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abvjTitle: Notes in the Margins
Summary: Five times Harvey and Donna touch.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 5,036 words. General series spoilers. Written in part for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
phrenitis because she indulges me, and this whole thing stemmed from a long conversation about why it is these two actively do not touch each other. That's just how we roll. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not. Con-crit is, as always, welcome and appreciated.
i.
Donna gets the call in the middle of the night, her mother’s voice shaky and exhausted as it crackles over the line.
It’s you father, she starts, then stops, and it’s all her mother has to say, really, because the tears speak volumes about what is left unsaid. Donna has always known how to read between the lines.
The bile rises in her throat, sweat pooling near the base of her spine, and before Donna can even blink away the sleep or flick on the nearest light, she is out of bed and changing into jeans, throwing on the nearest sweatshirt as she registers bits and pieces of what her mother is telling her. There is more, facts and statistics her mother likes to use because she likes the reliability of them, but all Donna hears is heart attack and surgery and too soon to tell.
She drives all night, windows rolled down and music blaring to keep her awake. She sings along with the radio, counts back years and memories, when her biggest problems consisted of broken hearts and skinned knees. She remembers early Sunday mornings, just the two of them before the rest of the house woke, when her father used to tell her things like, kiddo, you are going to change the world one day and how she took those words to heart, allowed them to guide her path in life because she simply wanted to make him proud. Donna tries to remember the last time she talked to him, really talked to him in some way that wasn’t superficial or in passing. It was her birthday she thinks, just a few months back, but distance makes things hazy, and she can’t quite remember. It hurts her heart in a way she is entirely unaccustomed to, this fierce constriction that burns and reverberates deep within her chest. Donna starts to make a promise, a vow to a god she hasn’t prayed to in years to be a better daughter, a better person if only –
But then she stops herself short because she’s the perfect mixture of both her parents and she needs facts and statistics before she can start with the stage of bargaining.
When she stops for coffee and gas twenty miles outside of her hometown, the sun is just starting to peak over the horizon, bathing the sky in a brilliant shade of blue. She sends a quick text to Harvey as she watches, keeping it simple. They deal better with absolutes in these types of situations, never ones to hide between banter and subtext when it’s truly important. There are lines they’ve drawn over the years, some bold, some thin, some practically non-existent and they make an art out toeing them, but they also know when it is best to respect them. They rely on each other too much for their honesty, on the stability of their routines. Donna needs that more than anything else right now.
He tries to call immediately after, the phone vibrating in her hand almost as soon as she clicks send, but she knows him too well. Donna knows the first words out his mouth will be Are you OK? in that quiet, gentle way he sometimes lets shine through the cracks when it’s just the two of them, when he is tired and worn down just enough to let his the indifference fall away to something deeper, something that shows too much of all the things he tries so very hard to hide. Donna is not ready for it. She’s not ready to break just yet, not until she knows there is just cause for it.
She has also never quite been able to figure out how to lie to him about things of importance. So she simply lets the call click over to voicemail and turns the music up as loud as it will go in an effort to drown the mess inside her head, her mouth moving along with the lyrics to cover the ache in her throat.
When she arrives at the hospital, her sister stands outside the parking garage, cigarette between her too-bony fingers as she waits. The first words out of her mouth are don’t tell mom as she takes one final drag and stubs out the butt with the toe of her shoe. The second are they think he’s going to be okay. Donna just sort of deflates then, everything going soft and hazy as her shoulders sag with sheer relief, eyes just starting to burn as her baby sister suddenly bridges the distance between them, burying her head in the crook of Donna’s neck. Her tears soak the collar of her sweatshirt, and Donna holds her tightly, tells her it’s going to be okay because that is what good sisters are meant to do.
With her heart in her throat, Donna blinks back tears, holds it together for her sister, and for her mother, and for her father when he finally wakes hours later scared, angry, and looking much, much older than Donna ever remembers. She holds it together for the days and weeks that follow as she stays, cashing in the vacation days she’s been hoarding for years to help her mother adjust to the new regimen and the housework, to make sense of her father’s books at the store while she finds somebody new to take over in an interim position. Donna holds it together as her father fights the diet and the physical therapy and the medications, acting every bit the part of the man who taught Donna how to be bold and brave and unbelievably stubborn. She holds it together while her sister comes and goes, flitting in and out whenever she damn well feels like it, usually with her children who wreak havoc wherever they frequent in tow.
(There had been a conversation, one that started and ended with her sister’s tears, voice breaking as she murmured I just can’t, okay? And Donna had nodded and agreed because her sister had a husband and a new baby and isn’t that what big sisters are suppose to do? Carry whatever burden the others aren’t able to?
Her family has always been her weak spot, where she is her most vulnerable. They’ve never been afraid to take advantage of it, either.
And Donna, well, she’s never been good at saying no to the people who matter.)
Donna does a remarkable job of holding everything together until she comes home from the pharmacy after a long morning of arguing with the insurance company about why they suddenly aren’t paying for her father’s three hundred dollar, ten-day prescription to find everything has erupted into complete chaos in her absence. Her niece’s screams from the makeshift crib in the living room curdle in the pit of Donna’s stomach. Her nephew is running around with a blanket tied around his neck pretending to be a superhero, jumping off of chairs and tripping over rugs, and her sister is saying, we’re out of milk again without even looking up from her computer as the house phone rings and rings and rings from it’s position on the coffee table right next to her goddamn feet. With clenched fists and a diatribe of filthy language her mother used to wash her mouth out with soap for right on the tip of her tongue, Donna escapes to the kitchen, picking up the phone on the wall and slamming it back down on the cradle just to stop the shrill ring from popping in her ears.
She’s seething silently near the sink, thumbnail between her teeth as the water slowly refills the pitcher somebody emptied and promptly left out, when the sound of the front door creaking open and closed echoes throughout the house. Suddenly, the noise dissipates. The baby’s wails subside into a soft, manageable cry. Her nephew’s heavy stomping ceases altogether, and Donna turns sharply at the sound of footsteps that are too heavy to be her sisters, senses immediately on alert.
The minute she sees him the tiny thread that had been holding her together starts to fray at the ends, threatening to unravel her completely. There is a lump in her throat so thick she nearly chokes on it, and for a full minute all she can do is stand there, hands tight around the countertop for support as the water overflows from the pitcher into the sink behind her.
“I just bribed your nephew with a Nintendo. Is your sister going to be pissed?” Harvey asks, smirking, and Donna laughs a little, the sound twisting off into a sob she has to swallow around to keep from fully escaping. “I also got milk,” he adds matter-of-factly, and he holds it up as proof, so ridiculously satisfied with himself before placing it and a brown bag full of other groceries to the side.
She finds it absolutely ridiculous that the milk serves as her final undoing, the sight of it on the messy counter and his proud face unhinging her completely. The affection and gratitude she feels for him in this moment is so vast and fierce that it overwhelms her, starving the breath right from her lungs. She doesn’t know why he’s here, how he managed the time off, and doesn’t ask because he’s Harvey and he always just knows. He knows her, all of her, exactly when he’s needed to save her from herself. It’s who they are and the tears start to burn behind her eyes and fall without remorse. Donna is so beyond exhausted by this point that she doesn’t even try to stop them.
Harvey’s face flickers with concern, his mouth softening, but he does not ask are you okay? and she is so incredibly thankful for it. Without thinking, she crosses the short distance to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders as she buries her head into his neck, breathing in his warmth. She draws on the strength he offers without thought, trying so very hard to make it her own. Pulling her closer, his arms curl around her waist and her fingers leave wrinkles in their wake as she curls them in the fabric at his shoulders. She has missed him, missed her best friend, and she didn’t realize how much she needed him until he was here, standing in her parent’s kitchen with the mud from the driveway dirtying his perfect shoes.
