relativity (4/10)
Title: Relativity
Author: snowflake912
Pairing: Harvey/Donna
Rating: T
Part: 4/10
Words: 4,427
Summary: Time, she thinks, needs to be redefined. She rearranges the pieces of their history, and at least ten combinations make sense. This one doesn't.
Disclaimer: I still don't own them or anything really.
Note: This took a little longer than I thought it would. Thank you to all the lovely commenters. Your kind words are inspiring! They give me just the right kick when I need to get back on the writing bandwagon! I hope you enjoy this.
4. I And Love And You
“Another love has come and gone, and the years keep rushing on
I remember what you told me before you went out on your own,
‘Sometimes to keep it together, we got to leave it alone’
So you can get on with your search, baby, and I can get on with mine.”
(Wasted Time - Eagles)
December 2012 -
She stops thinking about him.
It happens gradually, sometime between orange autumn leaves and pellets of icy hail. Memories start bleeding into nothingness, washing away with the rain, and Scottie sweeps in to play the hero to his happy ending. Granted, most days he looks anything but happy. The years have attuned her to the nuances of his expressions, and this winter’s smiles glow with falseness and élan. He entertains the newcomers with vintage scotch and fabricated smiles, and October brings a lot of firsts to their expanding universe. He turns off the intercom. She works around the storm brewing behind his glass walls. He asks Scottie to stay, and Donna says nothing. When he and Scottie take on their first big trial, he doesn’t ask for the can opener.
Before the firsts, they talked about it once. She took measured steps into his office and found herself defending Scottie and Zoe, telling him to listen to his heart of all things. Their words rang with frustration and the unspoken, and it felt too much like their talk about the other time. He was just as aggravated, and she left it feeling just as hollow, his question burning in her mind like an accusation.
Is this about you?
She denies it to him and to herself, and everything helps her not think about him.
November brings Tom Walker, heartbroken and looking every bit like a young Alain Delon, from Portland to her Bikram yoga studio in Manhattan. It takes her a week to fall in bed with him, after she’s sure he’s emotionally unavailable and has nothing to do with the law. She can’t help but think of a catch-22, but the sex is good enough to not make it matter. It becomes a ritual of sorts. On odd nights during the blurry weeks, they smile at each other guardedly and drink cocktails in crowded bars then end up tangled in her bed sheets. He leaves before she asks him to, and she likes the arrangement a bit too much.
December comes with Christmas lights splashing more colors across the city. The cheer is lost on her, but her newfound liberty makes her feel alive - or numb. She’s not sure, but she doesn’t dwell on it. She lets Rachel plan a magnificent night out and wears her favorite green halter dress.
The New York cab drops them off on a cold sidewalk in the Meatpacking District. Rachel takes her arm and walks her in the direction of the Standard Hotel, chattering incessantly about Mike, their fledgling romance and his road back to Harvey’s good graces. Donna doesn’t acknowledge the feeling of dread creeping into her gut until they stride past the hotel’s yellow revolving doors and step into an elevator bound for the eighteenth floor.
She takes in a steady breath and stands straighter in her nude peep-toe Louboutins. “The last time I was here…”
“Celebrating Hardman’s downfall, I know,” Rachel cuts her off cheerfully and lightly taps her phone into her open palm.
Donna frowns at the nervousness behind the gesture. Rachel’s casual avoidance of looking her in the eye tells Donna there’s something she won’t like. Her phone vibrates, a text from Tom momentarily distracting her.
Tom W: Plans tonight?
She locks the phone and returns to the elevator. “You’re seriously taking me to Boom Boom Room on a Thursday night?” she presses.
The younger woman laughs airily. “Wow, Donna, you should go out more. It’s called Top of the Standard now, and it’s very in,” she promises as they step out of the elevator and are greeted by a blonde twenty-something who starts blabbering incessantly to Miss Zane.
Their coats are whisked away amidst an exchange of pleasantries, and eventually they’re escorted to a small table right across from the bright bar. A live band fills the sophisticated ambience with jazz music. Floor to ceiling windows offer an unrestricted, three-sixty view of Manhattan, offset by golden pillars and giant chandeliers.
“This place has changed,” Donna remarks as the waiter leaves with their orders.
“Sunset is the best time to come here. Breathtaking view, a little too romantic for the two of us,” Rachel jokes.
Donna laughs and drinks in the opulence of the place. Although completely revamped, the corners still ring with unsettling familiarity and things she no longer thinks about. On a whim, she retrieves her phone and quickly replies to Tom’s message.
Donna: Top of the Standard with friend from work. You?
It takes him less than a minute to reply. Uncomplicated, Donna muses with a small self-deprecating grin.
Tom W: Heading out for drinks with a friend. Wanna end up at the same place? ;)
Across the table, Rachel eyes her curiously. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing important,” she brushes the question off and decides that sex with Tom is not the worst thing that could happen tonight.
Donna: Should be fun.
“So, this place,” Rachel begins, leaning across the table conspiratorially. “You and Harvey, five years ago, what happened here?”
Donna sits back, her phone forgotten. She masks her surprise behind a thoughtful frown even as her heart threatens to shatter her ribs and beat straight out of her chest. “Is that why you brought me here?” Her tone is accusatory and Rachel shrugs sheepishly. “Nothing happened,” she lies. She tells herself it’s not a complete lie and tries not to resent Rachel for aggravating forgotten wounds.
Rachel raises both eyebrows and smiles kindly at the waiter who arrives with their drinks. Donna takes immediately to her cosmopolitan.
“Really Donna, I was there,” she says and sips her gin and tonic.
“So?” With half of the cosmopolitan already in her system, her nonchalance seems contrived at best.
