RE-BETA'D as of 25.01.16

Summary: What happens when four moral people do everything completely wrong…

Notes: SET TWO/THREE YEARS FROM 2013 (Season 3)

Warnings: Swearing and Adult Themes. (Skirting a rating but not too risque.)

Home Again - By Atheniandream

"Uhhh." He groans into the one hundred count egyptian cotton.

The bedside alarm makes a clatter, hitting the floor with a thud as he swipes it off of the side table. He frowns, minutely, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he slowly scrambles to sit up against the soft memory foam mattress. He feels the other side dip further towards him in his wake; a soft, slightly cool hand snaking up his neck to rest on his shoulders, as two breasts slowly slide up his back.

"Harvey," The voice says; husky and suggestful. "You have five minutes,"

"I'm up. She'll be up." He half-argues, folding himself into a pair of boxers that had been discarded the night before.

He's right, as the bedroom door opens with a loud screech, his face immediately softening when he spies the brown curly hair and hazel eyes of a little girl, her bobbing head faster than her skipping feet can carry her. She runs up to her father, eyes shiny and eager.

"Daaaadd!" The little girl all but screams, as Harvey moves to catch her, grinning as one lazy hand ruffles her hair.

"Hey kiddo" He says. He never uses her name. He thinks it's far too frilly for a feisty girl like her. Red hair sweeps past the periphery of his mind. He catches the thought, and drowns it immediately.

"Breakfast?" He asks, waiting for the obligatory 'yes' that will inevitably pass her lips. It doesn't, and instead he's lead out of his bedroom by the little hand, his eyes drifting vaguely to the bed before the little girl catches his wavering form and tugs a little harder on his hand, pulling out a smile in the process.

When she looks back round to check that he's willing, she grins.

She's definitely a Specter child.

Ayo, I heard you're riding with the same tall, tall tale

Telling them you made some

Saying you're grinding but you ain't going nowhere

Why you procrastinate girl

You got a lot, but you just waste all yours and

They'll forget your name soon

And won't nobody be to blame but yourself yeah

- Azealia Banks '212'

"Donna!"

Her eyes snap open the moment she hears the voice ring down the hall towards her. She rolls them, watching her eyelashes briefly before they catch the view of bustling Manhattan, waiting as the owner of said voice pads into the room.

He's disappointed. At the very least… irked. She can identify that much.

"Morning?" She says, leaning back against the cushion and stretching out an arm against his pillow, playing a nonchalant as she tries to count his abs through his shirt.

"The benefit? For Alzheimers? You're….not going?" He questions, a frown forming on his face.

"No. I said I hadn't decided yet. See? The RSVP slip still on the card? Not decided." She clarifies.

"But you said we were-"

She leans forward, her eyes sharpening. "No, Stuart… YOU said. I...am still on the fence about it." She smirks.

It seems to be the right amount of pressure, as she watches his features turn from minorly irked to amused. He walks slowly, painstakingly around to her side of the bed.

"And when will you be...getting 'off of the fence'…?" He asks, standing between her legs. She drags the bedsheet with her to meet him at least half way.

"I'll send it today…okay?" She replies carefully.

"You sure? You don't have to get your 'boss' to let you have the night off?" He asks, the words hard and meaningful.

She frowns instantly at the reference. They've been through this about a dozen times. Now he only ever uses it as bait for her lack of decision making skills. Little does he know she's still making a valiant effort NOT to organise their life purely out of principle. If only he knew how organised she could be...

"Haha." She says dryly, tugging on a pressed pant leg. "Do you have to ask your 'boss' Vanessa?" She asks, relishing the accusation and how it makes him pinker just a touch.

"You win." He admonishes with a smile, bending down to kiss her. "Love you."

"Love you." She says automatically, her lips lingering on his for a second longer, before watching him fold down the lapels of his shirt and grab his coat with a wink.

It nearly knocks the wind out of her...

He's never winked at her before.

