I
The cactus is beginning to yellow. Harvey notices the discoloration on Saturday morning and moves the plant further into the window light, but come Sunday brown rot has crept in at the tip of one of the branches.
He google's 'cactus dying' and is relieved to find issues in the plant's body can be treated by excising the diseased tissue. So Sunday evening, with a glass of scotch and a sterile razor, he goes in firm handed and digs out the damage. It is worse than he thought, and by the end of the operation he has amputated entire limbs. Still, he fears the damage extends deeper, down into the roots, that it is riddled with the type of decay that branches out through the layers, never showing until it's rotten through.
Later, lying in bed, he stares out at the Manhattan skyline and watches evening burn down into night. He is dead tired, has felt tired all weekend, but he can't sleep, can't eat, can't focus, can't even get it up to jerk-off and relax himself. With all that he's accomplished in life, lying here in this empty bed, he somehow feels like he hasn't accomplished much at all. It is too much of the same thing, and he realizes he's growing tired of it: tired of law, of court rooms, of continually being sued. Even the effort of putting himself into a three-piece and then, sixteen hours later, taking himself out of it is getting exhausting.
He reaches for his phone on the side table. According to the display it is ten past two in the morning. He opens up his text messages and taps Donna's name. Her last response, "see you soon," feels like it was sent ages ago. He's kissed her since then, felt her lips, had her in his arms…
His assault on her – because isn't that what it is when someone pulls away and the other keeps coming? – now feels clumsy and abrupt. He's humiliated, but worse than that, he took advantage of her vulnerability. He saw that crack starting to form in her steely composure and desperately tried to shove himself through it. It was selfish, a characteristic so engrained in him it's become like a fine-tuned talent.
He can't escape himself.
The night stretches on, and Harvey finds himself scrolling through the years, rereading past text conversations. It's like going through a museum of every mistake he's ever made, a blatant display of every opportunity that's passed him by.
He wishes he could give her back the moments when he chose his words too carefully, when he reacted too cautiously or too recklessly, all the times he let her fill in the blanks, apologize for him, be the better man. He wants to go back and change the way he hesitated, panicked, and left out of fear.
He types out at least fifteen different apologies, but all he really wants to say is 'I love you.' He wants to send it out through the years so that she knows this isn't him going out on a limb. This is in his roots, spread through every inch of him. It is years and years of erosion and he's finally wilting to it.
But he says nothing. He lays back and stares at the city, glowing so bright it blots out the night's sky. He drifts off, thinking of the memory he keeps tucked away of her naked silhouette. She asks, "When was the last time you saw the stars?"
As always she comes for him. She slips beneath his sheets and caresses his face, gentle fingertips tracing along his jawline. This time he doesn't make the mistake of letting her get away. He carefully brings his hand out to touch her face where it must lay, waking only to find his hand reaching out into the darkness, touching empty air.
II
Donna is waiting for Harvey in his office when he gets in. He had expected a fiery tirade, but what he finds is a picture of cool self-possession, unmoved and inaccessible, as if what happened between them didn't actually happen.
Did it happen?
The question brings forth a visual, her neck buckling as he kissed her throat, the way she had sighed out his name. He pushes it out.
As always she looks beautiful in a way that is otherworldly, with New York and its million windows at her back. Her loveliness is set into her framework; it is in her bones, in the redness of her hair, in the ivory glow of her skin contrasted by the black dress she wears, which is shorter than normal, ending almost salaciously at her mid-thigh.
The proximity of her turns Harvey's body clumsy and rigid. He approaches carefully on weighted legs, his heart pumping a strange rhythm – simultaneously in love and in mourning – it can't decide whether to break or beat faster.
Donna watches him. There is something veiled and remote in her eyes. He notices she's holding a piece of paper and feels a coldness at the pit of his stomach. Her resignation? He takes a seat at the edge of his desk and waits with a growing sense of unease.
"BGB Holdings was formally charged this morning." She hands him the document. Compared to him, her gestures seem fluid and casual. All business. "And Matt O'Brien is in the conference room waiting for you."
Staring down at the summons, Harvey tries not to look relieved. "I don't have time to take meetings," he tells her. "We'll have to reschedule."
"He's the CEO of IOE."
"I don't care if he's the CEO of Google. Get rid of him."
"And then what? We lose another client?"
