233. {c} [suits] (harvey/donna) circles (2/10?)
circles ; pg-13, language ; 2,945 words ; chapter two ;
harvey/donna ; (donna pov, harvey pov, scottie and rachel present)
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
Scottie’s taking the lead on this one. Harvey doesn’t even really know why he’s sitting in on her deposition. She doesn’t need his help, and she certainly doesn’t need a babysitter. She’s a seasoned lawyer - smart, willful, tough. He trusts her.
He can’t remember what even got him into the room. He can’t recall if she’d asked him to sit in, if he’d insisted, or if the rather bored looking client requested his presence. By the way that Ronald What’s-His-Name? has been eying Harvey’s fiancée, Harvey is certain that it wasn’t the client’s wishes that landed him here.
The sunlight peeking in through the window catches on the diamond of Scottie’s engagement ring and it causes him to unwillingly squint. The creases in his skin hug his eyes and he lightly shakes his head to clear his vision. He feels beads of sweat gather on his forehead, and he absently tugs at the knot in his tie. His skin is warm, his neck is hot, and his chest is tight.
He swallows, tugging on his collar to let some air into his shirt, but it isn’t enough. He sees Scottie quirk her eyebrow and cast a glance at his odd behavior. He doesn’t pay much attention to it, doesn’t even try to convince her that he’s fine as opposing counsel continues prodding and poking from across the table. He puffs out a breath of air, a mixture of annoyance and desperation. He can’t take it anymore - Scottie’s scrutinizing gaze pressuring him to knock it off, Donna’s tears embedded in his memories.
He can’t help thinking about what Donna gave him, the record he still hasn’t had the opportunity to listen to, and the fact that it was a gift from his dad. It’s been almost ten years since he saw his dad; he can’t wrap his head around that truth. And Donna! has hidden this from him for over ten years, probably more.
What else is she keeping from him?
He pushes himself to his feet, thoughts clouded with a whirlwind of emotions. He thinks he’s quiet up until he hears his chair slam into the wall behind him, but he’s already disrupted the deposition. He can’t take it back, and there’s no use in backtracking. He walks quickly, the soles of his shoes colliding with the carpet as his fists clench at his sides.
He rushes down the hallway, long strides that carry him in the direction of his office quicker than necessary. The perspiration on his brow makes his skin feel clammy, and his scowl mocks Donna’s surprise upon seeing him. Her mouth drops open and he sees her scramble; for what, he doesn’t know.
When he speaks, his voice is gruff, quiet and demanding. “My office. Now.”
She jumps to her feet like she’s terrified and it makes him feel guilty. He can’t remember the last time they were so out of sync. Scratch that. They’ve never been so out of sync. He hates it. He hates that he doesn’t have her to talk to anymore.
She rushes to be one step behind him. As he rounds his desk, he catches sight of her out of the corner of his eye, struggling to decide whether to shut the door behind her or to leave it open. He doesn’t know if she thinks it’s the safer option or what, but she apparently chooses to leave it open.
He doesn’t even know what he wants her in his office for. He just knows that he can’t get her face out of his thoughts, the way she looked with tears staining her cheeks and vulnerability on her tongue. He doesn’t know how to handle that side of her. He needs to see her as a pillar of strength. He can’t quite decipher why he’s so angry, or even who he is angry at.
He’s seething though, and it isn’t at anyone but himself. He just needs to look at her - to become calm, to draw from her strength, to remind him of all of the things they’ve shared over the years. But he can’t keep looking at her and when his gaze drops from her, he realizes that he wants her to be all of the things that she just shouldn’t have to be. Not now. Not ever.
He absently licks his lips, the tension leaving his shoulders and the corners of his mouth falling into a distinct frown. He notes the way Donna’s shoulders tense, the way that her eyes squeeze in that same scrutinizing way Scottie had been looking at him moments before, except he could almost swear that Donna looks as though she is only moments from crying. He can’t be certain because he can’t bring himself to look directly at her, so instead he starts a countdown in his head. He doesn’t know what the countdown is for. It could be the countdown before one of them fills the gaping hole that is the silence between them. Or it could be the countdown until Scottie charges into his office. He’d bet on either - on both, probably.
He’s putting all of the things that they aren’t saying in this space between them and he never realized just how far away she has been all along. Either that or his depth perception is clearly mistaken. Harvey chalks it up to a fluke and hopes that everything that hasn’t been said is all in his head.
