Home Again
By Atheniandream
Chapter 4
Note: Beta'd after first publish!
Two Years Previous
Harvey had decided early on, that this day…would be a crappy one. He'd taken to hiding frowns in between Mike's chattering, Rachel flurrying around with her maid of honour duties and the distinct absence of a certain someone. A plastered smile here, a compliment on the decorations there, even a nod when someone asked him something about the ceremony. He was good at it, making people believe that he was listening. Going with the flow. He let the crowd, Jessica included and Louis somewhere in the back usher him from the Church to the Hotel for the Reception. The Mercer. A good, if not poignant choice.
Every single step was like being in a bubble, like walking on foam amongst calming seas.
He'd dodged a bullet with Scottie not wanting to be out of the house with the baby just yet. Talks of 'Baby weight' and 'Too much of a distraction' had flown past his ears with a nod and a vague agreement as he'd waited for Mike to pick him up.
As if Mike knew. He was a good kid where it mattered most… A good man, in fact.
The seating arrangements were thoughtful, with the bride and groom seated with their family; Pearson Specter practically taking over one table, with him flanked by Jessica and Mike respectively; and Louis all the way to his left. He was thankful that Louis had a few people to get through - Jessica included - before he could accost him.
He didn't, which made it all the more strange. Like they all knew.
They really were a strange kind of half-family.
How odd it seemed, that one of theirs was being taken away today.
One of his…
He noticed his table, and others around it move to standing. He followed, slowly, ignoring a look from Mike as an usher announced the newly married 'Mr and Mrs Knight'. He clapped along with the rest of the wedding party, as Bride and Groom entered. His eyes travelled to the couple; Stuart dressed in a chrome coloured tuxedo and pearly blue bow-tie. Clean, and light to match his overtly Disney looking golden hair.
He felt the sharp intake of breath as he spied her beside Prince Charming.
Donna.
As always, she looked immaculate, and perfect for the occasion. Dressed in a layered, almost swanlike feathered dress, swooping to the floor and clinched in at the waist, flowing right over one shoulder; her vibrant hair pinned to the side with a white and gold coloured Lilly, just detail enough, keeping it in place.
He watched, as the couple glided further into the room, accepting the applause as they moved to their table.
Her eyes found his just for a second.
He watched her back as she looked at him, frowning immediately at what must have been his expression looking back at her.
It was official. She could read him from twenty foot away.
Say Something
I'm giving up on you
I'll be the one
If you want me to
Anywhere
I would have followed you
Say Something
I'm giving up on you - A Great Big World 'Say Something'
Unlike her, he couldn't read her features from that distance; instead picking up on a purse of the lips as her newly made husband distracted her to her chair.
He felt himself sink into his chair along with the other tables, the eruption of conversation flowing around him. A few minutes later, he noticed a dark skin-covered hand, with a glittering ring gently push a tumbler of amber liquid in front of him. When he looked up, Jessica's large eyes were inspecting him.
"Drink this. You need it." She said, her face mothering.
He nodded, picking up the glass, letting his lips cradle it with a remembered purpose.
It really was a crappy day when even your Boss forces you to drink it away.
She had been right. He had needed it. And it did help; help him regain something of an arrogance back, to stave of this inevitable feeling swirling around his gut. Now it was dancing with bile and the sting of gold coloured fermented barley and grain.
It suddenly dawns on him that he is completely surrounded by people who can read him, read the moment. Who know exactly what is going through his head.
He'd never had that before; a group of confidants, of friends who silently knew what was going on in his chasm of a brain. It's stifling.
Somewhere between the main course and the dessert, he excuses himself, mumbling something about needing the bathroom. He can almost feel four pairs of eyes burn into his back as he wanders out into the hall.
"Harvey." A voice calls behind him. He doesn't even really need to turn around at that distinct drawl with a peel of colour at the end.
He turns with a sigh, slumping slightly into his dress shirt. Almost. "Hey...Mrs Knight." He remarks, his hands finding his pockets for comfort. He can't help the smallest hint of an accusation lace the words, as he does so. She would always be a Paulsen in his eyes. That kind of family never really lost the ownership of their name, what with their zany reputation...
She rolls her eyes, picking up her dress to meet him in the middle of the hall, studying his attire, before grabbing his wrist and pulling him out into the main hall. He's far too tired to refuse at this point.
When they reach a lobby of sorts, she stops, turning to him.
"What's going on?" She asks, almost turning on him.
"What? Nothing." He replies. He's not sure why he's trying to lie about it, but he goes through with the impulse as it burns in his chest.
"Really? Nothing? You realise that...I know you, right?" She says, her eyes wide.
"So?" He shrugs non-committally.
"So… you've not said a word all day, Harvey. People are...worried about you."
"Well…they shouldn't be. I'm...Fine." He says, arrogance painting his features, as he glances at a passer by, the irritation forming between his brows when he finally does look back at her.
"Harvey. Look," She starts, seeming taken aback, as if consumed by the words.
The pause in her sentence pulls at him like a bad favour.
"I just never thought you'd...Get Married." He finds himself saying.
"Well. No one's ever asked me until now." She says; strangely open for her.
His eyes focus on her nose and the peppering of freckles that he never noticed were there before, but seem so obvious now. "Tons of people have asked you." He says.
"Yes. But no one that I actually wanted to."
"Donna," He warns, shaking his head.
It's pointless them talking. He's not...and she's not...
He mashes his lips together at the façade of their little two-person bubble, as it begins to burst.
"Can't you just be happy for me?" She says in one fail swoop. It's a heavy question, and tired as it comes out of her mouth.
"I am. Happy." He says, shaking his head in defeat. "You look beautiful by the way." He says, changing the subject.
