I
Harvey wakes to the ringing of his cell phone.
In his arms Donna is fast asleep, motionless, her breath a warm wisp against his neck. It's disorienting. He's had this same dream so many times it makes waking up to the sea of red hair and the thin freckled arm hanging limp across his chest oddly natural.
Slowly – reluctantly – he slides off the bed and tiptoes over to his discarded trousers. The care he takes is probably lost on her. He doubts a grenade going off in the closet could get her out of bed.
He fishes his phone out of his pocket. Mike. He picks up. "Yeah?"
"Where are you?" the kid asks. His tone is accusing. Harvey hasn't bothered to check the time, but he's willing to bet he's missed more than a few morning appointments.
Harvey glances out the window. Beyond the stretch of cranes in the harbor yard the Hudson looks as blue as the sky. "Midtown West."
"Midtown West? What the hell are you –" Mike pauses. Lets it register. Whatever conclusion he reaches, he's smart enough to keep it to himself. "Listen, Harvey, we need to talk. Can you meet me at the court house in half an hour?"
"Yeah. But make it an hour," he says, his eyes shifting to the sleeping redhead. "I have something I need to take care of first."
Harvey hangs up, quickly puts on yesterday's suit, and sets a pot of coffee brewing. Then he sits at the edge of the bed, right beside her, and gently brushes the hair away from her face. She stirs, shifts a little, and then freezes, probably remembering last night, realizing the hand combing through her hair is his hand.
Part of him wants to have an honest conversation about what happened. He has so many questions: Did you like it? Now that you're not drunk, was it what you wanted? Are we going to do it again? Another part of him is so sure it was all a huge mistake, it's all he can do not to bolt and run like hell for a taxi.
Donna's eyes flutter open. The morning light makes her irises look warm and soft. Harvey trails his knuckles across her cheek, thinking there is no way he can leave. What is there in all of Manhattan — in the whole world — that beats this?
"Did someone call?" she asks, her voice raspy with sleep.
"Mike. He wants me to meet him at the court."
"To hell with Mike," she murmurs, wiggling around beneath the sheets. "Get back in bed."
A broad smile breaks across Harvey's face. He knows he looks almost too happy but he can't control his beaming. And, okay, "get back in bed," isn't code for "I love you," but he's afflicted by this sudden insatiable desire he has for her. He needs her so pathetically, he'll gladly take the table scraps.
He lifts the sheets and, wingtips and all, slides into bed. She burrows a little closer and lets him put his arms around her. He presses his lips to the top of her head, breathes her in.
"Why the court house?" she asks.
He holds her tightly to him and runs his fingers through her silky hair. "I don't know."
"You didn't think to ask?"
He shrugs.
She touches his chin, the pads of her fingers graze across the stubble along his jaw, urging him to look at her. "You really are bad at this," she says, giving him an amused, sleepy smile.
"Sorry. I'm not exactly a cuddler by nature."
"I'm talking about juggling the comfort thing with the attorney thing."
"I know," he admits. "I'll work on it. But if something's going to suffer in the interim, it won't be this." Her smile fades. She's getting nervous again, he can tell. He tries to make light of it: "But in my defense, you're the one who told me to get back in bed."
"I didn't think you actually would." She pushes up onto an elbow. The sheet that covers her slips down exposing her bare breasts. Harvey's tongue tingles with the memory of how amazing it felt to taste her soft flesh. He swallows, forcing himself to lift his gaze and only gets as far as her lips.
He can kiss her, can't he? He did it so freely last night. But for some reason he feels they've become entangled in a sudden stunted intimacy. He hesitates among the many emotions she seems to be presenting. Affection, reluctance, desire, regret. He has no idea what the hell she wants, but he knows if he continues holding back it might be another thirteen years before he gets the chance to kiss her again. Maybe double that. Maybe never.
He leans in. The look that breaks across her face as she pulls back is beyond humiliating.
Harvey sighs, giving her the full extent of his heartbreak through the pathetic little huff. "Back to square one, are we?"
"I'm naked in your arms," she says. "This is hardly square one."
"But no kissing?"
"Not with that morning breath."
Harvey gives her a level look and humorless smile. "Come on, after all of that snoring and drooling I endured from you last night, you can put up with my breath."
Donna hums and crawls into his lap. She takes his jaw into her hands and tips his face up, forcing him to look at her. "And to think I called you chivalrous last night."