“You lied to me before about having never.” Rachel holds up her fingers in air quotes and tilts an uneven smile at Donna. “That night, Hardman’s going away party, you both disappeared and then you came running back, took your purse and left without a word to anyone,” she pauses and thoughtfully considers her for a second. “It was dark, but you looked like you were crying.”
Donna rolls her eyes dismissively. “You might be reading too much into it.”
“Harvey came after you and asked if I’d seen you.”
An image of him as he was that night taunts her. His cheeks are flushed with desire, his eyes burning, his touch robbing her sanity. “He probably wanted to chat,” she suggests and makes herself believe it because the ruse of denial is remarkably easier than the truth.
“Your lipstick was on his mouth, and everyone saw you dancing before you disappeared,” Rachel states matter-of-factly.
Donna gives her a dirty look. “How’d you know it was my lipstick? It’s not like Harvey is ever lacking for female company.” It’s not like she cares about that either. It’s amazing how little she cares about everything lately. Most days she feels like a casual bystander, watching her own life transpire.
“Donna,” Rachel says at last, and her voice is chiding.
“Okay fine. It was my lipstick,” she confesses and downs another long sip of her drink. She’s so over this. She can talk about it if she wants to. She just doesn’t want to.
“That’s it? No explanations?” Rachel prods, eyes glittering curiously, her own drink set aside in favor of this fruitless hunt.
Donna finishes her drink and uses the snowy white napkin to dab at her lips. It comes back with a light sheen of bright red lipstick. “I wasn’t aware I owed you an explanation.” The words are harsher than she intends for them to be.
Rachel looks appropriately miffed as she retreats to her side of the table and goes back to carefully sipping from her sweating glass. “You don’t. I’m sorry,” she apologizes.
Donna sighs as the guilt sets in. “Don’t be. I’m sorry for being a jerk. It’s a sensitive subject,” she offers a humble smile. Signaling for the waiter, she prepares to delve into the forgotten. “My lipstick was on his mouth?” she asks with a rueful smile. “Scotch, neat,” she quickly tells the waiter.
Rachel’s smile turns wicked, and her coffee brown eyes sparkle with intimation. “All over his mouth actually.” She gestures to her own mouth. “I handed him a napkin and awkwardly pointed at his mouth and said ‘lipstick’. He hasn’t looked at me the same since.”
The notion makes Donna giggle. There was hardly anything funny about that entire day, but in retrospect it’s easier to find humor in the entire mess. “God, that’s awful,” she mutters and gratefully takes her drink from the waiter.
“He kind of smiled self-consciously and went to the restroom. When he came back - sans lipstick - he took his jacket, talked to Jessica for all of one minute and fled the scene.” Rachel stabs the wedge of lime in her drink with the stirrer. “He came to see you, didn’t he?” When she looks up, her questioning gaze catches Donna’s gaze full on.
“Yes,” she answers honestly.
Rachel lets out a breath of laughter as if she’s known all along. “You’re going to make me ask?” she teases.
Donna shakes her head and relishes the smoky tang of whiskey on her tongue. “Nothing happened.” It’s less of a lie in this context. When Harvey came knocking on her door that night, Ryan Drake was already in her living room. There’d been foolish anger, misplaced jealousy and jarring loss - nothing worth sharing.
“By nothing you mean you didn’t sleep with him.”
She thinks that maybe talking about it is testament to how okay she is with it. “Not that night,” she replies carefully, contemplating how the words feel on her lips. It’s strange to admit it to someone who knows them both. She talks about it - him - in riddles to her best friend from college on their rare weekend getaways. On holidays when she goes home, her mother alludes to it in hypotheticals, and she answers in cryptic analogies.
Rachel’s audible gasp of shock exacerbates the surrealism. “You mean you and Harvey actually had S-E-X?” she sputters, mouthing the last word noiselessly.
“What are you, twelve?” she scowls. “Yes we had sex, once.” Technically it was more than once, but Donna doesn’t think about that anymore either. She doesn’t remember what he looked like in her shower or on her couch. She especially doesn’t remember what he looked like in her bed.
“Damn,” Rachel hisses under her breath. “Damn,” she repeats and avidly searches Donna’s cautiously cloaked face. “That’s fucked up, Donna.”
“You have no idea,” Donna murmurs in response. Rachel fidgets in her seat like she can’t quite contain this new slew of facts and is struggling with what it all means. Five years later, Donna can hardly wrap her mind around it. “You absolutely cannot tell Mike,” she issues the warning sternly.
“Of course,” Rachel replies a little too quickly and looks pained at the prospect of having to keep this to herself. “So you just pretended it never happened? Was it that bad? Well I don’t think there’s a world where sex with Harvey could be bad,” she rambles.
“Rachel,” Donna interrupts her and hates how easy it is to reopen that door and let all the memories rush in. It was actually that good. For a long time, Harvey wasn’t pretending. He was dogged in his pursuit, persistent and charming and irresistible. He was also broken. “I pretended it never happened. I kept on pretending until he came around and started sleeping with Scottie again,” she sums it up in fourteen simple words, and it feels like they keep coming full circle.
Rachel purses her lips like she finds the conclusion distasteful. “Why did you do it?” she wonders.
Donna gives her an incredulous look. Do you really have to ask?
Rachel laughs. “That’s not what I meant, Donna. I know why you did it. Why the pretending?”
“I had no other choice. I had to save our more permanent relationship. We need each other in a very different way, and being together in that way broke us for a long time.”
“Maybe it broke you because you pretended it never happened.”
Donna used to torture herself by playing out the different scenarios to their logical conclusions. She used to think about it incessantly, but she doesn’t let herself do it now. “He wasn’t ready to be with me,” she says simply.
“Is he ready now?”
