Once upon a time, Mike Ross had thought the world to be peaceful in the night. It was his moment of rest, a time for him to be alone with his thoughts, to scheme, and to imagine the person he could one day be. But today, as darkness came, the burden of secrets pressed down on him even more, and the silence was oppressive. The shadows were no longer comforting—they were voicing the things he was not yet ready to confront.
Harvey Specter has always been an outlaw in his own world. Harvey could charm anybody with his presence and played a part in the city's sparkling glow with his hands. To the whole world, he was like the President of the United States: Nobody could touch him, he was deliberate, and he was perfect. But for Mike, he was like something else entirely—a natural phenomenon that had taken him out of the course of his life, into a world of power, corruption, and lies. And today, into a labyrinth of darkness that seemed so complicated that Mike doubted they would ever be able to come out of it.
The baby had been a revelation. Not a joyful one. Not for Harvey. Not for Mike.
He employed the same calm, indifferent voice to him which used to do so with all his actions in order to speak with him. Paula is now carrying a baby of two and a half months. He had been a leader of the United States, and now, he had become the father of the baby, which made him more fragile. In Mike's eyes, the rage was considerable; they had been very near together but now seemed set for explosion, and not withstanding he is—yes—fully conscious that his brother did not give consent to it. Indeed, Paula had turned out to be just a mistake; she was actually a public image of Harvey deliberately produced for the cameras and thrown away right away as soon as he managed to get there alone. It was something he felt very bad about, and the baby? The baby became an even bigger problem.
It had been different before, simpler. Harvey had handed Mike the divorce papers without so much as a second glance, his voice clipped and emotionless. "Make it clean," he'd said, as if the end of a marriage was just another transaction to be handled. Mike had admired the decisiveness at the time. Now, it felt hollow. The baby had changed everything—not Harvey's intentions, not his disdain for Paula, but the timeline. Divorce would come eventually, but not yet. Not now.
And in the meantime, they fabricated the truth. To the public, to the media, to even themselves. Harvey was trying very hard to be the loving husband while the nation was having whispers about the fatal car accident that injured Donna Paulsen and on the other hand, the dead of his loyal driver, Ray. The headlines kept coming, the speculations kept changing. Was Donna more than a friend? Why was she in his car? Was the President hiding something?Harvey shrugged it off like a person who mastered the art of being real to oneself.
"She's only a friend of our family," Harvey said to the reporters, with a firm voice and a very grim look on his face. But Mike was not deceived. He knows, family friends are not the ones to keep Harvey sleepless at night. He would not watch them from his car and he certainly would not be saying their name silently like a prayer. Donna was the thin line in Harvey's healthy life. He had no reel control over her. Indeed, she had always been more than a friend, and everybody in their circular world had glimpsed it, but nobody was brave enough to greet the elephant in the room.
The Shadow also knew. This is the fact that scared Mike the most.
They are on a roll with the car crash scenario; they are on the same wave with that. It was a hidden warning being issued by the Shadow that Harvey had dared—and failed—to swindle. And now they were washing the same money for the very people who, Donna was lucky, had a head start in killing her. Mike saw a touch of the comical side here. Every transaction, every wire transfer, every carefully concealed trail of dirty money was a reminder of the danger they were in. While Harvey had made his decision and Mike had followed, as always, they were the ones who found themselves walking among landmines.
Loyalty was an uncanny thing. It was odd for Mike to experience such a heaviness weighing him down, something that was seemingly no longer an option but rather a real prison break. He had a lot of confidential information, a lot of Harvey's secrets. The relationship with Donna, the money power, the panic attacks Harvey had behind the locked doors of the Oval office. Despite the above-mentioned deviations nevertheless, he could not walk away. Probably it was loyalty or maybe it was something darker–he was addicted to the madness and to the fire that Harvey ignited in everything that he came close to.
However, Mike was not ignorant of everything. He noticed the cracks already. Harvey was falling apart and he would never admit it. He saw it in the way Harvey's eyes met up with Donna's vacant chair during the meetings or the way he clenched his teeth whenever Paula's name came up. Paula, the woman who had everything Harvey hated - weakness, mediocrity, need. She was holding onto him as if her life depended on it and Mike saw the rage coming from beneath the mask that made her show other people like Harvey did.
Mike detested her as well. He abhorred her cheesy smile supposed for the audience, per faith, toward the baby which would get the distance between her and Harvey as the child grew and her desire for the child to change things. She was wrong. The child will not be the tie that will keep them together; it will only defer the inevitable which means their separation later on.
And by the time the divorce was actually happening, Mike tried to figure out it if Paula was able to survive such a crash. Or if Harvey even cared.
Media outlets were non-stop. They bombarded Harvey with questions about the crash, about Donna, and even about Paula.
They wanted him to look beyond the glitter of his status and let them have a look at the man, who is known as Harvey Specter. However, instead of doing that, he gave them nothing in return. He could easily lie and didn't even think twice about being caught out of his character. It was like he was talking like he breathed, with his mask on and without his voice wobbling. And Mike stared at "the show", a show, where illusion and reality interchange, for a moment frozen but also trembling with fear. If Harvey were to lose the mantle, the house of cards would collapse around them.
Yet, in the meantime, they continued to pace.
They acted their parts, told lies to deceive, and ignored the fact that their lies lay heavily on their shoulders. And in the quiet moments, when the shadows felt too heavy, Mike reminded himself that he wasn't just protecting Harvey. He was protecting Donna. Rachel. Himself.