“My sister keeps forgetting to refill the goddamn water pitcher,” she murmurs, hiccupping a little against the skin of his neck. His laughter is warm and reassuring as it presses into her skin.
Harvey holds her until she is ready to let go.
ii.
Harvey’s favorite part of their pre-trial ritual (and, subsequently, the part he will never share with Mike) is this:
Before he presses the can opener into her hands, her fingers busy themselves with his tie, loosening and tightening around the fabric until the knot and dimple are in perfect alignment. As she does her mouth curls, the turn delicate and soft, as her palms rest on his shoulders, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles until she deems him presentable.
“Go get ‘em,” she says and sometimes, depending on the time of day or the state of their week, he idly thinks about what it would be like to kiss her again.
It’s not the first time he has entertained such thoughts and it won’t be the last.
They are better at this now, at keeping their distance, at respecting battle lines and each other after the time they no longer speak of. It is easier for them this way and he knows this, knows they may never happen because there are things you can never rebound from, things you simply cannot survive intact, and losing her, losing her friendship would be one of them. He will never admit aloud just how absolutely vital she is to nearly every aspect of his life, doesn’t really understand some days how she bleeds into every single aspect of his life without remorse, setting him straight on course when he threatens to veer off in unknown directions. The people who matter know the truth.
It is why he allows himself to want for her – for them, for the simplicity of it all in a far removed type of way – but does not touch. It is why Harvey buries whatever feelings he may have had once upon a time when they were different people and simply didn’t know better, and tricks himself into forgetting.
Like most things in life, he is extremely good at it.
Still, Harvey is selfish to a goddamn fault, even more so where Donna is concerned, so he allows himself these rare moments of indiscretion. Allows his mouth to twist as the sigh, weighted and soft, leaves his mouth and he memorizes and files away the red of her hair, the turn of her lips, the weight of her touch as it lingers against his skin.
And then he smirks, steps away, schools his expression into one that both looks and feels familiar. He remembers, like clockwork, that she is not his and he is not hers and they are
not the type of people allowed to test such boundaries without fear of repercussions. He remembers, all too clearly, that this is what they have instead: mere moments, soft and fleeting, when the possibility stands as a mere unattainable promise.
iii.
Late at night, when the silence of the firm echoes off the glass, is when they let their guards down. Late nights breathe both familiarity and concern, their exhaustion edging its way to the surface, fighting for control and licking at nerves. Donna routinely finds herself curled onto the left side of his couch, briefings and files covering her lap as her toes curl and dig into the cushion near his side. Harvey allows this, a habit of theirs started years before, as a record plays soft and low in the corner.
There is takeout to the left, a bottle of beer half-gone on the floor somewhere within reach and her eyes start to burn, the muscles of her shoulders aching from lack of sleep. Donna twists her neck to work out the kink, closes her eyes and breathes through the discomfort, counts to five backwards and forwards and is about to move to put on the coffee when he reaches for her, fingers smooth and sure against the skin of her ankles as he pulls her feet into his lap. She sighs a little as her muscles stretch to accommodate the change in position, her knees cracking in the process, and her smile is small, grateful as he tosses one file to the side just to reach for another.
Their movements counter the other’s for a while, files passed back and forth between them, scribble in the margins with notations only the other understands. She has been back two weeks, closer to three now, and it was a relief, in the beginning, how easy it was for them to reclaim common ground, for the foundation to feel solid beneath her feet. Things are different, the shifting and changing that occurred during their time apart seemingly irrevocable, it’s impact still undecided, but they are still them, still Harvey and Donna in all the ways that matter.
“I should have fought harder for you.”
It takes her a moment to register that he’s speaking to her because his voice is low, rough from lack of use and the only thing giving him away is the way the vibrations of his tone settle against skin and dig into her bones. Donna’s eyes flick towards his, watch as he actively avoids looking at her, his left hand falling to his lap, brushing against the arch of her foot before dropping to his side. She pulls her feet back on instinct alone, curls into herself.
It is only after the loss of contact that he looks at her with such honesty it catches her off guard, sets her on edge. Harvey’s mouth presses into a thin, straight line. Donna can count the lines around his mouth and she holds a breath, allows the air to fill her lungs as she waits for the discomfort of the moment to pass.
There is a joke to be made, the punch line already right there on the tip of her tongue, itching for release because it is their default, their defense mechanism, and it feels as though it is the right thing to do. But it would cheapen the moment, would ruin the strides they’re taking at trying to overcome the last bit of distance that still exists between them and Donna knows him, knows what he is looking for, what he has needed from her all along but will never be able to ask for aloud.
“I shouldn’t have kept it from you,” she murmurs, almost too softly, and watches as his face registers something she can’t quite place, the corners of his mouth lifting just barely.
There is a nod, curt and slight, and Harvey reaches for her again, fingertips smoothing and tapping against her skin. All too easily she gives in, straightens her legs until her ankles cross in his lap once more. The joke falls out of her mouth easily now, and he laughs, the sound soft and tired but familiar.
Finally, she remembers to breathe.
iv.
His father’s house stays empty, collecting dust for nearly a year.
Harvey dealt with the logistics when he was home for the funeral – the mortgage, taxes, forwarding address – and chalks up his avoidance to something altogether different, to this merger or that case. The bills arrive like clockwork every month, he sees them peek out from underneath the files on Donna’s desk occasionally, but he never mentions them, and she pays them without saying a word. It takes her seven months to bring up selling, another two to convince him to actually hire a realtor, and another one to arrange a long weekend for him to head there and get the house in order because he adamantly refuses to hire movers to sort through his father’s possessions. Knows they would treat the intricate items as if they were trash and that is just simply unacceptable.
(She only brings up his brother once, telling him quietly, you should call him, he’d want to help in that tender tone she uses so rarely, the unfamiliarity of it always managing to unnerve him. Harvey shuts down the conversation immediately, reminds her that his brother has enough things on his plate, and it’s his job now that his father is gone to protect him from these sorts of things.
His brother is strong, was made that way by circumstance just like Harvey, but he is much, much easier to break.)
He tells Donna he can do it alone, but she shows up that Friday morning with an overnight bag regardless, and clears his schedule after three so they can make it there at a decent hour. He drives, and she distracts him with her feet up on the dashboard and her fingers constantly fiddling with his pre-set stations. Harvey knows what she’s doing before she even does it – knows she goads him into arguments just to keep him from retreating too far into himself, and he is so profoundly thankful for her in ways he can’t even begin to articulate properly. He tries, even opens his mouth, but the words catch and die in his throat.
Which is okay, he figures, because she usually just knows.
They don’t sleep that first night. They try, but he’s wound too tightly, the walls of the house to suffocating as he lies in his childhood room with her just down the hall and his father’s presence everywhere he looks.
She knows, of course. Finds him in the kitchen just two hours after they say goodnight, drinks the whiskey from his glass, and starts working on wrapping the plates and glasses in old newspapers, placing them gingerly in a cardboard box she labels fragile. They make their way from room to room. Start in the kitchen, in the center of the house, and work their way outwards. She makes fun of baby pictures, and sneezes constantly as the dust stirs and then re-settles. Harvey tells her stories of his father, of this picture and that item, of those long Sunday afternoons of his childhood when his father taught him how to cradle the weight of a baseball in his hand and throw a curveball like the pro he could have been one day if things had turned out differently.
The walls are stained from the cigar smoke, and Donna takes to them with bleach and water as Harvey boxes up his old room and his brother’s too. She cooks at night, makes him drink water instead of alcohol, and is quiet when he needs the silence to serve as motivation and talks when he needs the chatter to calm the mess inside his head.