Harvey ignores this, his stare committed to the document in his hands, but what he's really thinking about is how they've somehow miraculously come full circle. Back to 'normal.' Boss and secretary. But he feels this distance between them has grown ocean-wide, and their kiss, a ship without sails, sinks to the bottom of it, buried alongside a thousand unsaid words and a lifetime of missed chances. Irrecoverable.
"Harvey, look at me."
He lifts his gaze, meeting brown eyes that are somehow both stern and tender. The stare reminds him of his mother's and a childish desire to please the severity out of her rises inside of him.
"Jessica isn't here anymore," she says. "This is on you."
"And what about our DoJ cases?" He's trying not to snap at her, but he's more tired and impatient than he knew. "Who's going to handle them if I'm tied up for an hour? And your case, do you really want me shoving that aside for some ego stroking session?" Donna opens her mouth to speak, but he interrupts before she can reply, "If you want someone to kiss ass, go find Louis."
She sighs. He is making her tired. "Louis is neck deep in the financials you passed off to him on Friday."
"Which I wouldn't have had to do if you hadn't lied to me." He stands up to face her, angry, not because of what they're actually arguing about, but because she is acting so far removed from Friday night. He wants to rip apart her resolve, surround her like a city under siege. Come out or I'll break you open. "If you hadn't told me not to go to your deposition – if you hadn't stupidly passed up Anita's deal..."
Once again he expects anger out of her, savagely desires it, and once again he is met by mildness. "My case isn't your problem."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You're not named attorney, Rachel is."
Wounded, Harvey fights the urge to recoil. "Are you saying you want me off your case?"
"I'm saying you have other priorities."
"My priority is keeping you out of prison, Donna."
She fixes him with a reproachful glance. "You still don't even know what I've done."
"It doesn't matter."
"I'm guilty, Harvey."
"It doesn't matter," he yells at her. "Don't you get that? If I lose this, all I'm losing is my name on some fucking wall, but if I lose you, I lose everything."
Donna's color heightens, flushes up her neck and into her cheeks. Her chest rises and falls a little quicker.
Harvey slumps back against his desk, drained by the admission. He waits. They have been together for so long he has learned that in moments like this, sometimes waiting is better than talking. He has said too many stupid things trying to impulsively fill the gaping silences.
At last, Donna says, slowly and wearily, "If this firm goes under, that's it for us. I won't follow you anywhere else."
And all Harvey hears as she turns and walks away is: You've lost me already.
III
From the break room comes a string of male grunts, then a crash, followed by a unique combination of obscenities. Rachel peers in to figure out what the damage is and finds Harvey with a large coffee stain down the front of his shirt. The espresso machine is busted into pieces on the floor across the room.
"Did you—" She starts, but is interrupted by Louis sauntering up behind her.
"Thank god," he says, walking passed Harvey's mess and over to the refrigerator. "I was waiting for someone to properly dispose of that piece of shit. Shall I put in an order for a De'Longhi? We could use a bean roaster."
Harvey doesn't reply. He is standing still with his hands gripping the counter, his stare fixed on the granite top. Rachel keeps a careful eye on him, making sure this isn't the beginning of an explosion, but he remains calm…or worse, defeated. She has seen him tired – actually it's been a while since she's seen him not tired, but this is a different kind of exhaustion. Rachel hates the idea of a man like Harvey Specter being vulnerable, but she thinks that he is.
"I must say," Louis continues, peering into the fridge, "I wasn't expecting much from Donna's shindig considering the venue – I mean I could fit her entire apartment inside my pantry and still have room for my six-foot statue of Bruno as a lion hybrid – but after journaling about it, I realize Friday night was probably the highlight of my year thus far." He pulls out a smoothie cup filled with chunky green liquid and begins to shake it vigorously. "I'm on a high. I only cried over Tara seven times over the weekend, which is eighteen times less than last weekend, and I explored new interests by going to that spa at the Women's Center on Broadway—"
Rachel quirks an eyebrow. "Isn't that an OB/GYN clinic?"
"Yes, they've added a spa."
"But for women..."
"Right, but according to New York's Human Right's law, I can say I'm a woman and no one is allowed to question it." Louis shrugs, gulps his smoothie and then lets out a satisfied exhale. "Also, my spirit animal is the Canterbury Mudfish, which happens to be a synchronous hermaphrodite."