"I do?" She says, her expression softening as her eyes judge the legitimacy of his remark.
"You know you do."
"Thanks. But don't change the subject." She says, finding her hands on his lapels as the habit in her lingers on them both.
"And...if it doesn't work out," He starts.
"Harvey," She admonishes, frowning.
"I hear Louis is very interested." He says, smirking.
"Shut up." She says, a dry laugh falling out. "Now can you please just… try. For me? Just for another...three hours, Tops. Then you never have to see him again." She offers.
"You promise?" He quips, tilting his head at her.
"Harvey," She chides, another tired smile on her lips.
"Okay. But I can't promise that I'm not going to drink the bar dry in the process."
"That's fine. It's free. And...your Scotch is on the menu anyway."
"For Me?"
"No, for Louis." She huffs, a shy smile appearing for a second before she washes away. She nods then, seeing his mood lift a touch, and picks up her dress to walk away.
He feels displaced against the moment as he watches her walk away; her dress swishing slightly on the polished parquet flooring as she gathers the length of the train.
"Donna."
She pauses, turning back against the sound of her name.
Her expression reads...hopeful, and second guessed like she was waiting for it.
And I will swallow my pride.
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye.
He just can't bring himself to…
"Congratulations." He finally says, reigning in every impulse that he ever wanted to follow through with.
She smiles at him, her eyes bending with a warmth against thick aubergine coloured lashes. It's sad this time, the smile. Laced with a nod of understanding, a quiet acceptance for their tenuous connection to one another.
He doesn't go back to the party. His name blares on Mike's phone with a message to tell Jessica. A moment later, Mike's name blares on his own screen. He doesn't answer the call.
He swears there and then that this will be the last time that he lets her consume him.
'I have to live my life, Harvey.'
Years later, he'll laugh bitterly, quietly alone in his office as he wonders just how much of her living without him he can take.
Present Day:
'A House in Westchester, Harvey flipping burgers on the weekends? What kind of Fantasyland were you living in?' 'You loved him, and he spurned you.'
On the ride up to his apartment, it hits him.
He has to change things now. Put certain things in motion that he hadn't been ready to do.
No Excuses.
No Hesitations.
His gut sinks at the thought of what he has to do. Of all that's going to change.
Donna was right. He is not his Mother. But maybe...maybe there is something of her in him. Especially after tonight.
His memory lingers on her long legs, wrapped around him; the sound she makes in the hollow of her throat when he hits the spot that makes her hips buck against his.
You really are skirting the edges of being a good person... he thinks to himself.
When he walks into his apartment the lighting is dimmed; shadow and form bouncing off of the glass corridor like it's some kind of mood-driven runway or Lower Manhattan nightclub. He'd expected there to be almost complete darkness, only the city projecting it's light up against the building. He wanders into his daughter's room, seeing the door open. In a pale pink bed, he watches his little girl stir, her unruly brown hair partly obscuring her face. He leans against the wall, watching as she wriggles, as if sensing someone, him, in the room. It brings a smile that pinches between his cheeks. This little miracle, that came into his life so suddenly... somehow adores him. She doesn't know him all that well though, he realises.
What would she think of his actions?
No doubt her first concern would be for her Mother, her giver of life. Maybe she would blame him for all of it. For fucking a woman that wasn't her mother. For ending their relationship, that made him less prominent in her life, that made him less accessible as a Father. But then again, maybe she'll turn out to be like him and decipher the greys; learn to work in them and distinguish them between the light and shadow.
Maybe one day she'll turn to him and say, "I get it Dad. You loved her. You always did… you just did it all wrong. You fell in love with someone that you should have fought, tooth and nail to be with years ago...I get it, I do."
The thought leaves him as he quietly shuts her door and wanders into the kitchen, getting a glass of water from the fridge. If anyone were watching him, they might perhaps wonder if he's stalling, trying to muscle up the courage to go into what used to be his bedroom and sleep next to a woman that he's so slowly growing estranged from.
"Why so late?"
Too late. She's standing in front of him, tired eyes, and a silk robe slung around her tiny form.
"Sorry. The contracts...they took a while. Mike left early,"
"Right. You coming to bed?" She asks, folding her arms.
"In a minute...I'm gonna take a shower and...wind down." He says, heading to the bathroom.
"Okay," She says, nodding. The tone in her voice blunts at the edge.
When he finally does come to bed, she's already asleep on her side.
He wonders when she stopped interrogating him.
"I need you." He whispers, watching whilst she stretches for a file box on a shelf above them.
"I've done everything you asked." She says, rolling her eyes as her powder blue silk dress slips up, riding up her thigh. He watches as her arm struggles to grasp the corner of the worn cardboard box.
They both know he's not going to intervene...
"You know what I mean." He mumbles low into her ear, his voice tickling her hair. She darts her head back, looking at him with her large eyes as they widen even more.
He grins then, knowing he's gotten her attention, his hand twitching next to her ribcage as she watches his every move like a rookie cadet.
"You use that hand, and I'm gonna break it off." She warns, scowling.
"Donna," He says, his voice hinting at suggestive.
"We're in the copy room." She warns.
"I know." He growls under his breath.
She sighs, grinning at his insinuation.
"We're better than that." She says.
"I'm not." He says.
"I am." She counters boldly.
He sighs. She's unmovable.
"Oh, like you've never-"
"No."
"Not ever? Not even with Stephen?"
"Nope." She answers, passing him to pop the box onto a nearby table. He follows her, leaning against the end of the aisle.
"Donna." He says again, trying to meet her eye line. If he can just get her to look at him properly for just a second...
"It's the middle of the work day, Harvey!" She says, throwing her hands up in the air.