Somehow it's a gesture that makes her gut ache and her head recollect what she'd sooner forget.

She's already in the shower before the door even slams.

"Scottie, have you seen the Berker briefs?" Harvey calls into the bedroom, sweeping up the little girl in his arms as she plays with the little bit of cologne on her hands, patting them together.

"Harvey; her skins sensitive." Scottie objects, giving him a look as she takes hold of the little girl in her dainty arms. "No Layla sweetie, don't touch your eyes. And the Berker briefs are on the coffee table Harvey. Where you left them." She points out, smirking through waves of hair.

"Ah. Yeah." He replies, spying them on the coffee table amongst the chinese take out boxes.

"Don't forget we have that Alzheimers Benefit tonight." Her voice rings out from the bathroom, amongst muffled objections of their daughter.

He slumps again, the remembrance of his evening gone in a flash. "Do we REALLY have to go? I have a ton of work to do….and we're going to have to get a sitter," He grumbles, calling down the hall as his hands tackle his suit jacket.

"We already have a sitter… Harvey. You've been invited. By Bergdorff; the one company in the city who's worth taking but who is still flirting with every other top law firm. It's important." She replies, the sound of her voice bending on the walls.

"Shit." He mutters. She's right. Both he and Mike had been courting Bergdorff for about 3 months, the pitter patter of promises withheld, all now hinging on locking down an agreement on this very night. These days, he really wasn't on top of his game. He's at a loss to recollect where the time between knocking down contracts for lunch got so easily converted into getting lost in the world of domesticity.

He flips his phone open, idly pressing the speed dial number '2'. He stops suddenly, his brain shifting into gear, briefcase in hand and suit jacket slung on as the word blares out at him.

'DONNA.'

'-his hand clamps onto the back of her neck, pulling her head back as his lips and teeth suck her neck, her gasping loudly-

He hung up the phone immediately; not even bothering to redial the correct number.

"I gotta go." He says quickly, squeezing Dana's waist and kissing the top of her head, before turning to Layla, a smile ready as he kisses her face, hearing her chirp various sounds with a vague sounding 'Daaaad' in there somewhere.

"Bye, baby." He all but croons as a mere self-concious objection shouts towards the back of his head.

It's the nearest he's ever going to get to cooing at one of his own offspring.

He presses buttons on the console, the elevator starting to whirr around him as it begins it's descent.

In the ride down to the street, he struggles with the last twelve hours.

She pops a hip as elevator fills with people, shuffling around her with a compactness until the doors close with a pop and a ding.

"Donna." Says a voice beside her. She looks down to find Louis's shrewd and rather shrewish expression looking back at her. "Good Morning."

She relaxes immediately, her gaze extending to the wall in front of them both. "Good Morning Louis." She replies cooly.

She notices when a beat passes and there are no words coming out of his mouth. She turns her head slowly, almost reluctantly towards him, the punch almost inevitable.

"You look like the Nun who got caught with the Vicar." He says, eyeing her once more.

"Excuse me?" She asks, coming on the offensive.

"You look…scandalous. Beautifully so." He says matter-of-factly.

"Scandalous...how?" She asks, looking down to frown at her rather elegant choice of dress.

He feins ignorance, claiming a pokerface. "Nothing. It's none of my business."

"Damn straight it's not," She reaffirms.

"I didn't mean to pry, it's just…"

"Just...what…?"

"You look like... Yoga?" He suddenly asks.

"Oh. No. I'm married, Louis. I dont have time for...yoga these days." She blurts out, immediately realising the ambiguity of her own words. "Just the uh...regular workout." She says, her eyes fixed on the point in front of her.

When she turns slightly toward him she can see that his expressions had made up the exact opposite of what she was trying to say, his eyes widening at the prospect of what decision he's come to in his head, and then slowly but surely drain out into a thoughtfulness.

"Ah. It, never was Yoga, was it?" He clarifies.

"No Louis."

"Right. Then…mazel tof."

"Thank you Louis...but Stuarts not...Jewish." She says, frowning.