Unable to argue either of these points, Rachel turns her attention back to Harvey. He seems to grow paler by the minute. She grabs a stack of napkins and begins to blot what she can off his shirt. He doesn't notice.
"Wait." Rachel looks back at Louis suspiciously. "You didn't go to that OB clinic because you thought you'd run into Tara, did you?
Louis huffs. "Come on, Rachel. Does hanging around a women's health clinic in the off chance I might see Tara and beg for her forgiveness sound like something I would do?"
"That sounds exactly like something you would do."
"Well you're right!" Louis slams his drink onto the counter. Green liquid erupts out of the uncapped bottle and splashes him in the face. He powers through it. "And I'll have you know, I cried all goddamn weekend and I'm crying right now, you just can't tell because I'm severely dehydrated." He reaches over and rips the napkins out of Rachel's hand. Wiping himself off, he says, "And FYI – that's an Italian roasted Nicaraguan blend on a crisp white shirt, there's no goddamn way you're getting that stain out."
He tosses the napkins – he's missed a spot beneath his chin, but Rachel's in no mood to tell him this – and barrels out, adding as he goes, "Also, I would avoid the men's room for the next three to five hours. I sent an email, subject line Habanero cheese, if you're interested in the specifics."
With Louis gone, the break room falls silent. Rachel takes in a shaky breath, wondering how the hell Donna does it. Keeping Louis in line is hassle enough; having to deal with both volatile men at the same time has put her on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
She grabs more napkins and tries again to help Harvey clean up the coffee stain, but Louis was right. It's no use.
"Do you have a spare shirt?" Rachel asks.
Harvey just looks at her. His eyes have lost their firmness. The authoritative part of him that always makes her cower in his presence is gone, replaced by a helplessness that breaks Rachel's heart to witness.
"Harvey?" She presses, touching his shoulder gently.
He shuts his eyes. When he opens them again, he says, "I kissed her."
"What?" Rachel doesn't understand. "Kissed who?"
"Donna."
She steps back, wide-eyed. She must have misheard him, that or she's hallucinating. She can't think of any other reason why Harvey would be sharing this with her, of all people.
He sees her shock and nods.
"When?" She asks.
"Friday night."
Selfishly Rachel feels sadness at the thought that this happened days ago and Donna has yet to mention it – hasn't even offered a hint. She feels a rift growing between herself and the redhead, and she doesn't understand why or what she can do to stop it.
And here is Harvey, pulling closer, looking to her as a confidant. How bizarre.
"Why are you telling me this?" she probes, not unkindly.
"Because she pulled away and…" He exhales and looks down at his hands, then back up at Rachel. She nods encouragingly. "I realized she wanted me to stop. And when I looked at her, I saw…" Again he trails off, in search of a word. It dawns on him, heavy. "Doubt."
Doubt? What could Donna doubt? Harvey's motives? Having held off for so many years, such bold action from him can't be called anything but sincere. It must be something else. Maybe something to do with Donna and her own feelings.
As if reading her thoughts, Harvey begins to nervously loosen his tie.
"I think it's just bad timing," Rachel says, trying to sound earnest. "She's going through a lot."
Harvey lets out a dry laugh. "Yeah, facing prison, mourning her deceased daughter, her ex-husband all over the news." He leans back against the counter and runs a hand over his face. "Kissing her – what the hell is wrong with me? I should be taken out back and shot."
"Don't be so hard on yourself."
"I just don't know what to do, Rachel," he says, his voice is barely above a whisper. "It kills me to see her hurting, but instead of being what she needs I keep contributing to the problem."
He is looking at her like she supposed to save him. In her head Harvey is indomitable and seven-foot tall, but right now he looks so small and broken. It's faith shaking. She wants to cry and run away, find somewhere to hide until this all blows over.
"I'm sorry, Harvey, I don't know what to say," she admits weakly. "I feel exactly the same."
Strangely, her answer seems to bring him relief, as if he wasn't looking for rescue, only to feel less alone. He affords her a soft appreciative glance, and he looks so wide-open and approachable that Rachel boldly steps forward and hugs him tightly. The side of her face presses against his chest and the muffled rhythm of his heart plays in her ear – she was half-convinced he didn't have one, but here it is.
Suddenly a realization strikes Rachel. Pulling back, she says, on impulse, "You love her."
Harvey looks down at her, throat working. He struggles some more, then says, "You have no idea how much."