"It's six." He shrugs, his hands falling into his pockets.
"Oh. I've have been in here a while, no wonder I was hungry." She remarks thoughtfully, before looking back at his irritated form.
"You're not the only one…" He says, pouting as he glances at her neck, imagining her throat bending, arching as his tongue glides along the base of it, all the way to the top...
She points at him like it's her only weapon. "Don't even think about it."
"Nobody's in here." He reasons, tilting his head to the side, as if it's a proposition all on it's own.
"I mean it Harvey. I will end you." She says, frowning at him.
"Is that a promise?" He asks, smirking.
"Ugh. You're a nightmare." She scoffs, a look of repulsion on her face as she steals herself a minute worth of victory.
He leans in then, frowning.
"It's been," He huffs heavily. "A day."
"I know. One whole day; how will you cope?" She asks, her wicked smile appearing out of the corner of his eye.
"Donna,"
"What?"
"I thought we had agreed?" He remarks.
"On what?" She says, frowning slightly as she picks up the file box once again.
"Well…" It suddenly occurs to him that they had agreed on exactly...zilch. Nothing. Nada.
He stands for a moment, watching her tackle the box.
"Well?" She repeats, cocking her hip to make the point, whilst simultaneously getting a firmer hold of the file box.
A thought occurs to him like a light bulb has been turned on. He looks at her with relish, before backing away.
"Harvey?" She says, confused at the complete 180.
He smirks as he makes his way down the hall to a certain Junior Partner…
The second he rounds the corner and swaggers into his Mentee's office, the young man frowns at him from the confines of his desk, his shirt rolled up at the sleeves, papers covering the glass as he scratches at his head.
"Before you ask; I'm not finished yet." Mike remarks, his eyes darting back to the papers in front of him.
"You really should clean up in here. I didn't give you an office for you to turn it into a stall."
"Well you should have thought about that before you involved me in this...Merger."
"Bergdorff is…meticulous. Stop whining about it and concentrate pretending to be the lawyer we both know you aren't." Harvey remarks with a smirk, settling on the end of an office armchair.
"We both know that joke is beyond old, and skirting the boundaries of harassment in the work place. Which reminds me. What can I do you for…?"
He smiles then, at the younger man. At how their work relationship has altered to an even keel over the last few years. He's thankful for it, regardless of the risks, that Mike is there with him.
"I need a favour." He says, clapping his hands together.
"Wow. Usually it's 'Do me a favour'. You're asking?"
"I'm asking."
"What for?"
"I need you to say that you're with me, if Scottie calls you tonight." He says, keeping a poker face.
"If Scottie calls?" Mike looks at him sceptically.
"She'll call." He assures him.
"And why...would I be lying about that?"
"Because I'm… doing something else."
"Something else or….?" Or Someone else. They both know what Mike's inferring.
"Just. If she calls… say that we're out at a bar. No bar in particular. And that I'm in the bathroom, and I'll call her back. And then call me. Okay?"
"Wait a minute; what's going on?"
"Mike. I need you to…just do it for me. That's all."
"Harvey, if I'm lying to your Girlfriend for you then I need a damn good incentive."
"Okay, hows this for an incentive: I'm already keeping a big enough secret for you, you-"
"Ah! Okay, you can't keep using that, you know,"
"And yet, it seems like enough of a reason."
"Can't you just ask Donna to lie for you?" He throws the words, his attention returning to the paperwork.
"Not with this." He says, trying to lessen the smirk that grows against his face.
"Okay. What am I gonna get out of it?" He asks, reconsidering.
"Hardball?" Harvey offers, pursing his lips to think.
"I learnt from the best,"
"..The Weekend off."
"Please," Mike scoffs, feigning his regained attention to the work in front of him. "You're out of practice, Sir." He says, shuffling his papers.
"I will get...Donna, to find out what Rachel wants for her birthday."
He knows what it's worth.
He watches as the younger man weighs up the value of what he's offering...
"Uhh... Mmm. Damnit." Mike relinquishes. "Deal."
Harvey grins then, in finally getting his way and makes his way to the door.
"Harvey?" Mike says, his voice catching him before the exit.
"What?" He asks, his chin lifting.
"Have a good time with Donna." Mike says, a genuine smirk on his face.
"I don't know what you're talking about," He smirks back, feeling the quiver of being caught out in what he thought was a well sculpted lie.
He figures it's a small price to pay for what he's about to get for it...
When he returns to his office, she's furiously typing away at her desk.
He walks past nonchalantly, sitting back in his chair.
"Donna. could you come in here for a sec?" He says casually, re-adjusting his tie.
He watches as she huffs, gliding quietly into the room.
"Could you shut the door?" He asks, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.
"What?" She asks, looking down at him with scrutiny.
"You busy tonight?" He asks, nonchalantly.
"Harvey," Her face falls, her head tilting in what looks like disappointment.
"Are you. Busy?" He presses, the hopeful look of youth about him. He hopes it's enough to get him through.
"We'll get caught." She words, the volume barely audible, as she pops a hip, as if regaining her early stance on the matter.
"Mike'll cover us. Say you're out with… the girls."
"I don't work with girls. But you wouldn't think so," She says, squinting at him.
"Cute." He finds himself saying as he plays any heartstrings she may have exposed. "Donna," He says, as if it's enough to get her to listen.
"And why would I do that?" She asks, pouting at him.
"Because… I'd like to… take you out."
"In the city? You really think that's a good idea? In fact, I'll answer that question. That...is a very bad idea."
"I have a plan." He says, leaning back in his chair.
"You do, do you?"
"Yes. One involving you...and me. And...Whipped Cream.