That's at least the only thing that he told himself. Nevertheless, deep down, he asked himself. How much longer before we blow the cover and we all get devoured by the truth?
It was at that moment that Mike truly felt the burden of those acts.
The numbers had been spinning on the computer for a long time, appearing as unthreatening in their apparent, digital detail. Accounts going through loosely regulated countries and transactions being hidden among the multitude of activities that occur each second in the global financial network were the tickets. It was nearly ridiculously easy. The strategy was not in difficulty; it was in quantity, in consorting the criminal with the commonplace to the point that they were unidentifiable.
Harvey had been straightforward: "This isn't a test of skill, Mike. It's a test of discretion." The Shadow didn't get excited about what smart tricks he might employ. They only cared about outcomes, about duty. And so, when the final notification flashed back—a meager amount when compared to the sums in play, yet as decisive as the mob was—Mike felt a twist in his stomach. There it was: clean, quiet, undetectable. And although it was, in every way that mattered, unscrupulous.
Upon removing himself from the machine, realization hit him: this was the first. The first of how many? There was no stopping this here. Even if it was a hot room, this was how cold his hands felt, and his brain was on fire, questions bursting out of him till he tamed them. He had no time for uncertainty. Harvey would not put up with it. And the men they were dealing with had no such patience either.
The journey to the White House was peaceful but extensive, with the only sounds coming from the flickering lights inside the car and the faint buzz of the city outside. Mike stared out of the window, making an attempt to divert his thoughts from what had happened and the fact that he was heading to meet the man who had asked him to do this without flinching. The White House appeared larger as they approached, its iconic visage shining in the lights, its power, and purpose being exemplified. But to Mike, it seemed more like the frontiers of something malevolent.
Unceasing security was highly intense, as always. The well-known practice went on—long lines, metal detectors, scrutiny of identification as well as thorough looks of Secret Service agents who spared nothing. Although Mike had gotten accustomed to their hard examination, he could not escape the jolts of the senses feeling like they wanted out. As staff members preceded them through the intricate pathways, he could see glimpses of the inner life of the building. Small groups of employees whispered among themselves with a frenzy of worry. There were the calls of several telephones, oddly loud papers being shuffled on tables, and the eternal buzzing of the electrical appliances around him.
The corridor leading to the Oval Office was, however, a lot more quiet. Flexible. Even the air seemed to hold its breath. A couple of aides paused next to him, barely responding. Then, he noticed her standing just on the brink of the door.
Paula Specter was immobile like a statue, her hand lightly grasping the arm of a leaving guest, in a way as if representing time. Her fitted dress stood precisely on her growing belly, a supple but inescapable marker of her nascent existence. Her features were stern and distant, the kind of controlled demeanor that made Mike shiver. As he neared her, she turned her head toward his direction, her eyes narrowing just a bit as they fell on him.
She muttered "Mike Ross?" barely moving her lips.
He nodded and offered a stilted smile at her. "That's me. The lawyer of the stars. Or, I guess, the presidents," he said.
Her expression stayed as it was -- not a twitch of amusement in the corners of her mouth. "Mr. President is in a meeting," she said, her tone cold and remote. "Come with me."
Mike opened his eyes wide for a moment, quite astonished by the imperativeness. "Oh, certainly. Lead the way, Your Majesty," he said.
Not a flinch was shown by her even though her eyes looked more like they were made out of steel. This time around she just seemed tougher in the eyes. Without another remark, she spun around on her heels and trotted off, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
A maddening silence persisted between them; it was the kind of silence that reminds you that you are small and leaves you wondering where you can find your chest. The White House was a labyrinth, and despite the many times he had been there, Mike always felt like he was an intruder. The walls telling a mute story with their silent bulk, the kind of story that shows you how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things. The workers roamed quietly around the halls, making the only sounds the ones that came from their muffled strides and the whispers they exchanged. Mike tried to keep himself busy by focusing on them, but Paula's presence was almost suffocating, making him want to flee. She walked with an almost eerie precision, each of her steps unavoidable and each of her glances carefully planned. It was not a human being. She was a picture, gold and ice wrapped in the power and control.
They finally came to a smaller room, one Mike was unfamiliar with. This spot was the quietest part of the building, away from the hustle and bustle. The drones were replaced by near stillness. Paula unlocked the door and entered the room, then signed to him to come in. The room had a stark, functional style rather than a grand, ostentatious one, with a heavy wooden table and a few leather chairs.
She didn't sit, and neither did he.
There was silence again, it felt swollen now like a storm that was close. Paula stayed on the table, her hands were resting on its' surface slightly, her gaze was fixed steadily with a cold intensity on him. After a while, she just said what was in her mind.
"You've been busy," she said, her voice low and deep. "Getting the divorce papers ready."
Mike, his head slightly tilted, pretended to be uninterested. "Just following orders. That is the job for which you hired me, isn't it?"
Her lips gave a hint of a smile, but it was humorless. "Your job." She played with the words in the air for a while, and then said, "Well, it appears that job won't be necessary anymore."
Mike's eyebrows were raised a bit although he did not let any change in his expression appear. "That's beyond my salary scale. I only prepare the documents."
"Sure, you do," she said, her voice getting more acute this time. "And you'll keep them quiet. Won't you?"
He felt a tightening in his jaw, but a sincere smile contradicted the stiffened muscles in his mouth which he managed to make. "I am most skilled in the art of silence. It goes with the job."