Her immediate answer is no, but her stabbing self-awareness accuses her of not being ready. She thinks of Tom pulling on his discarded clothes and kissing her goodbye. She thinks she’s somehow become attached to the transiency of life’s snippets and terrified of its permanencies. She tries to find a way to put this in words, and she can almost grapple with it until Harvey strolls into the bar with Scottie, Jessica and Louis. Her words get stuck in her throat as Rachel’s gaze snaps to the quad and registers guilt.
Donna swallows the scotch in large gulps to relieve the dryness in her mouth. Across the early evening crowd, the four of them are all smiles and muted laughter. Scottie clings to his arm like he’s a prized possession. “Really, Rachel,” she hisses furiously, glaring at her companion just as Louis spots them and announces it to the others.
“I’m so sorry!” Rachel whispers back, and they both plaster on large smiles as the lawyers approach them.
It’s a flurry of greetings for all of thirty seconds. Harvey is markedly surprised. Surprised that she’s out? Surprised that they’re at the same place? She doesn’t dwell on it, but despite her best efforts, she’s hyperaware of his every move and everything his warm gaze catches on from the freckles on her shoulder to the hem of her emerald green silk dress.
“I haven’t been here since Hardman’s going away party five years ago,” Harvey says tellingly. Their eyes meet and hold for a few interminable seconds.
“Louis said we should see what’s become of the place. They’ve changed it quite a bit,” Jessica adds and takes in her surroundings.
Donna drops Harvey’s gaze and glowers at Louis suspiciously.
“It must have been on my mind,” the accused says unceremoniously with a wide grin. It’s so wide that she calls it contrived. She wants to smack it off his meddling face especially when Scottie’s hand slides down Harvey’s sleeve, and her fingers slide into his unassuming palm. He gives her fingers a quick squeeze before quickly letting them fall back to her side. Donna smiles sardonically at the display so typical of Harvey.
“I come here often,” Rachel interjects with a tight-lipped smile. “I just love the ambience and the band.”
Scottie nods and divides a wary glance between Donna and Harvey.
“Alright ladies, we won’t keep you any longer,” Jessica announces regally, and a waiter shows up miraculously at her side as if summoned by her mere will to be seated. “I have a late dinner to attend, so let’s get down to business.” Jessica smiles at the two of them before they’re ushered to their table.
The residual silence is tense as they down their drinks.
“We could leave,” Rachel suggests contritely.
Donna would love nothing better than to leave, but it’s way too transparent. Scottie is almost as attuned as Donna and Harvey are to the charged tension between them. And Tom is probably well on his way over. Fuck. “No, we can’t leave,” she says. “So who hatched this brilliant plan - and why?” she queries acidly.
Rachel swallows her apprehension. “Well, it was Louis’s idea. He said you and Harvey weren’t on good terms, and that we all needed a good serendipitous party,” she recounts. “I suggested the venue,” she admits. “I also told Mike to come by later,” she adds on a whisper.
“Great,” Donna snaps. Unbidden, the waiter brings them seconds - well thirds for Donna, but tonight she’s not counting.
For the next fifteen minutes, they bounce between half-hearted explanations. Donna admits to herself that she’s been far-removed from Harvey and his myriad of tangential problems for months. Mike, apparently, has been trying really hard to find a way back in, but Harvey has adamantly shut him out. No act is redeeming enough in the face of such tragic betrayal. An accidental party is not the answer, but she keeps that to herself as Rachel continues to elicit her sympathies.
When Tom is finally led into this circumstantial gathering by the bubbling blond herself, Donna is a little tipsy and inexplicably anxious. He throws a subtle wink her way and sits on one of the barstools. His friend occupies the barstool to his left. A small, unattractive man with dark eyes hidden behind wiry glasses, he provides a contrast that unfairly emphasizes Tom’s effortless appeal.
She doesn’t notice Rachel has gone quiet until the other woman follows her gaze to the bar.
“Oh my word, who is that?”
Donna shrugs in false innocence. It’s the perfect night for mind fucks. “He’s cute,” she observes offhandedly.
“He’s hot,” Rachel corrects her. “The brunettes at seven o’clock think so too,” she points out, nodding towards a pair of dark-haired women weaving their way towards Tom and his friend. “He lasted all of one minute alone,” Rachel giggles.
Donna looks away, unthreatened in the least. She’s relieved that Jessica and company are sitting behind her. She can pretend she hasn’t been buzzing with awareness since Harvey made his untimely appearance. Out of the corners of her eyes, she can see Tom excuse himself, leaving both women disappointed and engaged in conversation with his friend. He’s holding a drink as he makes his way over to their table.
“Donna,” Rachel whispers urgently. “Blue eyes is walking towards us.”
Sure enough, blue eyes stops at Donna’s side, flashing a brilliant smile. “Ladies, do you mind if I join you?” he asks cheekily.
Rachel looks at Donna, who preempts the introduction by sticking her hand out. Play along, Tom. “Donna Paulsen,” she says steadily when he encloses her hand in his warm, familiar grasp. Confusion flashes across his gaze, and his smile turns uneasy, weary of the games.
“Tom Walker,” he answers, pulling up a chair to their table. He offers his hand to Rachel next, whose giddy smile makes her look like a little girl. Dressed in washed blue jeans, a baby blue shirt and a dark gray button-down vest, he fits the bill of the confident, unavailable architect. He doesn’t pretend to be interested in Rachel. His piercing gaze is unerringly consumed by Donna. “So, Donna, what do you do?” he asks, lips twisted with irony.
She smiles at him and is much too aware of how Rachel is engrossed in whatever’s happening on Harvey’s table. “Legal secretary,” she replies slowly. “What do you do, Tom Walker?” Rachel starts to look a little uncomfortable.
“I’m an architect.” He drinks leisurely from his Cuba Libre. Under the table, his hand covers her bare knee, charcoal-stained fingertips tracing the edge of her silky dress. The warmth in his gaze ignites into something more heated. Donna looks away and gently slides his hand away. Easy, Tom.