"In a public place?" She scoffs, rolling her eyes lavishly at him. "Bold."
"After…and don't pretend it's not tempting."
"Hmm. A man with a real plan." She smiles, her face pinkering at the mere notion of their little sacred ritual rearing it's ugly head. "I would love to help you with the...whipped cream. But I think we should lay off the dairy products for the time being."
"Why?" He asks, his shoulders immediately slumping in the confines of his suit.
"I just… I think that we need to be realistic with regards to the...other obligations that we have."
"Really?"
"Yes. The more we...ignore our obligations, the more I feel...like a dirty little whore."
"You realise you're not, right? A dirty little…" He muses over those three little words, mildly entertained at how dirty she could possibly get.
"Well, I feel like one. And it's not the most morally uplifting of feelings."
"You know...after coming...to me, yesterday. You can't take the moral high ground. We've both...sought each other out, now. It's happening."
"I know that. But unlike you, I'm able to look at the bigger picture, here."
He sighs then. "Just… come anyway. I promise not to hit on you. We'll talk."
"Why do you your words not match your eyes?" She fires at him.
He feels the pressure of her eagle-eyed attention press down on his resolve. "What?"
"Your words are saying 'platonic sit down and chat', but your eyes are saying 'I'm remembering what you look like naked'." She accuses good-naturedly.
"Well, it's not that hard to imagine," He remarks, his lip twitching playfully as his eyes wander over her, waiting stubbornly for her to give in.
She does look fabulous naked, he thinks, all long and pale and silky to the touch...
"I'll come. But only to talk. Agreed?" She finally says.
"Good." He says, straightening, a self-satisfied grin warming him all the way to his toes.
"Is that everything?" She says tiredly.
"Yes, thank you Donna."
"Don't say my name like that," She bites turning on her heel.
He watches her all the way to her chair, even as she looks over her shoulder, grinning slyly at him.
Donna Paulsen = Flame haired contradiction.
She doesn't really know why she agreed to come.
It was silly really, and overly weak of her to give in to his demands. Somewhere in the back of her head there was a logical reason not to.
But...
She was lost in them, in where they used to be in each other's lives and where they were now. She could never not give him what he most needed from her.
How far past her job it went, she wasn't really sure any more.
It was her fault, again. She'd been the one to go back to him off of the cuff of running to him the night before. It was like a horrendously written Mills and Boone novel. Usually they ended with one of them dying and the other living on to ride out the memory of it all in a three page monologue...
She hadn't even been able to go home - for obvious reasons - choosing instead to run to Saks and then the Gym to get ready, before rocking up at The London, of all places.
The London.
It was...a strange if not elegant choice of Hotel.
She sighs, knocking on the pale coloured door as footsteps drew closer.
When the door opens, he smiles at her; his eyes twinkling as he gestures for her to come inside, immediately sizing her up. His shirt is unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up the elbow in that carefree way that makes him look like Mike's older, more dangerous brother. She moves fluidly past him into a beautiful slate grey room, pearly sky blue and mahogany chairs with a silver chaise in the middle and two halls leading to the bathroom and bedrooms. Her eyes glance up to the skylight above her, out to the faded-jean coloured sky.
The room was...Harvey…every inch of it.
Classic.
Sharp.
Streamlined.
Straightforward.
Elegant.
She notices paperwork spread out all over dark wood of the coffee table; his jacket draped over the back of the chaise.
Something to keep him occupied, she thinks to herself, as she pops her bag down on an armchair.
"You look...demure." He says, smirking at the clear conflict of desire stirring in his demeanour.
She's grateful that he doesn't pounce on her, for now at least. Despite her wavering libido, hanging back seems the right thing to do.
It wasn't really his style either…
"You want a drink?" He offers, uncorking a bottle of red. She smiles out the corner of of her mouth, nodding as she takes a seat on the long chaise. Her fingers wrap around the flute of the glass as he passes it to her, the cushion bending against his weight as he takes a seat next to her.
"You're not...drinking?" She asks, taking a sip.
"You looked...nervous." He remarks, his face observing her.
"No. Not really, just… unsure." She says, examining the glass; the elegant cut of the flute as it swirls up to the body of the glass.
"Of what?"
"Of how to be around you." She answers openly. They're really past the point of being coy...
"So… just...be."
"It's not that simple Harvey." She admonishes, taking a longer sip.
"You're over thinking it."
"Do you blame me? Harvey, we're….having or at least starting an affair. Something neither of us agree with. And yet...here we are."
"Look. In principle, I agree with you. But we have two choices: to move forward… or stand still."
"Okay. Stand still." She says quickly, firmly.
"There's just one problem with that,"
"What?"
"We've been standing still for over fifteen god damn years, Donna." He presses, leaning into towards her; his face a mixture of desire and blunt honesty.
She laughs then. At a loss as to how to react.
She's spent her whole career trying to build up their moral standards, reinforcing his whilst upholding her own. She's tired of him wearing her down. Except, where she'd normally be left with frustration at the fact she's more filled with what can only be described as 'the warm and fuzzies'.
"Then...we move forward. Soon. You tell Scottie and I'll...I'll tell Stuart."
"Tell them what?"
"That it's over. You need to negotiate for custody rights and you might have to give up your apartment; let her live there at least until Layla is old enough to understand."
She watches him swallow the reality of it, as he nods. "And you?" He asks.
"I...need to get an apartment. File for divorce. And only then...do we explore this properly."
"I don't want to go back to before, Donna." He says.
"We won't. But we need to...face the music. End things. They have to know. And It's going to be hard. But if we have a hope in hell of ever making what ever this is...work, then we need to do it right."
"Always the rational one, huh?" He says, his eyes warming against hers.