Despite the fact that he’s angry at her for keeping secrets from him, he’s compelled to comfort her. No, not comfort her. To ask her if she’s okay or if she will be okay. He’s concerned about her, about the way she’s carrying herself, about the tears that have seemed to take up permanent residence in her eyes. And, yet, just as she looks like she could burst into tears at any moment, she still stands tall with her chin held high and her calves so tight that he wants to touch them.
However, he knows better than to look at her. He knows that if he fully lingers then he will be unable to stay firm. His anger with her always dissipates rather quickly, and he still wants nothing more than to hear her out. He respects her. She is his equal. He isn’t sure anything could alter his opinion on that.
He wants to will Donna to say something, anything to break the ice that has become a blockade between them. He knows that he should say something, that he should tell her that he’s angry at her for keeping things from him, or maybe even just all of the truths that he hasn’t told her. What right does he have to be angry? He keeps things from her all of the time.
He finally finds something within himself to speak even though the words evade him; he isn’t even sure what to say, where to start, why to bother. He plans on a grand speech telling her that he’s upset that she kept something that involves his dad away from him, but it all dissolves when he can see the way she’s been utterly heartbroken on her face. It’s his fault. He knows that much.
His gaze softens and he tilts his head in preparation to tell her things that she deserves to hear, but he doesn’t because it isn’t his place. She isn’t his to lift up. She’s practically a stranger, and the woman standing before him isn’t the Donna he knows. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and he thinks that she looks so small. She looks so downtrodden, and he’s never known her to be weak.
“Donna,” he utters gently.
It’s so quiet that he thinks she doesn’t hear him, but her gaze meets his much to his surprise. He swallows thickly, wonders how they got so far. He thinks of the letter in his briefcase. He should give it back to her, but he needs to know what’s written inside. He can’t give it back to her until he knows what’s inside. He needs to get it out of his briefcase as soon as possible, so she doesn’t discover it. He can’t read it with her around, and he can’t read it with Scottie around. He can’t even mention it with her in earshot because she will undoubtedly hear him.
The apology is on his tongue when Scottie storms in;
“What the hell was that?”
“I,” he says, guarded. He gulps and shifts his gaze from Scottie to Donna’s retreating form, watching her flee the scene. He sighs in defeat. “I just couldn’t be in there any longer.”
“Smooth move, Harvey,” Scottie barks. “You’re the one who asked to be in there in the first place.”
It occurs to him then that maybe he’s avoiding Donna.
“My office,” he says.
His voice is quiet yet demanding, the way that usually leads to being tied up to bed posts in those trashy novels she reads on occasion. Instantly, she berates herself for this comparison, for even imagining a scenario that puts the words Harvey and bed in the same place at the same time. Her eyebrows furrow in response as she pushes her chair back from her desk.
It occurs to her that she may have done something wrong, made a mistake somewhere despite the fact that she prides herself on the idea that she doesn’t make mistakes, but he’s been in a deposition (that isn’t even necessary that he be in, in the first place) so she doesn’t know when he may have discovered an error in her work.
“Now.”
When she jumps to her feet and falls into step behind him, she knows that the glare is personal. She immediately knows what this is about. It’s because she kept something from him. There isn’t any excuse that would make him forgive her. Most people, it would make sense, but Harvey isn’t like most people and he doesn’t forgive as easily when people go behind his back. This is her third offence in three years and her transgressions are now stacked a mile high.
She wants to tell him that she wishes she could go back but she can’t - what’s done is done. It isn’t that simple. Nothing between them is ever that simple. Just like now, everything between them is so severely complicated that she can’t even begin to explain it. Explaining her and Harvey has never been her forte, and isn’t about to be any time soon.
Her Louboutins are heavy on the carpet as it gives beneath her and they still manage to echo in her ears louder than his heavy breathing. The collision of noises, his breathing and hers, sounds like an ice pick pecking away at a block of ice and the room feels just as cold. He huffs and it snaps her gaze to him. She looks on as he licks his lips, and she is more surprised by the autonomic reaction her body has to the movement than she is anything else, but the frown that follows is what really throws her.
He’s unhappy, and she can’t help thinking that it’s all her fault. Just last week he was smiling, cracking jokes that were funny enough, at least from what she could tell at a distance. She hasn’t really been in the same room as him for the last two weeks, and when they have been alone together, they’ve barely spoken at all. At least she can say that they are still on the same page, professionally - so much so that conversations remain unrequired, but she can’t say that they aren’t missed. They always knew when to be playful and when to be serious. Now it seems that they are neither.