IV
Mike is staring down at his desk, transfixed by one of Donna's employment documents from the DA, when Rachel walks in.
"Do you have a spare dress shirt?" she asks. He hears her open a cabinet drawer. "Harvey spilt coffee all over himself."
Mike ignores her question. "Come have a look at this."
Rachel moves to his desk, takes the slip of paper and gives it a quick glance over. "It's Donna's Employment Verification from the DA."
"Yeah." Mike smiles. "I got that much."
She fixes him with a hostile glare. "Don't ask for my help if you're going to be a dick about it."
"Whoa." Mike lifts his hands, palms up. "No need to bite my head off."
"I'm sorry, it's just…" She sighs. "Harvey."
"What about him?"
"He's a mess, Mike."
He hasn't seen Harvey all morning, but he imagines the managing partner is in over his head now that BGB Holdings was charged. With Jessica gone and Donna at risk, being slapped with a huge federal case probably has Harvey in a whirlwind of manic fury. Mike cringes in his seat just thinking about it. "He'll get his bearings," he says gently, and he hopes to god he's right. They've been like a bunch of school children, operating in chaos while the teacher's stepped out. Someone needs to take control, and quickly.
Rachel doesn't look convinced, but she nods anyway and drops her attention back to the EV.
"Anything sticking out to you?" Mike asks after a moment.
"Actually, yes." She lays the document on his desk and points. "The hiring authorizer was Cameron Dennis."
He stares down at the familiar signature. Yes, that's it. Which begs the question—
"Why would the district attorney sign off on the verification of an entry level secretary?" Rachel asks, beating him to it. "Isn't that a job for someone in HR?"
Mike nods. "You would think."
She purses her lips; he can tell her mind is reeling. "It doesn't make sense."
"That's not the only thing that doesn't make sense." He shuffles around his desk and picks up another document. "After Jonathan took the title of board director at Duke-Sanger, Donna was named Chief of Operations."
"COO?"
"Even if she wanted to move jobs to get away from Jonathan," Mike continues, "why go from an executive position to a low-grade government secretary?"
Rachel shakes her head, baffled. She repeats, "Donna was COO?"
Mike barely hears her, on a roll. "And Harvey mentioned Jonathan taking meetings with Cameron. So there's an affiliation there, which had to be before Donna worked at DA or else Donna would've watched Alice herself, right?"
"What are you getting at, Mike?"
He doesn't answer immediately. He leans back in his seat and runs a hand through his hair, maddened by the growing complexity of the situation. It's a web and all these paths lead somewhere focal, he just has to find the link.
"I'm not sure," he admits. "But whatever this is, I don't think it's good."
V
Donna finds Harvey alone in the break room, shirtless and turned away from her, scrubbing at something in the sink. The bare expanse of his back is more than she's seen of him in years. She takes it in, admiring his strong shoulders, the way his body tapers, broad up top, narrow at the waist, even the rich, slightly tanned color of his skin. Having not slept properly since being subpoenaed, she's in a state of delirium, functioning in a haze, but this sight of him rouses something inside of her. She moves toward him, drawn in by pheromones.
Sensing her presence, Harvey turns, his brown eyes soft and solemn. He says, more resigned than bitter, "I should've known Rachel would go running to you."
"Louis, actually." She continues toward him, a marionette doll, someone else is pulling her strings. "Giddy that he can finally order a coffee maker that doesn't churn slop."
She hands him a clean shirt. He takes it, unamused, and quickly slips it on. She hadn't noticed earlier, but up close he looks unwell: pale, dark circles beneath his eyes, hair messy, three days' worth of stubble. It worries her. In all the years she's known him, she's never once seen him unshaven.
"When's the last time you slept?" She asks.
He fastens a few buttons before replying. "Last night."
She doubts this, but the way that he says it, with a note of finality, renders her silent on the subject.
He finishes with the buttons, tucks his shirttails into his pants and then looks at her, patiently sizing her up. She's supposed to be mad at him. He expects it. But frankly she doesn't have the gusto for it; that part of her has gone missing.
She won't deny being disappointed though, but her disappointment isn't solely in him. This game of almost-admitting-he-feels-something-then-running-away-like-she's-the-end-of-the-world is getting habitual. She's more disappointed in herself for letting him get too close, for kissing him back, for being so damn weak. Not to mention she spent the entire weekend staring at her ceiling, trying to understand him, trying to figure out what she could've done differently. Any excuse to love him with all her sad little heart, she'll sniff it out like an obedient dog.