"Very well." Paula straightened, her eyes narrowing. "Because the lack of discretion is not something to choose. The fact that you're not one of our own cost me a lot of money. You're a part of the President of the United States—and me."
The air that separated them became freezing and oppressive. Mike's look was unwavering, and his expression unchanging. "I'm aware of my duties. I know my place."
Paula took a step forward bringing her cold tone to a thinner one, more piercing. "I doubt that. Let me put it straight—your job is to do what you were hired to and not get involved in things that you don't have anything to do with."
Mike became increasingly impatient but did not leave. "My position is to safeguard what is in the President's best interest. That is exactly what I am doing."
"And I trust you to continue doing so," she said, her voice as serene as glass yet as treacherous. "In silence."
The room wasn't vast enough for them now; it almost felt tight to Mike, like the walls were pressing on him. He did not make it apparent, he was speaking his mind very fast but appearing almost bored as he was leaning against the chair's back. "Yeah, of course. I wouldn't dream of overstepping."
He was the prey of Paula, who seemed to watch him with an unfeeling, unsparing ocular stare, as if she wanted to tear him into parts and figure out which one feels nothing. At first, the silence was awkward; neither of them was ready to break it, but it was Paula who ended it in the end.
"What happened at the hospital that night?" she asked with a bit of a jolt in her voice, as if she had just decided to be more frank with him.
It was all so unexpected that Mike didn't even realize what Paula was talking about at first. "What?"
"You were there too," she added, and her eyes narrowed while she was probably assessing whether he was telling the truth. "Standing. Observing. Waiting. Helping. What did you do?"
He stammered, but then went on lightly with a smirk, which was his way to make it more confusing for her. "Oh, nothing special. Just the usual. Doctors rushing around, people screaming, and that antiseptic smell everywhere. Very thrilling, I must say."
She never changed her expression; still, not a single flutter of her eyelids was there. "I am not interested in playing games with you, Michael."
"I honestly don't understand what you want me to tell you," he said, keeping his voice steady. "I don't get it, really."
"Do you expect me to play along with you?" she snapped her voice to a dangerous whisper. "You may think you are very smart, but in reality, you are just a fool."
Mike stood up straight and put on a friendly face once more. "With all due respect, Mrs. Specter, I think I'm plenty clever. However, I would appreciate it if you gave me a bit more detail about the matter you are referring to."
Paula's lips stretched to form hieroglyphs, and Mike almost thought she would explode in the middle of the scene. Nevertheless, the woman got herself together and she correctly aligned her sarong-style dress. "Do you know, Mr. Ross, you are on very thin ice carrying on like that," she said in her signature kris dagger-like voice.
"I will bear it in mind," he replied, his voice gentle but steady. "Well, if there's nothing else, I have to go. Mr. President is waiting for me."
After a moment of silence, the look of her formal, steel-colored eyes was piercingly sharp, then she took a step back, and the look of her formal, steel-colored eyes softened, but it was still invisible: "Yes, he is," she said.
"Don't keep him waiting."
Mike nodded once, then turned and walked out of the room, his pulse quickening as he moved back into the corridors. The air was a bit lighter, but not much. Paula Specter looked like a glacier, and he felt he only seems to have caught a glimpse of her. The game, whatever it was, did not attract him to be one of the players.
However, as he made his way to the Oval Office, he could not control the feeling that he was already in the game.
Mike Ross stepped into the familiar room smelling of polished wood and faintly stale air, which lay on him like a heavy coat. Harvey Specter stood beside the window, standing back to the room, and one hand resting on the edge of his desk as if the desk might be a support to him.
"The place here is pretty nice," Mike said, a smile just barely present outside, but irritation was nonetheless dominant in his voice. "Is it me, or is it getting colder every time I walk into the room? Are they doing that on purpose? Or just to freak people out?"
Harvey didn't turn, or even look as if he hadn't moved the muscle on his cheek for an hour. Mike started to feel heated with irritation because of this silence.
"I mean, I've seen hospitals with more warmth," Mike said as he further stepped into the room. "And that says a lot, considering that I just spent some quality time with her highness."
Still, no response from Harvey. He stayed where he was, his massive outline leaning against the thin light streaming from the window. Mike sighed and let the door click shut behind him.
"So, we playing the dark, brooding thing, then?" he wondered. "Cause you know, it's not really your thing. You were more 'cold but calculating and, sometimes, charming' kind of guy."
Harvey turned at last with the sharpness of a blade in his eye. "Are you finished?" he asked.
"Not even close," Mike shot back, stepping further into the room. "Paula cornered me. Took me on a little field trip through your palace, reminded me to stay in my lane, and oh, by the way, she knows I drafted those divorce papers. Care to explain why I'm getting the third degree from her while you're sitting here nursing what I assume is an existential crisis?"
Virtually nothing about last time replying, Harvey stayed silent. He shifted a bit, set himself up and went to the bar cart next to the window. His actions were concentrated, slow, as if he were saving energy for the battles that he once decided not to fight. He poured a drink for himself but did not offer one to Mike.
Mike scoffed. "Really? Not even going to defend yourself?"
Finally, Harvey turned, glass in hand, his expression as unreadable as ever. "What do you want me to say, Mike?"
"I don't know," Mike said, throwing his hands in the air. "How about, 'Thanks for covering my ass while my wife-turned-warden tries to micromanage my entire life?' Or maybe, 'Sorry for dragging you into this mess in the first place?' Take your pick."
Harvey looked at him for a long time and only after that he leisurely drank a sip of his drink. "How's the laundering going?"