She grins, her head falling to the side as she leans in. There's only so much protest in her.
"We both have our moments," She mumbles, inhaling against him as his hand ghosts her chin, pulling her head forward.
"Knew I kept you around for a reason." He says, pouting. She can see him working out his 'attack' strategy. Working out how she could possibly get out of it. Covering his bases of seduction, as if he wasn't practised enough at the post conversation portion.
She realises that her head is swimming slightly against the heavy wine in her empty stomach when leans into her, pressing against her and sucking her earlobe into his mouth as a tingle rises down the back of her neck. She moans into the side of his jaw as he draws her closer then, his hands wrapping around her waist, pulling her into him. Her hands pull out his shirt from the back of his pants, running a hand up the middle of his back as the muscles ripple with every fingertip and nail that explore there. He kisses her then, claiming her mouth with his as she straightens, toeing off her heels, her dress riding up as she kneels on the sofa next to him. He catches on quickly, leaning into her, as she arches her back against the cushions.
"We're not having sex," She teases, playing at stern whilst simultaneously moaning against his neck.
"Do I need to tell you about the birds and the bees again," He asks, his lips falling on the space between her clavicle.
"That's for babies, Harvey. I'm not having your child." She replies roughly, her defences flaring up.
"Spoilsport." He says, grinning as his hands wrap around each thigh with pleasure. "Mistakes get made every day, every know." He notes.
"Not that one. And not by me. And where's this sudden urge to spread your seed coming from? One Specter not enough?" She says, her fingernails raking through his short hair.
"Maybe I've just always wanted a red-headed baby." He says, kissing the valley between her cleavage. "Or maybe I just like the dress."
"Shut up and do me." She says, looping a finger around his belt, yanking him closer to her with an arch of the eyebrow.
He's been staring at her freckles for about a half hour now. There's a patch on her shoulder that's almost completely covered by them, like the sleeve of a tattoo. He finds them so perfect an imperfection; like one of life's great flourishes, that he can't really take his eyes away from them.
He's never really acknowledged that he loves freckles, before. Or red hair. To anyone, including her.
In fact he's pretty sure that he's ignored any impulse to and any redhead since he met her.
Now, long legs… they've always been a firm favourite. Top of the list.
He wonders idly if it's just her… like she's his Haley's Comet of preference and if they'd never met then he'd never ever have discovered the fact.
It's not a coincidence that he's never dated a redhead since her. He wouldn't dare. The comparison would have brought up too many red flags for him.
He does know this;
All the Specter men love...loved Redheads. Marcus, his Father. They all loved Redheads. There's a taboo in it, a little part of him that's thankful that he doesn't have the competition, otherwise he's sure that he'd have had to call her 'Mom' somewhere down the road, with he and Marcus having strange Same-age-Stepmother fantasies.
He's always been a fan of...beauty, in general. A beautiful woman in any form, but Donna.
He'd learnt to appreciate that she was something very rare indeed.
She was a beautiful woman, who was smart, determined. Loyal,
And made him laugh like a teenager. It was a gift. A gift that he'd never failed to appreciate, but never been able to really fully enjoy.
His attention sharpens when she rustles next to him in the bed, her curves draped in cream silk as she stirs, facing away from him. He clears his throat and she must hear him, as her hand slides up the middle of his thigh.
"I've never realised before," She mumbles against her pillow, still facing away.
"What?" He asks, concentrating on the tingling sensation of her light touch. She turns then, onto her side to face him.
"You think very loud." She says, looking wickedly at him.
"No I don't," He scoffs, shaking his head.
"Yes. You do." She confirms.
"Okay, what was I thinking about?"
"Me. Naked. Maybe my hair...or my…" She narrows her eyes, judging his wavering expression. "..Freckles?"
"How'd you do that?"
"You kiss me most, on the areas where I have the most freckles. It's a perfect science,"
"Well, you don't have any freckles on your-" He says, pointing.
"Except there, perve." She cuts him off rolling her eyes at his tone.
"You got me." He says, admitting defeat.
She sits up then, leaning against the headboard next to him as she gathers the material under her arms.
"Do I?"
"Yes." He says, a vague nod as he stares at each eyelash individually.
"And you can talk, Mr One million moles." She goads, nudging his shoulder with her hand.
"Don't remind me," He says, rolling his eyes. "Besides, they make me look distinguished." He defends, his chin raising smugly.
She leans into his side, looking up at him seductively. The alarm bells ring in his ears, like she's just given him the green light again, until he frowns, realising that she's teasing him. He follows her finger as it moves up past his eye and above his left eyebrow.
She stares, examining him. "All jokes aside, this one, I love. I notice it when you frown, when you glare at me from your desk, when a plan's forming in your head, when you try to challenge my supremely larger intellect. But, my favourite,"
"Let me guess: the other one?" He says cockily.
"No. My favourite is the one you have just above your ass cheek," She remarks, grabbing his right cheek, hard.
"God, your hands are cold!" He says, trying to prize her hand off of him.
It's not his finest moment as an adult male. "Wow. Squealing like a girl; very sexy." She jokes as he shakes his head at her.
"Your hands are far too cold to be allowed to touch me there, or anywhere around there." He warns, clamping one arm with his hand and crossing it over the other. She glares back at him like it's the worst effort to stop her that he's ever made in his life.
There's a million things he could say in that moment. 'I love you' is at the forefront, once again, just balancing on the tip of his tongue.
He saves it this time.
Not because he's afraid, but because she is.
She's funny like that, he realises.