He hangs his tie around his neck and asks, "Where's O'Brien?"
"You told me to get rid of him."
"Goddamn it." He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and shakes his head. "What am I supposed to tell Louis when we lose IOE as a client?"
"That your head's shoved so far up your ass you couldn't be bothered to take a five minute meeting."
He glares at her, realizes she's not the enemy and resolves, shifting his glare down to his tie instead. Somehow he's managed to screw it up, tying a four-in-hand rather than a half-Winsor. She reaches up to help him and he jumps back. "I got it," he snaps.
He clearly doesn't have it. His frustrations are clouding his head, making him flustered; it just gets worse, eight-in-hand, wrinkled. She thinks of Alice struggling to learn how to tie her shoes. How she would lie on the floor and kick her feet in frustration and Donna would watch, anxiously fighting the impulse to intervene—
Pin pulled. The memory blast open inside Donna's head and overtakes her consciousness. Like a body thrown into a river, weighted with rocks, so many rocks, and still it surfaces, bloated.
VI
"Mommy, please," she begs. "I wanna go play."
"Not until your shoes are tied."
Lying on her back on the hardwood floor, front and center, the kitchen spectacle, Alice lifts her legs straight up into the air and slams them down, laces bouncing. "But I can't do it!"
"Certainly not with that attitude," Donna says, forcing herself to hold her ground. "Now get up and I'll coach you through it."
Jonathan stands beside her, like a shadow but heavier, evaluating the situation. She would have probably given in already if it weren't for him.
Alice continues to writher, flopping around like a fish on land. "I can't, I can't, I can't!"
"You know," Jonathan says smoothly, "she wouldn't throw such a fit if you didn't baby her."
Donna doesn't argue this. She is all give and lenient, it's in her nature, and she feels Alice is owed it, being a child who had to endure the horrors of cancer, who had to know so early on how cruel and indifferent the world is. She has to spoil her, it wouldn't be fair otherwise.
But of course, Jonathan, the cold and clever strategist, polarizes to compensate. She cares too much, so he cares very little.
Alice stops wailing. Her body lies still, overexerted, catching its breath. Molly creeps out from behind Donna's legs, sniffing her way over to the little redhead, her tail lowered but wagging. She licks the side of Alice's face and receives a happy giggle.
Eventually those big blue eyes fix themselves on Donna, searching for a wilted reaction. Dissatisfied by what she sees, Alice throws an angry pout. "You're mean," she tells her.
"I could be meaner," Donna says.
"Nuh-uh. You're the meanest Mommy there is."
Donna lifts an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"It is so. So so," she says, singsong. "Right, Molly? Mommy's a big ol' meanie."
Jonathan shakes his head, displeased by Alice's childish antics – to him she may as well be sixteen rolling on the floor instead of six.
"Just let her go," he says.
"You want me to cave?"
"No. Leave them untied. She'll trip on the strings and that'll teach her."
"And scrape a knee or break a wrist."
"Some lessons are learned the hard way." He shrugs. "That's life. You can't keep denying her it. She's in remission, Dee, she'll live to be a hundred. If you fight all of her battles for her, she'll never learn how to fight them on her own. You'll handicap her."
There's a brief moment where Donna feels like rounding on Jonathan, saying something desperate in her exasperation like, "I'm Mom here, not you!" But she reminds herself that it's not his fault. He doesn't know what it's like to be six. He's only going off what he knows, how he was raised; born in Marine cammies, an adult out of the womb.
She turns her attention back to Alice. "I'm going to count to three," she warns, "and if those laces aren't being tied, you can forget the park."
Alice groans. Any time Donna speaks with even a trace amount of discipline it causes her physical pain. Like she can literally feel the words stabbing her overinflated six-year-old ego.
"One," Donna begins.
Alice stares her mother down and slowly kicks the right shoe off. Donna thinks, the nerve of this child.
"Two."
The left plops onto the hardwood. She wiggles her socked feet, grinning manically at her own defiance. Donna watches with amazement, admiration, and a hint of nervousness. If she's like this now, what will she be like at fifteen?
Donna looks at Jonathan, panic-stricken. He shakes his head: no, you dug this hole, you deal with it.