Mike blinked, momentarily thrown by the abrupt shift. "It's fine," he said, recovering quickly. "I'm doing everything clearly. No loose ends."
"Clearly," Harvey repeated, his voice edged with sarcasm. "If 'clearly' means leaving a trail that gets us both thrown in jail, then sure."
"I'm careful, Harvey," Mike said, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "You hired me for this because you know I'm good at it. You think I don't know how high the stakes are?"
"I think you like to talk a lot for someone who's supposed to be working quietly," Harvey said, his voice low and sharp. "That's what you're here for, Mike. Not to complain. Not to get distracted. Just to do the job."
The room fell into silence, thick and heavy. Mike leaned back against one of the chairs, crossing his arms as he studied Harvey. "You're not really mad about the money laundering," he said after a moment. "You're mad about Paula. Or maybe about Donna. Or maybe about the fact that your whole life is one big dumpster fire, and I'm the only one willing to point it out."
Harvey's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. He moved toward the bar cart near the corner of the room. His movements were deliberate, precise, as if every step was part of a calculation.
With one elbow resting on the chair back, Mike had crossed his arms and stood against one of the chairs. "You know, I'd almost think you didn't care about my charming little chat with your wife.
"She's not my wife," Harvey said, his voice clipped. "She's an obligation."
Although Mike was smirking, the concerned look on his mouth gave the false impression of happiness. "Yeah, well, your obligation told me the divorce isn't happening anymore. Thought you should know, just in case you forgot to read the fine print."
Harvey was deep in thought and didn't, even with his hand that swirled the glass, using the opportunity to watch the movement of the light liquid in the tumbler, take his sight off the swirling glass. "I didn't forget."
"That's it? That's all you've got?" Mike said, his irritation bubbling over. "Because I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm the one stuck playing messenger boy between you and the Ice Queen while you stand here looking like the world's most depressed whiskey ad."
The silence was resurrected for a short while, becoming quite dense and stifling. Harvey lifted his glass once more, taking a slow sip before speaking. "What did Paula want?"
Mike paused, trying to decide what he actually wanted to reveal. "She wanted to remind me of my place. Told me to keep quiet, do my job, and not ask questions.
Harvey's expression remained the same, but there was something in his eyes— something hidden, unspoken, dangerous. He put the glass down again, using a bit more force this time. "Anything else?"
"She also asked about Donna. About that night at the hospital," Mike said, leaning forward a bit.
Harvey's gaze sharpened and was locked on Mike's, stern and relentless. "What did you tell her?"
"Nothing," Mike said quickly. "Not a damn thing. I'm not stupid, Harvey."
Harvey's shoulder eased as much as it could but the hold on his jaw didn't loosen. He shrugged it off, pacing toward his desk as if it was the end of it.
Mike was not in a hurry to let it go. "So, are you going to tell me why she cares so much? Or are we just going to pretend that none of this is happening?"
Harvey paused, his back to Mike, his hands resting on the edge of the desk. To Mike, at first it seemed he was not going to answer. Then at last Harvey spoke, his voice low and controlled.
"She's looking for leverage."
"Leverage for what?" Mike pressed.
"For control," Harvey said simply. "She doesn't like not knowing things. She doesn't like being on the outside."
Mike laughed. "Well, that's funny. Though, she has been on the outside since your day of marriage."
Harvey's silence was an answer
Mike took a step forward, his tone, now, softening a bit. "What about Donna?"
Harvey turned his head, only to let Mike see a little change in his face. Remorse might be one. Or guilt. "What about her?"
Mike watched him for a while and then he decided to continue.
"How is she?"
Harvey did not answer right away. He put the pen down, his hand still for a second before he finally spoke. "She's home."
"Alone?" Mike asked, lifting an eyebrow.
"She has people around," Harvey mentioned without enthusiasm.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Mike said, his voice softening slightly. "Have you even gone to see her?"
And again Harvey's silence was answer enough.
Mike sighed, shaking his head. "You know, for a guy who claims to have everything under control, you're doing a pretty great job of letting the one person who actually matters slip through your fingers."
"Enough," Harvey muttered, his voice was hushed but still decisive. Looking at Mike, he turned to him completely with a sharp gaze. "You are not aware of what you are saying."
"What, don't I?" Mike digressed, always finding the other alternative. "Because of what I can see, you constantly try to distance yourself from her. You think she doesn't notice? You think she doesn't feel it?"
Harvey's hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. "You don't understand, Mike. This isn't about what I want."
"Then what is it about?" Mike asked, his voice quieter now but no less intense.
Harvey stayed silent. But he did the same thing he had done before, turned his back, and had another big gulp. The frustration was building up inside Mike. He looked at Harvey, but that was as far as he could go. Harvey Specter would not tell anything unless he wanted to.
"Okay," said Mike on his way to the door. "Keep bringing the martyr and I will not be there to take care of the mess when it is all broken.
Harvey didn't say a word at that moment, and nobody expected Mike to stay waiting for an answer. He swung the door open, stepping back into the frigid, unfeeling corridors of the White House, allowing Harvey to face his own demons.
After Mike left the room, Harvey Specter sat looking at his desk, which looked like a battlefield that he had caused. The noon light coming through the windows of the Oval Office was sharp and informational, showing each of the items with a brightness that seemed accusing. The room was loud with the phone ringing, aides knocking on doors, and the mounting paperwork. The power of the presidency was not something imagined; it was tangible. It was pressing his chest with every breath he took.