It’s an intentional thing, leaving his father’s study for last. The box from the last time he tried – the night of the funeral when he was trying to rush through the motions, but the stench of cigars and the sight of it all cut too deep – still sits neglected near the door. It’s partially filled with a few albums, a book or two, a picture of Harvey when he was eight or nine, his little brother awkwardly hugging his middle. The room is stuffy and dark, and when Donna opens the curtains to let the light shine in, the contrast burns his eyes.
The room is exactly how his father left it: saxophone in the corner, cigar half smoked on the table next to his worn chair, a bottle of something expensive and aged on the desk. Harvey’s throat burns as he looks around, as he remembers so many nights spent in here as a child, watching in awe as his father talked about music the way Harvey still talks about the law sometimes.
Donna reaches for him the moment he starts to break, her fingers swift and secure near the crook of his arm, and he’s not sure why, but it just makes things worse. He starts to move instead, working through the uncertainty as he heads to the bookshelf and uses it as his starting point. He goes through files and books, the stacks of music sheets with his father’s messy scrawl scribbled from edge to edge.
It’s Donna who puts the record on sometime later, the scratch of the needle against vinyl snapping his head to attention as he watches her hands shake a little in the process. He remembers then, for perhaps the first time this weekend, that she loved his father too, in her own way. He remembers that he is not alone in this. Reaching for the bottle of whiskey left abandoned on the desk, he pours them both a glass and presses it into her hands. She smiles her gratitude.
Together, they sort through every inch of the room – pictures torn and fading around the edges, albums without jackets, jackets without albums, books with cracked spines, lists and lyrics, quotes stuck inside the thin pages. When they are finished, the significant separated from the trivial into boxes near the door, they sit side by side on the couch as the sun dies outside the window, filling his father’s study with a hue that paints the room golden.
Without thought, Harvey catches her wrist, fingers intertwining with hers. He squeezes softly, just a slight amount of pressure, and she holds on. Coltrane plays softly on the record player.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says.
v.
There is a dive bar just a few blocks from her apartment, and she drags Harvey to it just so she can watch him squirm uncomfortably for the first ten minutes of the evening the week Mike transitions seamlessly into a second year associate. It’s just the three of them at first, drinking cheap beer and even cheaper whiskey, wincing as it burns on the way down and trading anecdotes about Louis from years past like it’s a privilege somehow, and making too many jokes about how their boy is finally growing up.
Rachel shows up somewhere in the middle, sliding home awkwardly next to Mike in their booth near the far corner of the bar. Mike’s already pretty drunk by now – thanks to Donna egging him on and Harvey coaxing him into doing all three wise men in quick succession by claiming tradition – and a sloppy one at that. So it isn’t at all surprising, really, that the remainder of Donna’s night is spent in total amusement, silently mocking the two with Harvey whenever their company’s attention is diverted because of all the touching and flirting going on both above and below the table.
Harvey puts Rachel and Mike into separate cabs sometime after midnight, much to Donna’s complaints and endless speeches about letting nature take it’s course that he aptly ignores.
Afterwards, they linger far longer than they should at the bar, her feet tucked around the lower rung of the barstool as they talk about the Yankees and her parents, as they trade epic tales of the indiscretions they committed when they were young and stupid and allowed. Donna sips her beer, and watches as he talks animatedly about the time he drove his father’s car into the mailbox only to talk his way out of grounding and paying for the repairs. Naturally, the conversation then segues into one about his father, one that starts out guarded and impersonal, but slowly morphs into something deeper, something he only every allows her to be privy to.
Donna doesn’t push or pry, merely listens carefully, beer lukewarm between her palms as he talks, and she can’t help but think about how this has always been the best and most frustrating part of their relationship. How after a decade and more of shifting and growing and infiltrating every single crack and crevice of the other’s life, they are still in the midst of fully letting the other in, holding back some of the innate details of their lives out of self preservation and something else entirely.
Something they don’t dare name, something they toe and ignore, but pulsates between them like an undercurrent, binding them together.
Eventually, the dancing sort of happens by accident. One minute Donna is using her hands for emphasis as she tells him the hilarious details of the time she inadvertently staged a week-long sit-in her sophomore year and the next minute Harvey is pulling her up and away from the bar, muttering something about not being able to hear her talk over the loud music and goddamn college kids two tables behind them. Donna stumbles a little, alcohol weighing her down, but the fingers wrapped snugly around her wrist steady her, anchor her to him as they walk.
When he pulls her against him, it’s suddenly too warm, the whiskey swimming through her veins too fast, and her head spins. Harvey’s hands spasm on her waist before settling, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress before relaxing, like suddenly he’s unsure and trying not to let it show. She feels his touch everywhere, and it takes her a minute to adjust, to relax and give into him, her arms tangling themselves around his neck as he hums along with the music.
The want hits her hard, unreliable as it sparks and settles in the base of her spine, and she blinks against it, tries not to focus on how nice this is with his body pressed against hers, his voice low in her ear as he tells her a story she won’t remember later due to lack of focus.
They’re not even dancing really, just holding on to each other, bodies forming a long, languid line as they sway, the band and other patrons paying witness to their foolishness.
(Donna remembers the first time they did this – some event for the DA’s office during that very first year together. His suit was a half-size too big, his tie too skinny, and her dress was cut too modestly as he stepped all over her toes.
Sometimes, Donna wishes more people knew him then, but then she realizes she likes the surge of possessiveness, the quick coil of heat she gets in the pit of her stomach when she remembers she is one of the few, the rare that knew him when.)
At some point, Harvey pulls back, pulling her away from the past as he peers down at her with a smile that is too soft, too vulnerable and threatens to unhinge her at every end. There is a joke, but it falls short, gets lost somewhere between them because there is such affection, such a vast amount of absolute want in the way he’s looking at her that it leaves her breathless.
She is the first to look away.
It’s an exhausting game of give and take between them, one of constant deflection, always has been. Probably always will be. They’ve never been very good at these sorts of things, these moments where it would be so easy to say what they are thinking, what they want, and allow the cards to fall wherever they may fall. They aren’t very good at this because they are both usually experts at feigning indifference, allowing the emotions to flicker to life for just a short span of time before shutting them down completely.
It is how they’ve survived for as long as they have, how they remain mostly intact as friends, colleagues and, most importantly, partners.
So Donna simply smiles through the moment, indulging herself by pulling him closer to her still. The song switches to something vaguely familiar she can’t quite place. Harvey knows it, of course, hums along with the tune somewhere near her ear, the vibrations digging into her skin and bones. She presses her eyes closed, and allows herself this quiet moment to think about the possibilities of impossibilities.
It is enough for now.
Summary: Five times Harvey and Donna touch.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 5,036 words. General series spoilers. Written in part for
phrenitis because she indulges me, and this whole thing stemmed from a long conversation about why it is these two actively do not touch each other. That's just how we roll. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not. Con-crit is, as always, welcome and appreciated. i.
Donna gets the call in the middle of the night, her mother’s voice shaky and exhausted as it crackles over the line.
It’s you father, she starts, then stops, and it’s all her mother has to say, really, because the tears speak volumes about what is left unsaid. Donna has always known how to read between the lines.
The bile rises in her throat, sweat pooling near the base of her spine, and before Donna can even blink away the sleep or flick on the nearest light, she is out of bed and changing into jeans, throwing on the nearest sweatshirt as she registers bits and pieces of what her mother is telling her. There is more, facts and statistics her mother likes to use because she likes the reliability of them, but all Donna hears is heart attack and surgery and too soon to tell.
