Work Text:
Sitting at the bar, Donna frowns as she taps her fingers on the countertop. Her elbow rests on the surface and her hand holds her face as she stares blankly at her whiskey-based drink—an overly sweetened cocktail that her husband ordered—before taking out her phone.
She scrolls through Facebook, liking a few of Louis' non-stop updates on Lucy. Occasionally, she holds down the thumbs up and selects a heart. The back of her throat tingles and craves alcohol, but she refuses to drink this weird concoction before her. She'll drink a glass of red when she gets home.
The last time she tried to order one at a bar, the bartender merely scoffed at her and said, "You must be new to Seattle, sweetie."
That bartender had been right. Well, sort of. Even if she hasn't fully accommodated to the traditions of the Emerald City, it had been six months since Donna and Harvey moved from New York. The west coast overwhelmed her, strangely enough. Despite being well known for its laid back style, she was wound up and unemployed. Very unemployed.
She hadn't imagined a life where she wouldn't have a job. She didn't get headhunted like she used to back in the Big Apple, but she was hired pretty easily. She had to turn down dozens of jobs after stepping into the offices for the first day. Unfortunately, the relaxed nature of everyone in this city was hard for her to cope with; their blatant disregard of time which, compared to Seattle, strangled New York City. Everything moved at a snail's pace—especially the traffic. (Apparently it could get worse than Midtown. Who knew?)
Now, she was just Harvey's date and charm to his business dinners and events. It pained her to be reduced to a piece for her husband, but what else was she supposed to do? Tonight, it was a gala at a bar. A bar! No one in New York City would dare to host a charity gala at a rooftop lounge. Donna desperately wanted to go home—not to their luxury townhouse in the nicer part of Seattle, which was a fraction of what Harvey's real estate back in the city was worth, but home. Her apartment in New York City. His penthouse in New York City. New York City was home. Seattle? Seattle was a dump.
With an annoyed look, the redhead pushes the drink away and slides off the bar stool. She opts to search for Harvey and try to drag him off. Perhaps to a bathroom or something—whatever they do, it's certainly more entertaining than this. She struts across the rooftop in her jeans and blouse. It feels all too casual for a charity event.
Donna finds him talking to the host of the party, and the redhead wants nothing more but to rip out the man's tacky earring. Biting the inside of her cheek and letting the emotions wash away, she puts on her Work Donna, her Professional Donna. It's been a while since it has been used.
"There you are," Harvey smiles—God. She loves the way his cheeks indent and his eyes wrinkle at the sight of her. It makes her feel like it's her wedding night again. Donna kisses his cheek, and he wraps one arm over her shoulder. He has one of the weird whiskey concoctions in his other hand, but most of it is gone.
"Here I am," she grins in return. She puts a hand out for the other man to shake, but he fist bumps it. Unsatisfying, unprofessional, and unappreciated.
"Oh?" Donna laughs, somewhat irritated. It doesn't show. "Nice to meet you. I'm Donna, Harvey's wife. We love your organization—helping plant more avocado trees so there's never a shortage? It's perfect."
Even the charities in Seattle are stupid.
They don't drive that much anymore. If they need to go anywhere far, they call the driver they hired, but the traffic is far too intense here compared to New York. The streets are always clogged, and it's faster to ride a bike or walk.
She had to exchange her heels out for flats, and she didn't like that at all. Although she was already tall, the clicking of her heels against the floor symbolizes authority and power—everything she was stripped of the moment she moved out of New York City.
Instead of power walks down the halls of Specter Litt, Donna was here, walking down the grimy streets of Seattle. It was nice that she was hand-in-hand with her husband, but it didn't change the fact that the city smelled like urine mixed with coffee from the thousands of coffee shops that lined the streets.
They're returning home now, to their townhouse. Donna furnished it and it was absolutely beautiful, but it wasn't the same as New York. Now, as the street lamps flickered in the dark, she misses it more than ever. New York City was livelier at night, the city never slept.
"That was fun," Harvey says as the cross light changes to the walk symbol. Their hands swing to and fro as they make their way across the road. "He was nice."
Donna shrugs, and murmurs, "more avocado trees planted in the United States, really? I don't really call that charity work. Isn't he an avocado businessman? If anything, he's just boosting his sales."
Her husband frowns but doesn't say anything. She's probably right—she's Donna. The conversation is dropped and they walk home silently.
After showering and preparing for bed, the two lay side by side. Scooting closer to her, Harvey wraps an arm around Donna as she lay facing away from him. She's on her phone reading about job openings. Still, nothing that she's interested in.
"Are you alright?" he asks, breaking the silence that lays heavy in the room. Gently, he places a hand on her shoulder and pulls her, coaxing her to face him. She turns reluctantly and looks at him.
Donna smiles weakly and manages a shrug. "I'm fine, Harvey. Don't worry about me."
