189. {c} [suits] (harvey/donna) six degrees of separation [1/prologue+6+epilogue]
six degrees of separation ; r ; 2,742 words ;
first, you think the worst is a broken heart
they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway
a/n: this is for abvj who donated to fandomaid
Donna perches the stem of her champagne glass between her thumb and forefinger, the liquid chilled and the bubbles bouncing from the bottom of the contents only to pop at the top. The alcohol smells expensive, tastes expensive (is expensive), and slides over the sides of the glass as she turns ever so slightly like she's working the room; she's only taken a sip, feeling like she isn't really classy enough for the expensive bottle. She still isn't used to it yet.
Her eyes absently search the crowd for Ted.
Edward Theodore Humphrey is the future mayor of New York City, or at least he aims to be - he has class, poise, money, plus he's related to the Kennedy's. She isn't naive, by any means. She doesn't have the idea of forever, the misconception of happily ever after, but she thinks that if it were to work then what's wrong with being with a man who has power while working with a man who has power. She'd be the most powerful woman in the city.
But it isn't about power, not really. She wants love just as much as the next guy (or girl), but she doesn't want to make the same mistakes that she once had. She wants to be with someone who will respect her, who will understand that she is who she is, will get that she is loyal to her boss, her friend and has no intentions on severing their ties. She has a lot of wants and desires that she can't budge on, needs that she can't live without, but she's in no hurry.
She's never really planned on kids but they aren't necessarily unwanted. She just prefers not to make decisions like this all by herself when it isn't just for her, when her life isn't the only one that will be changed. Besides, she isn't all that interested in being responsible for someone else - she already has a child, a grown man pushing 40 who throws punches and has a reputation that proceeds him but she's still insanely responsible for him.
The crowd is small but the room is quite large and offers lots of room for sound waves to carry throughout, bounce off of the walls in a way that makes the voices surrounding her intermingle and sound like chatter.
And then she lifts her gaze from their fixed position on the bubbles in her glass, Ted's voice suddenly not the most familiar one in the room. She is not surprised that when she finds Harvey amidst the small swarm of people that his gaze is already pressed against her, a cold chill creeping its way into her spine as she reminds herself to breathe. She is, however, most ardently surprised that he is here at all, dressed in a perfectly poised tuxedo and a half cocked grin like he'd almost expected to see her.
She swallows, purse clutched tightly in her right hand and champagne flute still gracefully placed in her left. In order to maintain composure in his presence, she has to never become overpowered by the element of surprise because even though she does not love Harvey Specter, it does not mean that she is immune to their bond or elegantly aware of all of the ways they are tied to one another. She is not in love with Harvey Specter, she is not in love with Harvey Specter -
she is simply consumed by Harvey Specter.
She flashes him her teeth, pearly whites a sparkle that her dress is missing even though she is less than dressed for the occasion but quite possibly demanding the attention of everyone eager to give it. The play isn't as elegant as the ballet but this is New York and any event worth making an appearance is an event worth dressing up. Her dress is shorter than it should be, especially as a politician's date, but damn it all to hell if she doesn't have the legs to show off.
Harvey's eyes give her a once over as he crosses the room to accompany her in the corner, and surely Ted will notice. Surely she will not get but a moment alone with her boss, her confidant, her friend, her almost could have been but never once was - surely she will not be surrounded with his all-consuming scent. Surely not.
Donna has not prepared herself for this, didn't have the forethought that she could run into Harvey while she's out with Ted. She thought, of all places, Broadway was safe from the great Harvey Specter. Or perhaps the problem is that she never really thought at all.
Maybe, just maybe, if she had taken the time out to consider that Harvey would be willing to do things that he doesn't want to do just because it's what someone else wanted (and, no, she typically doesn't count the things that he'd do for her whether he wanted to or not because she usually just did those things on her own volition, without question or concern of what he wants). Or maybe it's that she's consciously reminding herself not to think about him and their past or their future and just trying her damnedest to envision a future with Ted or some other nameless, faceless man. The possibilities are endless.