He grabbed the stack of briefs that he had to sign, skimming through them without really paying attention. His thoughts were fractured, his mind racing in all directions. He hardly noticed the words spoken by his chief of staff, information about an international negotiation that he should have shown interest in but didn't. Not today
"Mr. President?" The voice pierced through the air with sharpness and urgency.
"What?" he answered, harsher than he wanted to. The aide backed off, hesitating, and Harvey sighed and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "Just... leave it on my desk. I'll get to it."
The aide nodded and hurried out of the room, alone in the overwhelming resonance of his own thoughts, Harvey remained. But in truth, it was not silent. Not at all. The phone on his desk was buzzing again and the red light was blinking. The inbox on his tablet was beeping all the time. The world beyond the walls of the White House was screaming for his presence, and he had no strength to give.
Because Donna was in the back of his mind, and she always will be.
She was at home healing. Recovering. Harvey's last night visit was inevitable. Being away from her was simply not an option. They were not match. More so, it has been a time when their unity as a couple has not been their strength. Nevertheless, she was still Donna. She was still the only person who could look at him and see him, not the president, not the title, just Harvey. And that scared him as much as it comforted him.
However, his stay was short. The demanding job was too eager to let him go. And now he was here, buried in paperwork and briefings and appointing an uninterrupted flow of demand, while she was there, alone, in pain, healing from something that was not voluntary but was entirely him.
The phone was buzzing again. He ignored it.
His inbox was like a battlefield under siege with messages and requests flying with the media like vultures circling around the sun. They were fierce, scrutinizing every move he made, every word he said—or didn't. The headlines were a mix of quasi-truths, blatant falsehoods, and, from time to time, revelations.
The car crash. Donna. The baby. Paula. They wove their own narrative, one that painted him as everything from a hero to a villain to something far worse: a man who had no control over his life.
And perhaps they were correct. Because at present, Harvey was feeling like he was losing it all. The panic attacks hasn't ceased. They were coming as if they were the weather, starting all of a sudden and leaving him grasping for air and his desk like it could be a lifesaver. They were not occurring in front of others; he made certain of that. However, the walls of the Oval Office had been there to witness to him at his most vulnerable, trembling and sweating, attempting to pull himself back together before anyone noticed.
The knock on the door snapped him back to reality. Harvey called out, and it was answered by one of his aides who was carrying a tablet. "Mr President, there's a situation developing with the-"
"Later." Harvey interrupted him, speaking softly but forcefully. The aide was reluctant, though he eventually nodded before walking away.
Harvey sighed, releasing a slow breath, running a hand through his locks. The Shadow. The mafia. The money laundering. It, all of it, seemed like a ticking time bomb, and he could not stop thinking that when it went off, it would damage more than only him.
He was thinking about Donna again, and his chest felt heavy. She was not aware of the terrible nature of his problem and she didn't even know the money or the panic attacks. He'd hidden it from her, in part because she didn't need more problems, and partly because he couldn't stand to see disdain towards him even if it was just a speculated look. She'd hate it. She'd hate him. And maybe, just maybe she'd be right to.
And then there was Paula.
Paula, who had made it clear that she wasn't giving up on the baby, no matter how much he wanted her to. Harvey had tried to be diplomatic about it at first, but his patience had worn thin quickly. He didn't want this. He didn't want her. The pregnancy wasn't miracle, it was another obligation in the already burdensome life of Harvey.
Paula, nevertheless, would not leave after all. Her determination almost reached the desperate level as she was keen on being the First Lady regardless of anything, and it really irritated Harvey a lot. The way she looked at him as if he owed her something wasn't appealing to him at all. She had, on many occasions, declared that the baby was the guarantee of their future, which Harvey hated most. And more than anything else, he hated himself for not having any feelings when he looked at her.
He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, trying to block out the noise in his head. But it didn't work. It never did. Because no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, Donna was still there, both literally and in spirit. She was the only person who could quiet the chaos, and he'd spent his entire life finding ways to keep her out.
And now, she was waiting for him. Maybe not literally—she wasn't the type of a character from a cheap romance novel to be sitting by the door. But she was waiting nevertheless, just in her own way, as she always did. Waiting for him to understand what the hell he was doing. Waiting for him to make a decision. And Harvey didn't know if he could.
The clock on his desk was making a ticking sound that painfully reminded him that the world wouldn't stop for him.
There was another meeting to attend, another decision to be made, another crisis to be handled. All he wanted to do, however, was to escape. To step out of the room, out of the building, out of the suffocating grip of the presidency, and to go to her. To Donna.
But he didn't. He stayed. That's who Harvey Specter was. He stayed, and he fought, and he endured. Even when it felt like it was killing him.
He took the tablet on his desk and ran his finger through the limitless list of emails and updates, clenching his jaw as he pushed himself back into the world he'd constructed. The world that wouldn't release its hold on him, no matter how much he wanted to flee.
But even as he worked, his mind wandered back to her. It always did. And he knew that no matter how many hours passed, no matter how many tasks he completed, Donna would still be there. Waiting. And Harvey wasn't sure how much longer he could make her wait.
Hovering over the second phone on the desk, the one he used for the secure line, he reminded himself that he seldom used it. This was not a call for business, not an incident he needed to put out or a meeting on the Shadow. This was Donna.
The brilliant criminal attorney could feel his heart rate rising with anxiousness when he exhaled slowly and dialed her number. It barely rang twice before she picked up, her voice, with a tight squeeze at the end, piercing through the line.