From the way Rachel keeps shifting in her chair and looking in Harvey’s direction, she thinks he must be watching them. Rachel starts clearing her throat loudly, and Donna fights hard to curb the impulse to turn around.
She focuses on Tom and smiles convincingly. She can do this. “That sounds like fun.”
“It is,” he agrees. Rachel clears her throat again, but Tom is completely oblivious to her. “You have beautiful hair.”
“Donna, can we talk?” Harvey’s hand sends a jolt shooting down her arm from where it sits possessively on her exposed shoulder.
Donna looks up at him sharply. Standing rigidly behind her, Harvey is tense and uptight, anger simmering close to the surface of his shuttered expression.
Rachel looks like she’s about to erupt into nervous hiccupping giggles. Tom looks even more flustered than he did a few minutes ago. “Excuse me,” she says to Tom who nods tersely and eyes them with more curiosity than Donna is comfortable with. He’s too affected by this for someone who gets dressed five minutes after sex. “This is my boss,” she says unnecessarily. “He’s usually more courteous.” She makes excuses for Harvey because she knows it pisses him off.
Before Tom can introduce himself, Harvey mutters a barely audible, reluctantly polite, “excuse us.” She comes to her feet, ignores the fact that she’s dizzier than she should be and follows him. En route, Scottie catches her gaze, but Donna breaks that stare before it can mean anything. Mike’s sad eyes trail them helplessly. Oh God. What a fucking hot mess.
They stop somewhere quieter, a narrow hallway that leads to the lavish restrooms. There are barely any people, and he’s staring her down like she’s done him a grievance.
“We can’t make out every time we’re here,” she deadpans.
“That’s not funny,” he bites out, and she keeps the rest of her smart-ass comments to herself.
She thinks it’s pretty funny and has a hard time dropping her grin. It might be the scotch or the cosmopolitan, but this is all suddenly very amusing.
“Donna, what are you doing?” he snarls, the vein in his temple throbbing in time to his heartbeat. He’s livid.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She really doesn’t, she realizes as she meets his hot unflinching stare.
He runs an exasperated hand through his hair, and she wishes he would stop doing that. It only makes her want to pat it back into place. “Well for one, how the hell did we all end up here? Why does Mike think it’s okay to be here and plead his case to Scottie? Who told him I’m here? Who put Louis up to this? And who the hell is that guy?” he fires the questions at her like a prosecutor, and her amusement dissolves as abruptly as it appeared.
“You think I have anything to do with this?” she sputters in disbelief. “Of all the arrogant, self-absorbed, presumptuous things in the world! How dare you! I have gone to lengths to stay out of your way for months. I wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole,” she bellows furiously. “And how the hell is that guy any of your business?” She makes a move to leave, but he grabs her elbow as she’s brushing past him, forcibly stopping her. She wants to stomp her feet in frustration as he holds her in place.
“Donna,” he says in a maddeningly quiet, melting voice. His gaze brightens into something naked and defenseless. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless and uncalled for. This place is,” he trails off and lets go of her arm because he knows he has her transfixed. “This place is just messing with my head,” he admits.
“What do you want, Harvey?” she asks tiredly.
He searches her face for something he can’t define. “I need you back,” he says, and it’s one in a list of equivocal confessions she doesn’t know what to do with.
She’s exhausted her energy for denials, and he’s way closer than she wants him to be. “It’ll happen,” she promises softly. “Eventually.”
He nods but looks unconvinced.
“We just need to leave it alone for a little while,” she adds for good measure.
His eyes track a lock of her hair to her shoulder. “He’s right you know,” he says finally like he’s satisfied with leaving their future alone for a little while.
“Who?”
“That guy,” he mimics the sharp turn of her words and smiles lopsidedly. The dimple sinks into the corner of his mouth, and he looks impossibly alluring. “You do have beautiful hair.”
Before she can think about it - and she blames this one solely on the scotch - she lifts her hand and gently lays it against his shaven cheek. Her thumb catches on his dimple. He closes his eyes, and she ignores the giant lump in her throat. She doesn’t know why everything hurts so much. She feels like a hapless creature trapped under the sun’s magnified glare, burning alive. Her fingertips trace his neat sideburns tenderly. “So do you,” she teases, but her voice is not light or airy. It carries with heavy poignancy.
He brings her hand to his lips and presses a reverent kiss into her palm. “You’re beautiful.”
“Harvey,” she scolds him and wills back the tears clawing at the backs of her eyes. She’s over this, really. This is the mandatory closing scene. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t take us five years back.”
“I won’t,” he pledges earnestly, releasing her hand. “I’m with Scottie now. You were right, Donna. We’ve both moved on. I know you’re not in love with me. I just wish you would stop punishing me for implying it,” he sighs and tugs at his tie to loosen the knot. “I just want us to be us again.”
She’s not even sure what that is anymore, but she gives him a sunny, reassuring smile. “We should get back to our tables,” she says.
He watches her closely for another ten seconds like he can read in her expression what he doesn’t find in her words. Then he nods and leads her back into the bustling bar. Inside, they go their separate ways. At her table, Mike has pulled up an extra chair and is chattering animatedly with Tom. Rachel looks at her quizzically, but she shakes her head. Nothing worth telling.
The hours of the night blur into each other, and there’s at least another scotch and a martini. She feels his gaze on her back like a caress, but she doesn’t think about it. Because he’s with Scottie now. And she’s not with Tom. Everything is exactly the way she wants it to be.
When Tom walks her to the exit at midnight, she meets Harvey’s gaze for a fleeting moment. It smolders like fire, but she leaves it behind - just like she did the last time.
