A/N: I've had this idea floating around for a while, but the setting always got me as I never knew where to place the beginning of the story. So this is set immediately after 6.10 - PSL. I suppose it could be a one shot, but I think this will be around 10-12 chapters long if people are interested enough in it. So let me know your thoughts!

CHAPTER 1

He was sitting by the bar when he heard. Usually, he'd have remained in his office, drinking, but for some reason he didn't want to be alone — and a drinking buddy wasn't someone he'd find easily at the firm. Louis with his baby drama, Mike refusing to work for them again. He had asked Ray to drive him to some old school bar where he knew people would leave him alone. Perhaps he should have gone home instead — the place was classy, he had always liked it — but the piano was getting a little melancholic on its own.

He was surprised when a voice joined the piano, so he turned around.

It was a good thing he hadn't been drinking then because he might have choked on his drink.

Donna.

It was a simple arrangement. The piano and her, standing in front of the microphone. The lyrics left her easily — she was wearing a long red dress that fit her beautifully, if he was honest with himself. Her hair was wavy in an old Hollywood style, over one shoulder. He loved it. He hated how much he loved it.

He hadn't seen her in nearly five years. She looked different — her hair seemed brighter, she looked a bit thinner but healthy, her skin was glowing in a way he hadn't seen since way before they ended things between them. He briefly wondered when was the last time he had seen Donna so relaxed — not with him, that was for sure. And it felt like a punch in his gut.

Fate was probably laughing its ass off because of this. Seeing Donna for the first time in nearly five years. Tonight, of all nights.

It was mostly silent in the bar — almost everyone was listening to her. That was Donna, of course — she just shone brighter. She could have been wearing hags and people would simply be drawn to her. She spoke the words slowly, and the song was a sad one too — he drank his scotch with some tightness in his throat. She stopped singing, letting the melody do its work, and he followed her hand as it moved down the microphone pole — it was a fluid motion, and he wondered what was it with her that she could make everything seem so sensual with zero effort.

He remembered her hands well. That movement, right there — he remembered that on him. And he buried the memory deep in his brain, shaking his head. It was not the time nor the place. But his eyes had a mind of their own, tracing her torso — the cleavage of the dress, stopping right between her breasts, and still keeping it classy. He remembered how her breasts felt in his hands.

His lips felt dry, so he turned to the barman and ordered one more drink. When he looked back, Donna had her eyes on him. His glass never reached his lips while the eye contact happened, as brief as it was — but he was sure she noticed. They had always had a way of noticing each other amidst crowds. No matter what happened, certain things didn't change. They had managed to avoid each other well enough — courtesy of living in New York City, he supposed. Still, she noticed. The way he hesitated. But he wasn't the one to break the contact.

She was.

She went back to singing the chorus, her voice strong around the walls of the club, singing with such heart that he was shocked he never knew she could sing like this.

Perhaps they never knew each other at all, he guessed. A year ago, he'd have fled the bar as soon as he saw her.

But maybe it was the situation, tonight of all nights, that made him stay. The sudden tightness in his chest he felt whenever he looked at her — and he couldn't look away. One of his biggest regrets was the way things ended between them. One of his biggest regrets was letting her go — but he had thought he was past that. Seeing her here, tonight, singing — it put everything into a different perspective.

So he didn't leave.

He stayed, and watched her — one song turned into two then into three; her eyes never crossed his again. But her crowd was mesmerized. And if he didn't want to admit to himself — so was he.

Soon enough she was saying goodbye with a smile and thanks and making her way to the bar — far enough from him, he couldn't help but notice. He was always the one who hesitated and ran from an argument in their relationship — not the opposite. So he watched. She had a brief animated conversation with the bartender and politely smiled at a customer. She waited for her drink — he was willing to bet it was gin and tonic — and then walked towards him.

So she wouldn't avoid him. Donna was never one to run away from an opportunity to stare him down.

And stare him down she did, as he was sitting on the stool and she was taller than him in her heels. She leaned against the bar, and he turned to look at her. Properly this time.

"Harvey."

She spoke first — as usual.

"Donna."

Up close, she smelled like the same flowery perfume she used to wear and he used to love — something by Dior, if he remembered right — and her hair looked longer. It made him want to reach out and run his fingers through it.

Still, she said nothing else. They just stared at each other.

Harvey cleared his throat.

"This is a surprise."

"I'll say," Donna agreed.

"Didn't know you were a singer now."

"I'm not," she spoke quickly. "Just doing this once a week. The owner is a friend, and I enjoy the attention."

Harvey would have laughed, because her tone and choice of subject was just the one thing they needed to break the ice. As usual, Donna always knew what to say. Instead of laughing, however, he kept looking at her — and a part of him twisted because while he had always known he missed her, he hadn't realized just how much until now. His smile turned wistful, and he pursed her lips.

