232. {c} [suits] (harvey/donna) circles (1/10?)
circles ; pg-13, language ; 3,303 words ; chapter one ;
harvey/donna ; (donna pov, harvey pov, mentions of scottie)
an introduction to what should have been; it's a vicious circle and no one can quite get their head straight
a/n: the style for this one is going to be a little different and i'm hoping that it is completely understood
All at once she finds herself standing at his front door. She isn’t entirely certain what has brought her to it or why there are tearstains on her cheeks, but she knew the moment she was hailing a cab and telling the driver his address that it was too late. She didn’t even really mean to tell the taxi cab driver his address, it just fell out of her mouth like it was second nature. And it occurs to her that everything is different now.
The cab fare is nearly ten dollars more. The sign on the building that houses his condo is different, screams the address in a different font. Not even the door man - who had worked there since he was in his twenties, knew every single occupant by name and face - is the same. Everything is different, even the feeling that turns in the pits of her stomach.
Silently, she barters with herself like she can be talked out of this. Like she hasn’t already made too many steps to his door, made too much noise right outside of it (including a half strained sob that she’s still trying to convince herself wasn’t actually from her mouth), that she can’t go back. She’s facing so many emotions and his door is suddenly a mirror. She sees everything before her that she is, all of the things that she has done regarding him, and now it’s suddenly too late.
She’s knocking. Not because she’s actively telling herself to knock on this man’s door and possibly hit him with the biggest truth of his life, but because it is her instinct to be honest with him like she’s never been honest with anyone else. And this is a secret she has kept to herself for far too long. She doesn’t even know what outcome she’s expecting from this. She would ask herself what she’s thinking, but she is so very clearly not thinking at all.
She counts the seconds that it takes for him to answer the door. She’s barely reached two before the door swings open and she’s met with a shocked grin. She’s surprised when his door is so wide that she can see inside, that he is so open with her after all this time. She can’t help it when her gaze flies beyond him and she peers inside, checking for any changes since the last time she was inside - since his fiancée moved in and became so thoroughly integrated into his life.
“Donna?” He asks, eyebrows popping up onto his forehead.
Her gaze is immediately drawn back to his. A smile slides over her mouth, painted on like a veil to keep him at bay. She doesn’t like what she sees when she looks inside, but she can’t tell him that. She doesn’t have a right to and he certainly isn’t asking for her opinion now.
She swallows the thick film of saliva that’s gathered at the base of her throat like the silence between them is a comfortable one. “Hi,” she musters. She feels the embarrassment spread to her cheeks at the speed of light. She can’t even breathe.
He gapes for a moment before he angles his body, tossing his gaze the direction behind him; “do you want to come in?”
“No,” she rejects his offer, “this will only take a minute. I have a cab waiting.”
“Is everything okay?” He asks immediately. She notes the worry on his face, the way his jaw line tightens and his eyes search her face for the answers to questions he doesn’t know how to ask.
She nods despite her desire to shake her head. “Everything’s fine. I just need to get back home. I have…”
She hears herself trail off because no matter how she finishes that it will sound like a lie. All of the lies die on her lips and she knows that he knows it by the way that he tilts his head at her, drinks in the words that she isn’t speaking. Normally, he’d be encouraging her to speak, but she wonders if maybe her appearance has stunned him just enough that he’s lost the ability to be witty.
He swallows then and she watches his throat bob. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She blinks to check for tears. “I’m great, Harvey. I just,” she pauses and digs through her purse, an apologetic smile gracing her lips, “I just came here to give you something I’ve been hanging on to for a long time.”
“What?” He stands a little straighter and she can feel his eyes on her, piercing her with an inquiring gaze.
“Your dad,” she starts. Her fingers find the record that his father gave her for safe keeping long ago and she grins triumphantly. When she lifts her gaze to his, his expression matches hers as he bounces from heel to heel. She realizes that he’s standing before her in only his socks and a pair of khaki pants. She finds this appearance relaxed and suddenly wishes she could see him like this more often. “He gave me a record for you to play at your wedding, just in case.”
“What does that mean? Why did he give it to you?” His eyes scream so many more questions than he’s asking, but she can’t bring herself to answer even the ones that he is asking.
She shakes her head gently as a mother would when trying to soothe her child. “He wanted it to be a surprise, Silly.”