She inwardly groans because New York is a big city and of all of the nights that she could run into him, it's at one of her favorite plays with one of the most prestigious men that she's ever dated while she's wearing one of the shortest dresses she owns like she's asking for it
(and, if she were 100 percent honest, she was most certainly asking for it when she picked this dress out among her gem of a collection).
Point is, she is not prepared.
Even more than that, more than what Ted might think of her boss, of Harvey, she is concerned about what Harvey might think of Ted. Harvey does not leave people much room for error, does not go easy on them no matter who they are, does not give people much of a chance unless it's for the firm. (She is almost certain that Harvey will not go easier on Ted for Donna but be tougher for Donna.) Harvey merely gives people the rope and allows them to hang themselves.
"Surely Harvey Specter is not here on his own volition," she teases in a way of greeting.
He tilts his head not amused despite the smirk gracing his lips because, really, even when he is simply not amused by the situation he is still thoroughly amused by Donna Paulsen; "shocker running into you here."
"I didn't take you as a Wicked fan," she counters.
He quirks an eyebrow, lips pursing and rolling in that comfortable manner that passes between them, "consider this my good deed for the year."
His fingers tighten on his glass stem, knuckles turning white as he attempts to keep his hands to himself. Their relationship is confusing - so many almosts, so determined not to touch one another, so close with their hovering fingertips, the air thick between them and the ghost of the other's touch sticking into the forefronts of their minds and all they can do is think about it, wonder what it means. His eyes drink her in, memorizing her curves in a way that he does not typically get to, gaze lingering in a manner that makes her painfully aware of the thickness in the space between them.
She smiles, sheepish and bold at the same time, "don't sell yourself short, Harvey."
"How do you get away with wearing a dress like that? You look like you're asking for it," he teases.
"I am asking for it," she counters with a smirk; he visibly reacts to her admission, hard on the am, loose on the who and he swallows hard.
Their conversations do not exist in what they say, but the real truth is embodied in the way their bodies react, their eyes, their facial expressions, but the really interesting part lies within that which is not clear to anyone other than them; but, she is not in love with Harvey Specter.
Forty-five minutes into the play and he still doesn't know any of the characters' names. Zoe seems fully entranced by the show before her to his right. Donna (and Ted, he reminds himself) are seated in the same row somehow about 12 chairs to his left, and he thinks he's far more familiar with the length of her dress, the paleness of her thighs and tone of her muscles, and exactly where her (and Ted's) hands have been throughout the entirety of the show than he is with the play itself. He has not yet learned how to be apologetic for who he is (and neither is his constant because she doesn't dare apologize for who she is either) and he happens to be a man who notices details, constantly aware of his surroundings.
He does not offer Zoe his hand, does not attempt to make the distraction of Donna's presence a secret, does not pretend that the sharp inhale of his breath is attributed to the green faced witch rather than the way the hem of Donna's dress slips further up her thigh to reveal more skin when she shifts in her seat. He does not pretend and Zoe does not notice. Zoe does not know, she doesn't know that his eyes have been transfixed on Donna's legs for approximately 52 minutes and that all he can think about is what he may feel like between her thighs. He most certainly will not be shouting it from the rooftops.
His breath hitches in his throat when Donna slides a little further down in her seat, her dress so close to showing too much and he can't help the way his body tilts towards hers in his seat. It is a movement that no one will notice, one that is simple yet telling at the same time, a motion that has been repeated over and over again over the years without much meaning. His tongue presses over his lip, his mouth going dry and his throat feeling hoarse as she shifts her gaze to him; even in the distance he can see her mouth, the way it forms a thin line while her eyes still sparkle.
Harvey offers her a wink in a quick attempt to recover and her lips present him with a smirk, a familiar response that warms his soul maybe just a little bit too much -
he doesn't ask questions that he's afraid to hear the answer to.