"Have a drink with me."

Hazel eyes stared deeply into his. She was assessing him. He could almost see how her eyes narrowed — her lips pursed as well, making a decision. But they both knew there was no decision to make.

"Alright," Donna said, finally. "Let's get a table."

They found themselves a table by the corner, at the end of the room. It was private enough that he doubted anyone could eavesdrop, even if this was just a drink between old — lovers? colleagues? friends? — whatever it was that they were.

"It's good to see you," Harvey said, because he meant it. Even if it was out of the blue.

Donna smiled into her drink. "Well, we spent a few years successfully avoiding each other. It was bound to happen eventually."

"I didn't avoid you."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Please. Any time you went to Rand, Kaldor & Zane you made sure to never get anywhere near Ellen's office."

"You assume I knew you work there."

"You did. Let's not fool ourselves," she said, though her tone was light — almost too easily so. She was an actress. He never forgot that. "Doesn't matter. I don't work there anymore, anyway."

Harvey frowned. "Did Ellen let you go?"

Donna huffed. "Please. I let her go," she rolled her eyes. "I wanted more. They didn't see that as an option."

"Their loss."

Donna nodded. "It's in the past anyway," she took a sip of her drink, looked around the bar uninterestedly. "How's the firm?"

Harvey let out a deep breath. "Don't pretend you don't know the mess we've made."

She shrugged. "I'm not pretending. But I never believed you'd be ruined."

He gave her a smile. "Thanks."

"You're too stubborn to let anyone beat you."

Harvey glared at her. It almost felt like old times.

"So now, what? Broadway?" he asked, not even pretending to not be avoiding the subject of the firm.

Donna stared at him — assessing. She wouldn't push him. He knew that. Not on this. So she lowered her eyes, gave him a noncommittal shrug.

"We both know that ship sailed without me a long time ago," she said softly. "I'm back to school, actually. Full time now that I'm jobless. Figured it was as good a time as any to really work on it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. MBA. I finish it in a few months," she told him.

"The sky is the limit."

"Well, I'll settle for one of those fancy offices with a great skyline view. Don't need the entire sky," she joked.

"And so you're singing on the side now."

"More of a hobby," she confessed. "I teach a yoga class on Saturdays too. You wanna join that?"

"I'll pass, but thanks."

"Rachel attends every week. I'm sure she could ask Mike to come, too."

"No— wait, you know Mike?"

"Please. I'm Donna," she gave him a pointed look. "He's my best friend's fiancé. And the fraud you hired a month after I left the firm. Of course I know him."

"You're not gonna give me a lecture about that?" he challenged her, drinking the rest of his scotch.

"I think we're past lectures at this point," she said in a wistful tone. He noticed her glass was empty as well.

Just then, they were interrupted by an older man who approached their table — Harvey knew him by name, though it had been many years since they last saw each other. He'd rather not remember the occasion.

"Harvey," the bar's owner said, and Harvey stood up to greet him.

"Joseph," Harvey said with honesty, shaking the man's hand. He knew Donna's eyes were trained on him.

"Been a long time," Joseph said; now close to his seventies, he still had that jovial air about him. Harvey had a few memories of him and his dad exchanging stories — he, a young lawyer, merely an observer. "Red, you didn't tell me your boyfriend had a musical background. His dad was the best goddamn musician this place has ever seen."

Donna smiled, though it was hesitant at best. "I have no doubt he was, but Harvey's not my boyfriend," she was quick to say. Too quick. "We… used to work together."

"Work together? That's what you kids call it these days?" Joseph asked humorously, though the joke fell flat. "It sure would have been a pair to see. Red and your old man Gordon."

Harvey smiled, almost against his will. "They were quite the pair, I'll tell you that."

"I'll send another round for you. On the house," Joseph said, his palm on his chest. "For old times' sake. Don't be a stranger, Specter."

Harvey saluted the man with his drink and leaned back on his seat. Donna was strangely quiet — averting her eyes the moment he looked at her again. He put the memories of Donna and his dad together to the back of his head, and rubbed his eyes, knowing she'd see right through him. She always could. He hadn't changed that much. He took the opportunity to look at her — posture perfect as always, hands holding the glass on the table in an unnecessary manner. He tried to read her like he was sure she had read him. Her hair looked soft and that hairstyle favored her wonderfully — as most things did. Her gaze met his with the knowledge that he had been staring, and her eyes were challenging. Even observing, he got nothing. He could never read her. He had always blamed the actress in her. Perhaps he should have blamed himself instead.

She sighed — a sign of her patience was running low. That, he knew.

"It's… good to see you, Harvey. It is. But is there a point to this?"

They stared at each other, her eyes looking less hazel and more brown in the dark room. She was everything he knew he wanted, and everything he knew he couldn't want, all at once.

"Jessica left."