“Hm,” he mutters, throwing his shoulders back and tilting his head thoughtfully, “color me surprised then.”
Instead of giving him a witty reply, she just laughs nervously. She doesn’t know how to give him the repertoire that is so desperately missing between them. She doesn’t know how to be an extension that he doesn’t really need anymore. Not when he’s right on the verge of getting married to a woman who isn’t her, isn’t anything like her.
“He wanted you to play this during your first dance as a husband,” she tells him. She thrusts the vinyl record in his direction. His eyes fall to it first and he examines it, pulling back only briefly like he’s trying to understand the ins and outs of it. Finally, he lifts his hand to it, his fingers brushing over hers, and wraps them around the record. “I just didn’t think it was for me to hold on to anymore.”
“When did he give this to you?” He questions.
“It was,” she pauses in thought and waves her hand dismissively, “a long time ago. I really need to go. That cab is waiting.”
“You can stay,” he tries, “we can talk.”
“We can talk on Monday,” she strains.
It’s an empty promise. They won’t talk on Monday. They never talk anymore. Not with his fiancée looming over them, watching them like a hawk and logging every moment that passes between them. She watches his smile fade and knows that he knows this, too.
“Okay,” he agrees with a definitive nod. He holds the record up and waves it from side to side as she steps back. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth again but it isn’t real; nothing about this seems real. “Thanks for this.”
“It’s no problem,” she says with a shrug.
She turns away from him as quickly as she can before he can see the tears slide down her cheeks. She feels them then, at the same time that she hears him step into the hallway behind her and watch her go, and fights the urge to swipe at them. Once she’s in the elevator, she doesn’t turn around until she hears the doors slide shut behind her.
She’s always been the strong one.
There’s a meek knock at Harvey’s door. It’s just loud enough to bring him from his reverie as the Yankees slip into the top of the 5th inning, but he’s confused. He’s not quite sure who it could be and as he walks to the front door in socked feet he ponders this.
If it were Scottie, she would just take the lift. If it were Mike, it would be much louder and annoying. If it were Jessica, well, she stopped making appearances at his apartment when Scottie moved in - it wouldn’t be Jessica. He’s pretty sure Louis doesn’t know where he lives and he doesn’t remember ordering take out. Scottie should be on a plane right now so she couldn’t have ordered it.
When he pulls the door open he’s silenced at the face standing on the other side. He’s surprised by the fact that it’s her, confused even. For as long as he’s lived here, he can count the number of times she’s been to his apartment and that’s just handful. As they’ve gotten older, her visits have become more and more sporadic. He can’t even remember the last time she knocked on this door.
He lightly shakes his head. Looking at her in shock and awe. “Donna?”
When her gaze meets his, something is missing. He briefly sees the sadness on her face that she tries to mask with a smile, and he can’t help it when it makes him sad as well. He watches her with careful eyes, like he’s a spy and she’s the informant and doesn’t know it. He watches her swallow like she’s gathering her courage.
“Hi.” Her voice sounds small. He can’t remember her ever sounding small. Even at a whisper her voice has always commanded attention. She has always commanded attention. It scares him. Everything about her that is standing before him scares him.
He turns slightly as a ways of invitation. “Do you want to come in?”
“No, this will only take a minute,” she replies. She sounds forceful again, but he doesn’t like her answer. He doesn’t like that something seems wrong but she won’t let him help her. He doesn’t like any part of this and if only he had it in him to say so. “I have a cab waiting.”
“Is everything okay?” It slips out, really. He knows that everything isn’t okay. She doesn’t look even close to okay, but she isn’t going to admit that to him. He knows that and that’s why he didn’t intend to ask. So, instead of asking anything else, he clamps his jaw shut and keeps the other questions from flooding out.
“Everything’s fine,” she says with a nod. In all of his years of getting to know the opposite gender, he’s learned one thing. When a woman says fine like that, in that sickeningly sweet way that makes his spine ache and his fingers curl, then she is lying. In all of the years that he’s gotten to know Donna, he’s learned that when she says fine like that, then he is the problem. “I just need to get back home.”