If October was about firsts, December is about repeat performances.
Author: snowflake912
Pairing: Harvey/Donna
Rating: T
Part: 4/10
Words: 4,427
Summary: Time, she thinks, needs to be redefined. She rearranges the pieces of their history, and at least ten combinations make sense. This one doesn't.
Disclaimer: I still don't own them or anything really.
Note: This took a little longer than I thought it would. Thank you to all the lovely commenters. Your kind words are inspiring! They give me just the right kick when I need to get back on the writing bandwagon! I hope you enjoy this.
4. I And Love And You
“Another love has come and gone, and the years keep rushing on
I remember what you told me before you went out on your own,
‘Sometimes to keep it together, we got to leave it alone’
So you can get on with your search, baby, and I can get on with mine.”
(Wasted Time - Eagles)
December 2012 -
She stops thinking about him.
It happens gradually, sometime between orange autumn leaves and pellets of icy hail. Memories start bleeding into nothingness, washing away with the rain, and Scottie sweeps in to play the hero to his happy ending. Granted, most days he looks anything but happy. The years have attuned her to the nuances of his expressions, and this winter’s smiles glow with falseness and élan. He entertains the newcomers with vintage scotch and fabricated smiles, and October brings a lot of firsts to their expanding universe. He turns off the intercom. She works around the storm brewing behind his glass walls. He asks Scottie to stay, and Donna says nothing. When he and Scottie take on their first big trial, he doesn’t ask for the can opener.
Before the firsts, they talked about it once. She took measured steps into his office and found herself defending Scottie and Zoe, telling him to listen to his heart of all things. Their words rang with frustration and the unspoken, and it felt too much like their talk about the other time. He was just as aggravated, and she left it feeling just as hollow, his question burning in her mind like an accusation.
Is this about you?
She denies it to him and to herself, and everything helps her not think about him.
November brings Tom Walker, heartbroken and looking every bit like a young Alain Delon, from Portland to her Bikram yoga studio in Manhattan. It takes her a week to fall in bed with him, after she’s sure he’s emotionally unavailable and has nothing to do with the law. She can’t help but think of a catch-22, but the sex is good enough to not make it matter. It becomes a ritual of sorts. On odd nights during the blurry weeks, they smile at each other guardedly and drink cocktails in crowded bars then end up tangled in her bed sheets. He leaves before she asks him to, and she likes the arrangement a bit too much.
December comes with Christmas lights splashing more colors across the city. The cheer is lost on her, but her newfound liberty makes her feel alive - or numb. She’s not sure, but she doesn’t dwell on it. She lets Rachel plan a magnificent night out and wears her favorite green halter dress.
The New York cab drops them off on a cold sidewalk in the Meatpacking District. Rachel takes her arm and walks her in the direction of the Standard Hotel, chattering incessantly about Mike, their fledgling romance and his road back to Harvey’s good graces. Donna doesn’t acknowledge the feeling of dread creeping into her gut until they stride past the hotel’s yellow revolving doors and step into an elevator bound for the eighteenth floor.
She takes in a steady breath and stands straighter in her nude peep-toe Louboutins. “The last time I was here…”
“Celebrating Hardman’s downfall, I know,” Rachel cuts her off cheerfully and lightly taps her phone into her open palm.
Donna frowns at the nervousness behind the gesture. Rachel’s casual avoidance of looking her in the eye tells Donna there’s something she won’t like. Her phone vibrates, a text from Tom momentarily distracting her.
Tom W: Plans tonight?
She locks the phone and returns to the elevator. “You’re seriously taking me to Boom Boom Room on a Thursday night?” she presses.
The younger woman laughs airily. “Wow, Donna, you should go out more. It’s called Top of the Standard now, and it’s very in,” she promises as they step out of the elevator and are greeted by a blonde twenty-something who starts blabbering incessantly to Miss Zane.
Their coats are whisked away amidst an exchange of pleasantries, and eventually they’re escorted to a small table right across from the bright bar. A live band fills the sophisticated ambience with jazz music. Floor to ceiling windows offer an unrestricted, three-sixty view of Manhattan, offset by golden pillars and giant chandeliers.
“This place has changed,” Donna remarks as the waiter leaves with their orders.
“Sunset is the best time to come here. Breathtaking view, a little too romantic for the two of us,” Rachel jokes.
Donna laughs and drinks in the opulence of the place. Although completely revamped, the corners still ring with unsettling familiarity and things she no longer thinks about. On a whim, she retrieves her phone and quickly replies to Tom’s message.
Donna: Top of the Standard with friend from work. You?
It takes him less than a minute to reply. Uncomplicated, Donna muses with a small self-deprecating grin.
Tom W: Heading out for drinks with a friend. Wanna end up at the same place? ;)
Across the table, Rachel eyes her curiously. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing important,” she brushes the question off and decides that sex with Tom is not the worst thing that could happen tonight.
Donna: Should be fun.
“So, this place,” Rachel begins, leaning across the table conspiratorially. “You and Harvey, five years ago, what happened here?”
Donna sits back, her phone forgotten. She masks her surprise behind a thoughtful frown even as her heart threatens to shatter her ribs and beat straight out of her chest. “Is that why you brought me here?” Her tone is accusatory and Rachel shrugs sheepishly. “Nothing happened,” she lies. She tells herself it’s not a complete lie and tries not to resent Rachel for aggravating forgotten wounds.
Rachel raises both eyebrows and smiles kindly at the waiter who arrives with their drinks. Donna takes immediately to her cosmopolitan.
“Really Donna, I was there,” she says and sips her gin and tonic.
“So?” With half of the cosmopolitan already in her system, her nonchalance seems contrived at best.
