190. {c} [suits] (harvey/donna) six degrees of separation [2/prologue+6+epilogue]
six degrees of separation ; r ; 2,475 words ;
what's gonna kill you is the second part
they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway
a/n: this is for abvj who donated to fandomaid
Harvey doesn't get what's happening. All he knows is that he knows when people are just being polite, that Ted was only being polite when he extended the offer to join them for dinner. Harvey knew that, he knew that and he knew what was coming right after he'd opened his mouth to say no but a yes fell out instead.
So now, he's sitting across the table from Donna. He was in a lose-lose situation, which he isn't keen on and he rarely allows himself to be in, because his options were sitting beside Donna or across from her. He smiles carefully, eyes trying to stay far away from Donna and her perfect demeanor now that there isn't a show to thoroughly keep everyone else busy. It isn't like he'd meant to stare at her throughout the course of the show anyway, but he really hopes that no one tries to ask him any questions.
He looks at Donna daringly across the table, her scowl fixated on him and he knows exactly why - she isn't pleased that he accepted the invitation and if he is honest then he'd tell her that he hadn't meant to. He'd wanted to say no, meant to say no, but his emotions (the ones what don't exist, the feelings buried deep down that he's practiced years to ignore, the ones that get the better of him on rare occasions but certainly make an appearance aggressively if at all) got the better of him in a way that made his mouth betray his head. Everything they've spent years working towards, years pretending never happened, years pretending neither of them think about, rears its ugly head at the most inopportune times.
He figures if their gazes lock long enough that someone will notice; he sees Donna tongue press against her cheek and he narrows his gaze in preparation.
"So, how did you enjoy the show, Harvey?" Donna presses.
You bitch, he thinks, accompanied with laughter because he knows that she knows and she's just putting him into a position to watch him wiggle his way out.
His mouth quirks teasingly, their gazes locked and not even acknowledging the other two at the table, "I found the show to be quite entertaining. I couldn't take my eyes off of it."
"I'll say," Zoe chimes in, "I didn't hear a word from you the entire time."
Her accent is both harsh and silky at the same time, makes him feel a sense of comfort and a sense of annoyance. He knows that Zoe is spoken, that he should shift his gaze to her in acknowledgement rather than keep focused on the redhead in front of him - across the table. For a moment, he is relieved that he is not beside her, isn't sure that he could withstand the accidental brush of her leg against his.
"I was speechless," Harvey admits, tilting his head in Zoe's direction.
Donna laughs and he snaps his gaze back towards her, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed in warning. The creases around his eyes are pronounced in a way that betrays him, emitting amusement rather than annoyance and in that moment he thinks only Donna. Only she could entirely mock him without belittling him - the quiet moments between them a mixture of what can and can't be.
"When have you ever been speechless?"
His amusement quickly fades because the person dragging this on is the one person he thought would have his back - she has just as much staked in this as he does. He lightly shakes his head, leaning forward in his chair. He rests his elbows on the table, threading his fingers together as he slightly tilts his head in an attempt to challenge her. She relents, tapping her fingers on the tablecloth to show her white flag.
The waitress comes over to the table before Harvey can retort and he is both relieved and devastated. He hates the way that the entire evening is giving him mixed emotions, but he knows the reason he agreed to join them for dinner. Knows that his heart just wasn't ready to not be looking at Donna anymore, knows that even though he looks at her all day there just isn't anyone who knows him quite the same.
He tries not to read too much into it, too much into anything, it's just the sense of familiarity that she offers him because she's always been there - right there for him to look at for just a moment of reassurance. He offers her a smile as he leans back in his seat, Zoe's hand making an appearance above the table and covering his. His gaze flits from Zoe to Donna and he takes note of their facial expressions.
Harvey doesn't let the moment lull for long, doesn't let his mind go places that it doesn't belong and doesn't bother trying to call attention to anything that is happening. He simply offers Zoe a lopsided smile, corners of his mouth tugging upwards as he glances at her, and slides his hand out from beneath hers. Silently, he hopes that the gesture goes unnoticed, that Zoe doesn't think anything of it and that Donna doesn't call attention to it. Donna has a habit of getting him into situations just to watch him claw his way out of it; he knows, at least he thinks he does, that she won't do this here and now - that she wouldn't willingly destroy him and her at the same time.
"We'll both have a Manhattan," Ted tells the waitress, gesturing between him and Donna.