Neither of them want to leave their strange hotel sanctuary, having not even ventured out after their talk as they had previously planned. And when push came to shove the reality of their upcoming evening apart was souring the mood with each passing second. Even showering together, despite the room for intimacy flattened the mood when you thought about it as more of a preventative measure than post-coital foreplay.
He stands there, statuesque as she buttons up every button of his shirt meticulously, their eyes watching one another; her smiling shyly at him every so often as he watches her dress him.
He likes it, he realises, letting go. Paving the way for her to do what comes naturally; organising him. He tucks in his shirt as she readies his tie, her maroon polished fingernails stretching along the icy silk of it, before motioning him to lift his collar. He does so happily, quietly smirking as she wraps the tie around his neck, following every step of the double Windsor knot slowly, effortlessly, before yanking the knot from side to side with a sly grin on her lips.
He watches her lips pout as she judges her handiwork, before running her hands along his shoulders, grazing along each sleeve until she tugs simultaneously on each cuff, feeling him straighten and inhale in a puff at the action, the need to fuck her all over again stirring pleasantly in his gut.
He leans in, his breath moving on her cheek. "That's the sexiest thing you've ever done." He tells her, his voice deep as it moves throughout his chest, spreading with a warmth.
She looks at him, containing a little humour in her lips. "I know." She says, arching her eyebrow at him. "I better go."
"We could...stay… you could do it all over again?" He offers, his fingers itching to touch her again.
"And ruin the mystique?" She replies. It's a rhetorical question, he knows, his hands falling into his pockets as he waits for her inevitable leaving. She opens the door, turn back just long enough to look at him with that odd mix of held desire and the need to hatch a plan.
He feels his mouth twitch.
It's the look she gives when she's sure she has him.
He doesn't follow her to the door. Strangely, he's starting to understand and even navigate that precarious line they've begun to toe.
When he gets home, it hits him just how much of a bad idea it is, doing what they're doing when he has this at home.
A Girlfriend.
A Child.
A Responsibility to both...
He clears his throat, the feeling of guilt weighing heavily on him as he spies Dana at the breakfast bar with a crying little girl. She sees him but doesn't say anything as she struggles with the waving arms of their child.
"Hey," He whispers, cupping her hair to kiss the top of her head as he sits on a breakfast stool next to her. "Sorry I'm...late."
He can tell from the get go that she's pissed. He doesn't blame her in the slightest, but at least part of him wonders what it's stemmed from. Perhaps the fact that he hadn't called.
"Do you think I wanted this, Harvey; staying at home with a baby, being just a mother, whilst you're out all day and all night?"
He sighs, gathering the energy. "I'm working Scottie. And I'm sorry, but you decided to be a stay-at-home-mother. I didn't force you to."
"Did I?" She fires, her nostrils flaring.
"Scottie," He says, trying to placate her.
"I remember you saying that you didn't want our child in daycare."
"I may have said that Scottie, but you agreed with the decision."
"So, it's my fault?"
"Look, It's a woman's choice. You knew that. And I let you make it. You decided you wanted her, and you seemed happy to be here during the day." He said, his tone held paper thin against his need to remind her of such facts.
"So, because I'm the woman it's automatically my responsibility to be chained to the apartment all day?"
"Scottie. I'm sorry that I am at work all day, and you're here all day, but that's what happens when a woman decides to be mother. You know that I work 12 hour days; you knew my obligation to the job long before you got pregnant."
"Yes but when you go out most nights, it's not exactly holding up your end of the bargain, Harvey! I've barely seen you in two weeks; we hardly EVER have sex anymore,"
"Dana," He frowns, feeling the pressure of the truth in her words.
"No Harvey. I've had it. I need a life!" She says, aware of her voice level when the little girl in her arms cries even more. "Shhh, sweetie, it's okay."
"I know that. Look…" He feels the guilt set in. "Give me her,"
"No, she's finally stopped crying...as much." She grumbles.
"Scottie," He says, his lecturing tone setting in. "I'm her father. Hand her over."
She rolls her eyes, handing over the now seemingly drowsy child as he adjusts the weight of the unruly brunette in his arms. It's a strange feeling, this little person being half him, half Scottie. He notices her stir a little against his chest, as he pops her over his shoulder, feeling his shirt moisten as the little girl falls further into a deeper sleep. He daren't look at Scottie. He can feel her arms folding and a scowl lying in wait for him.
"Go take a bubble bath...or read a magazine or whatever it is that you need to do to feel normal for an hour. I'll put her to bed. And I'll babysit tomorrow so that you can go out for the night."
"Where exactly do you expect me to go without you?" She asks, he shoulders twitching in frustration.
"I don't know. You have friends in the city. Just take the night off, and I'll take care of her for a change."
She narrows her eyes. "There's something going on with you," She says.
He swallows a lump in his throat, giving her his best 'you've got to be kidding me' look. "Yeah. I'm stepping up. Take the opportunity."
She smiles then. It only helps the guilt solidify when she comes closer, her fingers wrapping around his chin to kiss him.
It's almost devastating that he feels something. He could almost ignore that they have something there until they touch.
He half smiles, a brashness filling his features to overcompensate. "Get out of here before I change my mind." He says, watching her swagger off into the bathroom.
He feels like the worst kind of bastard, and more so when she emerges an hour later, robe draped and dewy into the bedroom with that look in her eye.
He thinks that it's the worst kind of betrayal, when she creeps to his side and climbs on top of him; her hair draping down one side of her face and runs her hands down his chest, her expression full of purpose in the moment.
He wants to tell her everything. He wants to tell her that he can't and that it's not working and how he's been in love with someone else so long he's forgotten it wasn't part of them, until she grinds against him and kisses him and tells him that she does love him.