"Was that what you were getting at with all that drunken slurring you were doing?"
She chuckles. There's a sexy little rasp to it. "You want me," she says softly, running her thumb over his bottom lip.
More than anything. Harvey closes his eyes and relaxes into her hands. "Yes."
She leans closer, lips next to his ear. Her scent is intoxicating. "Well then," she whispers, "what are you waiting for?"
Harvey slides his hand around her neck and pulls her in. He catches a glimpse of her face – eyes low-lidded, mouth curled into a seductive smirk – before their lips brush. The kiss is soft, teasing. He tangles his hand into her hair, gives her a thrust of tongue and receives a needy little whimper back.
"Harvey," she murmurs. "Don't stop."
He doesn't. He can't.
II
The New York County Supreme Courthouse is a granite-faced building with a broad set of steps sweeping up from Foley Square to a stately Corinthian colonnade. The complex fills several blocks on the northern side of Centre Street, about a mile East of Tribeca. Mike sits at a bench facing Thomas Paine Park, knees bouncing in anticipation, searching for Harvey amongst the onslaught of lunch hour pedestrians. The air stinks of exhaust and urine, and is humid in a way that makes his shirt stick.
In Mike's conscientious search of the street he catches sight of a man exiting a cab. He is Harvey's height and stature, but his suit is unpressed and shabby, his face unshaved to the point of being considered scruffy. Mike stands to get a better look, eyes narrowed skeptically. If not for the overconfident gait and the way the man transverses the sidewalk – splitting the crowd like Moses crossing the red sea – he wouldn't believe it's his mentor.
"You're late," Mike says. "And hailing cabs behind Ray's back. That's low."
"I didn't want to inconvenience him."
"With a twenty minute drive at noon? C'mon, Harvey, you can do better."
"Fine. You want the truth?"
"I think I got it. Midtown. Yesterday's suit. The distinctly feminine smell of…" He sniffs. "A certain redhead in distress."
Mike senses narrowed eyes behind the dark shield of Harvey's Ray-Bans. "Alright, Sherlock. What did you need to talk about?"
"The motion to dismiss you were meant to file this morning."
Harvey stiffens. "Did you –"
"Ask for an extension? Yeah. But they couldn't grant it. Turns out Donna's case has already been dismissed."
"Please tell me it's not for lack of jurisdiction."
Mike nods solemnly. "It's become a federal question case."
"Fuck," Harvey breathes.
They fall into a fragile silence. Traffic is a loud thrum of engines and horns but Mike swears he can almost hear the managing partner's nervous swallow. Federal means the case goes to the attorney general — chief lawyer and head of the DoJ. Taking on Gibbs and the state of New York is one thing, but Washington? That's an entirely different league. And considering the fact that Harvey's in such a state that he forgot to file a simple motion means they're not exactly playing at their best.
Mike pulls at his collar, feeling a little breathless. "We should try to find out when the grand jury is meeting on her case. The moment she's re-indicted they'll arrest her and if her bail is anything like Jon — hey! Where the hell are you going?"
Mike barrels after Harvey, cutting his way through a crowd of pedestrians toward the street corner. He gets stuck behind a group of kids on a field trip and by the time he's free Harvey is already sliding into a cab. He manages to overhear "Business Center" and "East River" before the passenger door slams shut.
Mike curses, knowing exactly where Harvey is heading and knowing as far as bad ideas go this is the worst of it.
He grabs a Citi bike from the rack in front of the park. With traffic the way it is he can beat the cab if he peddles fast enough. He wobbles to a start, less from being rusty and more from the constrains of his tightly tailored suit. Gathering momentum he cuts through Foley Square, hoping like hell he remembered deodorant this morning.
III
Donna wakes to her head throbbing with such aggression she feels nauseous before she even opens her eyes. It's only when the throbbing becomes increasingly loud that she realizes it's not just in her head; there is something physically pounding at the front door, the insistent knock knock knock driving the bile up her throat with each repetitive echo.
She buries herself further into the bed sheets. Lingering traces of Harvey's bergamot aftershave surround her, chased by hints of something a little mustier…sex and sweat, and yes, that brings back memories of last night, although still muddied by the haze of alcohol. Apparently lust conquered reason in the end. She's only human. But the slow, sober sex of this morning was something she should have resisted. It was wrong, but she wasn't ready to let go of him yet. It's easy to believe things can last forever when you're tangled up together. Now her bed is empty and the undeniable loneliness reminds her of all the things she used to believe she'd have forever that are now gone.