Harvey's eyes return to Donna and he narrows his gaze at her, "you hate Manhattans."
"Harvey," Donna snaps in warning. She groans and leans forward in her seat. His eyes watch her every move, barely bothering to acknowledge Zoe in his peripheral vision. She matches his narrowed glance, "it's fine. I like them just fine."
His mind tells him to shut up but his lips betray him; "you hate them. I had to listen to a fifteen minute rant at that client's party about how much you hated them and why you hated them and how the presentations of them were absurd."
"Taste buds change every seven years," Donna challenges.
He leans forward in his seat as well, "oh, please, that's just a cop out. Stop pretending to be something you're not."
"Harvey," Zoe warns.
He sighs, "she hates Manhattans. She's hated them as long as I've known her. She just didn't start liking them just because she can."
"She is sitting right here," Donna interjects.
He snaps his eyes back to Donna, zeroing in on her, "you like margaritas and scotch and red wine."
"I like a lot of things," she replies decidedly.
She gestures to the waitress that a Manhattan is fine as Harvey relents. Ted's gaze is singled in on Harvey, distaste and displeasure clearly painted across his features. He only wishes he could keep his mouth shut, that he could promise he wouldn't destroy them with his big mouth.
Donna can feel Harvey's eyes on her. It isn't quite the way it is on a normal work day where she sits right outside of his office and he can see her through the glass. It doesn't feel like that, it isn't the same comforting connection that passes between them, the one that he gets because he knows she's listening and she gets because she knows he's watching.
It isn't like that, it isn't anything like that.
This stare is primal, it is possessive and combative. It annoys her to her very bone, can feel his presence in her veins and she wants nothing more than to return the favor. Her inner core is screaming out, silently begging with him to stop looking at her like just wants to devour her because she thinks that even though Ted is there (even though Zoe is there, even though Zoe probably just doesn't know that his eyes reflect his desire for her because maybe Zoe doesn't truly know him as she does), she thinks that she would let him without much protest.
She can feel his eyes on her, the reaction from within her surprising even her. She feels the heat rising in her stomach, the warmth hugging her skin and clinging to her like she has nothing to hide. She reaches over and lets her fingers settle on Ted's forearm reassuringly, trying so hard to ignore Harvey's reaction across from her.
She wants to withdraw her hand, wants to put space between her and Ted, but she knows that can't. That if she does, she will be questioned, he will wonder why and Ted will not be happy. They've been dating long enough, long enough that he should feel secure in their relationship and shouldn't question her movements at all.
But, maybe he should - maybe he has every right to, from the way that she can feel Harvey's presence between her legs and he hasn't even laid a hand on her.
Any hesitance to maintain physical contact with Ted can only make this all fall apart. She wills for some kind of reason to separate, for a reason to not feel Harvey's eyes boring holes into her until she wishes the chair would swallows her hole. She wants for some kind of relief from the reality because the only thing that matters is that she does not love Harvey Specter.
She breathes out an audible sigh of relief when their salads come to the table. She takes the moment to offer Ted's arm a gentle squeeze and retract her hand, her hand finding her fork to distract herself with the food. She doesn't have much of an appetite anymore, but at least it will busy her hands and she can push around her food like she's doing something.
Donna's teeth sink into a tomato and Harvey freezes from the other side of the table; his eyebrows furrow in question, "what are you doing? You hate tomatoes."
"No I don't," she disagrees with a laugh.
Harvey lightly shakes his head, "then why do you always give me yours when they come with your food?"
"Because you like tomatoes," she replies pointedly.
For a long moment he looks at her, lips pressed together in a thin line as he processes her words, the realization that she's always looking out for him entering his mind for nearly the thousandth time over the years. And she thinks for a moment that these are conversations they were never meant to have, that he was never supposed to know and he was never supposed to ask. These are the conversations that they weren't supposed to have, that other people were never meant to overhear.
It's the little things.
Ted ran into someone (or a group of someone's) that he knew and wanted to talk about his future campaign while Zoe ran to the bathroom after the meal was paid for, leaving them to be standing outside to wait for their prospective dates. The wind is blowing a little harder now, a cold chill surrounding her as the wind brushes through her hair. He notices, he notices the look on her face and the way her smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she catches his eye.
Her heels make her calves tight and flexed, the toned outline of them catching his eye as he tries not to notice. But she's hard not to notice. She's always been hard not to notice and he's always been able to silently notice.