The words blurted out of his lips before he could do something about it. And he watched as the news sunk in — the way Donna's eyes widened and her lips parted as if she did understand the complexity of the fact. Perhaps she did, but only to a degree — she hadn't been around for a long time to truly know.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Harvey."

"Me too," he confessed. "She announced it today. Mike left with Rachel, Louis went to Tara or whatever her name is. He's… engaged now. I came here."

A waiter approached them then, with two tumblers filled with scotch — he had no doubt it was the best in the place. He took their empty glasses and Harvey noticed Donna didn't bat an eye at the scotch; she did choose a different drink before. Harvey took a sip of the liquid — Macallan 36. He let the drink work its way into his body, appreciating it.

"We haven't been focused on saving the firm," he told her. Donna leaned back against her seat, her gaze on him. "I'm not sure we'll survive this."

"From what I've seen, you've survived worst," Donna offered quietly. "The firm did lose me a few years back. That must have been devastating to everyone."

It was meant as a joke, of course. But he didn't laugh.

"It was. For me, at least," he revealed, not meeting her eyes. He pretended to be interested in the piano instead. "Though I suppose if I survived losing you I can survive losing Jessica."

Donna shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Different kinds of loss, I think. Unless your relationship with Jessica changed over the years."

He made a face. Donna's face relaxed when she took a sip of the scotch.

"God, I haven't drank this in so long," she commented. "Forgot how good it is."

Harvey smiled, and it wasn't his fault that he noticed there was no ring on her fingers — not any that mattered, anyway. She wore a silver band with a solitaire diamond on her middle finger — she knew enough to remember that had been a gift from her mother a few years ago — around a decade ago, he thought.

"I haven't been here since Dad died," he shook his head. "Barely even thought about this place, even. Funny that you're here."

"The last time I saw Gordon was here," Donna told him. He was surprised to hear that. "He had a gig here. Simple stuff. You couldn't attend, we had that case against Global Properties. I made some time. Didn't know you knew Joseph, though."

"I should have made some time, too."

She arched her eyebrows, a long breath leaving her body. "Yeah, well… shit happens," she shrugged. "I come here every year, on the anniversary of his death. I don't know, just seems appropriate. Last year Joseph complained there was no good singer and I stepped in just so there would be someone… performing, or whatever. Joseph liked it."

Harvey smiled. "Of course he did. That one's a Romeo."

Donna laughed. "They all are."

"With you, I'm sure."

It was meant as a joke, but she stopped laughing, and he did too. Their gazes met again — this time, they did not look away.

"I did miss you, you know," he said, not caring if admitting so made him look desperate.

She looked at him with kind eyes — he noticed how her chest fell slightly.

"I know, Harvey," she said. "You'll get through this too."

Their gazes met — this time, she looked away before he could even think of it. Suddenly, he could feel her anxiety from across the table. She looked around the room, a little uncomfortable.

"I should go," Donna said. "Class early tomorrow."

"Right," Harvey agreed.

She was already standing up.

"We could… do this again. Some other time," he offered before he could truly think this through. And he saw her refusal before she said anything — the way she pursed her lips, the way her cheeks flushed slightly.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Harvey," she said with a finality he knew would be irreductible. "You know I've wished you nothing but happiness. You'll be fine. You've been through worse."

He nodded.

She walked away. He kept watching until she slipped through the door and was out of the bar, and he slouched slightly on his seat, drinking the rest of his scotch. He noticed she had only drank half of hers, rolled his eyes, and reached for her tumbler.

They had always been a good team together — at the DA's office, no one could beat them; no one doubted they'd both go places. At Pearson Hardman, they had been a force within themselves — together more than ever, in all senses of the word. They could joke and tease and flirt and fuck and they were the best at it and they knew it. But afterwards, separately — and like this, meeting up, together but not at all, they never knew how to behave around each other. It was as if every confidence had left his body. Maybe he'd have insisted on a dinner with any other woman. Maybe any other woman would have accepted right away.

But that was not them.

So he drank the last of her scotch and stood up.

Harvey came home to find two bags in front of the door. That made him even more pissed than he was before.

"Donna!"

His heart was beating against his chest in a way that he'd have considered alarming if he hadn't been so caught up in this… situation. If that was what anyone could call it. It was easy to find her — she was in his bedroom, folding clothes into yet another bag. Their eyes met — his, wide, almost in a rage; hers, serene, certain. The look in her eyes made his steps falter.

"Donna," he said once he stepped inside the bedroom. A look to the right showed him part of the closet was empty. "Look, I'm sorry. It was a stupid fight…"

"God, this is exactly why I had that policy," Donna shook her head, not even bothering to look at him again. "For once, this has nothing to do with work, Harvey."

"First you resign from the firm and now you're apparently moving out. What am I supposed to think?"