And even as he moves inside her, letting her control the steady rhythm he finds himself warming into to her more than he has in months, the routine of them and their adventurous past taking over until he feels like five years ago, hell, twenty years ago, when they had first met.
He comes eventually, the build of tension releasing between them as she rests her head on his, draping over him. He stills, in long shallow breaths of the moment,
Until a flash of red and silk and a smile that's not the woman on top of him floods his head with vigour.
He pulls everything he has inside of him together, mustering the inner strength not pull her off of him and jump out of the bed like it's a fire.
He's impatient in the morning, more so at the stifling feeling that seems to fill the apartment. He could sit and stare at Layla for a good chunk of the morning, but somehow the happy 'I got laid' smile on Scottie's face has him tying up in knots, so he leaves earlier, forgoing father-daughter time in lieu of his child-filled evening ahead. For some reason he feels the need to pick Donna up on the way; the conflict in him at the fact that he can't, or that it would seem odd, given that it's been almost three years since he'd turned up at her old apartment, with plans for breakfast and bag shopping in the air.
His irritation subsides when he walks to the office and sees her standing with two coffees and a warm, if not irony-laden smile.
"Hey," He says, accepting the cup as she holds it out in front of him, taking a sip of her own. There's something oddly straining about her demeanour, close up. He wonders if it's the same thing he's going through. He nods towards the office and she catches on quickly, following him and shutting the door - an action that's quickly becoming a routine against their usual 'open door' policy.
"I need to tell you something, because I don't want to keep things from you."
"You...slept with Scottie." She says, the words lacking any question mark.
"How did you," He starts, amazement beginning to colour his eyes a darker shade, before the look she gives him has him discarding the the sentence altogether.
"This may come as a shock, Harvey but...she's your girlfriend. And although I'm not happy about it, I know you. It's not easy."
"I wanted to tell her...everything."
"I know. Me too, with..."
He's thankful that she swallows his name.
"Did you..?" He finds himself saying. He'd forgotten about her sleeping with her husband. His head is suddenly flooded with blonde hair, and hands that are not his touching something that should have been his in the first place. The question suddenly has him on edge and not in a good way...
"I don't want to talk about it." She says, her mouth drawing into a thin, pensive line.
"Donna," He presses through clenched teeth; the impatience splintering the edges of the word as it cracks in his throat.
"Yes. Twice." She says, her lips straightening between a grimace and a smile. "I put it off since we…..but I couldn't put it off again, without having to tell him."
He feels the anger in him abate, when he realises that they are both going through the same thing.
It's stupid, but it's the fact of the matter.
This is why reasonably-good people don't have affairs... the two don't mix. Period.
They sit for a moment, the weight of their collected actions starting to fill up the space around them.
There are words on the edge of his tongue, almost dripping into words that form some sort of sentence; something to settle them both.
She gets up sharply, as he swallows it all back with a crunch of his jaw.
"I have work to do." She says, ignoring his eyes as she returns to her desk.
He sighs, leaning back into his chair as his right hand balls into a fist. Anything to detach from the overwhelming pressure that's broken out between them.
He drifts into the late morning, with Mike in court already on a custody dispute of all things; it seems like life is trying to constantly take a swipe at him for his actions - he therefore buries himself in paperwork, oblivious of the dent that's about to emerge in their usual veneer.
Several hours later, Donna mumbles something about going for lunch. He barely glances at the clock, nodding in response. He doesn't blame her, and chooses this time not to follow her, ignoring the thrumming itch to touch her and seek whatever comfort he can in her like she is his island. Trouble is they're both on the edge of their own shared and separate guilt in its varying forms, unsaid like so many things between them, it's put a pin in whatever urges they've both had, overshadowed by the realisation of just how far from the line they've managed to stray.
"How long have you been fucking my wife?"
The words come out of nowhere. He had literally been in his own little world. He pauses; looking up slowly, reserved, but laced with just the right amount of asinine. His eyes flick to Donna's seat. Empty. The door: Open.
An immediate Red Flag.
"Excuse Me?" Harvey replies, the words well timed and measured as he looks up at Donna's…
The word 'husband' sticks in his throat like glue.
"You know exactly what I mean." The man bites back, standing tall in front of him.
"I...am afraid I don't know what you're referring to." He says, carefully, as if practised. "And how dare you, walk into my office in the middle of the day, when I assume you know that Donna isn't here and accuse me of that." Harvey says, sitting back, slowly pushing his paperwork away.
He's not sure why he mentioned Donna, unsure of whether her presence would aid or impede whatever's erupting in front of him.
"You think you have all it sewn up don't you?" The Doctor hisses at him.
It's occurs to him in an offshoot of a thought, that it's an odd thing for a Doctor to say.
The man continues. "Here's food for thought: If you don't end it; Promptly… Then whole of Manhattan is going to know that you're screwing your Assistant behind your Girlfriend's back."
He feels the back of his hair stand on end, the whiff of a threat. Harvey Specter has never played well when a threat comes his way, but occurs to him that this guy firmly has his balls on the tip of Harvey's weakness. He has to play it right. He can't just think about himself any more…
"I'm afraid you've got the wrong man, Mr Knight. And for that matter, if you think that telling any of these people is going to put a dent in mine, or Donna's reputation; then you're missing one little detail. This rumour that you're threatening to put out; ones just like it have been flying around us for years, without so much as a scratch." He says, his temper starting to blister out.
"Here's a scratch.. You have a child now. And a girlfriend, not that you seem to give a shit. But I'd be willing to bet that she has the power to make your life very...very difficult if she were to find out." The man says, his tone low.
"You wouldn't dare…" Harvey says, his eyes flashing at the insinuation.
"You want a bet? I heard you're a betting man, Mr Specter, so come on!"