"I was speaking figuratively."

"I...gathered.," She remarks dryly, walking into the the lobby of the firm. The 'Pearson Specter, & Litt' still catches her off guard every one of the forty-five mornings she's seen it. She doesn't stop with him as he proudly lingers in front of it.

She wanders along the hall until she is greeted with a 'Mike Ross, Junior Partner' Office, grinning in a motherly fashion as she continues past.

She's hit dead when she spots him standing in the hallway.

Harvey Specter.

She can't spot his suit for anything these days. He's all over the place with the baby, juggling cases and charming new clients all with his name still on the wall.

But his face,

She can read every single line. Every freckle, every indent. It's like the diary of his past.

He's chiselled, more so these days. And the dark lines running from his ear to the sides of his mouth have intensified; deepened until they now resemble something… maybe a longing. Her gaze immediately drops from his,

-her tongue slides up his cheek, her breath in her chest as her fingers trace the faint line of his hair as it ends at his nape. He pouts, and she wants huff at him for looking so unexpectedly sexy in that one moment. But he has other, far dirtier ideas in mind as his finger dances-

"Hey." He says; his lips in a straight line, eyes guarded against her.

"Hey." She parrots back, straightening in her Louboutins to make herself that little bit taller. It's counterproductive against the small-girl feeling in her stomach. She knows this, but her head acts before she's even caught herself doing such a thing; stalking past him to place her bag on the seat of her chair, before walking deftly into his office. To anyone watching it would look as if she's placing a file on his desk, as he follows her in, closing the door behind them both.

She feels him behind her as she turns around, seeing him just standing there; a slight five o'clock shadow on his face.

"We need to talk." He says, the words heavy, and doubly so with his dark eyes looking at her.

"No, Harvey," She protests. "We need to keep our mouths firmly shut. It was a mistake."

"Don-"

Her patience is immediately thin, her hand coming up to silence him. It's a rare moment, seeing her silence him. She knows she has his balls in her fist. It's not the first time...

"Don't. You have a baby. A little girl whom I know you love, Harvey. I have a husband. We screwed up. But it was tiny. Stupid. And it won't happen again."

"Not for another 15 years, right?" He says in a flash. It's oddly bitter for him.

She winces, lacking the understanding to know where it came from. "Harvey," She breathes, the words coming out thready and weaker than she'd meant them too.

He's changed so much, lately. With the baby and a real sense of responsiblity. And he was doing fine, a great Dad, even.

But with her...

It was like the better he got at being a family man the more the cracks started to show with regards to her. Or maybe he just got tired of hiding things from her.

"I…" He starts, trying to read her even though he knows he can't. "You're right. My mistake." He says, shrugging into his ten thousand dollar suit as he folds into his desk chair. She watches as he tries to ignore her tall lingering form.

It rides a fury straight to her lips. He knows how to get at her without even realising.

She presses the anger together in sharp, quiet words. "Ten minutes. Your car." She says, stalking out of his office and grabbing her bag.

He's furious and horny and beside himself in some strange middle place.

Feelings are shit. He knows this much. His eyeline catches Mike wandering into his own office. He nods to him, walking out into the half.

"Hey Sundance. Good weekend? Ready to take down Bergdorff at the Alzheimers Benefit this evening?" Mike chimes, rocking on his heels.

He can't help it. The merriment in the younger man's demeanour only sours his own. But he swallows it anyway. He is a Junior Partner now , after all. He's no longer some rookie in the bullpen.

"Mike. I need to sort a few things out. Donna's… running an errand. Do me a favour, get your assistant to keep an eye on the phone for me?" He asks, starting to walk down the hall.

"Sure. How long you gonna be, we have a meeting at nine?" Mike calls after him.

"If I'm not there, start without me!" He calls behind him.

"You're kidding right?" Mike calls after him, shaking his head.

"That's what I pay you for, right?" He throws back.