He’s saddened by this, not because they owe each other anything, but because the way she adds that she needs to get back home makes it sound like she’s trying to run away from him. She is becoming a stranger, and that’s never anything that he’d wanted. If he had known that this would make her a stranger to him, then he never would have -
“I have…” she adds but trails off. He knows then that she’s lying, that she doesn’t really want to be in the same room as him. He huffs a little, but she doesn’t look at him like she notices. He’s glad for that.
He swallows and takes a half step towards her. She doesn’t recoil so a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He can’t help himself. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He watches her blink, the tears pricking the corners of her eyes, and he momentarily feels distressed.
“I’m great,” she starts, a smile on her face that doesn’t belong.
“Harvey, I,” she says his name slowly. He feels unsteady after hearing it, like his name doesn’t belong in her mouth anymore. She shakes her head gently, “-just. I just came here to give you something-“
His lips purse defensively, like he’s bracing himself for the biggest let down of his life as she digs through her purse. She’s probably handing him the long overdue resignation letter that he’s deserved for god knows how long. “-I’ve been hanging on to for a long time.”
Her words seem calculated. It sounds like she’s been practicing them for a long time, like she’s had forever to prepare for this moment. He wishes he’d had a warning so he could have prepared also.
His mouth parts as he forces himself to stand tall; “what?”
“Your dad, he gave me a record,” she replies. It looks like she shrugs and smiles in an attempt to make him believe it isn’t that big of a deal. He doesn’t trust her grin. It’s lacking the truth that he wants her to reveal to him. He grins in spite of himself as he shifts his weight to his left foot and leans against the doorframe. He notes that her fingers shake just a little. She tilts her head ever so slightly, “for you to play at your wedding, just in case.”
“What does that mean?” He asks instinctively. He’s confused and relieved at the same time. Confused that his father gave her something that he could have just handed to himself, but relieved that it isn’t news that she’s leaving him. “Why did he give it to you?”
“He wanted it to be a surprise,” she says, her voice so sweet that his teeth in the back of his mouth ache, “Silly.”
“Hm,” he hums for a long time, “color me surprised then.”
“He wanted you to play it,” she says in a rush. He wonders if she says it that quickly for fear that if she doesn’t, she’ll stop midway or take it all back or say too much. He wants her to say too much. He sighs in defeat then, “as your first dance as a husband.”
“I didn’t think it was for me to hold on to anymore,” she explains as he lifts his hand to the record.
He wraps his fingers around it, fingers brushing over hers and he thinks for a moment that he can see the hesitation in her eyes that he feels in his chest. He nearly clears his throat, almost forgets how to calculate words as his gaze drops to their hands. She doesn’t budge at the touch and he almost considers closing the distance between them to really test her. He doesn’t know where all of this courage suddenly came from, not when he’s right on the cusp of getting married to Scottie.
He stares at her for a moment, drinking her in. He tries to memorize her vulnerability in this moment, the sadness in her lax jaw and the tears glazing over her eyes, and just how incredibly human she looks. He’s always had her on a podium, held her so high that he’s always thought he doesn’t deserve to touch her. He almost thinks that he could touch her now. She looks perfectly imperfect.
He expels a breath in an effort to draw his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “When did he give this to you?”
“It was a long time ago,” she says dismissively. She waves her hand, letting go of the vinyl record, and he instantly misses the contact. “I really need to go. The cab is waiting.”
He suddenly feels desperate to keep her there, like he’s afraid that if she leaves it will all remain unfinished. He doesn’t exactly know what will be left unfinished, but there’s so many things left unsaid that should have and could have been said so many times over the years. His mouth forms a grim line for just a brief moment before he jumps towards her.
“You can stay. We can talk?”
She smiles sadly, like she has plans she can’t get out of, but she’s been horrible at lying tonight. She usually has a straight face that he can hardly contest, an eagerness that amuses him, but this version of her in front of him is one that he hasn’t seen for so long. She shakes her head only slightly - “we can talk on Monday.”
His smile fades. “Okay.”
He thinks, briefly, if she’s silently pleading with him to beg her to stay, but he doesn’t know anymore how to interpret her. Could he have been wrong all these years? He wants to ask her to stay again, wants to keep her from leaving, but he’s somehow reminded of the life he already has and the one that he missed out on.
“Thanks for this,” he adds.
“It’s no problem,” she replies on autopilot.