"You haven't left the house in six months, Donna," he points out.
"I don't have a job, Harvey. What do you want me to do?"
The lawyer looks at her blankly. "Go shopping? I don't know."
She scoffs, but it comes out as a halfhearted laugh—he can be so ridiculous at times that it's silly. Leaning closer to press her forehead against his, she pecks him on the lips softly. "Don't worry about me, Harvey."
Her stomach twists and turns.
The next morning, Harvey wakes her up. Usually, she wakes up on her own and makes breakfast for him, but she guesses that she was worn out from last night. Luckily, she has the best partner in the world. Beside the bed is half a bagel with a strawberry cream cheese spread and a hot mug of coffee. He presses a kiss to her forehead before leaving off to work. He goes into work an hour early nowadays. It was different in New York where he'd always come in late—Harvey really loved working with Mike again.
She hears the door shut and that's the sign that she's now alone. With a breath of relief—that she can now let go appearances of looking like a proper and tidy housewife, she sits up and grabs the plate with the bagel, eating it slowly. Donna looks out the window and sees him turn the corner to walk to work. He walks with such a purpose, no longer carried by just his swagger. Life is so different now.
Hardly having an appetite, she sets the bagel with two bites down and gets off the bed. Her feet touch the cold hardwood floor, causing her to shiver. Quickly, she shuffles to the bathroom to brush her teeth. After washing her face, she slips on one of Harvey's Yankees t-shirts and some shorts before taking the meal out to the kitchen. She sets it down on the kitchen table and grabs the television remote, turning on the TV. She sits and forces herself to eat it all.
Her stomach aches, feeling stretched out despite the inoffensive meal. She shouldn't have finished that, but it's too late. She tries to settle her stomach by finishing off the coffee, but it doesn't do much besides provide a temporary warmth. Donna places her dishes in the sink after shutting off the television. Nothing good was on nowadays. Methodically, she washes the plates and then goes to the spot where she spends most of her day: the couch.
It's become somewhat of her sanctuary these past six months. There's an outlet just close enough so she can plug in her laptop and the Bluetooth speaker's connection barely makes it, but she can play music from her phone if she places it at the edge of the end table by the couch. That's exactly what she does. She turns on a playlist of Harvey's favorite jazz songs and grabs her laptop off the floor. Placing it onto her chest as she lays down, she begins to surf the Internet.
Her latest obsession is theater fail compilations. The past two months it was getting her yoga instructor certification—which she did fairly easily. She just didn't want to work as a teacher; she knew she would get bored of the simple routine quickly. Now, she watches Macbeth trips as he gets on stage and Juliet accidentally breaks the balcony railing. Funny stuff.
Donna giggles to herself as she presses play on the next video. There's an ad for the New York subway. Her smile instantly turns into a frown. She shuts her laptop and gets up from the couch. Talk about a mood killer.
The redhead shakes her head—maybe she should try to be productive. She walks over to the fridge and opens it up, checking to see if they need any more groceries. It seems like they've run out of strawberries and eggs along with a few other things. She groans, reluctant to go to the supermarket. But she needs to be productive—maybe it'll get her mind off the things she can't have.
Walking into the bedroom, she goes to the closet to pull out a pair of jeans. She exchanges the pajama shorts for the pants and then puts on some socks. Slipping on her sneakers, she grabs the house keys out of the cactus-shaped key bowl on the kitchen counter, pulls the grocery bags off the coat rack, and snatches her purse off a stool before entering society.
Holding the strawberry carton above her head, she inspects the plastic crate carefully before placing it into the cart. It looks like a good batch. Donna pushes the shopping cart around to the vegetable aisle where she picks up some produce to make a soup. It's getting colder, and soup would be a good fix to all her problems. (Hopefully.)
She pushes onward to the soaps shelf; she'll get herself some bubbles to draw a bath. Although she hasn't done anything too intensive lately, she felt like she deserved it. She was particularly worn out these days, despite her unemployment. She wasn't sure why.
Looking at the shelves, she searches for the coconut milk bath bomb, but to her dismay, there's none left.
An associate comes up to help her, asking politely, "What are you looking for, ma'am?"
"Coconut milk bath bombs," she murmurs bluntly. Donna doesn't even turn to look at the worker. Her throat feels like it's swelling, and she's suddenly holding back tears as she stares at the empty slot on the shelf. It feels like a part of her was ripped away. It's just soap.
The worker looks confused, but she checks the inventory on her work tablet before bearing the bad news. "I'm sorry, miss. We're out of stock. We'll have a new shipment tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Donna asks, her emotions coming to a head as she looks over at the worker. It's a young girl. "Do I look like I can wait until tomorrow?"
The worker practically shrivels as she shakes her head furiously. "Um—um no ma'am."