"Harvey." Her tone was neutral—too neutral. The warmth she used to reserve just for him was absent, replaced by something measured, distant. it was her armor and he knew it.
"Hey," he said, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes for a moment. He tried to soften his tone, but the weight of everything else clung to him. "I was just… thinking about you."
Short pause before an answer but the weight of the other world was not absent. "I'm sure you were."
He grimaced. She didn't mean it to be cruel—he knew that—but the words still landed like a blow. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "How are you feeling today?"
"Fine," she responded abruptly. "I've been getting some rest, catching up on reading. Nothing exciting."
"Donna—" He started to push, but she cut him off.
"What do you want, Harvey?" Her voice wasn't harsh, but it was firm, and the question hung between them like a wall.
He leaned forward, ran a hand over his jaw. "I wish I could come now," he said in hushed tones. The words were burdened with the weight he did not expect, as if the more he spoke them out loud, the more they became real. "But things are—"
"You don't have to explain," she interrupted, her voice still controlled. "I know how it is. You have a country to run, deals to make, people to placate."
He opened his mouth, then closed, at a loss for how to respond. "It's not that simple," he said eventually, his voice was gentle.
"Isn't it?" she asked. It was not spite but a calm resignation that bit deeper than fury ever could, in her voice. "You always have a reason, Harvey. And it's always complicated."
"I'm trying," he said, his words slipping out before he could hold them back. "I'm doing the best I can."
"I'm sure you are," she said. Her voice had softened a bit, but the gap between them was as wide as it ever was. "But I'm tired, Harvey. I'm tired of waiting for you to figure out what you want."
"I know what I want," he said, his voice suddenly more solid. "I just don't know how to get there without—"
"Without what?" she pushed.
Without ruining you. Without putting you in more danger. Without breaking everything I've built. Those words were spinning in his mind, but he did not utter them. He ventured the safer way. "Without making it worse."
Her silence on the other end of the line was deafening. At last, she let out a quiet breath. "I'm not asking you to fix everything, Harvey. I just need to know you're not going to leave me in the dark forever."
"I won't," he said quickly, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the tension. "I promise."
"Promises don't mean much these days," she said and this time, there was a trace of vulnerability beneath the surface. It was enough to make his chest ache.
Reclining back and gazing at the ceiling, the fine woodwork appeared to merge into one color as his vision lost clarity, "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense, Donna. The only thing that feels real."
"Then why does it feel like you're so far away?" she asked quietly.
"I'm trying to keep you safe," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her laugh was bitter, but the heat was somewhat artificial. "Safe? You failed that Harvey, I haven't felt safe since the accident. And you can't fix that with phone calls or promises."
"I know," he said, closing his eyes. "But I'm going to try anyway."
There was a long silence before she finally spoke up. "I should go. I need to lie down."
He knew better than to push. "Okay," he said softly. "But, Donna?"
"Yeah?"
"I miss you."
Another pause. Then, her voice came, softer this time, almost fragile. "I know."
The line clicked dead, and Harvey sat there, staring at the phone in his hand, the silence of the room pressing in around him. He set it down carefully, his hand lingering on the device for a moment longer than necessary.
She was still there, still in his life, but the distance between them felt insurmountable. And no matter how much he tried to close it, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing her, piece by piece.
Donna Paulsen looked at the phone long after the call ended staring her thumb hovering over the screen as if it could re-light again. But it didn't. The silence that was around her was overwhelming, so much so that it seemed to be driving her heart to the the wall. Her breath stopped, and she put the phone on the table, her hand shaking as she set it back.
And then the tears came.
She tried to hold them back, tried to bite her lip, swallow the lump in her throat, but it was no use. They spilled over, hot and relentless, sliding down her cheeks as a sob clawed its way out of her chest. She lifted the heel of her hand to the corner of her lip to cover the speech, shaking her head as if she could physically expel the feelings that flushed through her.
That became her whole life, sobbing. She loathed it, loathed the vulnerability it brought, detest the way it left her bare and tired. But it was her only way of dealing with it. Ever since the day of the accident, since the crash, since Ray's life was taken and hers was shattered, crying had become her only faithful associate. She was drowning in it; grief, fear, anger, love. And beneath it all, guilt. It was an ocean ofit, dragging her under each time she sought to breathe.
Her ribs hurt due to the sobs she had emitted, an evil relic of the accident that had stolen so much from her. She grabbed at the couch with her arm, her nailsscratching throughthe fabric as if clamping herself to some terrazzo would strip the world of the spinning in her mind. The outside world through her window wasmothballed by the security cordon Harvey had put in place to protect her.
She felt their presence each time, like they were standing behind her, watching over her every moment. It wasn't because she was not safe. The threat wasn't physical—it was within. The injury, the never-ending replay of the car at the time when it spun out of control, metal squeaking, and the abrupt horror of the impact.
No perfect security was enough to protect her from that.
She wiped her face with trembling fingers, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she tried to pull herself together. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, reminding her of the time. She was supposed to be getting ready for her appointment. Another hospital visit. Another round of questions, check-ups, poking and prodding. Her ribs were still healing, her leg still stiff and swollen from the surgery. The doctors said she was making progress, but it didn't feel like it. Every movement was a struggle, every step a reminder of how far she still had to go.
And also, the therapist was on top of everything. She had been suggested by her doctor to go through therapy, and besides, he also noticed that Donna was apprehensive to do so. Therapy would be beneficial to process the trauma, fear, and guilt that plagued her. However, she had declined. She was not ready yet to sit in a room and spill out her secret feelings to a total stranger, nor did she want to admit how weak she was. especially when her life felt so insecure and so delicate.