He's happy - he's happy with Zoe so he shouldn't be thinking about what it would be like to hike up Donna's skirt right now.
He tilts his chin upward when he sees her shiver as she hugs herself for warmth. He's been busy trying not to look at her, busy trying to keep his eyes anywhere but focused on her even though he's been failing for the majority of the evening. He's usually so discreet when it comes from throwing glances at a woman, quick to look but rare to linger.
He steps closer when she looks at him, her eyes softer than they have been all night. She keeps one arm spread over her chest, her other hand resting at her side; he steps into her until the back of his hand brushes against hers, his fingers stretching along hers. He can feel her warmth, the way her fingertips hook around his.
They don't touch - not often, not intimately - because everything that they've ever felt can transfer in that moment. He remembers what it felt like the last time they touched; it was prolonged and distracting, so much so that he couldn't concentrate on the conversation at hand. Her fingertips lingered for hours, for days, and he'd thought about her hands even when it was Zoe's hands on his skin.
He releases a shaky breath, her nails long and emitting a neutral temperature compared to her frozen fingers. He's pretty sure that she inhales a deep breath beside him, fairly certain that he isn't the only one who is unraveling with just one touch. He sighs, eyes firmly planted on the busy street before them, and he's pretty sure that to anyone else they just look like two normal people.
"Donna," he mutters huskily.
She lightly shakes her head, her fingers sliding down the length of his barely clinging to the tips; "you have to stop looking at me like that."
"I know," he agrees, "I don't mean to."
"Then you should look away," she tells him.
He purses his lips together, tongue absently sliding from one corner to the next, "Monday morning, expect a different man."
"I expect the same man," she advises, "just one who is less obvious."
She releases a sigh, lifts her hand and brushes the hair out of her eyes. He finds that with her hand away from his, he misses it, misses the feeling of her fingers beneath his and her skin pressed against his. He drops his gaze to the ground and takes a half step away from her. He divulges his hands into his pockets and lifts his chin to look at her -
"he will be there, bright and early Monday morning."
Before she can respond, he hears Zoe's voice behind him as the door to the restaurant swings open. Harvey turns on his heel to glance at her over his shoulder, her smile easy and naive like she doesn't have the first clue as to what's going on. He thinks it's all the better, that one night is one night and nothing of fruition will evolve, but at least this way it can all be left behind.
what's gonna kill you is the second part
they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway
a/n: this is for abvj who donated to fandomaid
Harvey doesn't get what's happening. All he knows is that he knows when people are just being polite, that Ted was only being polite when he extended the offer to join them for dinner. Harvey knew that, he knew that and he knew what was coming right after he'd opened his mouth to say no but a yes fell out instead.
So now, he's sitting across the table from Donna. He was in a lose-lose situation, which he isn't keen on and he rarely allows himself to be in, because his options were sitting beside Donna or across from her. He smiles carefully, eyes trying to stay far away from Donna and her perfect demeanor now that there isn't a show to thoroughly keep everyone else busy. It isn't like he'd meant to stare at her throughout the course of the show anyway, but he really hopes that no one tries to ask him any questions.
He looks at Donna daringly across the table, her scowl fixated on him and he knows exactly why - she isn't pleased that he accepted the invitation and if he is honest then he'd tell her that he hadn't meant to. He'd wanted to say no, meant to say no, but his emotions (the ones what don't exist, the feelings buried deep down that he's practiced years to ignore, the ones that get the better of him on rare occasions but certainly make an appearance aggressively if at all) got the better of him in a way that made his mouth betray his head. Everything they've spent years working towards, years pretending never happened, years pretending neither of them think about, rears its ugly head at the most inopportune times.
He figures if their gazes lock long enough that someone will notice; he sees Donna tongue press against her cheek and he narrows his gaze in preparation.
"So, how did you enjoy the show, Harvey?" Donna presses.
You bitch, he thinks, accompanied with laughter because he knows that she knows and she's just putting him into a position to watch him wiggle his way out.
His mouth quirks teasingly, their gazes locked and not even acknowledging the other two at the table, "I found the show to be quite entertaining. I couldn't take my eyes off of it."
"I'll say," Zoe chimes in, "I didn't hear a word from you the entire time."
Her accent is both harsh and silky at the same time, makes him feel a sense of comfort and a sense of annoyance. He knows that Zoe is spoken, that he should shift his gaze to her in acknowledgement rather than keep focused on the redhead in front of him - across the table. For a moment, he is relieved that he is not beside her, isn't sure that he could withstand the accidental brush of her leg against his.