"Forget it," the redhead decides as she turns her cart in the other direction. In a moment, her anger fades and she's pushing the shopping cart to the cereal and bread aisles.
Looking into her cart, she decides that those are all the groceries they need for the week. She's even gotten some new cleaning supplies to scrub the toilets with. It's not like she has anything better to do—she's just living off her hefty savings and her shared account with Harvey.
(It isn't really a shared account. Harvey just puts money in it and Donna spends it. She knows what he's trying to do—make her feel better about being unemployed by letting her go shopping with a seemingly endless supply of money. It doesn't work though—only because there aren't any good stores in Seattle. Sometimes Harvey is stupid and forgets she's Donna.)
She passes by the pharmacy and goes into the feminine products section to grab some more supplies for her stash. Rumor has it that her preferred brand released new packaging designs. She was curious to see what they looked like. As she went to grab the pads, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the pregnancy tests.
For a moment, she thinks about how her period is two weeks late; however, there's a shred of doubt about what she considers as she stares at the sticks. She's had sex with Harvey of course—it's certainly less than when they were dating, but that's because they're here in Seattle. Either he's too tired or she's too tired. (From doing what, she's not sure.)
Grabbing one off the rack—it's a pack of three, the sides of her lip curl into a frown. She's not sure if she's ready for this yet. Could she call it a welcomed surprise? She barely leaves the couch most days, and she drinks an embarrassing amount of wine—bordering on alcoholic. It's either that or Harvey's protein shakes. There's not a lot of juice in the house except for Louis' monthly shipment of Prunies.
She shakes the thought out of her mind. Tossing it into the cart, she moves on to pay for the groceries.
Donna sits on the toilet lid, reading the instructions to the pregnancy test. It's simple enough—pee on the stick and wait five minutes for the results. She can do this. It'll be fine.
A part of her hopes that she's pregnant—it's an easy explanation for her constant mood swings. One minute she's desperate for her husband's affection, and other times she wants to punch him in the face. Sometimes she can barely get out of bed, and other days all she wants to do is run around the park.
She stands up and places the test on the floor for the moment, pulling down her pants and letting them lay on the floor. Picking up the box and taking out the test, she lifts up the toilet lid and sits down on the seat. The coldness makes her shiver, but she pulls through as she sticks the test between her legs and does the test.
Once she's finished, she stands up and wipes herself before placing it down on the edge of the toilet seat. Flushing the toilet, she turns to grab her pants and pull them up before going off to wash her hands. Soon, she returns to the toilet. She's brought a small step stool to sit on, to wait for her results.
Only two more minutes, she thinks to herself. Then, maybe she'll have an explanation for the moodiness and endless waves of emotion. She looks around the bathroom idly, but her thoughts are interrupted by the opening of a door.
Shit! Donna realizes—Harvey is home early. She grabs the box and goes to grab the pregnancy test off the toilet, but it slips out of her hands and plops into the toilet.
"No!" she cries, standing up and looking into the toilet bowl. The stick floats face down in the water. She doesn't really want to put her hand into it. However, she needs to act fast. Hearing her husband walk into their bedroom, she frantically closes the toilet lid, folds the box, and puts it in the trash can. Before he comes into the bathroom, she's covered the box with tons of toilet paper.
She assumes a spot on the toilet lid and looks at her phone. As if she's just sitting there for no reason at all.
Harvey walks into the bathroom and laughs, seeing her sitting there. "Was looking for you."
"You've found me," Donna smiles, standing up and setting her phone on the toilet lid. She gets up and kisses him on the lips, somewhat fervently—she's trying to hide the fact that her pregnancy test is floating in the toilet bowl.
"How was work?" she asks, as she takes his hand and drags him back into the bedroom. She sits him down on the bed and gets on top, wrapping her legs around him. "Missed you."
The lawyer raises his eyebrow at the woman's newfound libido—it's been missing for awhile, and it doesn't take a Donna to notice that. He embraces her and leans his forehead onto her shoulder before shrugging. "Alright. The deposition didn't go as planned, but there's always a next time."
"You used to freak out when things didn't go right," the redhead notes, proud of his growth. She lets a hand find its way into his hair, lacing her fingers in it. She plays with his hair to keep him distracted—she knows he's wondering what she was doing in the bathroom. It's not exactly a place a person goes just to hang out.
He murmurs in agreement, as he drops his weight backward to lay his back in bed. They land with a little "oof"—they're not twenty-five anymore. Things like this hurt and ache a little bit. She's on top of him, hovering over his face. Leaning up slightly, he pecks her on her lips before resting his head back on their bed.
"Are you okay?" he asks, softly. "You can tell me the truth, Donna."
She frowns for a moment, but it quickly vanishes. For a moment there, Harvey got her off guard. "I am," she replies bluntly. "I already told you that yesterday."
"I don't believe you."
"Well, I am, Harvey."
