a night there in years - happiness is the last thing he feels. He actually feels alone, an heavy sense of melancholy taking over.
Discarding his suit jacket on a chair, he makes his way to the decanter to pour himself a generous amount of amber liquid. He can't help but notice how he has done the exact same thing so many times before, but so many years ago. It suddenly hits him that he had believed his lonely drunken nights were over. But the bottle being one of the very few things he has left there makes Harvey realize that some things never actually change. Funny how life works, because one of the last times he has been at his old place, everything was indeed about to change.
.
.
Six years ago:
"Harvey, for Christ's sake, calm down!" Donna demands, rubbing her belly somehow vigorously.
"Calm down?" He shouts so loud as if the person who had to get the message was the upper floor's tenant. She withdraws at his sudden five times higher pitch and covers her ear. "How do you expect me to calm down when I found you up there?" He signals the leather chair standing next the painting hung on his bedroom's wall.
Donna believes he has definitely lost it. She knew it was going to happen one day or another, but she didn't expect it to be before eighty at least. It's the baby, she thinks. It's because they have only two-weeks-or-so before she comes and he's freaking out. Yes, she decides. It must be it. It's the only logical reason why he would shout at her for trying to get a painting off the wall. Yes, she has used the chair to help her up and reach it, but she wasn't exactly climbing the Empire State Building.
"Up there?" She mocks, trying to suppress a giggle at the absurdity of his perspective.
"Yes," he banters without missing a beat, "You could have fallen."
"I was at basically two inches from the ground!"
"Two inches that could have caused you two weeks pre-term." Harvey states satisfied with his response. She ignores the fact that he's basically telling her he wouldn't have given a shit if that happened to just her, but it's important to him now that she's pregnant. "Which reminds me, you should be home resting."
Donna visibly scoffs to get his attention, ever the actress, "We went over this, I'm pregnant, not ill." She protests.
"Exactly, you should act like all the eight-months-pregnant ladies and sit down." The man points out, running a hand trough his gel-free hair.
"Okay first, you don't tell me what to do." She claims with that slightly superior attitude that he loves to hate.
"First, I've already told you that I'm not telling you what you should do, but what Penelope should do. Yet, you have to listen to me anyway, since she can't actually say anything on the matter and I have rights but practically no power of action because you're the one who's carrying her." He argues.
"Oh pretty lawyer boy," she grins at him mischievously, "you have no idea how much I would love to have you carry her, just to witness to your pain once you'll have to get her out."
Harvey's eyebrows shoot to his hairline, "I see maternity has softened you up."
"Second," she reminds him she hasn't finished her speech just yet, "you need my help to pack everything in time."
She's not totally wrong. They are running out of time and every important thing has to be relocated to Donna's apartment before the baby is born. They are also waiting for the stroller and the crib to arrive, not to mention the incredibly safe baby carrier (the first one of the top-ten, if you ask Harvey) they have yet to order.
"That thing's been there probably longer than me! I didn't even remember it!" He wines, at which Donna grunts.
"What is it? You feeling ok? Do you want to sit down?" Harvey asks suddenly concerned.
She rolls her eyes so far back it hurts, "You." She simply says. "I'm not feeling ok, not because I've made a teeny tiny movement to get a damn painting off the wall, but because you keep breathing on my neck and this kid won't stop jumping on my poor bladder." Her hands fly up in frustration. "And no, I don't want to sit down. I want to keep working till-"
She stops mid sentence and, as soon as she does it, she shuts her eyes. Her expression is pure discomfort.
"I'll ask you what happened, but I'm afraid you're going to hurt me."
"I think I just peed myself." She sheeply confesses, turning red.
"No, Donna." Harvey says, giving a look at her pants and then the floor. "You're actually leaking. No human in the world could hold so much pee."
Their eyes meet in a second and their mouths slam wide open. Her water's just break. They don't need to vocalize it to know the other thinks the same. They don't have the time to properly process their feelings that Harvey is in full operative mood.
"Ok, let's get you to the hospital." He clasps his hands together with a deep thud and tells her this with a calmness that doesn't fool anyone.
"But- two weeks. We still had two weeks. That's not fair. No, we're not ready." She murmurs to herself in disbelief, but clearly loud enough for Harvey to hear.
"Doesn't matter. She's ready."
"We don't even have a carrier. We're already horrible parents." She weakly protests, while he chaperones her to the exit.
"You know who are horrible parents? The ones who let their child be born in a now dusty condo. Therefore, let's get to the hospital."
Penelope is going to take her first breath almost twenty hours later. They have Louis borrow them a carrier that was Esther's, and they make it home perfectly fine. Harvey is going to mock Donna for their baby's timing for the rest of her life, deeming he was right.