She’s putting space between them before he can even reply. He watches her board the elevator, clings to the hope that he’ll get one last look at her face, but she never turns around. A pout forms on his lips as the doors close and he sighs in defeat. He backs into his apartment, closing the door behind him, and pads down the hallway. He turns the record over in his hands, contemplating whether now should be the time to play it or not.
He gives in and thinks he should listen to it before he gives Scottie the opportunity to hear it. He reaches for the vinyl and gives it a tug to pull it out of the sleeve. As he does, a loud noise echoes across the floor and captures his attention. His eyebrows furrow as he shifts his gaze in the direction of the floor, a white rectangle shape firmly planted in the middle of his feet.
He bends over to pick up the envelope that has his father’s handwriting scrawled across the front, Donna’s name etched out carefully. Harvey is certain that he was never meant to see what is inside the envelope, but he can’t help his curiosity. He needs to find out what his father quite obviously told her all those years ago. He pulls the envelope flap open to see Gordon’s distinct cursive swopping across lines of notebook paper.
Just as he gets the papers separated he hears the elevator squeak in its box behind him. He scrambles to put everything back together, stuffing the letter into the envelope carelessly and stuffing the envelope back into the vinyl record’s sleeve. He puffs out an annoyed breath and turns on his heel to meet his fiancée with an inviting gaze. He isn’t exactly sure how successful he is, but Scottie doesn’t seem to notice.
He slips the record into his briefcase and locks it tightly before the elevator comes to a halt. He meets her half way, reaching for her bag handle and pressing a light kiss to her cheekbone. The corner of her smile touches his mouth and he feels guilty for a moment, for wishing that he’d had more time with Donna - enough time to read the letter.
“Hello, Love,” Scottie greets airily. Her demeanor grates on his nerves but he doesn’t know why. How could she be so happy at a time like this?
He returns her smile, but lacks her enthusiasm. “How was your trip? How are your parents?”
She quirks an eyebrow as she steps into the condo, the sound of her heels on the tile echoing within the apartment. The noise engraves into his spine and he fights everything inside of him that wants him to grimace.
“They’re wonderful, but they were disappointed you couldn’t make it,” she replies.
As if on autopilot, as if the days that lie ahead of him only promise to be mechanical, he replies his empty promise: “Next time.”
harvey/donna ; (donna pov, harvey pov, mentions of scottie)
an introduction to what should have been; it's a vicious circle and no one can quite get their head straight
a/n: the style for this one is going to be a little different and i'm hoping that it is completely understood
All at once she finds herself standing at his front door. She isn’t entirely certain what has brought her to it or why there are tearstains on her cheeks, but she knew the moment she was hailing a cab and telling the driver his address that it was too late. She didn’t even really mean to tell the taxi cab driver his address, it just fell out of her mouth like it was second nature. And it occurs to her that everything is different now.
The cab fare is nearly ten dollars more. The sign on the building that houses his condo is different, screams the address in a different font. Not even the door man - who had worked there since he was in his twenties, knew every single occupant by name and face - is the same. Everything is different, even the feeling that turns in the pits of her stomach.
Silently, she barters with herself like she can be talked out of this. Like she hasn’t already made too many steps to his door, made too much noise right outside of it (including a half strained sob that she’s still trying to convince herself wasn’t actually from her mouth), that she can’t go back. She’s facing so many emotions and his door is suddenly a mirror. She sees everything before her that she is, all of the things that she has done regarding him, and now it’s suddenly too late.
She’s knocking. Not because she’s actively telling herself to knock on this man’s door and possibly hit him with the biggest truth of his life, but because it is her instinct to be honest with him like she’s never been honest with anyone else. And this is a secret she has kept to herself for far too long. She doesn’t even know what outcome she’s expecting from this. She would ask herself what she’s thinking, but she is so very clearly not thinking at all.
She counts the seconds that it takes for him to answer the door. She’s barely reached two before the door swings open and she’s met with a shocked grin. She’s surprised when his door is so wide that she can see inside, that he is so open with her after all this time. She can’t help it when her gaze flies beyond him and she peers inside, checking for any changes since the last time she was inside - since his fiancée moved in and became so thoroughly integrated into his life.
“Donna?” He asks, eyebrows popping up onto his forehead.