Donna pulls the bed sheets off and exhales, breathing him out. Last night is already less real. He's already gone. It already hurts less. She knows she's deceiving herself – more likely she's just getting used to her stomach feeling hollow – but she desperately needs to believe she still has some control.
It takes an unreasonable amount of self-motivation, but Donna manages the effort to lift herself from bed. Swallowing down a reflexive heave and then another, she slips on her bathrobe and pads ungracefully to the front door. Through the peep hole she sees her mother, perfectly put together in a boat-neck tweed cocktail dress as if she's been commandeered for this mission directly from the Wethersfield Country Club. Donna looks into her heart for welcoming love for her mother and finds instead apprehensiveness. Her first impulse is to run out the back and down the fire escape, but something — probably the hangover — resigns her to opening the door.
"Donna." Her mother's tone is breathless and faintly stricken. It occurs to Donna then, how she must look. Without her armor of makeup and designer clothes, she is left wan and depleted. "Are you all right?"
Raised primarily by au pairs and private school, there is an indwelling part of Donna that has always yearned for her mother's affection. Disillusionment has dampened this craving over the years, but there is still something innate which ebbs at what strength she has left and the childish desire to be comforted by this woman surges through her.
Donna takes a step back and swallows against a tightening throat. "I'm fine."
The clipped reply sets the tone. Her mother's posture becomes more severe. "Surprised I found the place?" A dig, Donna suspects, about not being invited over more often.
"More surprised you're here. Surely Avignon is more your idea of a vacation. Coffee?"
"Please."
They move into the kitchen. Her mother deposits her purse on a counter stool and casts a quick glance around Donna's apartment, elegant in a simple sort of way but nevertheless unacceptable. "To be honest, I was halfway to Tribeca before I remembered you don't live there anymore."
"I'm sure Jonathan would have been thrilled to see you."
Sandra lets out a rich laugh. "Yes, I imagine I would've given him quite the shock. A shame, really, I'd be interested to see that stony face express something other than placidity." She examines the smallest of three antique canisters on the counter top in front of her. Idly she lifts the texture glass lid, finding it empty inside. "I hate this décor, by the way. Too showroom. And if you're going to have something this obtrusive at least make it useful and put something in it."
Donna rubs at her temple, cursing herself for not getting this heart-to-heart over with last night when she wasn't so abrasively sober. Maybe she should ditch the coffee and make mimosas, heavy on the champagne. Her mother wouldn't mind. Like most rich housewives, she's practically an alcoholic. Then afterwards, when their done spitting out lines they've rehearsed a hundred times before, Donna could call Harvey, beg him to come back and have a redo of last night. Drunk on alcohol and lust, she was able to forget the world and all the ways her life is falling apart. That's the funny thing about feeling empty, you'll reach for anything to stuff yourself full.
Perhaps it's best she starts with the canister.
"What do you suggest I fill it with?" Donna asks, turning her back to search the cupboard for coffee beans.
"I don't know. Flour?"
"I don't bake."
"You used to. You were always baking for the hockey team and those CNCF events." She hears the clink of the canister lid being replaced. "And would it kill you to put some pictures up? The bareness of this place is grim."
Donna glances over her shoulder. "Pictures of the family I no longer have? That sounds even grimmer."
Her mother's eyes soften. They are the same shade Alice's were. Clear blue. A glistening summer pool. Again Donna finds herself yearning to bridge the gap, to wilt into her mother's long, downy arms. "Just because she passed away doesn't mean she no longer exists." Her voice is cautious, maybe even tender.
"That's exactly what it means, Mother." Donna sets the espresso machine and retrieves a carton of creamer from the refrigerator. "And you can say her name."
"Can I? I don't know your rules, Donna. I swear every time I bring Alice up you scold me."
Sighing, Donna shuts the fridge door and turns to face her mother. "Can we at least wait until after coffee to have a go at each other? I had a long night."
Her mother raises an eyebrow, politely curious. "Is that because Harvey stayed over?"
Donna stiffens. "Why would Harvey stay over? He's my boss, Mom, what are you trying to –?"
"It's just a question. You don't have to get defensive."