Although, they never take the painting back.
.
.
As Harvey has made himself 'comfortable', he tries to find some sleep under the covers. He knows he won't get any, after all, there's still that painting on the wall that keeps staring at him.
.
.
Donna sets down on the table the forks and plates with shaky hands. The unwavering sense of nausea still threatens her, but moving around and breathing deeply in-and-out seem to provide a little help. If it wasn't for the fact that her mind won't let go of her and Harvey's fight. His words keep playing like a broken record, and every time the scene repeats it feels like a stab in the guts.
She sniffles softly as a salty tear gathers upon her eyelid, but doesn't escape it. She's well aware that if she lets that single one stain her cheek, soon it would be followed by many many more and she definitely won't be able to stop. With Penelope and Stephen about to join her at the same table she's currently setting, she's positive it isn't the best choice.
She's messed up, she's really messed up. She did it not realizing who Stephen truly was in the first place, and then sleeping with him forgetting her pill. Seriously, what was she thinking? She's always considered foolish and unconscious women who aren't careful enough and then cry over spilled milk, but she now realizes she is not that different.
Part of her has second thoughts about having let herself just be with Harvey that night in his office as Stephen had just been imprisoned, too. She could never regret finally dropping his and her pretense and showing each other that the way they cared about one another had little to do with just mutual respect, but she should have been more judicious and should have waited for her mind to be stable again. After all, Donna had become top notch at detaching herself from the smallest voice in her head that told her to go for it. However, she had needed him that night.
Right now, she just needs to detach herself from her own feelings and endure a couple of hours with that familiar polite mask attached to her grievous face.
The doorbell rings and she's straddled by the unfamiliar sound. Harvey never buzzes. Since the other time, he has always knocked. She would recognize his three sharp knocks everywhere. Although, what she finds in front of her once she pushes the handle is no Harvey Specter.
"Hi," Stephen greets her with what would be considered a warm smile, "thanks for having me over."
She rolls her eyes. As if she had any other choice. She decides against vocalizing the thought that just occurred, and motions him to make his way inside.
She notices he's holding a blue plastic paper bag. One she finds oddly familiar. The pharmacy at the corner of the street, if she has to guess. As if on cue, Stephen reaches for the content of the sack and takes it out, showing off a tub of ice cream. Lifting it up like a champion who just won the biggest trophy he announces, "Someone told me that on Thursdays we get ice cream!"
Little yet fast footsteps precede the consequential advent of Penelope, who jumps up and down on her spot, looking expectedly at her beloved sugar treat. She doesn't like the man who brought it enough, the least he could do is having bought the flavor she actually wants.
"I hope that is Cookies and Cream." She challenges openly, crossing her little arms in front of her.
Stephen turns the package around to show the inscription that gives her a positive answer. Penelope squeals and, for a moment, she forgets that she's mad. She's only five after all. Stealing the object from the man's hands, she tries to open it with her teeth. Donna hates it when she does that. It's a very bad habit of hers and the older woman doesn't mind scolding her yet again, "P! Drop it." She lightly smacks her arm. "We'll eat that for dessert. Now thank Stephen and go wash your hands, dinner's ready." She instructs, patting gently her shoulder.
Nevertheless reluctantly, she obliges.
"No Harvey tonight?" Stephen indicates the only three plates placed on the table.
"No Harvey tonight." She bitterly confirms, and he doesn't even try to hide his amusement, which splays a big grin on his face.
Time goes by slower than ever and Donna finds absurd how everything about what they're doing feels just forced and wrong. There's tension, even if well hidden, and she can't help but feel Stephen's presence more suffocating than it ever has. It feels a lot whole more like an intrusion - like trying to fit a cube in a circle - and she prays for it to end soon.
After a couple of hours, Penelope is tucked into bed, the Cookies & Cream half-eaten in the refrigerator, and she and Stephen are sitting on opposite ends of the couch. She finds herself glancing around the room awkwardly, and her eyes land on an old photograph. Her holding her baby bump. She remembers it like it was yesterday, the carefree simple nights out Harvey and her shared when they were just two. Although, it also feels like a lifetime ago. She finds it hard to recall a day her daughter hasn't crossed her mind, a day she hasn't tucked her in or a day she was just Donna and not mom. She doesn't mind it at all.
"She said you had told her that was a special memory." Stephen's voice cuts the silence. Donna's eyes move from the frame to him.
"It is indeed." She nods her head. "I- we had found out the gender of the baby and decided her name that night." She briefly explains.
"Why did you pick Penelope?" He wonders, moved by genuine curiosity.
"Well, at first everyone rejected my idea, because - I mean - it's most certainly not a common name." She angles herself so that she's looking at him more directly.