Her gaze is immediately drawn back to his. A smile slides over her mouth, painted on like a veil to keep him at bay. She doesn’t like what she sees when she looks inside, but she can’t tell him that. She doesn’t have a right to and he certainly isn’t asking for her opinion now.
She swallows the thick film of saliva that’s gathered at the base of her throat like the silence between them is a comfortable one. “Hi,” she musters. She feels the embarrassment spread to her cheeks at the speed of light. She can’t even breathe.
He gapes for a moment before he angles his body, tossing his gaze the direction behind him; “do you want to come in?”
“No,” she rejects his offer, “this will only take a minute. I have a cab waiting.”
“Is everything okay?” He asks immediately. She notes the worry on his face, the way his jaw line tightens and his eyes search her face for the answers to questions he doesn’t know how to ask.
She nods despite her desire to shake her head. “Everything’s fine. I just need to get back home. I have…”
She hears herself trail off because no matter how she finishes that it will sound like a lie. All of the lies die on her lips and she knows that he knows it by the way that he tilts his head at her, drinks in the words that she isn’t speaking. Normally, he’d be encouraging her to speak, but she wonders if maybe her appearance has stunned him just enough that he’s lost the ability to be witty.
He swallows then and she watches his throat bob. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She blinks to check for tears. “I’m great, Harvey. I just,” she pauses and digs through her purse, an apologetic smile gracing her lips, “I just came here to give you something I’ve been hanging on to for a long time.”
“What?” He stands a little straighter and she can feel his eyes on her, piercing her with an inquiring gaze.
“Your dad,” she starts. Her fingers find the record that his father gave her for safe keeping long ago and she grins triumphantly. When she lifts her gaze to his, his expression matches hers as he bounces from heel to heel. She realizes that he’s standing before her in only his socks and a pair of khaki pants. She finds this appearance relaxed and suddenly wishes she could see him like this more often. “He gave me a record for you to play at your wedding, just in case.”
“What does that mean? Why did he give it to you?” His eyes scream so many more questions than he’s asking, but she can’t bring herself to answer even the ones that he is asking.
She shakes her head gently as a mother would when trying to soothe her child. “He wanted it to be a surprise, Silly.”
“Hm,” he mutters, throwing his shoulders back and tilting his head thoughtfully, “color me surprised then.”
Instead of giving him a witty reply, she just laughs nervously. She doesn’t know how to give him the repertoire that is so desperately missing between them. She doesn’t know how to be an extension that he doesn’t really need anymore. Not when he’s right on the verge of getting married to a woman who isn’t her, isn’t anything like her.
“He wanted you to play this during your first dance as a husband,” she tells him. She thrusts the vinyl record in his direction. His eyes fall to it first and he examines it, pulling back only briefly like he’s trying to understand the ins and outs of it. Finally, he lifts his hand to it, his fingers brushing over hers, and wraps them around the record. “I just didn’t think it was for me to hold on to anymore.”
“When did he give this to you?” He questions.
“It was,” she pauses in thought and waves her hand dismissively, “a long time ago. I really need to go. That cab is waiting.”
“You can stay,” he tries, “we can talk.”
“We can talk on Monday,” she strains.
It’s an empty promise. They won’t talk on Monday. They never talk anymore. Not with his fiancée looming over them, watching them like a hawk and logging every moment that passes between them. She watches his smile fade and knows that he knows this, too.
“Okay,” he agrees with a definitive nod. He holds the record up and waves it from side to side as she steps back. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth again but it isn’t real; nothing about this seems real. “Thanks for this.”
“It’s no problem,” she says with a shrug.
She turns away from him as quickly as she can before he can see the tears slide down her cheeks. She feels them then, at the same time that she hears him step into the hallway behind her and watch her go, and fights the urge to swipe at them. Once she’s in the elevator, she doesn’t turn around until she hears the doors slide shut behind her.
She’s always been the strong one.
There’s a meek knock at Harvey’s door. It’s just loud enough to bring him from his reverie as the Yankees slip into the top of the 5th inning, but he’s confused. He’s not quite sure who it could be and as he walks to the front door in socked feet he ponders this.
If it were Scottie, she would just take the lift. If it were Mike, it would be much louder and annoying. If it were Jessica, well, she stopped making appearances at his apartment when Scottie moved in - it wouldn’t be Jessica. He’s pretty sure Louis doesn’t know where he lives and he doesn’t remember ordering take out. Scottie should be on a plane right now so she couldn’t have ordered it.