She stood slowly, wincing as a sharp pain shot through her side. She pressed a hand against her ribs, steadying herself as she reached for the cane resting by the couch. The cane. God, she hated it. Hated how weak and dependent it made her feel, how it reminded her with every step that she wasn't the same person she'd been before the accident.
And Harvey.
Harvey had a special place in her heart, a kind of wound unique only to him. She cared about him—indeed, it was inevitable. It was the one thing she could always count on, the one thing that hadn't disappeared. But the difficulty, difficulty of matching that love with all that they had been through was beyond the one thought. Ray was dead. She was broken. Harvey was involved in a cluster with a dangerous and distorted vision of reality in which she could hardly connect back to on earth. Was it worth it? Was any of it worth it?
She didn't know.
He was on the line, as he had been every day since the accident. His voice now was calmer, shaded with something she couldn't define—maybe guilt. Or fear. Or love. Yet, she had difficulty even when he talked, of which she would feel the detachment. Not only the distance, there were also the guards, the miles, and the layers of protection that were between them. It was something unearthed, something unsaid but impossible to avoid.
She loved him. But she didn't know if she could survive him.
Donna limped to the bedroom, each step was agonizingly slow and she was very cautious. Her leg hurt with each step, and she tried hard to keep from crying out in pain. The doctors claimed the physiotherapy was effective. Her muscles were getting stronger, and she was moving more easily. Nevertheless, it was not quick enough. The treatment was not such to renew her peace of mind.
She pulled her closet door back to get out some practical clothes—leggings and a loose sweater that wouldn't press against her ribs. Everything in her life had been reduced to practicality now. No more nice dresses, no more high-heels, no more absolutely perfect hair. She did not have the strength for it, she did not see the point of it.
As she dressed, she thought of Harvey. His words on the phone went over and over in her mind. I wish I could come now. He always said such things, always made beliefs that were dangling in the sky just like unfinished thoughts. And she was waiting for him as always, always hoping that this time would be different. But hope was a harsh thing, and she was so exhausted to wait.
When she finally reached the front door, the driver was already waiting for her, the security team crowding the car like shadows. The men didn't ask for her approval as they assisted her in the back seat or even say a word as they sealed the door. The car performed quite well on the streets, but Donna hardly paid attention to how it moved. She looked out the window, staring at the world passing by her at a high speed and a kaleidoscope of colors.
Her mind wondered off, again, and she had no control over them, to the accident. She frowned at the discomfort and tried to push the memories out of her head; however, they appeared anyway. A screeching sound of tires, the blast of headlights, the moment of the impact that was felt as an eternity. And then Ray, who fell forward in the driver's seat, with no motion and breathing. She took a deep breath and, to reduce the tension, put a hand on her chest.
This time, she didn't cry. She was too tired.
At the time the car arrived at the hospital, she would look like she hadn't been through anything, her face would be a sign of peace. She was good at that - pretending she was okay, pretending the tensions didn't exist. But the tensions were increasing, and she wasn't sure if the cracks could hold on for too long.
The physiotherapy room was clean and clinical with walls painted a muted beige and motivational posters tacked up in strategic places. On the padded treatment table, which Donna Paulsen sat on the edge of, stretched her leg out in front of her with the brace around her knee it being stiff and uncomfortable. Dr. Reed knelt beside her, adjusting the straps with practiced ease.
"Okay, Donna," said the restorer with a tranquil and expert bearing, "today we will once more focus on your range of motion. Firstly, you're gonna heal your leg, but we also should mend the muscles around your knee and hip. How's the rib pain been? Any sharp twinges?"
At first, Donna wouldn't commit to anything, then she decided to be insouciant. "It's manageable."
The physiotherapist raised an eyebrow not entirely convinced. "Manageable like you're fine, or manageable like you're gritting your teeth through it?"
Donna gave a faint smile. "A little of both."
"Today, we won't be heavy, but if anything seems out of place don't hesitate to let me know," said Dr. Reed, jotting down something on her clipboard. "You're doing even better than most people at this point, but it's still going to take time."
Time. One word was what Donna hated the most. Time to heal, time to rebuild, time to process everything that had happened and time to get over it. Time was not a healer—it was cold and fury. It continued, the same old stuff again and again, slow, coaxing her into it, perpetuating that staleness.
Dr. Reed stood and made a welcoming sign to Donna to lie back on the table. She supported Donna's leg gently, making small, measured movements to determine the flexibility of the joint. Donna was in pain somehow - a dull ache throbbed in her thigh - but she didn't complain.
"You're holding tension in your hip," Dr. Reed observed, pausing the movement. "Try to relax. I know it's hard, but we'll get further if the muscles aren't fighting back."
Donna shut her eyes, letting out a deep breath gently as she made an attempt to follow the instructions. This was killing her—the fragility, the frequent awareness of the fact that her body was not entirely healed yet. She was so upset by the thought of how the exercises make her feel like a piece of luggage, something that needs repairing. However, the thought of the other side of the coin was even more pestering—she can be stopped in the situation forever.
The door opened all of a sudden and Kiki entered the room, her arrival was as forceful and impolite as always. The young woman was balancing the two coffee cups and her huge purse. In addition, she crammed her phone simply under her armpit.
"I'm here! Sorry I'm late. I had to wrestle a barista for these."
The doctor looked up shortly, her lips curving into a small smile as she diverted her attention to Donna's leg. "It's Okay. We just started."