She feels tears gather in her eyes, like they are protesting something that she doesn’t quite understand yet. The way he keeps staring at her cuts her to the bone, makes her knees go weak, makes her forget how to breathe without the divine probability of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She can’t focus, can’t keep herself collected because she is way past doing or saying the right thing with him.
She didn’t get lost in wanting or not wanting to, she just got stuck with an inability to say anything at all. At first, she was stepping in and trying to help him navigate through his relationship. At first, she wanted it to work out but expected them to break up anyway. At first, everything looked different from the outside, like they were snazzy but couldn’t trust each other. If Donna is honest, and you won’t find her saying a damn word, then she would say that they are still the same as they’ve always been just with a ring on Scottie’s finger.
This aches in Donna’s very bones. She doesn’t know why. It isn’t like she is in love with Harvey, because she’s the furthest thing away from being in love with him if she does say so herself. It’s more like she’s lost all hope because even if she isn’t in love with him, it has still always been them against the world. Now, he barely consults with her on the unprecedented work decisions she makes to further advance his career.
Donna is no longer an intricate part of Harvey’s life. She no longer uses his corporate card to buy drinks or dinner or herself a little gift, and he no longer brings her a low fat mocha latte with whipped cream. They are simply two beings who happen to be in the same place, recognize the other’s face, but can’t remember the other’s name. Even then, she still knows everything about him from how the color of his shirt reflects his mood to what food he’s craving.
But, just for a moment, she thinks that maybe he’s punishing her. Punishing her because he’s no longer fuming and won’t stop looking at her. He looks crushed, like he was just told the worst news he’s ever heard (just short of his father dying, of course), like the potentiality of his future has been taken from his very reach. She can’t get into his head, but she knows he needs her there, is silently pleading with her to say something.
He tilts his head like he’s struggling to keep himself under control, and the way her bottom lip trembles makes her tuck it between her teeth.
“Donna,” he says, suddenly.
Her gaze meets his and they hold eye contact, but the silence is overwhelming. She doesn’t want to be here anymore, doesn’t want to do this. She could fake sick and go home. But she’s never faked sick, not once while working for Harvey. She doesn’t want him to think that she’s avoiding him or, worse that she doesn’t want to work for him anymore.
At some point, she started to need him just as much as he used to need her. She takes a mental note to try harder, to get them back where they used to be because she can’t imagine not getting to see him every day. It’s all professional.
Before she can say anything in response, Scottie brushes passed her in a rush. Scottie’s white dress paints her like she’s a saint or an angel, and it makes Donna feel like she’s been punched in the gut. She’s no longer the old Scottie, but she is a newer version - a much better version. How could Donna ever compete with that?
“What the hell was that?” Scottie barks. Her heels stomp and Harvey’s eyes twitch. Despite the fact that his eyes never leave her frame, Donna still manages to take this as her queue to leave.
She steps back before taking off in the other direction, passing her desk, and rushing directly to the bathroom. She’s certain that no one sees her or the glisten that’s somehow cloaked her eyes, and feels for the door handle. Of course she would miss it because why wouldn’t her journey away from prying eyes be anything close to easy.
Finally, she gets the door open. As she hears it slam shut behind her, she turns on the faucet and the sounds of water crashing into the side of the sink basin before sliding down the drain quickly replaces the busy work environment just outside. There’s an echo that contrasts the dark lighting as though the room is more welcoming than it appears to be. The walls hug her in the worst way possible, and she doesn’t know if she’s about to cry or scream. Probably a combination of both.
“Donna? Are you okay?” Rachel asks.
Donna, terrified, lifts her gaze and recoils at the reflection beside her. The reflection matches the voice, but Donna hadn’t been expecting anyone else. Apparently her observation skills are taking a toll. Harvey has really worn her down.
“I’m fine,” Donna says. It’s dismissive and not at all believable. She can hear that in her own waver and that distant echo that mocks her. She musters every ounce of pride she has and stands tall in her heels. “Are you okay?”
Rachel squints, briefly. “I’m in here to use the restroom. You seem to just be wasting New York’s water supply.”
“Give me time,” Donna says slowly, “I just need to sort everything out.”
Rachel’s gaze makes Donna feel as though she had walked in on her repeating get your shit together at her reflection in the mirror. “Then you’ll tell me?”
Donna nods once - “then I’ll tell you.”
“You look like you could use a drink,” Rachel comments.