"Just because he picked me up from the bar doesn't mean –"
"I know the two of you are close and sometimes traumatic events can bring out feelings –"
"What are you talking about?"
"— and I would like to think all the time you spend catering to Harvey is because there's something more – "
"This is beyond ridiculous." Donna shakes her head. "I don't even know how to respond to you."
"You don't need to respond. I just want you to know it's okay." She stares at Donna for a moment, as if she'd said something monumental. "It's your life, darling. You should do what makes you happy."
"I am not sleeping with Harvey."
"Okay."
"He's a friend."
"Of course."
"I don't know where you get off thinking something so absurd, but it's way out of line."
Her mother waves a hand. "Simply a misunderstanding."
Donna vigorously froths the cream until the espresso finishes sputtering, then passes the steaming mug across the counter. "And for the record, even if something was going on, it's none of your business."
"I'm sorry," she says. "You're my daughter. I had to ask."
"Well you've asked.
Her mother smiles. "Indeed I have."
IV
Mike is drenched in sweat by the time he reaches Duke-Sanger. He sees through the glass windows that Harvey is already badgering the receptionist to let him up. Thank god for door codes.
"Look, Emily — "
"Erica. I have a nameplate for fuck sake, it's not hard."
"Right. Erica. I'm sorry about the way I treated you —"
"You're an asshole."
"Yes. I'm an asshole. But that woman you saw in my apartment, she's in a lot of trouble."
"Donna," the receptionist almost purrs. "God, she is pretty, isn't she? I can see why Jonathan loved her. What a loss."
Harvey must see that she knows more about the situation than he thought because he quickly changes tune. "So you're on Zegareli's side?"
"No. But this is my job, and as much as I feel for the Martells and what they've been through, I can't risk it."
"Please," Harvey whispers. The sheer desperation in his voice makes Mike want to join in and plead with him.
"I'm sorry," the redhead says. Judging by her pained expression, Mike thinks she means it. "Vlad." She turns to a large man standing near the elevators. "Will you please escort Mr. Specter and his sweaty bike messenger out?"
Back out in the blazing heat, Mike says to Harvey, "Listen, it's for the best. Continuing to provoke Jonathan is a bad idea."
"I didn't come here for Jonathan."
"Just dropped by to piss poor Emma off, then?"
"Emily, wasn't it?"
"Was it?"
"Quiet, counsel men," says Vlad. His accent is thick, likely Russian. "Come with me." He turns down a paved side street. Mike and Harvey exchange looks. Following an eight foot tall Slavic dude feels like a bad idea all around, but Mike is pretty sure his "come with me" is linked to an unsaid "if you want to live" and not in a Kyle Reese saving Sarah Connor from the terminator kind of way.
So, of course, they follow him.
"Where do you think he's taking us?" Mike whispers. "Meat freezer or basement torture chamber?"
"I think you need to shut up."
"Sorry. Certain death makes me nervous."
"Mike, another word and I'm going to have you buried in Logan Sanders backyard as my dying wish."
"I wouldn't mind that actually. It would make him a suspect —"
"Shut. Up."
"Right."
Vlad leads them to a utility door near the back of the platinum building. "There is staff elevator to right," he says, swiping his badge. The door pops open. "Neither down nor feathers, friends."
Harvey hovers at the threshold. "Why are you helping us?"
"For Dee."
"For tea?"
"For Dee."
"Forty — right." Harvey slaps Mike on the shoulder. "Pay the man," he says, then disappears through the open door.
Mike pulls a couple hundreds out of his wallet. "Neither down nor feathers," he repeats in lieu of thank you.
Vlad grins and shoves Mike's offering away with enough force to crack a sternum. "Go to hell."
"Uh…thanks?"
The security guard turns and walks back up the side street. Mike watches him, feeling a little thrown. Menacing with a touch of genial, a rarity.
When Mike gets to the staff elevator he is surprised to find Harvey holding the door open for him. "Make a new friend?" he asks.
"He didn't break my neck so…" Mike shrugs. "Maybe I'll add him on Facebook. What do you think his last name is? Not-a-hitman?"
The corner of Harvey's mouth quirks up; it's the first notion of a smile Mike's seen on his face in days.
The elevator doors shut. The mirror shows both of them – Harvey bearded, Mike damp with sweat, expensive European suits badly wrinkled. A real dream team. The Harvey Specter Mike met at the hotel years ago would be horrified; the one standing next to him lets out a light laugh.