She drives all night, windows rolled down and music blaring to keep her awake. She sings along with the radio, counts back years and memories, when her biggest problems consisted of broken hearts and skinned knees. She remembers early Sunday mornings, just the two of them before the rest of the house woke, when her father used to tell her things like, kiddo, you are going to change the world one day and how she took those words to heart, allowed them to guide her path in life because she simply wanted to make him proud. Donna tries to remember the last time she talked to him, really talked to him in some way that wasn’t superficial or in passing. It was her birthday she thinks, just a few months back, but distance makes things hazy, and she can’t quite remember. It hurts her heart in a way she is entirely unaccustomed to, this fierce constriction that burns and reverberates deep within her chest. Donna starts to make a promise, a vow to a god she hasn’t prayed to in years to be a better daughter, a better person if only –
But then she stops herself short because she’s the perfect mixture of both her parents and she needs facts and statistics before she can start with the stage of bargaining.
When she stops for coffee and gas twenty miles outside of her hometown, the sun is just starting to peak over the horizon, bathing the sky in a brilliant shade of blue. She sends a quick text to Harvey as she watches, keeping it simple. They deal better with absolutes in these types of situations, never ones to hide between banter and subtext when it’s truly important. There are lines they’ve drawn over the years, some bold, some thin, some practically non-existent and they make an art out toeing them, but they also know when it is best to respect them. They rely on each other too much for their honesty, on the stability of their routines. Donna needs that more than anything else right now.
He tries to call immediately after, the phone vibrating in her hand almost as soon as she clicks send, but she knows him too well. Donna knows the first words out his mouth will be Are you OK? in that quiet, gentle way he sometimes lets shine through the cracks when it’s just the two of them, when he is tired and worn down just enough to let his the indifference fall away to something deeper, something that shows too much of all the things he tries so very hard to hide. Donna is not ready for it. She’s not ready to break just yet, not until she knows there is just cause for it.
She has also never quite been able to figure out how to lie to him about things of importance. So she simply lets the call click over to voicemail and turns the music up as loud as it will go in an effort to drown the mess inside her head, her mouth moving along with the lyrics to cover the ache in her throat.
When she arrives at the hospital, her sister stands outside the parking garage, cigarette between her too-bony fingers as she waits. The first words out of her mouth are don’t tell mom as she takes one final drag and stubs out the butt with the toe of her shoe. The second are they think he’s going to be okay. Donna just sort of deflates then, everything going soft and hazy as her shoulders sag with sheer relief, eyes just starting to burn as her baby sister suddenly bridges the distance between them, burying her head in the crook of Donna’s neck. Her tears soak the collar of her sweatshirt, and Donna holds her tightly, tells her it’s going to be okay because that is what good sisters are meant to do.
With her heart in her throat, Donna blinks back tears, holds it together for her sister, and for her mother, and for her father when he finally wakes hours later scared, angry, and looking much, much older than Donna ever remembers. She holds it together for the days and weeks that follow as she stays, cashing in the vacation days she’s been hoarding for years to help her mother adjust to the new regimen and the housework, to make sense of her father’s books at the store while she finds somebody new to take over in an interim position. Donna holds it together as her father fights the diet and the physical therapy and the medications, acting every bit the part of the man who taught Donna how to be bold and brave and unbelievably stubborn. She holds it together while her sister comes and goes, flitting in and out whenever she damn well feels like it, usually with her children who wreak havoc wherever they frequent in tow.
(There had been a conversation, one that started and ended with her sister’s tears, voice breaking as she murmured I just can’t, okay? And Donna had nodded and agreed because her sister had a husband and a new baby and isn’t that what big sisters are suppose to do? Carry whatever burden the others aren’t able to?
Her family has always been her weak spot, where she is her most vulnerable. They’ve never been afraid to take advantage of it, either.
And Donna, well, she’s never been good at saying no to the people who matter.)
Donna does a remarkable job of holding everything together until she comes home from the pharmacy after a long morning of arguing with the insurance company about why they suddenly aren’t paying for her father’s three hundred dollar, ten-day prescription to find everything has erupted into complete chaos in her absence. Her niece’s screams from the makeshift crib in the living room curdle in the pit of Donna’s stomach. Her nephew is running around with a blanket tied around his neck pretending to be a superhero, jumping off of chairs and tripping over rugs, and her sister is saying, we’re out of milk again without even looking up from her computer as the house phone rings and rings and rings from it’s position on the coffee table right next to her goddamn feet. With clenched fists and a diatribe of filthy language her mother used to wash her mouth out with soap for right on the tip of her tongue, Donna escapes to the kitchen, picking up the phone on the wall and slamming it back down on the cradle just to stop the shrill ring from popping in her ears.
She’s seething silently near the sink, thumbnail between her teeth as the water slowly refills the pitcher somebody emptied and promptly left out, when the sound of the front door creaking open and closed echoes throughout the house. Suddenly, the noise dissipates. The baby’s wails subside into a soft, manageable cry. Her nephew’s heavy stomping ceases altogether, and Donna turns sharply at the sound of footsteps that are too heavy to be her sisters, senses immediately on alert.
The minute she sees him the tiny thread that had been holding her together starts to fray at the ends, threatening to unravel her completely. There is a lump in her throat so thick she nearly chokes on it, and for a full minute all she can do is stand there, hands tight around the countertop for support as the water overflows from the pitcher into the sink behind her.
“I just bribed your nephew with a Nintendo. Is your sister going to be pissed?” Harvey asks, smirking, and Donna laughs a little, the sound twisting off into a sob she has to swallow around to keep from fully escaping. “I also got milk,” he adds matter-of-factly, and he holds it up as proof, so ridiculously satisfied with himself before placing it and a brown bag full of other groceries to the side.
She finds it absolutely ridiculous that the milk serves as her final undoing, the sight of it on the messy counter and his proud face unhinging her completely. The affection and gratitude she feels for him in this moment is so vast and fierce that it overwhelms her, starving the breath right from her lungs. She doesn’t know why he’s here, how he managed the time off, and doesn’t ask because he’s Harvey and he always just knows. He knows her, all of her, exactly when he’s needed to save her from herself. It’s who they are and the tears start to burn behind her eyes and fall without remorse. Donna is so beyond exhausted by this point that she doesn’t even try to stop them.
Harvey’s face flickers with concern, his mouth softening, but he does not ask are you okay? and she is so incredibly thankful for it. Without thinking, she crosses the short distance to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders as she buries her head into his neck, breathing in his warmth. She draws on the strength he offers without thought, trying so very hard to make it her own. Pulling her closer, his arms curl around her waist and her fingers leave wrinkles in their wake as she curls them in the fabric at his shoulders. She has missed him, missed her best friend, and she didn’t realize how much she needed him until he was here, standing in her parent’s kitchen with the mud from the driveway dirtying his perfect shoes.
“My sister keeps forgetting to refill the goddamn water pitcher,” she murmurs, hiccupping a little against the skin of his neck. His laughter is warm and reassuring as it presses into her skin.
Harvey holds her until she is ready to let go.
ii.
Harvey’s favorite part of their pre-trial ritual (and, subsequently, the part he will never share with Mike) is this:
Before he presses the can opener into her hands, her fingers busy themselves with his tie, loosening and tightening around the fabric until the knot and dimple are in perfect alignment. As she does her mouth curls, the turn delicate and soft, as her palms rest on his shoulders, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles until she deems him presentable.
“Go get ‘em,” she says and sometimes, depending on the time of day or the state of their week, he idly thinks about what it would be like to kiss her again.
It’s not the first time he has entertained such thoughts and it won’t be the last.