“A drink won’t cut it,” Donna says.
harvey/donna ; (donna pov, harvey pov, scottie and rachel present)
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
Scottie’s taking the lead on this one. Harvey doesn’t even really know why he’s sitting in on her deposition. She doesn’t need his help, and she certainly doesn’t need a babysitter. She’s a seasoned lawyer - smart, willful, tough. He trusts her.
He can’t remember what even got him into the room. He can’t recall if she’d asked him to sit in, if he’d insisted, or if the rather bored looking client requested his presence. By the way that Ronald What’s-His-Name? has been eying Harvey’s fiancée, Harvey is certain that it wasn’t the client’s wishes that landed him here.
The sunlight peeking in through the window catches on the diamond of Scottie’s engagement ring and it causes him to unwillingly squint. The creases in his skin hug his eyes and he lightly shakes his head to clear his vision. He feels beads of sweat gather on his forehead, and he absently tugs at the knot in his tie. His skin is warm, his neck is hot, and his chest is tight.
He swallows, tugging on his collar to let some air into his shirt, but it isn’t enough. He sees Scottie quirk her eyebrow and cast a glance at his odd behavior. He doesn’t pay much attention to it, doesn’t even try to convince her that he’s fine as opposing counsel continues prodding and poking from across the table. He puffs out a breath of air, a mixture of annoyance and desperation. He can’t take it anymore - Scottie’s scrutinizing gaze pressuring him to knock it off, Donna’s tears embedded in his memories.
He can’t help thinking about what Donna gave him, the record he still hasn’t had the opportunity to listen to, and the fact that it was a gift from his dad. It’s been almost ten years since he saw his dad; he can’t wrap his head around that truth. And Donna! has hidden this from him for over ten years, probably more.
What else is she keeping from him?
He pushes himself to his feet, thoughts clouded with a whirlwind of emotions. He thinks he’s quiet up until he hears his chair slam into the wall behind him, but he’s already disrupted the deposition. He can’t take it back, and there’s no use in backtracking. He walks quickly, the soles of his shoes colliding with the carpet as his fists clench at his sides.
He rushes down the hallway, long strides that carry him in the direction of his office quicker than necessary. The perspiration on his brow makes his skin feel clammy, and his scowl mocks Donna’s surprise upon seeing him. Her mouth drops open and he sees her scramble; for what, he doesn’t know.
When he speaks, his voice is gruff, quiet and demanding. “My office. Now.”
She jumps to her feet like she’s terrified and it makes him feel guilty. He can’t remember the last time they were so out of sync. Scratch that. They’ve never been so out of sync. He hates it. He hates that he doesn’t have her to talk to anymore.
She rushes to be one step behind him. As he rounds his desk, he catches sight of her out of the corner of his eye, struggling to decide whether to shut the door behind her or to leave it open. He doesn’t know if she thinks it’s the safer option or what, but she apparently chooses to leave it open.
He doesn’t even know what he wants her in his office for. He just knows that he can’t get her face out of his thoughts, the way she looked with tears staining her cheeks and vulnerability on her tongue. He doesn’t know how to handle that side of her. He needs to see her as a pillar of strength. He can’t quite decipher why he’s so angry, or even who he is angry at.
He’s seething though, and it isn’t at anyone but himself. He just needs to look at her - to become calm, to draw from her strength, to remind him of all of the things they’ve shared over the years. But he can’t keep looking at her and when his gaze drops from her, he realizes that he wants her to be all of the things that she just shouldn’t have to be. Not now. Not ever.
He absently licks his lips, the tension leaving his shoulders and the corners of his mouth falling into a distinct frown. He notes the way Donna’s shoulders tense, the way that her eyes squeeze in that same scrutinizing way Scottie had been looking at him moments before, except he could almost swear that Donna looks as though she is only moments from crying. He can’t be certain because he can’t bring himself to look directly at her, so instead he starts a countdown in his head. He doesn’t know what the countdown is for. It could be the countdown before one of them fills the gaping hole that is the silence between them. Or it could be the countdown until Scottie charges into his office. He’d bet on either - on both, probably.
He’s putting all of the things that they aren’t saying in this space between them and he never realized just how far away she has been all along. Either that or his depth perception is clearly mistaken. Harvey chalks it up to a fluke and hopes that everything that hasn’t been said is all in his head.