"God, I need a shave."
"I don't know," Mike says. "It's kinda badass."
"You think?"
"Yeah. Real brawny. If not for the beard, Vlad would have killed us. And who even said clothes make the man? Armani?"
"Shakespeare."
Mike feigns shock. "Donna starts her teachings early."
Harvey smiles softly. Doesn't even try to fight it. The world is upside down.
The elevator dings and the doors whisk open. The large hallway is empty, as is the floor's reception desk. Harvey takes a right and Mike follows quickly at his heels. When they pass Jonathan's office it becomes clear where they're headed.
"Contacting a non-party witness is likely to get you accused of tampering," Mike says carefully.
"True. But as of this morning, there is no case against Donna and since she's yet to be re-indicted…"
"A loophole," Mike mutters. "Genius."
"Clothes don't make the man. The man makes the man." Harvey pauses at the CEO's office door and turns to Mike. "Don't tell Donna I said that."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
V
Donna retrieves a plate from the cupboard and tosses some questionably-fresh biscotti on it. Then she pulls out coasters and a couple napkins and joins her mother in the living room.
Sandra is seated on the couch, ankles crossed and back straight, as regal as a queen. Donna drops the biscotti on the coffee table and sits with her legs folded under her, suppressing a smirk at her mother's grimace.
"I saw that exposé the networks are running on you and Jonathan," her mother says, eyeing Donna over the edge of her mug. "I hope it's exaggerated."
Donna shrugs. "Some of it, I guess. Is that why you're here? You're trying to stage some kind of intervention?"
Her mother quietly studies her, those blue eyes looking somehow both sharp and gentle at the same time. Donna has her full attention and it feels like the sun breaking through on a dark day. Too often she had been a child of nine or thirteen or fifteen seeking her mother from center stage and finding an empty seat. Forty years old and she has never learned how to love without longing. The realization depresses her.
"I'm worried about my daughter, so I came to see her. There's no other agenda."
Donna sips her coffee and nods, although she isn't convinced. "So it takes your daughter committing treason to get you to rise to the occasion?"
"I wish you could be a little less dramatic."
"Really, Mother? When Alice was sick and I needed you, where were you then?"
Sandra detaches herself from Donna's glare. "Nowhere," she admits, shocking Donna. It's the last thing she expected her to say. "I was nowhere."
A silence settles across the living room, and while it stretches on Donna finds herself growing strangely disappointed. She would have rather her mother made an excuse, because the truth feels so much harsher.
"Why?"
"It was hard for me."
"Hard for you," Donna repeats. She wants to scream, but the voice that comes out is calm and measured. "I lost my daughter."
"I know," her mother says gently, searching Donna's eyes. She reaches, as if to take her hand, then must think better of it. "Did I have to lose mine too? Your grief has become all-encompassing, leaving no room for your family, your marriage – "
"This grief is what I have instead of Alice. How do you expect me to let go of it?"
"I don't expect you to let go of it. I expect you to share it, to open up and let people in."
"My relationships are exactly how I want them to be," Donna says, struggling to sound firm. "I'm content with my life. Why can't you just accept that?"
"What life? Harvey's life? You're a support role, Donna. He is there and you are here. Are you telling me this is how you want it?"
Donna shakes her head, feeling like a crack is starting to form in the wall that separates her from her most honest self. "Am I allowed to have it any other way?"
"Of course you are. It's your life, darling, and right now, if we were to be perfectly honest about it, we'd find your love for Harvey is the biggest thing you have. It's the first step you've taken since Alice passed away, but you have to realize, you're more than a secretary."
"And what if I don't want to be more than a secretary?"
Her mother meets her gaze. "You wouldn't have stepped off that ledge if this was all you saw for yourself."
Donna sucks in a breath. It's been over a decade since that desperate phone call and it hasn't once been brought up between them. She never told her mother – never told anyone – about her plague of dark thoughts and how they drove her to standing at the edge of that balcony. She doesn't know how to respond.
"It's time you put yourself first for once." Her mother reaches out and rests her fingers on Donna's cheek, her touch lighter than the stroke of a feather. "Your path matters too."
VI
Melanie Zegareli smiles when the attorneys enter her office. No surprise, no confusion, so either someone tipped her off that they were coming in advance or she's really good at keeping a straight face. Either way, it pisses Harvey off.