They are better at this now, at keeping their distance, at respecting battle lines and each other after the time they no longer speak of. It is easier for them this way and he knows this, knows they may never happen because there are things you can never rebound from, things you simply cannot survive intact, and losing her, losing her friendship would be one of them. He will never admit aloud just how absolutely vital she is to nearly every aspect of his life, doesn’t really understand some days how she bleeds into every single aspect of his life without remorse, setting him straight on course when he threatens to veer off in unknown directions. The people who matter know the truth.
It is why he allows himself to want for her – for them, for the simplicity of it all in a far removed type of way – but does not touch. It is why Harvey buries whatever feelings he may have had once upon a time when they were different people and simply didn’t know better, and tricks himself into forgetting.
Like most things in life, he is extremely good at it.
Still, Harvey is selfish to a goddamn fault, even more so where Donna is concerned, so he allows himself these rare moments of indiscretion. Allows his mouth to twist as the sigh, weighted and soft, leaves his mouth and he memorizes and files away the red of her hair, the turn of her lips, the weight of her touch as it lingers against his skin.
And then he smirks, steps away, schools his expression into one that both looks and feels familiar. He remembers, like clockwork, that she is not his and he is not hers and they are
not the type of people allowed to test such boundaries without fear of repercussions. He remembers, all too clearly, that this is what they have instead: mere moments, soft and fleeting, when the possibility stands as a mere unattainable promise.
iii.
Late at night, when the silence of the firm echoes off the glass, is when they let their guards down. Late nights breathe both familiarity and concern, their exhaustion edging its way to the surface, fighting for control and licking at nerves. Donna routinely finds herself curled onto the left side of his couch, briefings and files covering her lap as her toes curl and dig into the cushion near his side. Harvey allows this, a habit of theirs started years before, as a record plays soft and low in the corner.
There is takeout to the left, a bottle of beer half-gone on the floor somewhere within reach and her eyes start to burn, the muscles of her shoulders aching from lack of sleep. Donna twists her neck to work out the kink, closes her eyes and breathes through the discomfort, counts to five backwards and forwards and is about to move to put on the coffee when he reaches for her, fingers smooth and sure against the skin of her ankles as he pulls her feet into his lap. She sighs a little as her muscles stretch to accommodate the change in position, her knees cracking in the process, and her smile is small, grateful as he tosses one file to the side just to reach for another.
Their movements counter the other’s for a while, files passed back and forth between them, scribble in the margins with notations only the other understands. She has been back two weeks, closer to three now, and it was a relief, in the beginning, how easy it was for them to reclaim common ground, for the foundation to feel solid beneath her feet. Things are different, the shifting and changing that occurred during their time apart seemingly irrevocable, it’s impact still undecided, but they are still them, still Harvey and Donna in all the ways that matter.
“I should have fought harder for you.”
It takes her a moment to register that he’s speaking to her because his voice is low, rough from lack of use and the only thing giving him away is the way the vibrations of his tone settle against skin and dig into her bones. Donna’s eyes flick towards his, watch as he actively avoids looking at her, his left hand falling to his lap, brushing against the arch of her foot before dropping to his side. She pulls her feet back on instinct alone, curls into herself.
It is only after the loss of contact that he looks at her with such honesty it catches her off guard, sets her on edge. Harvey’s mouth presses into a thin, straight line. Donna can count the lines around his mouth and she holds a breath, allows the air to fill her lungs as she waits for the discomfort of the moment to pass.
There is a joke to be made, the punch line already right there on the tip of her tongue, itching for release because it is their default, their defense mechanism, and it feels as though it is the right thing to do. But it would cheapen the moment, would ruin the strides they’re taking at trying to overcome the last bit of distance that still exists between them and Donna knows him, knows what he is looking for, what he has needed from her all along but will never be able to ask for aloud.
“I shouldn’t have kept it from you,” she murmurs, almost too softly, and watches as his face registers something she can’t quite place, the corners of his mouth lifting just barely.
There is a nod, curt and slight, and Harvey reaches for her again, fingertips smoothing and tapping against her skin. All too easily she gives in, straightens her legs until her ankles cross in his lap once more. The joke falls out of her mouth easily now, and he laughs, the sound soft and tired but familiar.
Finally, she remembers to breathe.
iv.
His father’s house stays empty, collecting dust for nearly a year.
Harvey dealt with the logistics when he was home for the funeral – the mortgage, taxes, forwarding address – and chalks up his avoidance to something altogether different, to this merger or that case. The bills arrive like clockwork every month, he sees them peek out from underneath the files on Donna’s desk occasionally, but he never mentions them, and she pays them without saying a word. It takes her seven months to bring up selling, another two to convince him to actually hire a realtor, and another one to arrange a long weekend for him to head there and get the house in order because he adamantly refuses to hire movers to sort through his father’s possessions. Knows they would treat the intricate items as if they were trash and that is just simply unacceptable.
(She only brings up his brother once, telling him quietly, you should call him, he’d want to help in that tender tone she uses so rarely, the unfamiliarity of it always managing to unnerve him. Harvey shuts down the conversation immediately, reminds her that his brother has enough things on his plate, and it’s his job now that his father is gone to protect him from these sorts of things.
His brother is strong, was made that way by circumstance just like Harvey, but he is much, much easier to break.)
He tells Donna he can do it alone, but she shows up that Friday morning with an overnight bag regardless, and clears his schedule after three so they can make it there at a decent hour. He drives, and she distracts him with her feet up on the dashboard and her fingers constantly fiddling with his pre-set stations. Harvey knows what she’s doing before she even does it – knows she goads him into arguments just to keep him from retreating too far into himself, and he is so profoundly thankful for her in ways he can’t even begin to articulate properly. He tries, even opens his mouth, but the words catch and die in his throat.
Which is okay, he figures, because she usually just knows.
They don’t sleep that first night. They try, but he’s wound too tightly, the walls of the house to suffocating as he lies in his childhood room with her just down the hall and his father’s presence everywhere he looks.
She knows, of course. Finds him in the kitchen just two hours after they say goodnight, drinks the whiskey from his glass, and starts working on wrapping the plates and glasses in old newspapers, placing them gingerly in a cardboard box she labels fragile. They make their way from room to room. Start in the kitchen, in the center of the house, and work their way outwards. She makes fun of baby pictures, and sneezes constantly as the dust stirs and then re-settles. Harvey tells her stories of his father, of this picture and that item, of those long Sunday afternoons of his childhood when his father taught him how to cradle the weight of a baseball in his hand and throw a curveball like the pro he could have been one day if things had turned out differently.
The walls are stained from the cigar smoke, and Donna takes to them with bleach and water as Harvey boxes up his old room and his brother’s too. She cooks at night, makes him drink water instead of alcohol, and is quiet when he needs the silence to serve as motivation and talks when he needs the chatter to calm the mess inside his head.
It’s an intentional thing, leaving his father’s study for last. The box from the last time he tried – the night of the funeral when he was trying to rush through the motions, but the stench of cigars and the sight of it all cut too deep – still sits neglected near the door. It’s partially filled with a few albums, a book or two, a picture of Harvey when he was eight or nine, his little brother awkwardly hugging his middle. The room is stuffy and dark, and when Donna opens the curtains to let the light shine in, the contrast burns his eyes.
The room is exactly how his father left it: saxophone in the corner, cigar half smoked on the table next to his worn chair, a bottle of something expensive and aged on the desk. Harvey’s throat burns as he looks around, as he remembers so many nights spent in here as a child, watching in awe as his father talked about music the way Harvey still talks about the law sometimes.