She straightens again when she sees him exit the building and walk towards the car. Somehow, away from the crowded halls and various witnesses, they're in a far more dangerous position in his limo. She'd forgotten about that. The shifting details of their seemingly unchanged relationship.

"Ray?" He enquires as he slides onto the leather seat, shutting the door behind him. It's odd that his driver and long time friend not be in the car. He's a constant in both of their lives.

"I told him to get a cup of coffee and keep an eye out." She explains.

"Resourceful. Look, Donna-"

"Harvey." She interrupts. "You don't cheat. I don't cheat. What the hell are we doing?"

"Right now? Right now we're...sitting in a car,"

"No. I mean...what are you doing?"

"Right now I'm..." He pauses, emptying with a tired sigh. "I'm wondering...if that has a zip." He says, pointing matter of factly to her dress. The smoulder in his eyes makes her want to hit him with her purse. She would do, but it's Chanel. It would be unbecoming.

"Harvey. Focus. You're not your mother."

The words hit him dead, like a bucket of cold water, but don't halt his intention as she expected they would.

"Donna. My mother cheated on my Dad repeatedly. This is NOT what's happening here." He states, gesturing heavily between them.

"It's still cheating. Do you want to hurt Scottie?" She asks, the fire lighting her eyes.

"Donna,"

"Do you? For getting pregnant with your baby, is that what this is all about?" She asks. It's a long shot. But like always there is a hunch and a long line of dots. And she has the pencil in her hand.

"I love my kid, Donna. I don't regret that,"

"But?"

"But… this is… this is different." He says, the pressure coming out in an almost scowl.

"Harvey. This… is a mistake. Do you understand that? This won't only break Scottie, and Layla… It'll break Stuart-"

"Don't say his name-" He barks, his eyes turning a sour coal brown.

"And it'll break us, Harvey. We can't survive screwing everything up. We won't..." Her voice is remarkably broken for someone with such a calculated resolve. It's embarrassing being so unravelled in his presence.

"We already did screw it up. I meant it when I said fifteen years, Donna."

"Harvey sto-"

"No, you stop. You let me speak now, because we both know that I don't often, so when I'm ready you're sure as hell gonna hear it. Donna...I love you. It's…It's always been you. And I wanna be with you. But right now, I just really wanna fuck you. Hard. So unless you're willing to let me get us a room, then you better take the day off. Because I'm done with your rational decision making solutions. My balls literally can't handle it anymore."

She opens her mouth slowly, before closing it again, her eyes flickering between each of the windows. She feels trapped, and not in a good way.

It's a snap judgement, when she turns away, her hand grasping onto the handle of the door and his right hand covers hers just as quickly.

"We can't go on like this," He mumbles into her ear.

In an instant, it's like he's poured warm water down her neck.

When her eyes return to his,

She's already made her decision.

And it's a bad one.

"Tell Mike you'll be back for your meeting at Nine." She says.

When she knocks on the door of the hotel room, she feels cheap and exhilarated all in one lovely mess of a package. She feels like room service, like a hit of cocaine to a stripper or a rally to game. She's almost bitten one nail down waiting in the limo with a nonchalant Ray as Harvey books a Suite, no doubt. She's right. And the waldorf no less.

The room is… stunning. Move-like. Epic and lavish and embarassing.

There are so many things that she doesn't want to think about. Pretty Woman references aside.

When he opens the door, she finds herself polarised, smiling softly at him as he smiles back. She doesn't resist as he tugs her over the threshold. Even if the action does shock her to the core. Being touched by him is strange and otherworldly, yet strangely reminiscent of the woman she isn't anymore.

She catches them both in the mirror of a dresser overflowing with lilies, and thinks of how young they look in this moment, watching him in a reflection as his hands press her waist into his, causing her to stifle a gasp. Her eyelashes flutter, as she shrugs her heels off, looking at him, now much taller than her, and leans her head back as his lips instinctively find the spot underneath her jaw line, his hands ghosting up to the ruched jersey material on either side of her breasts as he grinds purposefully against the inside of her left thigh.