"Mr. Specter," she says. "How gracious of you to pop in. Although, I must say I'm a little surprised. I don't believe you have an appointment."
"How about we skip the bullshit power play," Harvey says. "You know why I'm here."
"Of course." She narrows her eyes a little. "The testimony I've volunteered to give in Donna's case. Unfortunately, my attorneys have advised me not to share the fateful details. But I suppose I could give you the punch line." The corners of her mouth curl up. "Donna did it."
"That's a pretty cheap shot," Mike spouts off at Harvey's back, "throwing the blame on a woman in her twenties with no prior corporate experience and a terminally ill child – anyone can make the case you took advantage of her."
Zegareli cocks her head, as if it just occurred to her that Mike is a person. "Frankly, it sounds like you think rather low of Donna. An easy mistake to make, I'm sure, being that she's just a secretary to you, but to me she is one of the most competent COO Duke-Sanger has ever seen and there are multiple accounts to back that up."
"I'm sure she was great at the interpersonal," Harvey admits, "but she would have been oblivious to the financials."
"I would argue the opposite. She did sway the board to invest in a seemingly arbitrary Indian software company that specialized in high-resolution GPS. Ingenious, it turns out, because as you know, that little company took on some big clients, mainly rich Middle Eastern manufactures. I believe most specialized in GPS guided missiles. Treasonous to our country by the third degree, but very lucrative."
The words missiles and lucrative bounce around in Harvey's head. He's always known about the darker side of corporate New York, where the occasional insider trading and anti-trust is seen as child's play, but it's an underworld he never thought he'd find himself barging in on. Still, as unsettled as he is he holds his composure, even shrugs. "Sounds like hearsay and not a lot of facts."
Zegareli's smile freezes. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to throw evidence at you?"
"Well, you are stupid enough to commit treason."
"God, you really think she's innocent."
Innocent? Donna has admitted she isn't, but Harvey – still having not looked at her case and perhaps clutching an ideal – sees her crimes only as sacrifices for her family and will defend that fiercely against anyone who tries to take it from him. "Donna wouldn't have done any of this knowingly."
"Oh Harvey," the CEO says, "from what I've heard, you didn't even know she had a daughter. I think it's safe to assume you don't know what she's capable of."
"I trust her."
"Funny, I heard someone say that same thing with just as much confidence. Want to have a guess at what happened to him in the end?" She leans back in her seat and waits. Harvey's jaw tightens. He knows the answer, but won't give her the satisfaction. Her smile turns insufferably condescending in the growing silence. "She left him. Without fight, without reason, without so much as a backward glance, so if you think she won't do the same to you when you're all used up, you're mistaken."
He saw it coming and still the words are a blow. Harvey takes a step backwards, shocked by the sudden crippling tightness he feels coiling inside his chest. He stares at the CEO intently and says nothing. His tongue is trapped. Even now, Donna feels far away. Probably forgetting last night with all the ease she did thirteen years ago. She doesn't want to mislead him is what she said, but what she meant was these feelings only flow one way.
"You can carry on about Donna's character flaws until you're blue in the face," Mike says. "You won't gain any ground."
Zegareli rolls her eyes. "It's shocking how delusional you are."
"Call it whatever you want," Harvey tells her. "But at the end of this, you'll be the one behind bars."
Zegareli fixes Harvey with a challenging glance. "You think I haven't dealt with your kind before?"
"I highly doubt it."
"Yes, because you're special, right?" she says. "The rules just don't apply to you, do they? I mean, god, you took down Brandon Russo as an ADA. A case that would have made Cameron Dennis' career and he just let you have it. How fortunate. And it was so easy for you, wasn't it? Dominos. Russo basically put himself away."
There it is again. Russo. Donna was trying to tell him she'd done worse than use him to get into the DA. He wouldn't listen. Instead he pushed the thought out; he keeps pushing it out and will continue to push it out because whatever it is, he's not in a position to face it. What's done is done.
"I already know about Russo," he lies.
"Then you must know that the only reason your name is on any wall is because your secretary, who you trust wholeheartedly put you there. In my opinion, if anyone's been taken advantage of in this whole wretched affair, it's you, Harvey."