"I was speechless," Harvey admits, tilting his head in Zoe's direction.
Donna laughs and he snaps his gaze back towards her, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed in warning. The creases around his eyes are pronounced in a way that betrays him, emitting amusement rather than annoyance and in that moment he thinks only Donna. Only she could entirely mock him without belittling him - the quiet moments between them a mixture of what can and can't be.
"When have you ever been speechless?"
His amusement quickly fades because the person dragging this on is the one person he thought would have his back - she has just as much staked in this as he does. He lightly shakes his head, leaning forward in his chair. He rests his elbows on the table, threading his fingers together as he slightly tilts his head in an attempt to challenge her. She relents, tapping her fingers on the tablecloth to show her white flag.
The waitress comes over to the table before Harvey can retort and he is both relieved and devastated. He hates the way that the entire evening is giving him mixed emotions, but he knows the reason he agreed to join them for dinner. Knows that his heart just wasn't ready to not be looking at Donna anymore, knows that even though he looks at her all day there just isn't anyone who knows him quite the same.
He tries not to read too much into it, too much into anything, it's just the sense of familiarity that she offers him because she's always been there - right there for him to look at for just a moment of reassurance. He offers her a smile as he leans back in his seat, Zoe's hand making an appearance above the table and covering his. His gaze flits from Zoe to Donna and he takes note of their facial expressions.
Harvey doesn't let the moment lull for long, doesn't let his mind go places that it doesn't belong and doesn't bother trying to call attention to anything that is happening. He simply offers Zoe a lopsided smile, corners of his mouth tugging upwards as he glances at her, and slides his hand out from beneath hers. Silently, he hopes that the gesture goes unnoticed, that Zoe doesn't think anything of it and that Donna doesn't call attention to it. Donna has a habit of getting him into situations just to watch him claw his way out of it; he knows, at least he thinks he does, that she won't do this here and now - that she wouldn't willingly destroy him and her at the same time.
"We'll both have a Manhattan," Ted tells the waitress, gesturing between him and Donna.
Harvey's eyes return to Donna and he narrows his gaze at her, "you hate Manhattans."
"Harvey," Donna snaps in warning. She groans and leans forward in her seat. His eyes watch her every move, barely bothering to acknowledge Zoe in his peripheral vision. She matches his narrowed glance, "it's fine. I like them just fine."
His mind tells him to shut up but his lips betray him; "you hate them. I had to listen to a fifteen minute rant at that client's party about how much you hated them and why you hated them and how the presentations of them were absurd."
"Taste buds change every seven years," Donna challenges.
He leans forward in his seat as well, "oh, please, that's just a cop out. Stop pretending to be something you're not."
"Harvey," Zoe warns.
He sighs, "she hates Manhattans. She's hated them as long as I've known her. She just didn't start liking them just because she can."
"She is sitting right here," Donna interjects.
He snaps his eyes back to Donna, zeroing in on her, "you like margaritas and scotch and red wine."
"I like a lot of things," she replies decidedly.
She gestures to the waitress that a Manhattan is fine as Harvey relents. Ted's gaze is singled in on Harvey, distaste and displeasure clearly painted across his features. He only wishes he could keep his mouth shut, that he could promise he wouldn't destroy them with his big mouth.
Donna can feel Harvey's eyes on her. It isn't quite the way it is on a normal work day where she sits right outside of his office and he can see her through the glass. It doesn't feel like that, it isn't the same comforting connection that passes between them, the one that he gets because he knows she's listening and she gets because she knows he's watching.
It isn't like that, it isn't anything like that.
This stare is primal, it is possessive and combative. It annoys her to her very bone, can feel his presence in her veins and she wants nothing more than to return the favor. Her inner core is screaming out, silently begging with him to stop looking at her like just wants to devour her because she thinks that even though Ted is there (even though Zoe is there, even though Zoe probably just doesn't know that his eyes reflect his desire for her because maybe Zoe doesn't truly know him as she does), she thinks that she would let him without much protest.
She can feel his eyes on her, the reaction from within her surprising even her. She feels the heat rising in her stomach, the warmth hugging her skin and clinging to her like she has nothing to hide. She reaches over and lets her fingers settle on Ted's forearm reassuringly, trying so hard to ignore Harvey's reaction across from her.