When he pulls the door open he’s silenced at the face standing on the other side. He’s surprised by the fact that it’s her, confused even. For as long as he’s lived here, he can count the number of times she’s been to his apartment and that’s just handful. As they’ve gotten older, her visits have become more and more sporadic. He can’t even remember the last time she knocked on this door.
He lightly shakes his head. Looking at her in shock and awe. “Donna?”
When her gaze meets his, something is missing. He briefly sees the sadness on her face that she tries to mask with a smile, and he can’t help it when it makes him sad as well. He watches her with careful eyes, like he’s a spy and she’s the informant and doesn’t know it. He watches her swallow like she’s gathering her courage.
“Hi.” Her voice sounds small. He can’t remember her ever sounding small. Even at a whisper her voice has always commanded attention. She has always commanded attention. It scares him. Everything about her that is standing before him scares him.
He turns slightly as a ways of invitation. “Do you want to come in?”
“No, this will only take a minute,” she replies. She sounds forceful again, but he doesn’t like her answer. He doesn’t like that something seems wrong but she won’t let him help her. He doesn’t like any part of this and if only he had it in him to say so. “I have a cab waiting.”
“Is everything okay?” It slips out, really. He knows that everything isn’t okay. She doesn’t look even close to okay, but she isn’t going to admit that to him. He knows that and that’s why he didn’t intend to ask. So, instead of asking anything else, he clamps his jaw shut and keeps the other questions from flooding out.
“Everything’s fine,” she says with a nod. In all of his years of getting to know the opposite gender, he’s learned one thing. When a woman says fine like that, in that sickeningly sweet way that makes his spine ache and his fingers curl, then she is lying. In all of the years that he’s gotten to know Donna, he’s learned that when she says fine like that, then he is the problem. “I just need to get back home.”
He’s saddened by this, not because they owe each other anything, but because the way she adds that she needs to get back home makes it sound like she’s trying to run away from him. She is becoming a stranger, and that’s never anything that he’d wanted. If he had known that this would make her a stranger to him, then he never would have -
“I have…” she adds but trails off. He knows then that she’s lying, that she doesn’t really want to be in the same room as him. He huffs a little, but she doesn’t look at him like she notices. He’s glad for that.
He swallows and takes a half step towards her. She doesn’t recoil so a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He can’t help himself. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He watches her blink, the tears pricking the corners of her eyes, and he momentarily feels distressed.
“I’m great,” she starts, a smile on her face that doesn’t belong.
“Harvey, I,” she says his name slowly. He feels unsteady after hearing it, like his name doesn’t belong in her mouth anymore. She shakes her head gently, “-just. I just came here to give you something-“
His lips purse defensively, like he’s bracing himself for the biggest let down of his life as she digs through her purse. She’s probably handing him the long overdue resignation letter that he’s deserved for god knows how long. “-I’ve been hanging on to for a long time.”
Her words seem calculated. It sounds like she’s been practicing them for a long time, like she’s had forever to prepare for this moment. He wishes he’d had a warning so he could have prepared also.
His mouth parts as he forces himself to stand tall; “what?”
“Your dad, he gave me a record,” she replies. It looks like she shrugs and smiles in an attempt to make him believe it isn’t that big of a deal. He doesn’t trust her grin. It’s lacking the truth that he wants her to reveal to him. He grins in spite of himself as he shifts his weight to his left foot and leans against the doorframe. He notes that her fingers shake just a little. She tilts her head ever so slightly, “for you to play at your wedding, just in case.”
“What does that mean?” He asks instinctively. He’s confused and relieved at the same time. Confused that his father gave her something that he could have just handed to himself, but relieved that it isn’t news that she’s leaving him. “Why did he give it to you?”
“He wanted it to be a surprise,” she says, her voice so sweet that his teeth in the back of his mouth ache, “Silly.”
“Hm,” he hums for a long time, “color me surprised then.”
“He wanted you to play it,” she says in a rush. He wonders if she says it that quickly for fear that if she doesn’t, she’ll stop midway or take it all back or say too much. He wants her to say too much. He sighs in defeat then, “as your first dance as a husband.”