Despite the fact that he’s angry at her for keeping secrets from him, he’s compelled to comfort her. No, not comfort her. To ask her if she’s okay or if she will be okay. He’s concerned about her, about the way she’s carrying herself, about the tears that have seemed to take up permanent residence in her eyes. And, yet, just as she looks like she could burst into tears at any moment, she still stands tall with her chin held high and her calves so tight that he wants to touch them.
However, he knows better than to look at her. He knows that if he fully lingers then he will be unable to stay firm. His anger with her always dissipates rather quickly, and he still wants nothing more than to hear her out. He respects her. She is his equal. He isn’t sure anything could alter his opinion on that.
He wants to will Donna to say something, anything to break the ice that has become a blockade between them. He knows that he should say something, that he should tell her that he’s angry at her for keeping things from him, or maybe even just all of the truths that he hasn’t told her. What right does he have to be angry? He keeps things from her all of the time.
He finally finds something within himself to speak even though the words evade him; he isn’t even sure what to say, where to start, why to bother. He plans on a grand speech telling her that he’s upset that she kept something that involves his dad away from him, but it all dissolves when he can see the way she’s been utterly heartbroken on her face. It’s his fault. He knows that much.
His gaze softens and he tilts his head in preparation to tell her things that she deserves to hear, but he doesn’t because it isn’t his place. She isn’t his to lift up. She’s practically a stranger, and the woman standing before him isn’t the Donna he knows. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and he thinks that she looks so small. She looks so downtrodden, and he’s never known her to be weak.
“Donna,” he utters gently.
It’s so quiet that he thinks she doesn’t hear him, but her gaze meets his much to his surprise. He swallows thickly, wonders how they got so far. He thinks of the letter in his briefcase. He should give it back to her, but he needs to know what’s written inside. He can’t give it back to her until he knows what’s inside. He needs to get it out of his briefcase as soon as possible, so she doesn’t discover it. He can’t read it with her around, and he can’t read it with Scottie around. He can’t even mention it with her in earshot because she will undoubtedly hear him.
The apology is on his tongue when Scottie storms in;
“What the hell was that?”
“I,” he says, guarded. He gulps and shifts his gaze from Scottie to Donna’s retreating form, watching her flee the scene. He sighs in defeat. “I just couldn’t be in there any longer.”
“Smooth move, Harvey,” Scottie barks. “You’re the one who asked to be in there in the first place.”
It occurs to him then that maybe he’s avoiding Donna.
“My office,” he says.
His voice is quiet yet demanding, the way that usually leads to being tied up to bed posts in those trashy novels she reads on occasion. Instantly, she berates herself for this comparison, for even imagining a scenario that puts the words Harvey and bed in the same place at the same time. Her eyebrows furrow in response as she pushes her chair back from her desk.
It occurs to her that she may have done something wrong, made a mistake somewhere despite the fact that she prides herself on the idea that she doesn’t make mistakes, but he’s been in a deposition (that isn’t even necessary that he be in, in the first place) so she doesn’t know when he may have discovered an error in her work.
“Now.”
When she jumps to her feet and falls into step behind him, she knows that the glare is personal. She immediately knows what this is about. It’s because she kept something from him. There isn’t any excuse that would make him forgive her. Most people, it would make sense, but Harvey isn’t like most people and he doesn’t forgive as easily when people go behind his back. This is her third offence in three years and her transgressions are now stacked a mile high.
She wants to tell him that she wishes she could go back but she can’t - what’s done is done. It isn’t that simple. Nothing between them is ever that simple. Just like now, everything between them is so severely complicated that she can’t even begin to explain it. Explaining her and Harvey has never been her forte, and isn’t about to be any time soon.
Her Louboutins are heavy on the carpet as it gives beneath her and they still manage to echo in her ears louder than his heavy breathing. The collision of noises, his breathing and hers, sounds like an ice pick pecking away at a block of ice and the room feels just as cold. He huffs and it snaps her gaze to him. She looks on as he licks his lips, and she is more surprised by the autonomic reaction her body has to the movement than she is anything else, but the frown that follows is what really throws her.
He’s unhappy, and she can’t help thinking that it’s all her fault. Just last week he was smiling, cracking jokes that were funny enough, at least from what she could tell at a distance. She hasn’t really been in the same room as him for the last two weeks, and when they have been alone together, they’ve barely spoken at all. At least she can say that they are still on the same page, professionally - so much so that conversations remain unrequired, but she can’t say that they aren’t missed. They always knew when to be playful and when to be serious. Now it seems that they are neither.