Donna reaches for him the moment he starts to break, her fingers swift and secure near the crook of his arm, and he’s not sure why, but it just makes things worse. He starts to move instead, working through the uncertainty as he heads to the bookshelf and uses it as his starting point. He goes through files and books, the stacks of music sheets with his father’s messy scrawl scribbled from edge to edge.
It’s Donna who puts the record on sometime later, the scratch of the needle against vinyl snapping his head to attention as he watches her hands shake a little in the process. He remembers then, for perhaps the first time this weekend, that she loved his father too, in her own way. He remembers that he is not alone in this. Reaching for the bottle of whiskey left abandoned on the desk, he pours them both a glass and presses it into her hands. She smiles her gratitude.
Together, they sort through every inch of the room – pictures torn and fading around the edges, albums without jackets, jackets without albums, books with cracked spines, lists and lyrics, quotes stuck inside the thin pages. When they are finished, the significant separated from the trivial into boxes near the door, they sit side by side on the couch as the sun dies outside the window, filling his father’s study with a hue that paints the room golden.
Without thought, Harvey catches her wrist, fingers intertwining with hers. He squeezes softly, just a slight amount of pressure, and she holds on. Coltrane plays softly on the record player.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says.
v.
There is a dive bar just a few blocks from her apartment, and she drags Harvey to it just so she can watch him squirm uncomfortably for the first ten minutes of the evening the week Mike transitions seamlessly into a second year associate. It’s just the three of them at first, drinking cheap beer and even cheaper whiskey, wincing as it burns on the way down and trading anecdotes about Louis from years past like it’s a privilege somehow, and making too many jokes about how their boy is finally growing up.
Rachel shows up somewhere in the middle, sliding home awkwardly next to Mike in their booth near the far corner of the bar. Mike’s already pretty drunk by now – thanks to Donna egging him on and Harvey coaxing him into doing all three wise men in quick succession by claiming tradition – and a sloppy one at that. So it isn’t at all surprising, really, that the remainder of Donna’s night is spent in total amusement, silently mocking the two with Harvey whenever their company’s attention is diverted because of all the touching and flirting going on both above and below the table.
Harvey puts Rachel and Mike into separate cabs sometime after midnight, much to Donna’s complaints and endless speeches about letting nature take it’s course that he aptly ignores.
Afterwards, they linger far longer than they should at the bar, her feet tucked around the lower rung of the barstool as they talk about the Yankees and her parents, as they trade epic tales of the indiscretions they committed when they were young and stupid and allowed. Donna sips her beer, and watches as he talks animatedly about the time he drove his father’s car into the mailbox only to talk his way out of grounding and paying for the repairs. Naturally, the conversation then segues into one about his father, one that starts out guarded and impersonal, but slowly morphs into something deeper, something he only every allows her to be privy to.
Donna doesn’t push or pry, merely listens carefully, beer lukewarm between her palms as he talks, and she can’t help but think about how this has always been the best and most frustrating part of their relationship. How after a decade and more of shifting and growing and infiltrating every single crack and crevice of the other’s life, they are still in the midst of fully letting the other in, holding back some of the innate details of their lives out of self preservation and something else entirely.
Something they don’t dare name, something they toe and ignore, but pulsates between them like an undercurrent, binding them together.
Eventually, the dancing sort of happens by accident. One minute Donna is using her hands for emphasis as she tells him the hilarious details of the time she inadvertently staged a week-long sit-in her sophomore year and the next minute Harvey is pulling her up and away from the bar, muttering something about not being able to hear her talk over the loud music and goddamn college kids two tables behind them. Donna stumbles a little, alcohol weighing her down, but the fingers wrapped snugly around her wrist steady her, anchor her to him as they walk.
When he pulls her against him, it’s suddenly too warm, the whiskey swimming through her veins too fast, and her head spins. Harvey’s hands spasm on her waist before settling, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress before relaxing, like suddenly he’s unsure and trying not to let it show. She feels his touch everywhere, and it takes her a minute to adjust, to relax and give into him, her arms tangling themselves around his neck as he hums along with the music.
The want hits her hard, unreliable as it sparks and settles in the base of her spine, and she blinks against it, tries not to focus on how nice this is with his body pressed against hers, his voice low in her ear as he tells her a story she won’t remember later due to lack of focus.
They’re not even dancing really, just holding on to each other, bodies forming a long, languid line as they sway, the band and other patrons paying witness to their foolishness.
(Donna remembers the first time they did this – some event for the DA’s office during that very first year together. His suit was a half-size too big, his tie too skinny, and her dress was cut too modestly as he stepped all over her toes.
Sometimes, Donna wishes more people knew him then, but then she realizes she likes the surge of possessiveness, the quick coil of heat she gets in the pit of her stomach when she remembers she is one of the few, the rare that knew him when.)
At some point, Harvey pulls back, pulling her away from the past as he peers down at her with a smile that is too soft, too vulnerable and threatens to unhinge her at every end. There is a joke, but it falls short, gets lost somewhere between them because there is such affection, such a vast amount of absolute want in the way he’s looking at her that it leaves her breathless.
She is the first to look away.
It’s an exhausting game of give and take between them, one of constant deflection, always has been. Probably always will be. They’ve never been very good at these sorts of things, these moments where it would be so easy to say what they are thinking, what they want, and allow the cards to fall wherever they may fall. They aren’t very good at this because they are both usually experts at feigning indifference, allowing the emotions to flicker to life for just a short span of time before shutting them down completely.
It is how they’ve survived for as long as they have, how they remain mostly intact as friends, colleagues and, most importantly, partners.
So Donna simply smiles through the moment, indulging herself by pulling him closer to her still. The song switches to something vaguely familiar she can’t quite place. Harvey knows it, of course, hums along with the tune somewhere near her ear, the vibrations digging into her skin and bones. She presses her eyes closed, and allows herself this quiet moment to think about the possibilities of impossibilities.
It is enough for now.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-08 02:48 pm (UTC)The progression here just works so well, each moment bleeding into the next in subtle yet profound ways. The contrast of her unraveling when it comes to her dad against his was especially strong.
Even more, the feeling of their connectedness - of how 'all in' they really are - is bright and warm here.
She has missed him, missed her best friend, and she didn’t realize how much she needed him until he was here, standing in her parent’s kitchen with the mud from the driveway dirtying his perfect shoes.
Love the level of detail here. It's enough that she has missed him, but that she's noticing the little things like the mud on his shoes makes it that much more powerful.
Harvey knows what she’s doing before she even does it – knows she goads him into arguments just to keep him from retreating too far into himself, and he is so profoundly thankful for her in ways he can’t even begin to articulate properly
Not only is this articulated wonderfully, but it's a great observation about how they work. It's very true to their dynamic.
Ok, last thing, I adored the note you left us on. The addition of now just strikes the perfect balance. Nicely done ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-08 09:49 pm (UTC)I just want these two idiots to get it together. Is that so much to ask for? lol
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-08 11:55 pm (UTC)Nooo, of course not. Maybe if we all put it on our holiday lists....
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 12:01 am (UTC)I've been meaning to ask: have you been watching The Good Wife?
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 12:27 am (UTC)I have been, but I'll be honest, my disappointment from the end of last season hasn't really been lifted yet.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 11:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 08:06 pm (UTC)I'm also pretty disgusted by the thought of Alicia even supporting Peter in any way. In sum, Will and Diane (and Cary, when the poor guy even makes it on screen) are the only things pulling me back right now.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-08 05:52 pm (UTC)LOL.
So what I basically said last night:
I LOVE THIS.
The first and last scene particularly left lasting impressions on me.