"It's beautiful though, so elegant." Stephen grabs his glass of wine and drinks from it.
"Yes, but it wasn't just because it was pretty." He gives her a look, piercing blue eyes that encourage her to go further. "When I was in high school I used to study greek literature, and my professor truly loved The Odyssey. I remember him spending entire hours talking about this powerful feminine character-"
"Penelope."
"Penelope." She states. He scoots closer to her. "She's been the first woman in the occidental culture to be defined by epithets that only belonged to men. She was independent and strong and so clever, I just thought those were the characteristics I would have wanted for my daughter." She shrugs.
Stephen just nods his head in acknowledgement, taking the information in. He would have never guessed such a deep and meaningful process she went through to choose Penelope's name.
"And part of the decision might have been influenced by the fact that Kourtney Kardashian named her daughter that way." She adds, hiding her smirk behind the glass she holds.
He laughs with sentiment, and she soon follows path. Donna takes just a sip of her wine and then leaves it almost untouched on the coffee table. Licking her lips and tasting the bitter savour, she decides she's not feeling like drinking tonight. She looks at Stephen and realizes he's way closer than before. She doesn't distance herself though, quite the contrary, she believes she shouldn't feel this relaxed in such a context.
"Well," he starts, "have you thought about what I asked you?"
She swallows, "Stephen we had made an agreement, I have bent at all your wishes, why would you want to put me in this position?" She leverages the small part of him that cares about her more than himself.
"You're doing this for Harvey, aren't you?" He guesses.
She just lowers her gaze, and her body language is more than a spoken answer.
"You see, I see you, Donna," He sets his empty glass on the table's surface, making company to her full one. "this situation is not the only thing you've outgrown."
She sighs loudly before he coaxes her to look at him, "And if Harvey is too selfish to see that, he's not the right man for you."
For how close they stand, their condition might me misread. But then again, would it actually be misreading? Because the way he looks at her lips with purpose can't be misread.
"It's more complicated than that."
"Is it? Because I think that him not being here for you tonight is very simple." He chuckles dryly before continuing, "I'm sorry, sorry for all the pain that I've caused you, sorry for all the things I've missed, but- I love you, Donna." She eyes his in disbelief. She has never thought such words would ever come from somebody that isn't her husband. "I love you and I'm not going anywhere. So, if you let me, I'm going to spend everyday of my life to prove to you that I can be it."
Then, he leans in and goes to press his lips against hers.
.
.
It's almost seven when Harvey is home. Home. Yeah, if last night didn't prove to him that his condo is way forgotten as 'home', he doesn't know what could. Home is wherever Penelope and Donna are, and he doesn't want to erase that notion ever again.
Saying he didn't get a wink of sleep is an understatement, since he's pretty sure he has developed the capacity of blinking like two times per hour. But the time he has tossed and turned has definitely helped clearing his mind.
He's going to tell Donna he wants the paternity test. She's right - as always - they can't live that way anymore. As much as ignorance is bliss, he can't fool himself forever. But most of all, it's not right towards Penelope. Yes, she's just a kid, has not lived enough to understand what paternity means, but throwing her in this continue push and pull is not wise.
He does his best to keep it quiet, not deeming the hour appropriate to wake his family up just yet. He almost tiptoes to his and Donna's bedroom, and slowly opens the door to sneak in.
He stops dead in his tracks when he finds Donna's eyes.
Oh, she's awake alright.
Her cheeks are flushed, her hair's messy and voluminous, her mouth is slightly agape and breathing heavily. He knows that look very well on her, because he's the one who would normally cause it.
For some reason (that he indeed knows very well) his eyes don't immediately go down to scan the entire scene. No, it actually takes him an awful amount of time to really see whose hands are possessively grasping her. But he knows, he just knows. It wouldn't really matter, cause they're not his anyway.
She rolls off Stephen almost immediately, pulling the covers to her. But he's already seen more than enough.
Donna.
Stephen.
In her bed.
In their bed.
Jeez, why does he keep staring?
"Harvey..." she cries out, but he's too preoccupied looking at Stephen's smirk as he runs a hand up her bare arm to acknowledge the plea.
He should probably be angry, saying that all the times he has been insecure he had indeed been right. He should hate her and say she's a bitch for cheating on him, and on top of all, with that man. But he just feels like dying. He could cry and fall on his knees right then and there, but he's too nauseated and shocked to stay there and let them enjoy the effect they have on him.
So he just runs away.
Sooo, that happened, but please before trying to track me down to kill me, wait for the next chapter. I'll have you know that writing this actually made my poor stomach turn. If you comment, try to split your thoughts about the first (cute) part and the last (outrageous) part.