Donna got up on her elbows, and then, viewing as Kiki pushed herself in the chair that was at the edge of the wall. "You should have stayed home, Kiki," with a flick of her wrist, she said, to cut him off.
"Yes, and you didn't have to crash your car and give me a scare, but look at us now," Kiki said sarcastically, placing one of the cups on the side table. "Plus, Rachel is not here, and I am not prepared to let you suffer on your own. It's bad for my brand."
Donna fixed her eyes on Kiki, exasperatedly but still, a faint smile played across her lips. "I'm good now. And you don't have to babysit me."
"Babysit? Please," Kiki said with a scoff. "I'm here for moral support. And also because I needed an excuse to leave the set early. You're doing me a favor, really."
Dr. Reed pressed lightly against Donna's knee, rotating the joint in a small circle. "You've got a good friend here."
"Oh, the best," Kiki said dramatically, crossing one leg over the other. "I'm basically an angel."
"An angel with habit of arriving late and consuming all my coffee," Donna joked in a strained voice.
"Pardon me. This is my coffee," Kiki insisted, pointing out the inanimate cup. "But if you don't want it, I'll be more than thrilled to take it back. Can't say the same about my sparkling personality, though. You're stuck with that."
Dr. Reed smirked to herself softly and stepped back to reposition her clipboard for jotting down another note. "Alright, Donna. How about trying some active stretches? You'll be the one to move and I'll give you instructions."
Donna nodded, her focus shifting back to the task at hand. She bent her knee slowly, the motion stiff and awkward, her muscles protesting every inch. The ache was sharper now, radiating up her thigh and into her hip, but she gritted her teeth and kept going.
"Good," Dr. Reed said, her voice optimistic. "Don't speed it up. The slower the better."
Donna let her breath out through her nose, her breath was shaky as she reached the end of her stretch. "I feel like I've aged twenty years."
"That's normal," Dr. Reed said. "Your body's been through a lot. It's going to take some time to get back to where you were."
"Time," Donna muttered, her tone laced with frustration. "Everything takes time."
"It's not just about time," Kiki chimed in, her voice lighter but not dismissive. "It's about effort. And you're killing it, babe. I mean, look at you. You're like a warrior princess in leggings."
Donna gave her a look. "Drink your coffee, Kiki."
Kiki raised the cup in a mock toast, her grin cheeky. "Whatever you say, boss."
Dr. Reed suppressed a smile, nodding toward the next exercise. "Okay, Donna, let's try lifting the leg now. Just a few inches off the table, keeping the knee straight. You're building strength in the quad."
Donna squinted her eyes and directed her thoughts to the movement. She found it more difficult than she had anticipated—she had to use all her strength to move her leg off the table and she was breathing very fast. The tension was unbearable, but she managed to control it for a brief moment before placing it back on the table.
"You are doing very well," Dr. Reed remarked as she stretched out her friendly tone. "You did it perfectly. Now let's try a couple more sets."
Donna nodded, though her energy was already waning. She pushed through the next few lifts, each one feeling heavier than the last. By the time she finished, her leg felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and she was fighting the urge to collapse back onto the table.
"You are just great," Kiki said with a forward tilt and a profound look of liking. "Honestly. I would have given up a long time ago. Anyway, here I am. I hardly stick to my skin care routine."
Donna let out a tired laugh, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. "Yeah, well, I don't really have a choice."
"True," Kiki said, her voice softening slightly. "But still. You're stronger than you think, Donna. You always have been."
A moment of silence followed, and Donna tasted a lump rising in her throat. She managed to swallow it but was determined not to let the emotion get the best of her. She vowed silently not to let the emotions dominate. Not in this place. Not at that time
Dr. Reed took a look at the clock and then turned to Donna. "You've done really well today. Make sure that you apply some ice to the knee tonight, and we will continue next time from where we have come now."
Donna nodded, swinging her legs over the side of the table. She was worn out both physically and emotionally but there was a hint of something within the fatigue. A slight, diligent burst of determination.
She wasn't where she wanted to be—not yet. But she was still here. And for now, that was enough.
Kiki took another sip, her grin softening slightly. She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "You know, I was thinking," she said, her voice casual but carrying that familiar edge of mischief, "about someone who should probably be here, too. But he's a little… distracted these days."
Donna's gaze flicked to her briefly, her chest tightening in a way she didn't like. She knew exactly who Kiki meant, but she wasn't going to take the bait. Not here. Not with Dr. Reed in the room, pretending not to listen but likely catching every word.
"Kiki," Donna said warningly, her tone as firm as she could make it.
"What?" Kiki said, raising her hands in mock innocence. "I'm just saying, some people—hypothetically speaking, of course—don't know how to prioritize. But hey, that's none of my business."
Donna exhaled sharply, her patience thinning. "I said, drink your coffee."
Kiki smirked, but she let it drop, taking another sip and settling back into her seat. "Fine, fine. I'll behave. For now."
Dr. Reed glanced between them, her expression amused but professional. "You two make quite the pair."
"Oh, you have no idea," Kiki said with a dramatic sigh. "But don't worry, I'm the fun one."
Donna rolled her eyes, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a flicker of lightness, a break in the heavy cloud that had been hanging over her. Kiki had that effect on people—on her. And for now, it was enough. Just enough to make her feel like she could get through the next stretch, the next appointment, the next day.
The situation did not stop Donna Paulsen from being with the great determination and the power to go straight through. However, in all fairness, it was very much about proceeding.