"I'm not moving out, because I never moved in in the first place," she retorted, zipping up the bag. She looked up at him then. "I can't do this anymore, Harvey. I can't be in this relationship for the both of us."

"So that's what this is about? You moving in?"

Donna shook her head, and that was when he noticed the unshed tears in her eyes. She wasn't blinking — that was how he knew it was true, and not just the act she used when she wanted to prank someone. And the gravity of the situation downed on him so quickly, he almost had to sit down.

"You know what this is about, Harvey," she said at last, looking out the window. The sun was setting and its bright light gave her hair a golden halo. "This isn't… it's not new. You know that."

"We can fix this," he said numbly. He had no idea what he could do to make her give up on this weird idea of them being over.

"No, Harvey. We can't," Donna said right away, now staring right back at him. "We were… foolish to think this could work. We weren't ready for this."

"Donna," he reached for her hand. She didn't pull away. He took that as a win. "I don't want to find what kind of man I am without you."

She shook her head, stared at their hands, fingers intertwined. When she looked up, a tear had escaped her eyes.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Donna blinked. Another tear fell. She pulled her hand away to wipe her cheek. "This isn't about you, Harvey. It's about us. And there hasn't been an us in a while."

Just you. She didn't say it, but she might as well have. It was like a stab in the gut.

"This isn't working for me anymore," she said once more, taking hold of the bag she had been packing. "I love you, Harvey."

He stood, as if in a haze — listening to her steps until the front door opened and closed. He must have been there for a few minutes until he finally moved — and it dawned on him how empty everything suddenly was. The flowers Donna kept in the living room, a few items of decoration here and there. She left a cactus on the kitchen counter — as if that was the only thing he could take care of, apparently. If not for the empty part of his closet, it was almost as if she had never been here in the first place. And not even the windows and the sunset and the wind could prevent him from feeling as if the walls were closing in on him; it was suddenly hard to breathe, to catch his breath, almost as if Donna had taken his ability to be alive when she stepped out of his apartment and — apparently, out of his life.

Donna opened the door to her apartment and was surprised to see the lights on; she left the keys on the table at the end of the hallway, and she let out a laugh when she saw what was happening in the kitchen.

Mitchell turned around at the sound of her laughter — hands occupied with a spoon and the pan on the stove. He was also wearing an apron. Donna thought it looked rather cute on him. He gave her a smile and then let out a low whistle.

"Look at her. Damn."

Donna put a hand on her hip, arching her eyebrows.

"You going for that midnight snack?"

He laughed. "If you're up to it."

Donna laughed, walking over to him and giving him a kiss on the lips.

"I'm making some pasta. Will you join me?" he mumbled against her lips.

Donna shook her head. "No, I had dinner at Joseph's. But I'll accept the wine," she added. "I didn't think you'd be back until tomorrow."

"I decided to leave the conference a day earlier," he explained, tilting his head to one side. "Bad surprise?"

She smiled and kissed him again. "Good surprise."

He pressed his palm against her cheek softly, moving away to get her some wine. Without her shoes, she was much shorter than him — it wasn't something she had had in many relationships, the height difference thing. She liked it.

She sat on the bar stool, smiling thankfully at Mitchell when he handed her a glass of wine. Italian — her favorite. He always knew what she liked best. She watched as he cooked, listened to his talk of North Carolina when she asked how the conference went, but her mind wasn't really on it. She hadn't thought of Harvey in a while — she hadn't heard of him in a few weeks, at least. She was up to date of what was happening at the firm — with the firm, within the firm — because anyone in her line of business would know, but she had always tried to keep it separated from Harvey. Pearson Hardman — or Pearson Specter, or Pearson Specter Litt, she didn't care about the name if she wasn't a part of it — would always be a straight point in her life. A before and after kind of thing. At least, it still was.

It was better than to think of life before and after Harvey Specter, anyway. The feminist in her simply refused to entertain that notion.

She could go on and spread the news to her network — the ones who had helped her in so many situations, before and after Pearson Hardman. But she wouldn't do that — for Harvey. Because having a brief conversation with him already shook her up. And she could only be glad she had had the restraint to keep their encounter short.

Mitchell made a joke about the wine getting to her too quickly, and asked if she had drank anything at Joseph's before — he wouldn't mind if she had. But she shook her head, and decided to not bring Harvey into the conversation. It was pointless, unnecessary, and she didn't think it would matter anyway

Harvey was out of her life, and he'd stay that way. She'd make sure of it.

A/N: The song Donna sings in the first section is Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey :) And just to make things a little clearer - I feel like Harvey and Donna were probably together for 3-4 years before she left Pearson Hardman. And the Suits timeline is a little confusing to me so I set this episode around 5-6 years after the pilot. Maybe I'm totally wrong but just bear with me with this timeline for the fic's sake :P

So... should I continue this? Let me know!