The first scene reminds me of the scene between Ben Afflack and Jennifer Aniston's characters in He's Just Not That Into You where her father had a heart attack and she was the one taking care of him while her sisters and their stupid husbands were basically inadequate. Who walks in? Ben Afflack's character who basically up until this point, was all for commitment except for marriage. I think your scene played so much better simply because of the added nuances of the inner dialogue that's going on. You really do have a way with the quiet and mental moments. So good.
The last scene has me wanting to pull my hair out with these two, LOL. I keep wanting to scream - WILL YOU STOP WASTING TIME. I get it - it's a complicated line, one they can't afford to cross with the way their relationship seems to have them firing at their best and most efficient. But at what cost?!? This has to wear on them, especially Donna! To constantly deny the way they feel, especially when they seem to have no problem crossing the line in the most quiet and poignant of ways?!?
GET IT TOGETHER, YOU TWO IDIOTS!
Which basically means - YOU ARE BRILLIANT!
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-08 09:34 pm (UTC)Now that you mention the parallels between that first scene and He's Just Not that Into You I totally see it! Which isn't at all surprising because that was one of my most favorite scenes of that movie, the way he just sort of shows up, and what that means.
True story: I had a sixth section, but it was set in the future, with them together, and it didn't really fit? I mean, the last section was actually the hardest to write because it is them actively toeing that line whereas I think before it has them doing it in more of a subconscious way because they don't quite realize what they feel for each other yet, and I really wanted it to line up with where I hope we are in the show sometime soon. So, I am super excited that you liked it.
One thing to ask you (non-related): How attached are you to your mistletoe prompt that you asked for? I am writing you Christmas fic, but it doesn't really involve mistletoe, does that matter?
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-08 10:44 pm (UTC)I liked the scene in the movie because of how he just did everything she was stressing about for her father. I mean, the sense of relief that he brought her? It totally matches the sense of relief that you gave Donna when Harvey just showed up and how the house quieted down. It all works. I don't believe you were using that scene as inspiration, but it's kind of funny how the parallels have fit in, ya know?
Yeah, you're right - that sixth section wouldn't have worked. While selfishly, I would have LOVED that, it might have rung a little false, considering our head canon is much more nuanced and ahead of the show! CATCH UP SHOW, WILL YOU? lol.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-08 07:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-08 09:27 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 12:08 am (UTC)BEAR WITH ME AS I TRY TO FORMULATE COHERENT ENOUGH WORDS.
But oh, this is so so so great. I've been so excited to see what you created out of talking about them and their not-touching, carefully crafted. And this is so far beyond what I could have imagined, you just nail it all so perfectly. I love the one with him and her and her family, and then counter to the one dealing with his father's house. That's just gorgeous writing there.
and the end! you leave us with a "now" that is so evocative.
BASICALLY NEVER STOP WITH YOUR FLAWLESSNESS.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 11:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 03:46 pm (UTC)Plus, my fall break is this weekend, so I'm hoping to carve out some time to relax and play but writing!
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 03:59 am (UTC)They were all lovely, but I especially loved this- Sometimes, Donna wishes more people knew him then, but then she realizes she likes the surge of possessiveness, the quick coil of heat she gets in the pit of her stomach when she remembers she is one of the few, the rare that knew him when. It rings so true of them, of her, to me.
Thank you, thank you! Keep indulging each other, we are all benefiting.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 11:22 am (UTC)Thank you so much for reading! I am glad that you liked this - and don't worry, there is definitely more. These two and their stupid faces are all I seem to want to write right now.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 10:14 pm (UTC)Their stupid faces are all I seem to want to read right now, good match.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 02:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-10 07:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-09 04:46 pm (UTC)Can I quote lines back at you? Because it's happening, so.
And Donna, well, she’s never been good at saying no to the people who matter.
He remembers, all too clearly, that this is what they have instead: mere moments, soft and fleeting, when the possibility stands as a mere unattainable promise.
His brother is strong, was made that way by circumstance just like Harvey, but he is much, much easier to break.
Gah. Just. *marries them*
The information revealed in this - all this backstory that fits so perfectly into the gaps we have and just makes me need even more... absolutely lovely. Sometimes, I can't even decide whether I like them in UST or RST better - you write both brilliantly, of course, and each new fic you put out just makes me go: ooh wait, no, THIS ONE.
:)
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-10 08:01 pm (UTC)I need new material to analyze. Is it January yet?
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-11 07:02 am (UTC)Ready for the timeline?
We know Harvey met Jessica in the mail room at PH (or whatever it was then) and she got him to go to law school. He had to have a college degree before this point (so I like to think he went to college on a baseball scholarship and then an injury killed the dream of going pro and he ended up in the mail room). Harvard is a 3-year program, and then it takes about 7-8 years as an associate before you make partner.
He started at PH after Harvard (meeting Louis as a first-year associate), and at some point went to work for the DA per Jessica's recommendation. He was back at PH by 2007 when he made junior partner. And then made senior partner 4 years later in 2011. The question I still have is at what point he came back to PH from the DA's, as I assume he was back at PH as a senior associate for at least some time - a year? - before we saw him make junior partner.
OKAY. SO. Here's where things start to fall apart. Let's say it took Harvey the full 8 years to make junior partner. That puts him graduating Harvard around 1999.
No matter how you slice it, for him to have been working with Donna for 12 years by 2011, then they had to meet either while he was still at Harvard (maybe he was doing a summer internship at PH?), or while he was a first-year at PH. I can't see them meeting at the DA's office because that was just too late in the timeline, even if he was only at PH for a year before going over - unless it took him 9 years to make partner, which is possible given that Donna does bring up the fact that his dad has been wondering when they are going to do so. But really? Come on, this is Harvey. Seems unlikely it'd take him longer than average to make partner.
So my theory is really that they met before the DA and that somehow he brought Donna with him when he went there. God only knows how, but again, this is Harvey we're talking about, so he figured out something! And it's likely that she was the legal secretary to the junior associates when he and Louis were first at PH, which means she also supported Louis at one point in time. And the fun I'd have with that is just endless. :D It also means that she knew Jessica before they went to the DA which could explain why she was able to come back to PH with Harvey as his personal assistant before he made partner.
I might be TOTALLY off on the timeline, of course, but that's where I keep netting out each time I try to plot it out.
Aaaaaand... DISCUSS. <3
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-13 02:20 am (UTC)1993 - Shoulder blow out is either prior to June after his high school graduation or June after Junior or Senior Year of NYU. Since NYU is a NCAA Division III school, there is very little chance a MLB caliber player would choose to attend NYU as the chance of playing at a high-enough level to make it into the MLB draft are very low. Therefore, it would be most likely to occur his senior year of high school, not his senior year of college.
1997 - Graduates from NYU
1997-1998 - Works in the Pearson Hardman mailroom after college (at least one year to allow time to take LSAT & apply after college graduation)
1999 - First Year Summer Internship (Usually public interest, firms like PH rarely have first years, maybe even the DA's office?)
1999 - Donna & Harvey meet (according to the 12th anniversary, I'm really liking the public interest angle, perhaps Donna was at wherever he did his 1L internship and he recommended her to the DA's office or let her know there was an opening since something like that would be civil service)
2000 - Second Year Summer Internship (This had to been at Pearson Hardman, perhaps when he met Louis as a First Year?)
2001 - Graduates from Harvard Law
2001-2003 - Two Years as a ADA as seen in this screencap: http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4os8zdCB21r0t38oo1_1280.jpg
2003 - Harvey meets Ray after leaving $3,000 in his car (8 years prior to 2011)
2006 - Harvey is a Senior Associate (usually have at least 5 years experience or equivalent), Louis Litt make Junior Partner, Harvey helps Jessica oust Hardman and Harvey makes Junior Partner, Harvey's father dies
2011 - Harvey makes Senior Partner (which is about on track for what I see online when I search for youngest ever senior partner and agrees with the intel from the 2 generations of law insiders in the family)
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-13 04:56 am (UTC)And good point about the baseball/injury. I do wonder what he chose to major in - why he ended up working in the mail room of a law firm...