She wants to withdraw her hand, wants to put space between her and Ted, but she knows that can't. That if she does, she will be questioned, he will wonder why and Ted will not be happy. They've been dating long enough, long enough that he should feel secure in their relationship and shouldn't question her movements at all.
But, maybe he should - maybe he has every right to, from the way that she can feel Harvey's presence between her legs and he hasn't even laid a hand on her.
Any hesitance to maintain physical contact with Ted can only make this all fall apart. She wills for some kind of reason to separate, for a reason to not feel Harvey's eyes boring holes into her until she wishes the chair would swallows her hole. She wants for some kind of relief from the reality because the only thing that matters is that she does not love Harvey Specter.
She breathes out an audible sigh of relief when their salads come to the table. She takes the moment to offer Ted's arm a gentle squeeze and retract her hand, her hand finding her fork to distract herself with the food. She doesn't have much of an appetite anymore, but at least it will busy her hands and she can push around her food like she's doing something.
Donna's teeth sink into a tomato and Harvey freezes from the other side of the table; his eyebrows furrow in question, "what are you doing? You hate tomatoes."
"No I don't," she disagrees with a laugh.
Harvey lightly shakes his head, "then why do you always give me yours when they come with your food?"
"Because you like tomatoes," she replies pointedly.
For a long moment he looks at her, lips pressed together in a thin line as he processes her words, the realization that she's always looking out for him entering his mind for nearly the thousandth time over the years. And she thinks for a moment that these are conversations they were never meant to have, that he was never supposed to know and he was never supposed to ask. These are the conversations that they weren't supposed to have, that other people were never meant to overhear.
It's the little things.
Ted ran into someone (or a group of someone's) that he knew and wanted to talk about his future campaign while Zoe ran to the bathroom after the meal was paid for, leaving them to be standing outside to wait for their prospective dates. The wind is blowing a little harder now, a cold chill surrounding her as the wind brushes through her hair. He notices, he notices the look on her face and the way her smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she catches his eye.
Her heels make her calves tight and flexed, the toned outline of them catching his eye as he tries not to notice. But she's hard not to notice. She's always been hard not to notice and he's always been able to silently notice.
He's happy - he's happy with Zoe so he shouldn't be thinking about what it would be like to hike up Donna's skirt right now.
He tilts his chin upward when he sees her shiver as she hugs herself for warmth. He's been busy trying not to look at her, busy trying to keep his eyes anywhere but focused on her even though he's been failing for the majority of the evening. He's usually so discreet when it comes from throwing glances at a woman, quick to look but rare to linger.
He steps closer when she looks at him, her eyes softer than they have been all night. She keeps one arm spread over her chest, her other hand resting at her side; he steps into her until the back of his hand brushes against hers, his fingers stretching along hers. He can feel her warmth, the way her fingertips hook around his.
They don't touch - not often, not intimately - because everything that they've ever felt can transfer in that moment. He remembers what it felt like the last time they touched; it was prolonged and distracting, so much so that he couldn't concentrate on the conversation at hand. Her fingertips lingered for hours, for days, and he'd thought about her hands even when it was Zoe's hands on his skin.
He releases a shaky breath, her nails long and emitting a neutral temperature compared to her frozen fingers. He's pretty sure that she inhales a deep breath beside him, fairly certain that he isn't the only one who is unraveling with just one touch. He sighs, eyes firmly planted on the busy street before them, and he's pretty sure that to anyone else they just look like two normal people.
"Donna," he mutters huskily.
She lightly shakes her head, her fingers sliding down the length of his barely clinging to the tips; "you have to stop looking at me like that."
"I know," he agrees, "I don't mean to."
"Then you should look away," she tells him.
He purses his lips together, tongue absently sliding from one corner to the next, "Monday morning, expect a different man."
"I expect the same man," she advises, "just one who is less obvious."
She releases a sigh, lifts her hand and brushes the hair out of her eyes. He finds that with her hand away from his, he misses it, misses the feeling of her fingers beneath his and her skin pressed against his. He drops his gaze to the ground and takes a half step away from her. He divulges his hands into his pockets and lifts his chin to look at her -
"he will be there, bright and early Monday morning."
Before she can respond, he hears Zoe's voice behind him as the door to the restaurant swings open. Harvey turns on his heel to glance at her over his shoulder, her smile easy and naive like she doesn't have the first clue as to what's going on. He thinks it's all the better, that one night is one night and nothing of fruition will evolve, but at least this way it can all be left behind.