Warnings: Some Language, spoilers for S1E4 "Dirty Little Secrets."
Summary: Perfect things come in threes.
A/N: LOL, I wrote a Suits fic. *shrugs*
The first thing he noticed about Jessica Pearson was that she wasn’t one of those blue Monday assholes; not one complaint about too short weekends ever passed her lips. There are two ways to face the beginning of a work week. You can either bitch and moan about the weekend not being long enough while standing in the Starbucks line for your morning coffee or you can be a man about it. Harvey likes his job. He likes his life, and he’s always hated the guys in his office that treated Mondays like the advent of the apocalypse. It simply wasn’t that serious.
He liked to think he was the only one who noticed Jessica’s avoidance of the break room—her attachment to her desk was obviously a dedication to her work, but it was also (and maybe he was just projecting parts of this, there is so much of him in her that he loses track sometimes) a lack of desire to feign sympathy when all she felt was mild distain.
“It’s not about them being wrong Harvey. It’s about you being right.”
Which meant allowing them to have their bitch fest and her to retain her superiority because she was just better at this (working, living, being who she was) than everyone else. She was also grateful.
“You and I know how easy it is to lose everything,” she said during their first after work drink at the bar. It was the first time she’d linked them this way, acknowledged what he’d known the second they met. “Don’t be humble. Humble comes off too much like weakness. Be grateful.”
There was someone else now, someone who knew that the people waiting for good things to happen would still be waiting, while they—he and her—took everything they deserved and few things that they didn’t. It’s the perfect relationship, the best he’s ever had. Only thing is, Harvey has a habit of wanting what he doesn’t have, which means that just having Jessica’s friendship is starting to feel a bit stale to him.
“My private life is private.”
He doesn’t like it when she says this because it puts distance between them. He hates seeing her so affected by her ex, displaying a weakness that they both knew was beneath her. She asks who he’s dating and he can’t answer, not because he wouldn’t tell her (she doesn’t realize how much he revels in her surprised laughs, her shocked eyes—he fucking lives for that shit), but because he hasn’t dated anyone in three years. Fucked, yes, but he hasn’t felt like putting effort into anything that would inevitably fall apart. It’s just easier that way, focusing on his work, himself, and her.
Perfect things come in threes.
“You said you’d stay out of it,” he says, but what he’s really saying is you’re better than this, and the answering glare as she slides the case file from his hand says that he’ll never know all of her; she won’t allow that to happen.
Harvey’s always had a problem with never. It feels too much like giving up.
So he files this away as another challenge that won’t be solved overnight, but he’s never been an instant gratification guy anyway. He doesn’t like easy. She’s definitely not that.
She says, “You running tomorrow morning?” while passing his office, as if they’ve already started the conversation and he nods with a distracted “Yup,” like he’s still reading the brief in his hands.
“I’ll come with you.”
“I run pretty fast.”
“Then you’ll be able to keep up with me.” She walks away without mentioning her ex or waiting for a yes or even acknowledging that she never told him she ran at all until now, which bothers Harvey in the abstract but fits right in with the bigger picture. Work, himself, and her.
Perfect things come in threes.