"People are going to realise that we're both not there," She warns in a breathy gasp as he traces the laced hem of her panties. She forgets which ones she's even wearing; the material being no giveaway.

"When I'm not in the office, you're not in the office. Focus." He says. The last word catches, and she looks up to see his large eyes looking down into her even bigger ones. He smirks and kisses her then, a hand holding her head as his tongue encourages her mouth open, the need in him making itself known along the indent of her thigh once more, more insistent this time.

Its his erection that spurs the automatic lover in her. She's only human after all, her hands pulling at his shirt carefully, painstakingly as she sucks his tongue hard into her mouth. "Take it off."

"Demanding." He smirks, cocking an eyebrow at her.

"I don't want it to get creased." She rationalises. Ever the organiser.

"I love you." He says, catching her attention.

The words falls out with a pleasing, almost admirable affection. She ignores the beat that skips in chasm of her chest, or the way her eyes roll automatically at his forwardness. She should have guessed that he'd be the more emotionally forthcoming one of them. The amount of conviction he seems to have is unparalleled.

She takes the shirt off of him with a look, placing it on a chair before turning back to him. He looks so strange, shirtless with his work pants still on. Or even just shirtless in the first place. Like the two sides of a coin. She's just not used to it, having buried it away long ago with his innocence and her hope for such things.

"Sit." She points to the bed, a pointed look on her face.

He gauges her meaning for just a second, perhaps wondering about creasing his pants, or maybe a witty comment is dancing around his head. Until, he does as is told, leaning back on the bed.

Then, he smirks. That smirk. That one that gets him exactly what he wants. The one that she never let work on her until now.

Her eyes dart to where the door stands motionless in her periphery. There is literally no going back from the moment. It's time to jump into the fire.

She feels herself go into a mode, into the confident sexy side of herself as she expertly unzips her dress, letting it pool to the floor leaving her in black lacy panties and a push up bra. She's suddenly very aware of her lack of heels as she wanders over to him, a slight sway in her hips until she's stood in front of him, her legs touching the inside of his Tom Ford Suitleg.

"What?" She asks, noticing his lost expression.

"I always wanted you to break that rule. So….fucking badly." He says. It's honest. He's never that honest.

She feels herself fall through the floor, a surprised exhale falling out with watery eyes. She's lost that swagger, that shield of confidence. Suddenly, just a woman standing in front of a man looking at her as if she could be everything that he's been missing out on.

What I feel now about you then

I'm just glad I can explain

You're beautiful and close and young

In those ways we were the same - Hard to Find - The National

"I don't wanna wait any longer." He says, the double meaning clear as day. His hand pulls her down onto him, her legs bending at the knee as she settles in his lap.

The words continue to resonate with meaning.

"Harvey...your pants." She mumbles into his neck.

"I don't give a shit." He mumbles between kisses. "We'll get to it."

She breaks out of their moment, looking at him like he's just renounced his New York status, and then looks down to undo the buckle on his belt without even asking.

He chuckles, leaning back on the heel of his hands as he watches her struggle between her own legs. He's clearly enjoying the view she's got going, and arches an eyebrow as she widens her legs to kneel over him, helping him shrug out of the pants.

"Better?" He asks, amused.

"Yes. Continue." She says, watching him straighten back up against her, cupping her ribcage as his tongue makes long sweeping strokes up her cleavage to settle in the deep hollow of her throat. Her hands hang limply at her sides, her head leaning back with the comforting knowledge that he has hold of her, until she feels her bra fall between them, and then has only accusations on her lips.

He kisses every single one of them away with mirth on his lips and a twinkle in each eye.

She finds herself smiling shyly with each one.

She insists on being the first one to leave; refusing the car in favour of a much more realistic looking cab. She smells of his cologne no matter how much perfume she's put on, and wishes she had the time for a shower. Halfway back to the firm, she double takes and actually starts to redirect the cab home, before thinking how strange it would be for people to notice her change of clothes, and opts to stop off at fifth avenue to get a perfume which matches his own cologne. A cover. An excuse.