“You lied to me before about having never.” Rachel holds up her fingers in air quotes and tilts an uneven smile at Donna. “That night, Hardman’s going away party, you both disappeared and then you came running back, took your purse and left without a word to anyone,” she pauses and thoughtfully considers her for a second. “It was dark, but you looked like you were crying.”
Donna rolls her eyes dismissively. “You might be reading too much into it.”
“Harvey came after you and asked if I’d seen you.”
An image of him as he was that night taunts her. His cheeks are flushed with desire, his eyes burning, his touch robbing her sanity. “He probably wanted to chat,” she suggests and makes herself believe it because the ruse of denial is remarkably easier than the truth.
“Your lipstick was on his mouth, and everyone saw you dancing before you disappeared,” Rachel states matter-of-factly.
Donna gives her a dirty look. “How’d you know it was my lipstick? It’s not like Harvey is ever lacking for female company.” It’s not like she cares about that either. It’s amazing how little she cares about everything lately. Most days she feels like a casual bystander, watching her own life transpire.
“Donna,” Rachel says at last, and her voice is chiding.
“Okay fine. It was my lipstick,” she confesses and downs another long sip of her drink. She’s so over this. She can talk about it if she wants to. She just doesn’t want to.
“That’s it? No explanations?” Rachel prods, eyes glittering curiously, her own drink set aside in favor of this fruitless hunt.
Donna finishes her drink and uses the snowy white napkin to dab at her lips. It comes back with a light sheen of bright red lipstick. “I wasn’t aware I owed you an explanation.” The words are harsher than she intends for them to be.
Rachel looks appropriately miffed as she retreats to her side of the table and goes back to carefully sipping from her sweating glass. “You don’t. I’m sorry,” she apologizes.
Donna sighs as the guilt sets in. “Don’t be. I’m sorry for being a jerk. It’s a sensitive subject,” she offers a humble smile. Signaling for the waiter, she prepares to delve into the forgotten. “My lipstick was on his mouth?” she asks with a rueful smile. “Scotch, neat,” she quickly tells the waiter.
Rachel’s smile turns wicked, and her coffee brown eyes sparkle with intimation. “All over his mouth actually.” She gestures to her own mouth. “I handed him a napkin and awkwardly pointed at his mouth and said ‘lipstick’. He hasn’t looked at me the same since.”
The notion makes Donna giggle. There was hardly anything funny about that entire day, but in retrospect it’s easier to find humor in the entire mess. “God, that’s awful,” she mutters and gratefully takes her drink from the waiter.
“He kind of smiled self-consciously and went to the restroom. When he came back - sans lipstick - he took his jacket, talked to Jessica for all of one minute and fled the scene.” Rachel stabs the wedge of lime in her drink with the stirrer. “He came to see you, didn’t he?” When she looks up, her questioning gaze catches Donna’s gaze full on.
“Yes,” she answers honestly.
Rachel lets out a breath of laughter as if she’s known all along. “You’re going to make me ask?” she teases.
Donna shakes her head and relishes the smoky tang of whiskey on her tongue. “Nothing happened.” It’s less of a lie in this context. When Harvey came knocking on her door that night, Ryan Drake was already in her living room. There’d been foolish anger, misplaced jealousy and jarring loss - nothing worth sharing.
“By nothing you mean you didn’t sleep with him.”
She thinks that maybe talking about it is testament to how okay she is with it. “Not that night,” she replies carefully, contemplating how the words feel on her lips. It’s strange to admit it to someone who knows them both. She talks about it - him - in riddles to her best friend from college on their rare weekend getaways. On holidays when she goes home, her mother alludes to it in hypotheticals, and she answers in cryptic analogies.
Rachel’s audible gasp of shock exacerbates the surrealism. “You mean you and Harvey actually had S-E-X?” she sputters, mouthing the last word noiselessly.
“What are you, twelve?” she scowls. “Yes we had sex, once.” Technically it was more than once, but Donna doesn’t think about that anymore either. She doesn’t remember what he looked like in her shower or on her couch. She especially doesn’t remember what he looked like in her bed.
“Damn,” Rachel hisses under her breath. “Damn,” she repeats and avidly searches Donna’s cautiously cloaked face. “That’s fucked up, Donna.”
“You have no idea,” Donna murmurs in response. Rachel fidgets in her seat like she can’t quite contain this new slew of facts and is struggling with what it all means. Five years later, Donna can hardly wrap her mind around it. “You absolutely cannot tell Mike,” she issues the warning sternly.
“Of course,” Rachel replies a little too quickly and looks pained at the prospect of having to keep this to herself. “So you just pretended it never happened? Was it that bad? Well I don’t think there’s a world where sex with Harvey could be bad,” she rambles.
“Rachel,” Donna interrupts her and hates how easy it is to reopen that door and let all the memories rush in. It was actually that good. For a long time, Harvey wasn’t pretending. He was dogged in his pursuit, persistent and charming and irresistible. He was also broken. “I pretended it never happened. I kept on pretending until he came around and started sleeping with Scottie again,” she sums it up in fourteen simple words, and it feels like they keep coming full circle.
Rachel purses her lips like she finds the conclusion distasteful. “Why did you do it?” she wonders.
Donna gives her an incredulous look. Do you really have to ask?
Rachel laughs. “That’s not what I meant, Donna. I know why you did it. Why the pretending?”
“I had no other choice. I had to save our more permanent relationship. We need each other in a very different way, and being together in that way broke us for a long time.”
“Maybe it broke you because you pretended it never happened.”
Donna used to torture herself by playing out the different scenarios to their logical conclusions. She used to think about it incessantly, but she doesn’t let herself do it now. “He wasn’t ready to be with me,” she says simply.
“Is he ready now?”