Donna's gaze is hot on his but he's stuck to revel in the afterglow when she returns it to the show. The lingering of her gaze makes him squeeze his leg close to his knee, the eye contact between them almost enough to speak volumes that no one else can hear. He misses the comfort of her gaze, the reassurance in her eyes as though she could never doubt him for even a split second. He doesn't want it to be like this, gazing longingly at his assistant while he's out with Zoe and finally giving it a chance.
He always used to think as much as it was a maybe, as her presence and his desire for her is a maybe, that it could possibly be a maybe not as well. Donna is not a woman whom he is in love with. Donna is not a woman whom he is in love with. Donna is not a woman whom he is in love with. He is not in love with Donna.
Harvey Specter doesn't even believe in love.
The things that he believes in are substantial; these things, they merit a certain kind of value that is beyond feelings and surpass humanity. He believes in things that can be done rather than things that cannot be seen, believes in everything and nothing at the same time. But the truth is that he probably loves Donna Paulsen, he's just too arrogant (as Zoe would say) to see.
He exhales and slowly forces his eyes to the boisterous noises from center stage, Zoe's fingers absently sweeping over the back of his hand resting somewhere near his knee; he doesn't think he can be here much longer, in this room with Donna so close and so far away and Zoe to his right like they are something that cannot be replaced when in all reality it is Zoe that could never replace Donna.
He reminds himself that it doesn't matter, that she's with Ted now, that he's with Zoe, and they will never see each other in that light anyway. He's almost sure that three quarters of his thoughts are being driven by that dress, by the expanse of her skin, the echo of her smooth voice repeating over and over I am asking for it. He swallows, the gulp audible and distracting even to his ears; his hand flinches beneath Zoe's touch.
[ o n e ]
He gets up right now and walks out without uttering a single word.
[ t w o ]
He says something, something that shouldn't be said, something that can tear everything they've built over the years down.
[ t h r e e ]
He does nothing.
The story does not end here, it simply pauses, it hangs in the air for moments upon moments until he can look at Zoe and offer her a smile as though nothing is wrong - like his dick isn't throbbing in his pants, like Donna's thighs aren't at the forefronts of his mind. No, the story simply offers him the chance to breathe, the lull existing only in his mind as the world around him continues to move. Zoe is merely a placated statue before him and Donna is a monument, standing out and tall and demanding the attention of every eye in the room. And Donna's architectural structure gets it, gets every eye on her the moment she walks into a room - every guy wants her and every girl wants to be her.
Harvey may not be able to give her anything else but he does give her that much.
Harvey's eyes are hot on her flesh, the quiet creep of burning making its presence known as it graces her quite bare neck and shoulders. If the room were not dark, she'd have some explaining to do. She knows when his eyes are on her, when they are inviting and hungry and determined. She knows -
she knows the way his mouth curls when he is so incredibly turned on. He is not much of a man who stares, who lusts, who can't stop thinking about a woman until he has her. He is not that kind of man, but he is the kind of man who sees what he wants and gets it.
There is not much about Harvey that Donna does not know, that she cannot anticipate, but this entire evening has left her flustered beyond belief. So much so that she can't even focus on her favorite Broadway show. She was prepared for anything, but she was not prepared for this.
She was not prepared for him to be looking at her from across the room, for his eyes to devour her and her mind to imagine a torrid love affair with her boss. She did not want to get to this place, to this moment that all she can think of is his hands on her skin, fingers slipping into crevices that barely exist as he feels her out and attempts to memorize her skin, his body pressed against her skin and his mouth hot on hers. These are not things that she wants to be thinking.
She shifts beneath his gaze, the warrior slant in Harvey's eyes making her unable to breathe.
Ted's fingers touch hers, "you okay?"
"I'm fine," she reassures, immediate and combative.