Donna skips three and lunges for her, but Alice is quick. She jumps up off the floor and bolts out of the kitchen, Molly barking at her heels. Donna charges after her, one stride to Alice's three. They turn into the living room and Alice dives behind the couch. Falling to her knees, Donna reaches for the lining of her daughter's jeans and pulls.
Alice slides out of hiding shrieking with laughter. Donna pins her to the floor and attacks her vulnerable belly with tickles. "Tell me, baby, who's the meanest Mommy there is?"
Alice squeals and thrashes. "Stop it! Please, Mom, please! I'll pee."
Unable to help herself, Donna giggles with her. "Are you sorry?"
"Yes!"
She stops the tickle torture and stares down at her daughter. Alice is limp with surrender, her blue eyes searching. She takes Donna's face into her small hands and pulls her in until they are nose to nose, looking at each other cross-eyed.
"Do you still love me?" Alice asks quietly.
"With every piece of me," Donna says.
Alice's eyes brim with tears. "Even though I'm bad and I don't know how to tie shoes?"
Donna smiles, pulling her daughter up off the floor and into her arms. Alice hugs her around the neck and begins to cry, sharp, little hiccups Donna feels in her own chest. "You could burn the whole world down, never tie a single shoe and I'd still love you."
Alice pulls back to look at her mother, her blue eyes gleam bright. "Why do you get mad then?"
"Because you're a good girl, not a bad one, and I know you're capable of tying your own shoes."
"But it's so hard."
"Most things are," Donna tells her. "You just have to practice, like with hockey."
"But I like hockey. I don't like shoes. They make my feet closetphobic."
Donna smiles. "I didn't like shoes when I was your age either. But Nana always told me that a lady must wear shoes in public or else risk looking indecent…and anything less than a four-inch heel isn't a heel, it's an excuse."
Alice tilts her head. "Huh?"
"I don't know. She's old as dirt, you just respect it."
They both laugh and the moment is so perfect that Donna allows herself to believe in its permanence. She lets go of the perpetual worry that the cancer might come back, tells herself this isn't borrowed time, this is forever.
Donna carries Alice back into the kitchen, and beneath Jonathan's disapproving gaze the two of them loop and unloop bunny ears until Alice has tied both shoes herself.
"Daddy look!" Alice shouts, clicking her laced converse at him. "I did it!"
Jonathan reaches down and gives Alice an awkward pat on the head, like she's someone else's dog. "Good job."
Good, not great.
Not I'm proud of you.
Alice beams up at Jonathan, gracious for the lousy pat and cheap words. Donna can't stand to see it, but she'd be a hypocrite to say she's any different, because when he turns and affords her a quick peck on the cheek, she can't help but flush with pleasure.
Always so eager to please him.
VII
Donna can see Alice, vivid as Harvey standing before her, can hear her sweet voice, "Do you still love me?" Her little fingers are tracing the freckles on Donna's arms and she smiling and laughing and then—
She's gone.
Her voice, her touch, her smell. Her freckled nose and wide-open smile. That unruly hair that Donna had to fight every morning to brush. Her grass stains and skinned knees and unfailing way of staining every dress she ever owned. Gone. All of her.
Donna feels like she's been kicked in the chest. She leans against the granite island, her body in dire need of the support. The haze clouding her emotions turns smoke-like, it expands, pushing beneath her skin, unable to permeate. She's suffocating inside of herself, choking on a past that no longer belongs to her.
Harvey continues messing with his tie, oblivious to the fact that she's all but turning blue in front of him.
He sighs and stops struggling, his shoulders slumping. "I can't do this, Donna."
She breathes, a conscious in and out. Watching her chest rise and fall, she tells herself: I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay.
Her puppet strings tug, jerking her toward him. She takes his tie and dexterously works out the knot. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay.
He says, "I'm not Jessica."
"No, you're not." She swears her voice belongs to someone else. "You're Harvey. And you're neither a whiner nor a quitter. Now knock it off."
Harvey's integrity and her are rarely on opposite sides; realizing this, he forfeits. "Should I call up O'Brien and grovel?"
"There's no need. He's still in the conference room."
"What?"
She quirks an eyebrow. "You really think I let him leave?"
Understanding breaks across Harvey's face. The corners of his lips turn up in a grudging smile.
