suits fic: you can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing
Title: You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing.
Author: mellaithwen
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 747.
Disclaimer: Title from Under Milkwood by Dylan Thomas.
Written for the Noir!AU Ficathon from the prompt; Suits - Harvey/Donna - I'm standing in the shadows with the words stuck in my throat.
When he sees her, words fail him. Here in the darkness, you see a great array of folk, but nothing as striking as this dame. Her eyes are hidden, even as she darts from under one street-lamp to the next, but he remembers their colour. Her lips are dark and crimson and she’s wearing a hat, tilted to one side, to shield herself from the rain. Her bright fiery hair is curled tight to frame her face, tumbling effortlessly along the curve of her neck. Hell everything about her always was effortless, and watching her now, headed straight for this alleyway, he can’t help remember how good they used to be together.
He makes a note not to comment on the outline of a piece hidden in her purse.
“Good evening, Donna.” He says, having finally gathered up the courage to speak. His words hang between them, like his breath; fogged in the frigid air.
She stops, and turns, searching the darkness for a face she should recognise, even if it has been a long four years spent apart.
“Mr. Specter.” Her words are clipped and serious. She adjusts the fur around her shoulders and stares defiant, until he takes a step out of his hiding place and greets her with a tilt of his own fedora.
“You’re a little far from home, don’t you think?”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
He reaches into his pocket for a smoke, and her match is lighting the cigarette before he’s even had to ask. She tucks the matchbook into his jacket pocket, taps it, and tells him that his old boss is out of control and it’s high-time someone took care of it. He takes a long drag, letting the tobacco rush through his veins, before he tells her, No.
“I’m out of the game, Donna. I was done with all those liars and cheats a long time ago.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“And what’s that?”
“That even as some low-life P.I. you’re still the best damn closer this city has ever seen. And this kind of closure is long overdue. ”
Harvey doesn’t answer. Instead he stares up at the Empire State Building. The tallest damn building in the world, and almost half of it is obscured by the fog rolling in from the bay. He can see a light up there, at the very top, and it’s trying to fight its way through the thick haze, but it’s surrounded. It’s suffocated, until it’s engulfed in darkness once more.
She leans in close, almost at eye-level in those heels of hers. She clutches his shirt in her hands and whispers in his ear; “Besides, sugar, he’s trying to pin it all on you.”
A sudden rush of anger burns through him at the thought of that kind of betrayal. And then like a balm, he feels her kiss on his cheek and he can’t help think of the last time they were together. Tangled in the sheets of some crappy apartment (he can’t remember if it was his or hers), paint peeling off of the walls in the heat of the unbearable summer, her legs on top of his, her body on top of his... And with her hair tousled and the tiniest blush on her cheeks, he lay there watching as a perfect bead of sweat fell along the curve of her spine, until it disappeared beneath his fingertips.
His eyes closed, his hand reaches out….And all of a sudden she’s gone, walking away, minding the cracks on the sidewalk even though her relationship with her mother was terse at best. He grabs the matches, flips open the lid and stares at the letters and numbers she’s written in her dainty scrawl. An address to a locker in Grand Central Station with no doubt enough files and papers to incriminate a saint. And Cameron Dennis was no saint.
“Donna,” he calls, and she turns in time to catch the matchbook in her hands. “I’ll be in touch.”
“You better. Everybody knows I only work for one idiot in this town, Harvey, and it’s high time he stopped wandering the streets like a no-good gumshoe and came back to where he belongs.”
He grins, flips his collar up to shield himself from the rain and heads back into the shadows. She always did know how to push his buttons, and if it was a war Cameron was after, then Harvey Specter was more than happy to oblige.
- fin
( link to original post )
I just get so excited when it comes to Noir, you guys. So, so excited.
Also my birthday cake is being baked ready for tomorrow, so that might have something to do with it also.... ;)
Author: mellaithwen
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 747.
Disclaimer: Title from Under Milkwood by Dylan Thomas.
Written for the Noir!AU Ficathon from the prompt; Suits - Harvey/Donna - I'm standing in the shadows with the words stuck in my throat.
When he sees her, words fail him. Here in the darkness, you see a great array of folk, but nothing as striking as this dame. Her eyes are hidden, even as she darts from under one street-lamp to the next, but he remembers their colour. Her lips are dark and crimson and she’s wearing a hat, tilted to one side, to shield herself from the rain. Her bright fiery hair is curled tight to frame her face, tumbling effortlessly along the curve of her neck. Hell everything about her always was effortless, and watching her now, headed straight for this alleyway, he can’t help remember how good they used to be together.
He makes a note not to comment on the outline of a piece hidden in her purse.
“Good evening, Donna.” He says, having finally gathered up the courage to speak. His words hang between them, like his breath; fogged in the frigid air.
She stops, and turns, searching the darkness for a face she should recognise, even if it has been a long four years spent apart.
“Mr. Specter.” Her words are clipped and serious. She adjusts the fur around her shoulders and stares defiant, until he takes a step out of his hiding place and greets her with a tilt of his own fedora.
“You’re a little far from home, don’t you think?”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
He reaches into his pocket for a smoke, and her match is lighting the cigarette before he’s even had to ask. She tucks the matchbook into his jacket pocket, taps it, and tells him that his old boss is out of control and it’s high-time someone took care of it. He takes a long drag, letting the tobacco rush through his veins, before he tells her, No.
“I’m out of the game, Donna. I was done with all those liars and cheats a long time ago.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“And what’s that?”
“That even as some low-life P.I. you’re still the best damn closer this city has ever seen. And this kind of closure is long overdue. ”
Harvey doesn’t answer. Instead he stares up at the Empire State Building. The tallest damn building in the world, and almost half of it is obscured by the fog rolling in from the bay. He can see a light up there, at the very top, and it’s trying to fight its way through the thick haze, but it’s surrounded. It’s suffocated, until it’s engulfed in darkness once more.
She leans in close, almost at eye-level in those heels of hers. She clutches his shirt in her hands and whispers in his ear; “Besides, sugar, he’s trying to pin it all on you.”
A sudden rush of anger burns through him at the thought of that kind of betrayal. And then like a balm, he feels her kiss on his cheek and he can’t help think of the last time they were together. Tangled in the sheets of some crappy apartment (he can’t remember if it was his or hers), paint peeling off of the walls in the heat of the unbearable summer, her legs on top of his, her body on top of his... And with her hair tousled and the tiniest blush on her cheeks, he lay there watching as a perfect bead of sweat fell along the curve of her spine, until it disappeared beneath his fingertips.
His eyes closed, his hand reaches out….And all of a sudden she’s gone, walking away, minding the cracks on the sidewalk even though her relationship with her mother was terse at best. He grabs the matches, flips open the lid and stares at the letters and numbers she’s written in her dainty scrawl. An address to a locker in Grand Central Station with no doubt enough files and papers to incriminate a saint. And Cameron Dennis was no saint.
“Donna,” he calls, and she turns in time to catch the matchbook in her hands. “I’ll be in touch.”
“You better. Everybody knows I only work for one idiot in this town, Harvey, and it’s high time he stopped wandering the streets like a no-good gumshoe and came back to where he belongs.”
He grins, flips his collar up to shield himself from the rain and heads back into the shadows. She always did know how to push his buttons, and if it was a war Cameron was after, then Harvey Specter was more than happy to oblige.
- fin
( link to original post )
I just get so excited when it comes to Noir, you guys. So, so excited.
Also my birthday cake is being baked ready for tomorrow, so that might have something to do with it also.... ;)