“I didn’t think it was for me to hold on to anymore,” she explains as he lifts his hand to the record.
He wraps his fingers around it, fingers brushing over hers and he thinks for a moment that he can see the hesitation in her eyes that he feels in his chest. He nearly clears his throat, almost forgets how to calculate words as his gaze drops to their hands. She doesn’t budge at the touch and he almost considers closing the distance between them to really test her. He doesn’t know where all of this courage suddenly came from, not when he’s right on the cusp of getting married to Scottie.
He stares at her for a moment, drinking her in. He tries to memorize her vulnerability in this moment, the sadness in her lax jaw and the tears glazing over her eyes, and just how incredibly human she looks. He’s always had her on a podium, held her so high that he’s always thought he doesn’t deserve to touch her. He almost thinks that he could touch her now. She looks perfectly imperfect.
He expels a breath in an effort to draw his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “When did he give this to you?”
“It was a long time ago,” she says dismissively. She waves her hand, letting go of the vinyl record, and he instantly misses the contact. “I really need to go. The cab is waiting.”
He suddenly feels desperate to keep her there, like he’s afraid that if she leaves it will all remain unfinished. He doesn’t exactly know what will be left unfinished, but there’s so many things left unsaid that should have and could have been said so many times over the years. His mouth forms a grim line for just a brief moment before he jumps towards her.
“You can stay. We can talk?”
She smiles sadly, like she has plans she can’t get out of, but she’s been horrible at lying tonight. She usually has a straight face that he can hardly contest, an eagerness that amuses him, but this version of her in front of him is one that he hasn’t seen for so long. She shakes her head only slightly - “we can talk on Monday.”
His smile fades. “Okay.”
He thinks, briefly, if she’s silently pleading with him to beg her to stay, but he doesn’t know anymore how to interpret her. Could he have been wrong all these years? He wants to ask her to stay again, wants to keep her from leaving, but he’s somehow reminded of the life he already has and the one that he missed out on.
“Thanks for this,” he adds.
“It’s no problem,” she replies on autopilot.
She’s putting space between them before he can even reply. He watches her board the elevator, clings to the hope that he’ll get one last look at her face, but she never turns around. A pout forms on his lips as the doors close and he sighs in defeat. He backs into his apartment, closing the door behind him, and pads down the hallway. He turns the record over in his hands, contemplating whether now should be the time to play it or not.
He gives in and thinks he should listen to it before he gives Scottie the opportunity to hear it. He reaches for the vinyl and gives it a tug to pull it out of the sleeve. As he does, a loud noise echoes across the floor and captures his attention. His eyebrows furrow as he shifts his gaze in the direction of the floor, a white rectangle shape firmly planted in the middle of his feet.
He bends over to pick up the envelope that has his father’s handwriting scrawled across the front, Donna’s name etched out carefully. Harvey is certain that he was never meant to see what is inside the envelope, but he can’t help his curiosity. He needs to find out what his father quite obviously told her all those years ago. He pulls the envelope flap open to see Gordon’s distinct cursive swopping across lines of notebook paper.
Just as he gets the papers separated he hears the elevator squeak in its box behind him. He scrambles to put everything back together, stuffing the letter into the envelope carelessly and stuffing the envelope back into the vinyl record’s sleeve. He puffs out an annoyed breath and turns on his heel to meet his fiancée with an inviting gaze. He isn’t exactly sure how successful he is, but Scottie doesn’t seem to notice.
He slips the record into his briefcase and locks it tightly before the elevator comes to a halt. He meets her half way, reaching for her bag handle and pressing a light kiss to her cheekbone. The corner of her smile touches his mouth and he feels guilty for a moment, for wishing that he’d had more time with Donna - enough time to read the letter.
“Hello, Love,” Scottie greets airily. Her demeanor grates on his nerves but he doesn’t know why. How could she be so happy at a time like this?
He returns her smile, but lacks her enthusiasm. “How was your trip? How are your parents?”
She quirks an eyebrow as she steps into the condo, the sound of her heels on the tile echoing within the apartment. The noise engraves into his spine and he fights everything inside of him that wants him to grimace.
“They’re wonderful, but they were disappointed you couldn’t make it,” she replies.
As if on autopilot, as if the days that lie ahead of him only promise to be mechanical, he replies his empty promise: “Next time.”