Her immediate answer is no, but her stabbing self-awareness accuses her of not being ready. She thinks of Tom pulling on his discarded clothes and kissing her goodbye. She thinks she’s somehow become attached to the transiency of life’s snippets and terrified of its permanencies. She tries to find a way to put this in words, and she can almost grapple with it until Harvey strolls into the bar with Scottie, Jessica and Louis. Her words get stuck in her throat as Rachel’s gaze snaps to the quad and registers guilt.
Donna swallows the scotch in large gulps to relieve the dryness in her mouth. Across the early evening crowd, the four of them are all smiles and muted laughter. Scottie clings to his arm like he’s a prized possession. “Really, Rachel,” she hisses furiously, glaring at her companion just as Louis spots them and announces it to the others.
“I’m so sorry!” Rachel whispers back, and they both plaster on large smiles as the lawyers approach them.
It’s a flurry of greetings for all of thirty seconds. Harvey is markedly surprised. Surprised that she’s out? Surprised that they’re at the same place? She doesn’t dwell on it, but despite her best efforts, she’s hyperaware of his every move and everything his warm gaze catches on from the freckles on her shoulder to the hem of her emerald green silk dress.
“I haven’t been here since Hardman’s going away party five years ago,” Harvey says tellingly. Their eyes meet and hold for a few interminable seconds.
“Louis said we should see what’s become of the place. They’ve changed it quite a bit,” Jessica adds and takes in her surroundings.
Donna drops Harvey’s gaze and glowers at Louis suspiciously.
“It must have been on my mind,” the accused says unceremoniously with a wide grin. It’s so wide that she calls it contrived. She wants to smack it off his meddling face especially when Scottie’s hand slides down Harvey’s sleeve, and her fingers slide into his unassuming palm. He gives her fingers a quick squeeze before quickly letting them fall back to her side. Donna smiles sardonically at the display so typical of Harvey.
“I come here often,” Rachel interjects with a tight-lipped smile. “I just love the ambience and the band.”
Scottie nods and divides a wary glance between Donna and Harvey.
“Alright ladies, we won’t keep you any longer,” Jessica announces regally, and a waiter shows up miraculously at her side as if summoned by her mere will to be seated. “I have a late dinner to attend, so let’s get down to business.” Jessica smiles at the two of them before they’re ushered to their table.
The residual silence is tense as they down their drinks.
“We could leave,” Rachel suggests contritely.
Donna would love nothing better than to leave, but it’s way too transparent. Scottie is almost as attuned as Donna and Harvey are to the charged tension between them. And Tom is probably well on his way over. Fuck. “No, we can’t leave,” she says. “So who hatched this brilliant plan - and why?” she queries acidly.
Rachel swallows her apprehension. “Well, it was Louis’s idea. He said you and Harvey weren’t on good terms, and that we all needed a good serendipitous party,” she recounts. “I suggested the venue,” she admits. “I also told Mike to come by later,” she adds on a whisper.
“Great,” Donna snaps. Unbidden, the waiter brings them seconds - well thirds for Donna, but tonight she’s not counting.
For the next fifteen minutes, they bounce between half-hearted explanations. Donna admits to herself that she’s been far-removed from Harvey and his myriad of tangential problems for months. Mike, apparently, has been trying really hard to find a way back in, but Harvey has adamantly shut him out. No act is redeeming enough in the face of such tragic betrayal. An accidental party is not the answer, but she keeps that to herself as Rachel continues to elicit her sympathies.
When Tom is finally led into this circumstantial gathering by the bubbling blond herself, Donna is a little tipsy and inexplicably anxious. He throws a subtle wink her way and sits on one of the barstools. His friend occupies the barstool to his left. A small, unattractive man with dark eyes hidden behind wiry glasses, he provides a contrast that unfairly emphasizes Tom’s effortless appeal.
She doesn’t notice Rachel has gone quiet until the other woman follows her gaze to the bar.
“Oh my word, who is that?”
Donna shrugs in false innocence. It’s the perfect night for mind fucks. “He’s cute,” she observes offhandedly.
“He’s hot,” Rachel corrects her. “The brunettes at seven o’clock think so too,” she points out, nodding towards a pair of dark-haired women weaving their way towards Tom and his friend. “He lasted all of one minute alone,” Rachel giggles.
Donna looks away, unthreatened in the least. She’s relieved that Jessica and company are sitting behind her. She can pretend she hasn’t been buzzing with awareness since Harvey made his untimely appearance. Out of the corners of her eyes, she can see Tom excuse himself, leaving both women disappointed and engaged in conversation with his friend. He’s holding a drink as he makes his way over to their table.
“Donna,” Rachel whispers urgently. “Blue eyes is walking towards us.”
Sure enough, blue eyes stops at Donna’s side, flashing a brilliant smile. “Ladies, do you mind if I join you?” he asks cheekily.
Rachel looks at Donna, who preempts the introduction by sticking her hand out. Play along, Tom. “Donna Paulsen,” she says steadily when he encloses her hand in his warm, familiar grasp. Confusion flashes across his gaze, and his smile turns uneasy, weary of the games.
“Tom Walker,” he answers, pulling up a chair to their table. He offers his hand to Rachel next, whose giddy smile makes her look like a little girl. Dressed in washed blue jeans, a baby blue shirt and a dark gray button-down vest, he fits the bill of the confident, unavailable architect. He doesn’t pretend to be interested in Rachel. His piercing gaze is unerringly consumed by Donna. “So, Donna, what do you do?” he asks, lips twisted with irony.
She smiles at him and is much too aware of how Rachel is engrossed in whatever’s happening on Harvey’s table. “Legal secretary,” she replies slowly. “What do you do, Tom Walker?” Rachel starts to look a little uncomfortable.
“I’m an architect.” He drinks leisurely from his Cuba Libre. Under the table, his hand covers her bare knee, charcoal-stained fingertips tracing the edge of her silky dress. The warmth in his gaze ignites into something more heated. Donna looks away and gently slides his hand away. Easy, Tom.