"I had a cheese platter sent up to hold him off, but Louis gorged on the habanero so I'm not sure how long we have."
"I thought Louis was lactose intolerant?"
Donna sighs. "That's another thing. Don't go into the men's room."
"That bad, huh?"
"Diabolical. Occupational safety called and said they're going to quarantine the entire floor."
Harvey laughs softly, his face lifted by a wide, handsome grin. And god, this smile makes the whole world seem brighter; she swears it cuts her strings, clears the smoke. Suddenly she feels too much, everything all at once. It's disorienting. She has to turn away.
"Donna, wait."
She shuts her eyes. She's trying so hard to learn how to say no to him. But of course she turns back around.
"I feel like you're distant."
"I'm just tired."
"Do you need a day?"
"No. I'm okay."
He watches her face, waiting for hints, like he has no idea that all she's thinking about – all she ever thinks about – is how she wishes he would just take her into his arms.
He doesn't, but he does surprise her. He reaches out, a distance that seems immeasurably vast, and takes her hand. His touch scalds and soothes, she wants him to cling and let go. This isn't healthy. This can't be healthy.
"I know I should apologize for kissing you," he says gently, "but I'm not sorry I did it."
She restrains a wince. It's as if him speaking about their kiss violates the terms they arrived at in secret.
"Then why did you leave?" she asks.
"Why did you pull away?" he counters, evading, always an attorney first.
"Because where would we be if I hadn't?"
She holds his gaze, not letting him look away. She can see his mind working, imagining what it would be like without the layers of excuses between them — to have it all out in the open. Do they get together? Have a relationship? Her, more broken than whole, him, so cynical he may never be ready to commit. What chance could they ever have?
It's a beautiful idea, but too delicate to ever be anything more than that. And she's always understood this; it's why she implemented her rule, why she so vehemently pushed him toward Scottie and Zoe. She torched bridge after bridge to avoid this very situation.
A heavy, significant silence falls over them. Harvey stares down at their entwined hands, thumb idly brushing against her skin. She wishes she had the strength to pull away.
At last, he says, "I dream about you," hesitantly, as if confessing to a sin. "Almost every night. It's this reoccurring, formulaic dream where I have you and I lose you. Any scenario there is for you leaving me, I've lived it." He looks up, pauses to search her eyes. Receiving nothing more than a blank stare, he continues on, "I'd wake up and I'd think thank god, it's only a dream, but lately I wake up and I reach for you, expecting you to be there and you're not. You never were. And I don't know which is worse anymore."
She shakes her head. "Harvey—"
He cuts her off. "I don't know where we'd be if I stayed, if you hadn't pulled away. But I do know I would've woken up next to you, and I'm starting to think having that, even if it's temporary, is better than a lifetime of what-if."
And suddenly she feels panic. Like being on a rollercoaster, at the peak and staring down, realizing with a twist of nausea that you misjudged the plunge. It's a mixture of terror and a suffocating sense of certainty. He was supposed to be inaccessible, always just outside her reach, and it hurts, but it's an ache she's used to. She's grown comfortable with it, maybe even fond. Because how convenient is it to love a man who will never love you back when you're scared of moving on with your life? You can be forty years old and a shuttering pause and no one would question it – not even yourself.
"You're just tired," she says. It's all she dares, anymore and he might hear the tremble in her voice.
He looks at her – lost, wounded. The small muscles in his jaw clench, he swallows thickly. She can tell he's struggling for composure and it goes against every instinct she has not to comfort him.
She removes her hand from his. "Come on. O'Brien's waiting." He doesn't move. She turns and begins to walk away. Then, at her back—
"You told me I was afraid to risk anything."
She pauses with her hand on the door, holding her breath. She can't bear to look at him.
"Now here I am, trying to take a step forward and you're the one running."
Donna shuts her eyes and pushes through the doorway. Each step she takes away from him is like wading against the tide, but at the very same time she feels like she can't get away quick enough, frightened that if she doesn't keep moving forward, she'll be pulled in and drown.
In Gucci kitten heels she practically sprints through the firm. Passing Harvey's old office, Donna catches sight of something in her peripheral and stops dead in her tracks. Cool gray eyes anchors to hers, grip her like a noose thrown around the neck.
Suddenly Harvey is far away, unimportant. Because somehow the past and the present have superimposed, and she stands staring into the face of her ex-husband.