"Get out of my office." He barks, biting back his raised voice as his stomach stirs at the opposition.
"I thought so." The man says; his eyes liquid victory as he marches out of the office.
His eyes train, as Donna comes around the corner, noticing Stuart immediately. He watches from the confines of his desk as the man leans in, kissing her gently but fully on the lips.
Kisses her...
The anger rises in him within seconds.
"Hey...honey. What are you doing here?" Donna says, as Stuart comes into view. It's like taking a bullet, seeing him coming from Harvey's office.
Her mind nearly goes into overdrive.
"I was...looking for you, actually. I wanna take you out tonight," He says, rocking on his heels with a smile that unnerves her. "Somewhere nice."
"Oh. I…" She stutters, her head going blank.
"I figured that we haven't seen much of each other since the benefit," He continues.
"Uh...yeah. Sure." She nods quietly. She's taken aback when he leans in, kissing her on the lips. She can only imagine the two eyes that are boring into her husband's back at this very moment.
"I'll see you later." She says, as he walks past her with a smile.
When she looks to Harvey, he's reeling; white knuckled as he leans forward, hands bracing him against the desk like he's about to pop. She walks quickly into his office, shutting the door, a cold sweat erupting on her brow at the last eighteen seconds that have passed.
"We need to talk." He says, drawing in a large, painstaking breath through his nose.
"Okay…" She replies, nodding curtly.
"Five minutes. Coffee Cart Guy." He says, grabbing his coat, the charcoal material flurrying out behind him.
She smiles when she finds him hunched over by the coffee cart, shivering as she hugs her coat to her. "Comfort eating. That's attractive." She remarks, pointing to his bagel as he notices her.
"I haven't had lunch." He says defensively, shrugging her off as he takes another bite of his pastrami crammed sandwich.
"Cappuccino with a shot of caramel, please. Thank you." She says to the cart vendor, handing over ten bucks out of her pocket as she continues to watch him tackle the bagel.
Every time she stands there, in that exact place, every time she's waiting for coffee, she wonders where that guy stashes the weed...every damn time.
"Could you stop staring?" Harvey says, taking an immediate dislike to the scrutiny.
"Could you close your mouth whilst you chew?" She counters, taking her coffee as it's popped on the counter top; her eyes scrutinising the coffee cart guy as he places her change on the counter.
They walk in silence out into the surrounding courtyard, people milling around them.
"So. What happened?" She asks, inhaling the coffee fumes.
"Your husband," He says the words with venom. "He knows." He sighs, taking another bite of his sandwich.
"Knows what?" She frowns.
"Enough," He says through a mouthful, his eyes verging on an accusation.
"Chew, Harvey." She scowls at him, sipping her coffee.
"He's threatening to...spread it around town." He eventually manages after swallowing. "Everything."
"Shit."
She feels her hands go numb at the thought.
"Yeah."
"He can't…"
"Well he says he will."
"That's not good for business." She sighs.
"It's not good for us." He remarks.
"Harvey," She sighs, her steps halting.
"I can't...we can't go back, Donna. Not this time." He says, shaking his head.
"The firm, Harvey...the firm means more." She says, the panic vivid in her eyes.
That stops him dead, as he lowers the rest of his sandwich. "Do you really believe that? I always thought that we were the firm."
She knew he wouldn't get it. She doesn't understand why he doesn't, but she knows in her gut that he was always going to be their biggest problem.
She's always the one who has to put the reality on it. It's tiring.
"Harvey. This firm...this is...everything we've worked for, for nearly sixteen years. It's more than us. And It means more because without it we're-"
"What?" He fires, eyes narrowing.
"Harvey. You know I…But, he could ruin it. Everything we've built. We could lose it all."
"So you're willing to sacrifice us for…?"
"The other us? The work us? The us that has us living in Manhattan and able to be at the top of our game. Yes. I'd risk it for that. In a heartbeat." She says plainly.
"I never pegged you for the materialistic type, Donna." He accuses finally, any ammo he's built up coming out in stars and stripes, a bitterness biting back at her.
"Harvey. I've never hidden the fact that I value my job. The security. I got fired once, remember."
"I got you back." He argues heavily.
"You wouldn't be able to this time, Harvey. If he takes it all."
"So you're happy to just...go back to it? Go back to him?" He fires, anger filling him at her complete detachment.
"Harvey," She looks away then, feeling the intensity in his words; her mouth knitting up with the tension.
"Do you really think I can deal with you going home to him every night? You'd be happy with me and Scottie just…" His sentence trails off, his eyes heavy as his jaw sets.
"I'm not saying that. I'm saying that our jobs are worth that sacrifice. That way...we're still us. Like we've always been. And we get to...keep it all."
"What's to stop him from spreading it anyway?"
"He wouldn't. He loves me."
"I love you." The words fall out of his mouth like a lead weight.
"Harvey." She sighs, plopping herself onto a park bench, her eyes filling as she tries to brim them. "I love you too."
"I'll find us a way out of it." He says sternly.
"You said that before." She says, a wry smile as her fingers creep along the bench and taking hold of the corner of his coat, pulling on it.
"That was before I was losing. Badly." He says through gritted teeth. "I really want to kiss you right now," He says, nudging her.
"I'd let you if my hair wasn't visible like a warning beacon from Rachel's office up there."
He laughs then, taking any fight he has left in him as they both look up towards their building, squinting.
"Okay. We're gonna need another ritual." She says, grabbing at the rest of his Bagel.
Okay... things are hotting up! It's hard not to make it all about the emotions in a soap opera way. I hope I'm doing these characters justice, as I'm not very good at the law side. If only!
Many thanks for continued support on this,
A_x