Chapter 43: The Domestic Moment
The Thai food arrived twenty minutes late and lukewarm. I didn't care. Donna sat cross-legged on my couch, chopsticks moving through pad see ew like she'd been doing this in my apartment for years instead of the third time.
"Harvey threw a file at Mike today," she said between bites. "Actual throwing. Papers everywhere."
"What did Mike do?"
"Picked them up without saying anything. Smart kid." She set down her takeout container. "It's getting worse. Ever since you joined Hardman, Harvey's been..." She searched for the word. "Volatile."
I ate my curry, letting her talk. The apartment felt smaller with both of us here—not bad small, just occupied. My furniture was minimal: couch, coffee table, bookshelf with law texts I'd never open again. Everything else was in boxes I hadn't unpacked because what was the point?
"He asks me about you," Donna continued. "Not directly. He'll mention Hardman's firm and watch my face. Or he'll bring up one of your old cases and wait for me to react."
"Are you? Reacting?"
"No. But that's making it worse." She picked up her wine glass. "Harvey can't handle not knowing things. And right now, he doesn't know if I'm feeding you information, if we're still together, if I'm loyal to him or to you."
"Are those mutually exclusive?"
"To Harvey? Yes."
The heater kicked on with a rattle. I'd complained to the landlord twice. Nothing changed.
"We need rules," I said.
Donna looked at me over the rim of her glass. "I'm listening."
"No case discussion. Anything active between our firms is off-limits. You don't ask, I don't tell."
"Agreed."
"No fishing for information. If one of us needs something for work, we go through official channels."
"Obviously."
"And no using each other as intelligence sources. Not even accidentally. We don't let work bleed into this." I gestured between us.
Donna set down her glass. "This only works if we're honest about what we can't talk about. The minute we start pretending we can handle it, we can't."
"Then we're honest."
"Even when it's uncomfortable?"
"Especially then."
She studied me, that look she got when she was reading subtext I didn't know I was broadcasting. Then she nodded.
"Okay. Rules established." She picked up her chopsticks again. "Now tell me about your apartment search. You can't stay here forever—your shower barely works."
"The shower works fine."
"Scott. I've used it. It's sad."
I laughed, surprised by how normal that felt. We spent the next hour talking about neighborhoods, commute times, whether Brooklyn was worth the subway distance. Normal couple things. The kind of conversation where my System stayed quiet because there was nothing to calculate.
But eventually she circled back.
"Harvey sees you as personal betrayal," Donna said, putting her empty container on the coffee table. "Not professional competition. Personal."
"Because I left?"
"Because you didn't beg to stay." She pulled her knees up to her chest. "Harvey's entire identity is built on being the best. When you left without a fight, you told him he wasn't worth fighting for. That's worse than any loss in court."
I processed that. The System flickered to life briefly—cataloging Harvey's psychology, updating threat assessments—but I dismissed it. This wasn't about tactics.
"He's going to make it personal," Donna continued. "The cases, the motions, everything. He'll tell himself it's about winning, but it's about proving you were wrong to leave."
"I know."
"And you're okay with that?"
"Not okay with it. But I expected it."
Donna shifted closer, her shoulder against mine. "I need to know something."
"What?"
"Is this us—" She gestured between us again. "Is this part of your strategy? Getting close to Harvey's secretary, having an information source at Pearson Hardman, staying connected to—"
"No."
The word came out harder than I meant. She flinched slightly.
I set down my food, turned to face her properly. "When we started whatever this is, yeah, part of me calculated the advantages. That's what I do. I calculate everything." The admission felt like peeling off skin. "But that stopped being true around the third time you called me on my bullshit. Maybe earlier."
"When did it stop?"
"When you helped me pack my desk. When you showed up at my apartment that night and told me Jessica was wrong. When you—" I stopped, struggling with words that the System couldn't help with. "You're the one thing I don't calculate anymore. That scares me more than Harvey does."
Donna's expression softened. "Good. You should be scared. Means you're actually feeling something."
"I'm not good at this. The not-calculating thing."
"I know. But you're trying." She kissed me, quick and certain. "That's enough."
We cleaned up the takeout containers, moving around each other in the small kitchen with the ease of repetition. She washed, I dried. Domestic choreography.
"Mike's opposing counsel on my first case," I said, handing her a plate.
"I know. Harvey mentioned it."
"What did he say?"
"That Mike would handle you easily now that he knows what to expect."
I smiled at that. "Harvey's in for a surprise."
"So is Mike." She rinsed the last dish. "Just...be careful. Mike's not Harvey. He doesn't play dirty. If you crush him, you're not really fighting him—you're fighting through him to get to Harvey."
"I know the difference."
"Do you?"
I didn't answer because she was right to question it. The line between fighting the case and fighting the firm was thinner than I wanted to admit.
We ended up on the couch with terrible reality TV on in the background—some show about rich people buying houses they couldn't afford. Donna provided running commentary, mocking their choices, predicting divorces. I half-watched, mostly just aware of her weight against my shoulder, her breathing, the particular way she laughed at the stupid parts.
My System ran quiet. No calculations, no probability assessments, no strategic analysis. Just... this.
"I need to know you're in this," Donna said during a commercial break. Her voice was different—smaller, more careful. "Us. Not the legal war. Not the rivalry with Harvey. Not the career advancement. Just us."
I could have deflected. Made a joke. Said something charming and non-committal. The old Scott would have.
"I'm in this," I said. "Completely."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She kissed me properly then, and the TV kept playing forgotten in the background. Later we fell asleep on the couch, her head on my chest, my arm going numb but not moving because I didn't want to wake her.
Around two AM, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. I checked it carefully, not disturbing Donna.
Text from Hardman: First motion due tomorrow. Make it count.
I set the phone down, ignored it. Tomorrow I'd file against Pearson Hardman. Tomorrow Mike Ross would get his first taste of prepared opposition. Tomorrow Harvey would learn his dismissed associate had teeth.
But right now, none of that mattered.
Donna shifted in her sleep, mumbled something incoherent. I pulled the blanket over both of us and closed my eyes.
The war could wait until morning.
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