He resents the shower she makes him have, and instead of concentrating on washing he plays little snippets of the last hour between them in his head, repeatedly, for good measure of course. He feels like he can take on Manhattan all by himself, until he notices a hickey in the mirror. It sobers him, and he realises just how much he's forced her guard down.

She had wanted to be careful. And now he feels like an asshole for encouraging what he wanted out of her. Maybe even for doing it in the first place.

She's more to him than the last hour showed. His fingers speed dial 2 on his list, checking the screen to reassure him of it's intended contact.

But again, it's her.

She's just paid the cab driver, when her phone buzzes in her coat. She pauses to fish it out, shivering slightly at the name, as her place of work towers over her with a permanence.

"What?" She answers coldly, feeling more than exposed out in the public, right by their building. Any number of run-ins could occur out here in the wilderness of the busy highstreet, with a 'love maverick' on the phone.

"I just...You're…" He starts, fumbling unnaturally.

"What?" She presses, swallowing his name as it automatically readies in her throat.

"It's not just about the Sex? Okay?" He says, his deep voice coming up at the end.

"Look," She starts, swallowing his name. Words are suddenly the biggest problem even when followed with the kind of action she's seen today.

"Donna…?"

"I'm at work. Can we...talk later?" She asks.

"Fine." He says, putting down the phone. She allows the disconnect to ring in her ear.

She wants to say all of the things in her head to reassure him, whilst all at once wanting to beat him to death with her phone for being the one to instigate it all.

I'm thinking it over
The way you make me feel all sexy but it's causing me shame
I wanna lean on your shoulder
I wish I was in love but I don't wanna cause any pain
And if I'm feeling like I'm evil, we've got nothing to gain

- 'Waiting Game' Banks.

After he finally returns to the office, he watches her feel out the shift just slightly, perceptively. She's a professional at reading him.

They are mechanic for the rest of the day.

Again, Professional. Brief.

It's ingrained in them, the ability to knock down the pins in their way and bowl the strike, all whilst avoiding the mess of their convoluted situation with a perfect acuity.

But he aches for her. Like never before...like with no one else. It suddenly all makes sense in his head.

He's angry with himself for fucking up, for allowing his mouth to run away with him when his hands should have done the talking.

Trouble is,

He should have tied his fucking hands round his fucking back to stop from making that move that now has her Queen in a quandary and his… bishop...

Or something less perverse.

Mike would have a field day if he knew… he wonders idly if Donna will tell Rachel. He doubts it. She'll take it to the grave if he backs even slightly and then-

"What's going on with you?" Mike chimes in, shrewdly studying the older man's features.

"Nothing. Just...tired." He answers, huffing.

"I was actually thinking you looked...wired." Mike says, his hands invading his pants pockets.

"Too much coffee I guess." Harvey shrugs. Give it one more shrug and the kid'll know to back off...

"Okay." His counterpart grunts, silencing for a moment. And then a moment too long.

"What?" Harvey asks, huffing once more, only louder this time, igniting his fraying temper.

"Nothing. If you're not gonna tell me then I'm not going to ask again…" Mike fishes, his mouth keeping it's smile on hold. A trained professional.

"Good."

"Good." Mike parrots.

It's almost infuriating.

The overwhelming urge to swallow occurs as his eyes flicker to Donna and her sudden move to standing as she glides away from his office and down the hall.

She's always listening. He can't be sure if it's a curse or heavenly saving.

He sighs heavily. "Shut the damn door." He commands roughly.

Mikes eyes widen. Less like the little lost boy of his youth, and more now like a wise man being thrown a bone. He quietly shuts the door turning slowly with an expectant look on his face.

"I…" Harvey starts.

"Can you believe this shit!" Louis suddenly parades into the office, opening and shutting the door simultaneously; most likely oblivious or completely uninterested in their private moment now being disturbed. He marches over to Harvey's desk, slamming the paper into the glass frame.