Sometimes she forgets that not everyone is as thick skinned as Harvey. Her eyes flit in her boss' direction again. It's the first time his eyes haven't been on her in nearly an hour. She breathes a little easier and returns her gaze to the performance. Harvey Specter is a lot of things but subtle is not one of them.
first, you think the worst is a broken heart
they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway
a/n: this is for abvj who donated to fandomaid
Donna perches the stem of her champagne glass between her thumb and forefinger, the liquid chilled and the bubbles bouncing from the bottom of the contents only to pop at the top. The alcohol smells expensive, tastes expensive (is expensive), and slides over the sides of the glass as she turns ever so slightly like she's working the room; she's only taken a sip, feeling like she isn't really classy enough for the expensive bottle. She still isn't used to it yet.
Her eyes absently search the crowd for Ted.
Edward Theodore Humphrey is the future mayor of New York City, or at least he aims to be - he has class, poise, money, plus he's related to the Kennedy's. She isn't naive, by any means. She doesn't have the idea of forever, the misconception of happily ever after, but she thinks that if it were to work then what's wrong with being with a man who has power while working with a man who has power. She'd be the most powerful woman in the city.
But it isn't about power, not really. She wants love just as much as the next guy (or girl), but she doesn't want to make the same mistakes that she once had. She wants to be with someone who will respect her, who will understand that she is who she is, will get that she is loyal to her boss, her friend and has no intentions on severing their ties. She has a lot of wants and desires that she can't budge on, needs that she can't live without, but she's in no hurry.
She's never really planned on kids but they aren't necessarily unwanted. She just prefers not to make decisions like this all by herself when it isn't just for her, when her life isn't the only one that will be changed. Besides, she isn't all that interested in being responsible for someone else - she already has a child, a grown man pushing 40 who throws punches and has a reputation that proceeds him but she's still insanely responsible for him.
The crowd is small but the room is quite large and offers lots of room for sound waves to carry throughout, bounce off of the walls in a way that makes the voices surrounding her intermingle and sound like chatter.
And then she lifts her gaze from their fixed position on the bubbles in her glass, Ted's voice suddenly not the most familiar one in the room. She is not surprised that when she finds Harvey amidst the small swarm of people that his gaze is already pressed against her, a cold chill creeping its way into her spine as she reminds herself to breathe. She is, however, most ardently surprised that he is here at all, dressed in a perfectly poised tuxedo and a half cocked grin like he'd almost expected to see her.
She swallows, purse clutched tightly in her right hand and champagne flute still gracefully placed in her left. In order to maintain composure in his presence, she has to never become overpowered by the element of surprise because even though she does not love Harvey Specter, it does not mean that she is immune to their bond or elegantly aware of all of the ways they are tied to one another. She is not in love with Harvey Specter, she is not in love with Harvey Specter -
she is simply consumed by Harvey Specter.
She flashes him her teeth, pearly whites a sparkle that her dress is missing even though she is less than dressed for the occasion but quite possibly demanding the attention of everyone eager to give it. The play isn't as elegant as the ballet but this is New York and any event worth making an appearance is an event worth dressing up. Her dress is shorter than it should be, especially as a politician's date, but damn it all to hell if she doesn't have the legs to show off.
Harvey's eyes give her a once over as he crosses the room to accompany her in the corner, and surely Ted will notice. Surely she will not get but a moment alone with her boss, her confidant, her friend, her almost could have been but never once was - surely she will not be surrounded with his all-consuming scent. Surely not.
Donna has not prepared herself for this, didn't have the forethought that she could run into Harvey while she's out with Ted. She thought, of all places, Broadway was safe from the great Harvey Specter. Or perhaps the problem is that she never really thought at all.
Maybe, just maybe, if she had taken the time out to consider that Harvey would be willing to do things that he doesn't want to do just because it's what someone else wanted (and, no, she typically doesn't count the things that he'd do for her whether he wanted to or not because she usually just did those things on her own volition, without question or concern of what he wants). Or maybe it's that she's consciously reminding herself not to think about him and their past or their future and just trying her damnedest to envision a future with Ted or some other nameless, faceless man. The possibilities are endless.