She leaves him, getting off his body and sliding off the bed. With an annoyed expression, she pads off into the kitchen, completely forgetting about her pregnancy test which floats inside the toilet. Harvey, knowing he's made a mistake, lets her be alone for a moment as he goes to take a shower after a long day's work.
He fishes the pregnancy test out of the toilet. Confused, but a bit excited to see a pregnancy test, he flips it around and looks at the key. NOT PREGNANT, it indicates. His heart sinks, but he's not surprised given the lack of action and the birth control. What he's curious about is why Donna has one.
Placing it atop a piece of toilet paper on the bathroom counter, he leaves it there for her. She can explain if she wants—if she doesn't want to talk about it, she can just throw it away. There's an unspoken understanding between them after all these years—if they really wanted to share something, they would bring it up whenever they felt comfortable. Of course, Harvey wants to know, but it's not his place. Even if it would be his child.
That night, Harvey and Donna lay in bed, side by side. Through dinner, Donna didn't mention the pregnancy test once, but he knows she saw it—it was moved to the trash can when he came back into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He doesn't punish her for not sharing, but he's a little upset. Instead of their usual cuddle, he opts to merely lay with their skin touching. However, Donna's back faces him as usual.
The silence is heavy, only interrupted by a random notification from Donna's phone every two or so minutes. She's texting Rachel—he only knows this because he peeked over her shoulder to see what was going on. He didn't read any of her texts—he trusts her not to do anything illegal or against their vows, of course, but he's confused why she isn't sharing. They always end up relenting; they can't keep secrets from each other anymore after all these years of dancing around each other's feelings. He listens to her fingers press the screen of her phone for what seems like half an hour before she shuts it off. Placing it on the counter, she rolls over onto her back and stares at the ceiling. Their shoulders rub against each other.
He places his hand on her thigh and squeezes lovingly—a silent reassurance that he's there for her whenever she needs it. Even if he's annoyed she won't open up, he understands she needs time.
Apparently, that was all that it took. Understanding her boundaries. Donna opens up.
"I want to go home," she announces as she stares at the ceiling. She turns her head slightly to see his face, gauging his reaction. He's expressionless—he wants her to tell him more.
"I'm not happy, Harvey. I thought I would be, but there's nothing here for me. I don't have anything to fight for—my life feels pointless. For the first time in over twenty years, I'm not fighting for my place at the table. I want to go back to New York City. To the firm."
He sits up and lays against the headboard; she sits up and lays against the headboard too. They hold hands, and his thumb and eyes tracing over her knuckles as he consoles her.
"I'm sorry I didn't realize that," he murmurs softly, "I've...I guess I've been too wrapped up with Mike. I thought you were just taking a break from it all."
"That's what it was, for a little bit. But then, I realized I didn't enjoy anything here. I think I'm depressed—I miss New York City. Seattle is so different, it feels wrong. Some days I just want to bend down and tear out the flowerbeds. I want to go back home; I don't...I don't want to start a life in Seattle." her voice chokes up and drops to a whisper, "I'm sorry."
He looks over at her, with pleading eyes which beg don't blame yourself. It's not her fault at all. He's the one who's been having too much fun and not looking after her, paying attention to her as she deserves.
"Shhh," he whispers in return, wrapping one arm around her and bringing her close. Her chokes turn into tears, and she soon begins to sob into his chest.
"It's okay, Donna."
"I really wanted to like it—you love it here. I...I can see it, Harvey. You aren't the same and—you're happy! I want to be happy. For you."
He embraces her tightly but shakes his head in disagreement. "No, Donna. You need to be happy for yourself. We...we can talk about this in the morning, okay? Even if you don't love Seattle—we'll figure something out."
She sniffles, looking up at him. Her eyes clearly puffy, even in the dim light. She nods as she presses her face into his chest again, letting herself catch her breath.
After that night, they come up with a plan: they'll go to a different New York-style bar and/or restaurant each week so she can get a taste for their old city. They also agree that Harvey will work less, and they'll take hobby classes together. Seattle is full of arts—they'll start with ceramics and then quickly move onto dance. Harvey isn't great at the latter, but with practice, it will become doable.
She will still misses the city, after all, it was once her home. It was the place where she climbed her way up to being one of New York City's finest law firm COOs. However, Harvey will teach her that she can enjoy another home: Seattle.
For a short period of time, Donna fails to find a job that she likes, but after finally visiting Zane Ross (refusing to visit in the past, because she knew it would get her sucked into the law world—she couldn't resist), she realized she didn't have to find a job she liked. Instead, she could make her own.
After careful planning with Harvey, she opens up Paulsen Consulting. She returns to what she does best—helping other people figure out what the hell is going on with their businesses. When she steps into her office, she doesn't feel like she's at home—that's Pearson Hardman—but it gets pretty damn close.