Harvey stands there, feeling…what? Confused? Angry? Defeated? He doesn't know. He has always seen himself as an unstoppable force, and now here this woman is, stripping him of his sense of self, and because he is too weak to face the truth he's left defenseless.
The CEO grins. "Am I gaining ground yet, or shall I keep going?"
Mike casts a quick glance at Harvey, a smothery, frantic look in his eyes. "I think we've heard enough," he says. "C'mon, Harvey, let's go."
Zegareli gives a small shake of her head. Harvey, understanding, tells Mike, "I'll catch up."
Mike exits with a sigh. Harvey barely notices, his gaze locked on the CEO. When they're alone, Zegareli says, in a more amicable tone, "Are you still willing to do what it takes to save Donna?"
"What do you think?"
"I think you aren't exactly in a position of power, Mr. Specter. It would be best to answer my questions without the resistance."
"Yes," he says softly. "I am."
"Then convince her to testify against Jonathan."
Harvey frowns, confused by the sudden shift in tactic. "You want her to turn on her ex-husband?"
"You think I'm the bad guy in this, but it's like you said, who would be stupid enough to commit treason? Only it's not a question of stupidity. It's a question of who has a grudge."
Realizing her angle, Harvey says slowly, "A dishonorably discharged soldier."
Zegareli nods. "Two singing the same tune is always better than one. Convince her to testify and as an added bonus, I'll let you have Duke-Sanger."
"As a client?" Harvey gives a humorless laugh. "No thanks."
"I'm not quite sure you're getting what I'm offering here," the CEO says. "This is a perfect opportunity for you to show the world you deserve to be managing partner. You've been losing clients left and right since you hired that fraud Mike Ross. Now that you're harboring a traitor of the United States you'll lose everything unless you do something bold. Representing Duke-Sanger shows Manhattan you're not afraid to take on congress and you're even less afraid of losing."
Harvey swallows, feeling simultaneously like this offer is too good to be true and the worst option he's ever been faced with. "And how do you expect this is all going to end?"
"Like a dream, Harvey. Donna will be free, Jonathan will be in prison, Pearson Specter Litt will still be standing and whenever a Republican wants to make a deal with a corporation, guess whose phone will ring?"
Mine, Harvey thinks. He can save Donna, save the firm, take down Jonathan. How can he lose?
"Your name's on the wall," the CEO whispers. "It's time you earned it."
VII
Today 4:12 PM
Donna: I'm not coming into work today.
Harvey: I figured that much when I left at lunch and you were still snoring.
Donna: What can I say? I need my beauty sleep.
Harvey: You can just say you miss me.
Donna: I'll tell you what I miss.
Harvey: …
Donna: Your unworthiest hand touching my holy shrine.
Harvey: I should have known Shakespeare would go straight to your (cat emoji).
Donna: When are you going to be home?
Harvey: Give me a time.
Donna: Now.
Harvey: A reasonable time.
Donna: Okay… Now?
Harvey: I'll be home at 7. Will you be there?
Donna: Yes.
Harvey: Good. I'll take a 7 course meal and a backrub.
Donna: You give my (cat emoji) a performance like you did last night and I'll give you 12 courses and a full body massage.
Harvey: I'm never going to be able to get my shoes off before you fuck me, am I?
Donna: We'll work on it.
Harvey: I can't wait to see you, Donna.
Donna: I know :-*
Smiling, Donna sets her cell phone on the bureau. A small breeze shifts the air through her bedroom's open window, cooling the sweat collecting on her chest from the humidity. She places her palm on top of the pink notebook she has balanced in her lap. Somehow this notebook had saved her life. It had drawn her to Harvey and given her a purpose at a time where she desperately needed one.
Again and again Donna has told herself I can't – that life isn't like a light bulb, if it burns out, you shouldn't get to screw another in. But what if she could? What would it feel like to be able to call something 'home' and not have it sound like a distant, foreign place? To be able to lie in the arms of the man she loves without feeling he's still just out of her reach? Can she forge a new path for herself when she's become so catastrophically lost?
She doesn't know. But her mother's right, it's time to move on. It's time to stop hiding from the injuries of her past, harboring insecurities when there should be strength and clinging to doubt when there should be confidence.
It's time she told Harvey the truth. About Alice, about the notebook, about herself and how she loves him.
She feels anew. The euphoria of potential spreads around her in waves and for the first time in a long time her smile feels genuine.