From the way Rachel keeps shifting in her chair and looking in Harvey’s direction, she thinks he must be watching them. Rachel starts clearing her throat loudly, and Donna fights hard to curb the impulse to turn around.
She focuses on Tom and smiles convincingly. She can do this. “That sounds like fun.”
“It is,” he agrees. Rachel clears her throat again, but Tom is completely oblivious to her. “You have beautiful hair.”
“Donna, can we talk?” Harvey’s hand sends a jolt shooting down her arm from where it sits possessively on her exposed shoulder.
Donna looks up at him sharply. Standing rigidly behind her, Harvey is tense and uptight, anger simmering close to the surface of his shuttered expression.
Rachel looks like she’s about to erupt into nervous hiccupping giggles. Tom looks even more flustered than he did a few minutes ago. “Excuse me,” she says to Tom who nods tersely and eyes them with more curiosity than Donna is comfortable with. He’s too affected by this for someone who gets dressed five minutes after sex. “This is my boss,” she says unnecessarily. “He’s usually more courteous.” She makes excuses for Harvey because she knows it pisses him off.
Before Tom can introduce himself, Harvey mutters a barely audible, reluctantly polite, “excuse us.” She comes to her feet, ignores the fact that she’s dizzier than she should be and follows him. En route, Scottie catches her gaze, but Donna breaks that stare before it can mean anything. Mike’s sad eyes trail them helplessly. Oh God. What a fucking hot mess.
They stop somewhere quieter, a narrow hallway that leads to the lavish restrooms. There are barely any people, and he’s staring her down like she’s done him a grievance.
“We can’t make out every time we’re here,” she deadpans.
“That’s not funny,” he bites out, and she keeps the rest of her smart-ass comments to herself.
She thinks it’s pretty funny and has a hard time dropping her grin. It might be the scotch or the cosmopolitan, but this is all suddenly very amusing.
“Donna, what are you doing?” he snarls, the vein in his temple throbbing in time to his heartbeat. He’s livid.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She really doesn’t, she realizes as she meets his hot unflinching stare.
He runs an exasperated hand through his hair, and she wishes he would stop doing that. It only makes her want to pat it back into place. “Well for one, how the hell did we all end up here? Why does Mike think it’s okay to be here and plead his case to Scottie? Who told him I’m here? Who put Louis up to this? And who the hell is that guy?” he fires the questions at her like a prosecutor, and her amusement dissolves as abruptly as it appeared.
“You think I have anything to do with this?” she sputters in disbelief. “Of all the arrogant, self-absorbed, presumptuous things in the world! How dare you! I have gone to lengths to stay out of your way for months. I wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole,” she bellows furiously. “And how the hell is that guy any of your business?” She makes a move to leave, but he grabs her elbow as she’s brushing past him, forcibly stopping her. She wants to stomp her feet in frustration as he holds her in place.
“Donna,” he says in a maddeningly quiet, melting voice. His gaze brightens into something naked and defenseless. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless and uncalled for. This place is,” he trails off and lets go of her arm because he knows he has her transfixed. “This place is just messing with my head,” he admits.
“What do you want, Harvey?” she asks tiredly.
He searches her face for something he can’t define. “I need you back,” he says, and it’s one in a list of equivocal confessions she doesn’t know what to do with.
She’s exhausted her energy for denials, and he’s way closer than she wants him to be. “It’ll happen,” she promises softly. “Eventually.”
He nods but looks unconvinced.
“We just need to leave it alone for a little while,” she adds for good measure.
His eyes track a lock of her hair to her shoulder. “He’s right you know,” he says finally like he’s satisfied with leaving their future alone for a little while.
“Who?”
“That guy,” he mimics the sharp turn of her words and smiles lopsidedly. The dimple sinks into the corner of his mouth, and he looks impossibly alluring. “You do have beautiful hair.”
Before she can think about it - and she blames this one solely on the scotch - she lifts her hand and gently lays it against his shaven cheek. Her thumb catches on his dimple. He closes his eyes, and she ignores the giant lump in her throat. She doesn’t know why everything hurts so much. She feels like a hapless creature trapped under the sun’s magnified glare, burning alive. Her fingertips trace his neat sideburns tenderly. “So do you,” she teases, but her voice is not light or airy. It carries with heavy poignancy.
He brings her hand to his lips and presses a reverent kiss into her palm. “You’re beautiful.”
“Harvey,” she scolds him and wills back the tears clawing at the backs of her eyes. She’s over this, really. This is the mandatory closing scene. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t take us five years back.”
“I won’t,” he pledges earnestly, releasing her hand. “I’m with Scottie now. You were right, Donna. We’ve both moved on. I know you’re not in love with me. I just wish you would stop punishing me for implying it,” he sighs and tugs at his tie to loosen the knot. “I just want us to be us again.”
She’s not even sure what that is anymore, but she gives him a sunny, reassuring smile. “We should get back to our tables,” she says.
He watches her closely for another ten seconds like he can read in her expression what he doesn’t find in her words. Then he nods and leads her back into the bustling bar. Inside, they go their separate ways. At her table, Mike has pulled up an extra chair and is chattering animatedly with Tom. Rachel looks at her quizzically, but she shakes her head. Nothing worth telling.
The hours of the night blur into each other, and there’s at least another scotch and a martini. She feels his gaze on her back like a caress, but she doesn’t think about it. Because he’s with Scottie now. And she’s not with Tom. Everything is exactly the way she wants it to be.
When Tom walks her to the exit at midnight, she meets Harvey’s gaze for a fleeting moment. It smolders like fire, but she leaves it behind - just like she did the last time.
If October was about firsts, December is about repeat performances.