She feels tears gather in her eyes, like they are protesting something that she doesn’t quite understand yet. The way he keeps staring at her cuts her to the bone, makes her knees go weak, makes her forget how to breathe without the divine probability of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She can’t focus, can’t keep herself collected because she is way past doing or saying the right thing with him.
She didn’t get lost in wanting or not wanting to, she just got stuck with an inability to say anything at all. At first, she was stepping in and trying to help him navigate through his relationship. At first, she wanted it to work out but expected them to break up anyway. At first, everything looked different from the outside, like they were snazzy but couldn’t trust each other. If Donna is honest, and you won’t find her saying a damn word, then she would say that they are still the same as they’ve always been just with a ring on Scottie’s finger.
This aches in Donna’s very bones. She doesn’t know why. It isn’t like she is in love with Harvey, because she’s the furthest thing away from being in love with him if she does say so herself. It’s more like she’s lost all hope because even if she isn’t in love with him, it has still always been them against the world. Now, he barely consults with her on the unprecedented work decisions she makes to further advance his career.
Donna is no longer an intricate part of Harvey’s life. She no longer uses his corporate card to buy drinks or dinner or herself a little gift, and he no longer brings her a low fat mocha latte with whipped cream. They are simply two beings who happen to be in the same place, recognize the other’s face, but can’t remember the other’s name. Even then, she still knows everything about him from how the color of his shirt reflects his mood to what food he’s craving.
But, just for a moment, she thinks that maybe he’s punishing her. Punishing her because he’s no longer fuming and won’t stop looking at her. He looks crushed, like he was just told the worst news he’s ever heard (just short of his father dying, of course), like the potentiality of his future has been taken from his very reach. She can’t get into his head, but she knows he needs her there, is silently pleading with her to say something.
He tilts his head like he’s struggling to keep himself under control, and the way her bottom lip trembles makes her tuck it between her teeth.
“Donna,” he says, suddenly.
Her gaze meets his and they hold eye contact, but the silence is overwhelming. She doesn’t want to be here anymore, doesn’t want to do this. She could fake sick and go home. But she’s never faked sick, not once while working for Harvey. She doesn’t want him to think that she’s avoiding him or, worse that she doesn’t want to work for him anymore.
At some point, she started to need him just as much as he used to need her. She takes a mental note to try harder, to get them back where they used to be because she can’t imagine not getting to see him every day. It’s all professional.
Before she can say anything in response, Scottie brushes passed her in a rush. Scottie’s white dress paints her like she’s a saint or an angel, and it makes Donna feel like she’s been punched in the gut. She’s no longer the old Scottie, but she is a newer version - a much better version. How could Donna ever compete with that?
“What the hell was that?” Scottie barks. Her heels stomp and Harvey’s eyes twitch. Despite the fact that his eyes never leave her frame, Donna still manages to take this as her queue to leave.
She steps back before taking off in the other direction, passing her desk, and rushing directly to the bathroom. She’s certain that no one sees her or the glisten that’s somehow cloaked her eyes, and feels for the door handle. Of course she would miss it because why wouldn’t her journey away from prying eyes be anything close to easy.
Finally, she gets the door open. As she hears it slam shut behind her, she turns on the faucet and the sounds of water crashing into the side of the sink basin before sliding down the drain quickly replaces the busy work environment just outside. There’s an echo that contrasts the dark lighting as though the room is more welcoming than it appears to be. The walls hug her in the worst way possible, and she doesn’t know if she’s about to cry or scream. Probably a combination of both.
“Donna? Are you okay?” Rachel asks.
Donna, terrified, lifts her gaze and recoils at the reflection beside her. The reflection matches the voice, but Donna hadn’t been expecting anyone else. Apparently her observation skills are taking a toll. Harvey has really worn her down.
“I’m fine,” Donna says. It’s dismissive and not at all believable. She can hear that in her own waver and that distant echo that mocks her. She musters every ounce of pride she has and stands tall in her heels. “Are you okay?”
Rachel squints, briefly. “I’m in here to use the restroom. You seem to just be wasting New York’s water supply.”
“Give me time,” Donna says slowly, “I just need to sort everything out.”
Rachel’s gaze makes Donna feel as though she had walked in on her repeating get your shit together at her reflection in the mirror. “Then you’ll tell me?”
Donna nods once - “then I’ll tell you.”
“You look like you could use a drink,” Rachel comments.
“A drink won’t cut it,” Donna says.