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-15 10:52 am (UTC)1989 - Shoulder blow out was his senior year of high school prior to the championship game according to Travis Tanner's taunts in "Undefeated". To be MLB draft-eligible, he must be 18 by June of his senior year of high school, so he can't have skipped grades (plus it's the last thing anyone looking for a college scholarship for sports would do).
1993 - Graduates from NYU
1993-1994 - Works in the Pearson Hardman mailroom after college (at least one year to allow time to take LSAT & apply after college graduation)
1995 - First Year Summer Internship (Usually public interest, firms like PH rarely have first years, maybe even the DA's office?)
1996 - Second Year Summer Internship (This had to been at Pearson Hardman, perhaps when he met Louis as a First Year?)
1997 - Graduates from Harvard Law, Inside Track - Harvey when asked about his rookie dinner: "I came into the league as a sophomore", so he was never a first year associate at PH.
1997-1999 - Two Years as a ADA as seen in this screencap: http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4os8zdCB21r0t38oo1_1280.jpg, "Rules of the Game", worked as ADA for two years, Harvey to Alexander Leeds, 'I haven't worked for Cameron Dennis for over a decade', Clifford Danner was put in jail twelve years ago.
1999 - Donna & Harvey meet, "Inside Track" - Harvey to one of the Senior Partners: 'Except you, Fred, I gave up on making you proud in 1999', McKernan Motors, who was the first client he brought in, the bylaws 'were written a dozen years ago when I was two years younger than you', Mike's age is unknown
2003 - Harvey meets Ray after leaving $3,000 in his car (8 years prior to 2011)
2007 - Harvey is a Senior Associate (usually have at least 5 years experience or equivalent), Louis Litt make Junior Partner, Harvey helps Jessica oust Hardman and Harvey makes Junior Partner, Harvey's father dies
2011 - Harvey makes Senior Partner (which is about on track for what I see online when I search for youngest ever senior partner and agrees with the intel from the 2 generations of law insiders in the family)
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-16 04:23 pm (UTC)I have this bookmarked because it is perfect and wonderful and exactly the sort of ridiculous detail I love. THANK YOU.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-17 07:58 pm (UTC)McKernan Motors, who was the first client he brought in as an associate, had their bylaws 'written a dozen years ago when I was two years younger than you', Mike's age is unknown but is supposed to be in the Harvard Law 2011 class and was already thrown out of college by 2007, so he is 25 or older. Remember, Harvey had to take a year off between NYU and Harvard Law to work in the mailroom and get his ass kicked into taking the LSATs and apply (although it could have been a part-time job while he attended NYU) so there were 7 or 8 calendar years between high school graduation and graduation from Harvard Law in 1997. If Harvey was two years younger in 1999 than Mike was in 2011, Mike has to be older than 25 to have realistically gone to Harvard Law, Harvey had already spent two years at the DA by 1999, and Harvey had to take 7 or 8 years between high school graduation and his graduation from Harvard Law, Mike is definitely at least 26 or 27.
So if Harvey graduated High School at 18, he would be 40 when he made senior partner which is a year older than Gabriel Macht's real age. If he was 17 when he graduated high school, he would be 39 when he made senior partner and Mike would be 27 in Season 1. Or if he worked in the mailroom while at NYU, he could have graduated high school in 1990 at 18, NYU in 1994 at 22, Harvard Law in 1997 at 25, join Pearson Hardman in 1999 at 27, and be exactly Gabriel Macht's age....
Randomly, I reread a story on ffnet that said in their notes that they capped Harvey's wall and saw 1997 on his Harvard Law diploma. I don't know if it's iTunes being a bitch or my vision, but I couldn't get a close enough view in High Noon. Does anyone else remember another time we could clearly see Harvey's diplomas?
And fandom, most fanfic about how old Mike is oh so wrong... he is 29 in 2011 and 30 in 2012!
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-17 05:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-17 08:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-10 05:34 am (UTC)THEY JUST KEEP GETTING MORE BRILLIANT.
I'm pretty sure the first one broke me in the best possible way. It's sad and sweet and the emotion is SO palpable. Donna doesn't answer her phone because she can't talk to Harvey because she knows she'll break, and she soldiers on because that's completely who she is - brave and determined in the face of adversity - and she has taken on so much of a burden on behalf of the rest of her family that she's being crushed by the weight, AND THEN WHEN SHE'S AT THE END OF HER TETHER, THERE'S THAT FACE STANDING AT THE DOOR. THAT STUPID FACE WITH HIS STUPID GROCERIES AND HIS STUPID MILK WEARING THAT SMIRK, BECAUSE HE JUST KNOWS; THAT'S WHAT THEY ARE TO EACH OTHER - AN EXTENSION, A LIFE RAFT, TWO HALVES OF A WHOLE WHERE YOU CAN'T DETERMINE THE POINT ONE ENDS AND THE OTHER BEGINS. I imagine when she didn't pick up that day he knew exactly why, that she couldn't face hearing his voice at that moment, and he knew that she would try to take everything on herself; and he knows her sister won't be any help, and he knows how much Donna will continue to bear it to protect those around her, and he misses her and he worries for her everyday she's not at the office (though he would try his best to cover it up, but it doesn't matter because Mike and Jessica can see right through him). And, OH MY HEART when she finally feels some relief at the sight of him. You can actually feel the weight begin to lift off of her shoulders, because her best friend and her partner and the one person she is "like this" with shows up at just the right time (as if he can determine to the second when his presence would be the biggest comfort to her), not to mention, they are always better at facing adversity together. (If you couldn't tell this one made me a
lotemotional as evidenced by the repetitive use of 'and', CAPSLOCK!of DOOM, and my waxing poetic. Spin-off fic PLZ.)But my mess of feels on the first one is not to say the other four are not SPECTACULAR, because they are. The first one just caught me off guard with such an unexpected gut-punch and an uplifting, hopeful end. I am a sucker for a good gut-punch. ;) These little moments between them, where they show their true feelings and don't hide behind the banter, and come so close to acknowledging the depth of their connection are so rare, they are like these precious gems to read. Harvey finally saying he should have fought for her, and Donna acknowledging she wished she wouldn't have kept the memo from him, and THE DANCING, OH THE DANCING...I love and adore the characterization of Harvey, Donna, and their relationship in your fics. You just take their voices, every bit of who they are and give glimpses into these wonderful pieces of their lives. Okay, shutting my wordy self up now before I ramble on. lol. Thank you for making the hiatus a million times more bearable.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-17 05:34 pm (UTC)they are always better at facing adversity together
YESSSSSSS! This is probably my favorite aspect of their relationship. They work so well together, they are a unit, and maybe it's not romantic right now, and that is okay. I love them for it, because they are still completely dependent on each other in different ways (Harvey more so than Donna, I think, but it is still valid observation) and when they are 100% fully functioning, they are unstoppable. It's why he spiraled so far out of control in her absence. It's just so interesting and I know this is the Harvey&Mike show, but I REAAAALLLY wish we could have seen how Donna handled their trial separation. And I want to explore it in fic...
Anyway, thank you, thank you, thank you. This made my day, and I am working on something specifically for you for the drabble-a-thon.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-10-19 05:55 am (UTC)This made my day, and I am working on something specifically for you for the drabble-a-thon.
Totally didn't flip out when I read this. Not at all.(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-28 10:26 am (UTC)