188. {c} [suits] (harvey/donna) six degrees of separation [prologue/6+epilogue]
six degrees of separation ; r ; 856 words ;
prologue
they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway
a/n: this is for abvj who donated to fandomaid
This is where it begins...
and truth be told, it could have begun a long time ago. It could be sunshine and rainbows and butterflies and compromise and two kids being raised in the city with pretentious elementary schools and school plays and fighting over stupid things that married couples fight over. It could be, it could be so different, so much more.
Instead, it's pre-trial rituals and slightly flirtatious banter that never really goes anywhere or amounts to anything.
She used to think about it a lot; she doesn't think about it as much anymore.
Donna Paulsen is not in love with Harvey Specter.
She'd like to believe that this is a known fact, that everyone knows she doesn't cross that invisible line she's put between her personal and professional relationship with him. She does consider them friends, considers the relationship that they have to be more than boss/secretary, more than friends but less than lovers. They haven't ever been lovers. She's never found herself tangled in his sheets nor has he been wrapped up in hers; he's never been buried so deep inside of her that she can feel the head of his dick along the walls of her uterus, so full of him that all she can do is cry his name out like he's the second coming (and third and fourth and maybe even fifth if he gets that sexy smirk that she thinks means he wants nothing more than to press her against the glass of his office, the one that if he were to try to fuck her senseless then she would let him)
- point is, that is not them.
They are not those people and they do not have that kind of relationship. The relationship that they have is tangible, is loyal and forgiving in the best of times and in the worst of times. And, oh
boy have they seen some dark days.
Harvey and Donna? They are like this. They are a singular cell that have been fused together over the years. They are two colors that contrast one another and compliment the other at the same time, like green and blue or pink and purple. They are a package deal, a pair that is undeniably incomplete without the other.
After all, he can't be him without her.
They are two sides of the same coin, different but the same, but they are not in love.
Their lives are painted with history and sometimes she remembers when they first met and toed that line and she made him the sexless inn keeper again and again.
It was funny at the time. The way he'd take her back to his apartment (before the condo, before the leather couches, before the private elevator, before the breathtaking view of the New York City skyline), put on the beginning of their Star Trek marathon and he'd absently touch her exposed skin. Sometimes even the places where the hem of her dress slipped a little too far up her thigh but neither had the sense to do anything other than utilize the opportunity, his light touch making her wet as his fingers sketched out landscapes that were ultimately engraved in her brain. But they never fucked.
It's important to note that he maybe took her breath away on occasion and that she might have left him speechless, but they never fucked.
They just didn't have the chemistry. Or maybe they had too much chemistry.
She always thinks of the maybe, the or, the could have been -
she remembers what the fucking problem was, is quick to remind herself so that she never forgets. Cameron Dennis stood in the way of their future, his questionable methods beginning to lead Harvey down a dark path that she wouldn't have been able to watch. She wouldn't have stuck around for that, doesn't yet know how to forgive him for that one fight that ripped them apart much worse than her shredding the memo.
Harvey is much more forgiving than she is, she knows this now.
It's her fault they never became anything, that they didn't repair the damage afterwards because he gave up what she wanted him to. It doesn't matter anyway because she doesn't love him. She doesn't love Harvey Specter - it's not that simple; she does not fucking love him.
The thing about Harvey is that he remembers what he wants to remember. He chooses not to think about the time back at the District Attorney's office, knows that Donna was right and he was going to become something that he despises had he not gotten out. He needs her, needs her more than he's ever really needed anyone.
Because of her, he remembered his values, made it through the loss of his father.
Donna is his other half, his missing puzzle piece, and he probably loves her. He probably loves her the way that John Lennon loved Yoko Ono, the way that Anne Boleyn loved King Henry VIII, the way that Romeo loved Juliet. They are not a tragic love story.
They are not a love story at all.
prologue
they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway
a/n: this is for abvj who donated to fandomaid
This is where it begins...
and truth be told, it could have begun a long time ago. It could be sunshine and rainbows and butterflies and compromise and two kids being raised in the city with pretentious elementary schools and school plays and fighting over stupid things that married couples fight over. It could be, it could be so different, so much more.
Instead, it's pre-trial rituals and slightly flirtatious banter that never really goes anywhere or amounts to anything.
She used to think about it a lot; she doesn't think about it as much anymore.
Donna Paulsen is not in love with Harvey Specter.
She'd like to believe that this is a known fact, that everyone knows she doesn't cross that invisible line she's put between her personal and professional relationship with him. She does consider them friends, considers the relationship that they have to be more than boss/secretary, more than friends but less than lovers. They haven't ever been lovers. She's never found herself tangled in his sheets nor has he been wrapped up in hers; he's never been buried so deep inside of her that she can feel the head of his dick along the walls of her uterus, so full of him that all she can do is cry his name out like he's the second coming (and third and fourth and maybe even fifth if he gets that sexy smirk that she thinks means he wants nothing more than to press her against the glass of his office, the one that if he were to try to fuck her senseless then she would let him)
- point is, that is not them.
They are not those people and they do not have that kind of relationship. The relationship that they have is tangible, is loyal and forgiving in the best of times and in the worst of times. And, oh
boy have they seen some dark days.
Harvey and Donna? They are like this. They are a singular cell that have been fused together over the years. They are two colors that contrast one another and compliment the other at the same time, like green and blue or pink and purple. They are a package deal, a pair that is undeniably incomplete without the other.
After all, he can't be him without her.
They are two sides of the same coin, different but the same, but they are not in love.
Their lives are painted with history and sometimes she remembers when they first met and toed that line and she made him the sexless inn keeper again and again.
It was funny at the time. The way he'd take her back to his apartment (before the condo, before the leather couches, before the private elevator, before the breathtaking view of the New York City skyline), put on the beginning of their Star Trek marathon and he'd absently touch her exposed skin. Sometimes even the places where the hem of her dress slipped a little too far up her thigh but neither had the sense to do anything other than utilize the opportunity, his light touch making her wet as his fingers sketched out landscapes that were ultimately engraved in her brain. But they never fucked.
It's important to note that he maybe took her breath away on occasion and that she might have left him speechless, but they never fucked.
They just didn't have the chemistry. Or maybe they had too much chemistry.
She always thinks of the maybe, the or, the could have been -
she remembers what the fucking problem was, is quick to remind herself so that she never forgets. Cameron Dennis stood in the way of their future, his questionable methods beginning to lead Harvey down a dark path that she wouldn't have been able to watch. She wouldn't have stuck around for that, doesn't yet know how to forgive him for that one fight that ripped them apart much worse than her shredding the memo.
Harvey is much more forgiving than she is, she knows this now.
It's her fault they never became anything, that they didn't repair the damage afterwards because he gave up what she wanted him to. It doesn't matter anyway because she doesn't love him. She doesn't love Harvey Specter - it's not that simple; she does not fucking love him.
The thing about Harvey is that he remembers what he wants to remember. He chooses not to think about the time back at the District Attorney's office, knows that Donna was right and he was going to become something that he despises had he not gotten out. He needs her, needs her more than he's ever really needed anyone.
Because of her, he remembered his values, made it through the loss of his father.
Donna is his other half, his missing puzzle piece, and he probably loves her. He probably loves her the way that John Lennon loved Yoko Ono, the way that Anne Boleyn loved King Henry VIII, the way that Romeo loved Juliet. They are not a tragic love story.
They are not a love story at all.