She inwardly groans because New York is a big city and of all of the nights that she could run into him, it's at one of her favorite plays with one of the most prestigious men that she's ever dated while she's wearing one of the shortest dresses she owns like she's asking for it
(and, if she were 100 percent honest, she was most certainly asking for it when she picked this dress out among her gem of a collection).
Point is, she is not prepared.
Even more than that, more than what Ted might think of her boss, of Harvey, she is concerned about what Harvey might think of Ted. Harvey does not leave people much room for error, does not go easy on them no matter who they are, does not give people much of a chance unless it's for the firm. (She is almost certain that Harvey will not go easier on Ted for Donna but be tougher for Donna.) Harvey merely gives people the rope and allows them to hang themselves.
"Surely Harvey Specter is not here on his own volition," she teases in a way of greeting.
He tilts his head not amused despite the smirk gracing his lips because, really, even when he is simply not amused by the situation he is still thoroughly amused by Donna Paulsen; "shocker running into you here."
"I didn't take you as a Wicked fan," she counters.
He quirks an eyebrow, lips pursing and rolling in that comfortable manner that passes between them, "consider this my good deed for the year."
His fingers tighten on his glass stem, knuckles turning white as he attempts to keep his hands to himself. Their relationship is confusing - so many almosts, so determined not to touch one another, so close with their hovering fingertips, the air thick between them and the ghost of the other's touch sticking into the forefronts of their minds and all they can do is think about it, wonder what it means. His eyes drink her in, memorizing her curves in a way that he does not typically get to, gaze lingering in a manner that makes her painfully aware of the thickness in the space between them.
She smiles, sheepish and bold at the same time, "don't sell yourself short, Harvey."
"How do you get away with wearing a dress like that? You look like you're asking for it," he teases.
"I am asking for it," she counters with a smirk; he visibly reacts to her admission, hard on the am, loose on the who and he swallows hard.
Their conversations do not exist in what they say, but the real truth is embodied in the way their bodies react, their eyes, their facial expressions, but the really interesting part lies within that which is not clear to anyone other than them; but, she is not in love with Harvey Specter.
Forty-five minutes into the play and he still doesn't know any of the characters' names. Zoe seems fully entranced by the show before her to his right. Donna (and Ted, he reminds himself) are seated in the same row somehow about 12 chairs to his left, and he thinks he's far more familiar with the length of her dress, the paleness of her thighs and tone of her muscles, and exactly where her (and Ted's) hands have been throughout the entirety of the show than he is with the play itself. He has not yet learned how to be apologetic for who he is (and neither is his constant because she doesn't dare apologize for who she is either) and he happens to be a man who notices details, constantly aware of his surroundings.
He does not offer Zoe his hand, does not attempt to make the distraction of Donna's presence a secret, does not pretend that the sharp inhale of his breath is attributed to the green faced witch rather than the way the hem of Donna's dress slips further up her thigh to reveal more skin when she shifts in her seat. He does not pretend and Zoe does not notice. Zoe does not know, she doesn't know that his eyes have been transfixed on Donna's legs for approximately 52 minutes and that all he can think about is what he may feel like between her thighs. He most certainly will not be shouting it from the rooftops.
His breath hitches in his throat when Donna slides a little further down in her seat, her dress so close to showing too much and he can't help the way his body tilts towards hers in his seat. It is a movement that no one will notice, one that is simple yet telling at the same time, a motion that has been repeated over and over again over the years without much meaning. His tongue presses over his lip, his mouth going dry and his throat feeling hoarse as she shifts her gaze to him; even in the distance he can see her mouth, the way it forms a thin line while her eyes still sparkle.
Harvey offers her a wink in a quick attempt to recover and her lips present him with a smirk, a familiar response that warms his soul maybe just a little bit too much -
he doesn't ask questions that he's afraid to hear the answer to.