He looks down. The business section reads 'Bergdorff' under water.'

"What? Louis… you said their financials were solid." He warns, a growl coming into his voice.

"They are solid. Obviously someone's putting out a red herring against the opposition," Louis replies, narrowing his eyes.

"As in us? So...everybody else wants a piece of the pie." Mike offers, frowning when Louis's face whips around to meet his.

"What are we going to do? We don't have any aces up our sleeves, Harvey. I've practically had my ass over the desk with a reasonable offer for weeks now waiting for a paddle to drop," Louis says, the words hurried but no more articulate.

"That's not an image I want to linger on," Harvey responds, cringing. The guy certainly does have a horrific way with words...

"A paddle? Not a...whip?" Mike offers, smirking at Louis.

"Hush junior." Louis barks. "Well? Ideas?"

"We need leverage. Charm." Harvey says.

"Well, unless Bergdorff is a twenty five year old receptionist, then you might not reach the bar."

"I object to that statement." Harvey groans.

"I don't give a shit what you object to, Harvey. We need Leverage."

"I get it Louis." he warns, his temper teetering on the edge once more.

"I don't think you do-" Louis starts, the convincing slicing up his words.

"I'll get it. Now, get out of my office." He barks, standing up against the shorter man, who merely blinks, then grabs his paper with a stomp and turn of the heel.

It's always a showdown. They work well as two sides of a coin, and he respects the hell out of the guy. But Louis Litt is...a dick. Most of the time. If most is almost always...

"Okay. So...leverage?" Mike chimes in, watching Louis parade down the hall.

"Mike. I need you to go dig for bones." He says, his finger pointing into the glass desk.

"Any particular bones?" The younger man asks.

"The kind of Bones that look like a body…and I need them by 7.30. 8 at a push."

"Gotcha. And you?" He asks, nodding.

"I need to go buy a tux. I have a benefit to go to."

He ignores the 'What about me' that rings out behind him.

When she reads the text message, her gut sinks from her lungs.

845 Madison Avenue.

Tux and Talk.

H.

She wonders idly, somewhat lightly if he's suddenly changed or if he's always been this way, things bubbling under the surface with possibility. She huffs at the mere notion of what this is doing to her, scanning around her cubicle before typing quickly, effortlessly.

You know how to buy a tux.

Let me do my job.

.

He replies instantly.

.

I need assistance.

And you're my...

H.

She snarls at the words on the screen, venting the pressure in her nose, and replies.

Don't be a jerk.

x

He's quick off the mark.

Donna...

I need to talk.

Get your fantastic ass over here.

H.

For a moment she thinks he may have completely snapped. Of all of the public places to talk,

In Tom Ford?

?

When her phone buzzes one more time, she smiles fractionally.

I'll buy you a Bagel.

H.

.

She knows that if she doesn't show, then that he'll be in a worse mood with her than if she were to completely ignore him. She's stupid and she's deftly aware of the fact when she asks Mike's assistant to take her calls for lunch in favour of the coming friday afternoon off.

She hasn't even had time to think about this morning. Or the fact that he's still technically got that suite until it tags onto the end of her thought.

What are they doing...really?

She is… married. To a man who is actually... wonderful. He's the...the best alternative for her. He's strong, selfless, encouraging, but at the same time doesn't let her get away with everything. He's the almost perfect. Almost...

It never occurred to her that she could have been in a dysfunctional relationship for the past fifteen years with a man she'd only slept with three times...hell twice,

Until today.

She frowns at the realisation of their actions.

But he still knew what buttons to hit even though he hadn't used them in years… still knew what she needed and how to treat her with just the right amount of pressure to make her pop.

She shakes her head as she rides the elevator for the fourth time today…

Already have a lot of this written up. It's going to keep referring back to the events between our current day Suits and where they are now.

Happy Holidays everybody!

I'm hoping to turn this vaguely Christmassy! A~