Donna's gaze is hot on his but he's stuck to revel in the afterglow when she returns it to the show. The lingering of her gaze makes him squeeze his leg close to his knee, the eye contact between them almost enough to speak volumes that no one else can hear. He misses the comfort of her gaze, the reassurance in her eyes as though she could never doubt him for even a split second. He doesn't want it to be like this, gazing longingly at his assistant while he's out with Zoe and finally giving it a chance.
He always used to think as much as it was a maybe, as her presence and his desire for her is a maybe, that it could possibly be a maybe not as well. Donna is not a woman whom he is in love with. Donna is not a woman whom he is in love with. Donna is not a woman whom he is in love with. He is not in love with Donna.
Harvey Specter doesn't even believe in love.
The things that he believes in are substantial; these things, they merit a certain kind of value that is beyond feelings and surpass humanity. He believes in things that can be done rather than things that cannot be seen, believes in everything and nothing at the same time. But the truth is that he probably loves Donna Paulsen, he's just too arrogant (as Zoe would say) to see.
He exhales and slowly forces his eyes to the boisterous noises from center stage, Zoe's fingers absently sweeping over the back of his hand resting somewhere near his knee; he doesn't think he can be here much longer, in this room with Donna so close and so far away and Zoe to his right like they are something that cannot be replaced when in all reality it is Zoe that could never replace Donna.
He reminds himself that it doesn't matter, that she's with Ted now, that he's with Zoe, and they will never see each other in that light anyway. He's almost sure that three quarters of his thoughts are being driven by that dress, by the expanse of her skin, the echo of her smooth voice repeating over and over I am asking for it. He swallows, the gulp audible and distracting even to his ears; his hand flinches beneath Zoe's touch.
[ o n e ]
He gets up right now and walks out without uttering a single word.
[ t w o ]
He says something, something that shouldn't be said, something that can tear everything they've built over the years down.
[ t h r e e ]
He does nothing.
The story does not end here, it simply pauses, it hangs in the air for moments upon moments until he can look at Zoe and offer her a smile as though nothing is wrong - like his dick isn't throbbing in his pants, like Donna's thighs aren't at the forefronts of his mind. No, the story simply offers him the chance to breathe, the lull existing only in his mind as the world around him continues to move. Zoe is merely a placated statue before him and Donna is a monument, standing out and tall and demanding the attention of every eye in the room. And Donna's architectural structure gets it, gets every eye on her the moment she walks into a room - every guy wants her and every girl wants to be her.
Harvey may not be able to give her anything else but he does give her that much.
Harvey's eyes are hot on her flesh, the quiet creep of burning making its presence known as it graces her quite bare neck and shoulders. If the room were not dark, she'd have some explaining to do. She knows when his eyes are on her, when they are inviting and hungry and determined. She knows -
she knows the way his mouth curls when he is so incredibly turned on. He is not much of a man who stares, who lusts, who can't stop thinking about a woman until he has her. He is not that kind of man, but he is the kind of man who sees what he wants and gets it.
There is not much about Harvey that Donna does not know, that she cannot anticipate, but this entire evening has left her flustered beyond belief. So much so that she can't even focus on her favorite Broadway show. She was prepared for anything, but she was not prepared for this.
She was not prepared for him to be looking at her from across the room, for his eyes to devour her and her mind to imagine a torrid love affair with her boss. She did not want to get to this place, to this moment that all she can think of is his hands on her skin, fingers slipping into crevices that barely exist as he feels her out and attempts to memorize her skin, his body pressed against her skin and his mouth hot on hers. These are not things that she wants to be thinking.
She shifts beneath his gaze, the warrior slant in Harvey's eyes making her unable to breathe.
Ted's fingers touch hers, "you okay?"
"I'm fine," she reassures, immediate and combative.
Sometimes she forgets that not everyone is as thick skinned as Harvey. Her eyes flit in her boss' direction again. It's the first time his eyes haven't been on her in nearly an hour. She breathes a little easier and returns her gaze to the performance. Harvey Specter is a lot of things but subtle is not one of them.