Chapter Text
Harvey had always known he wanted to be a secret agent.
Sure, like every little boy, he first wanted to be a cop, then a firefighter, or even an astronaut, but while his classmates kept changing dreams, Harvey had one clear goal in mind — becoming a spy. He would never forget the exact moment it hit him like a revelation. He was only eight years old, hiding in the stairwell one evening while his mother was out and his father had just come home from tour. He was supposed to be in bed, but as Gordon sat on the couch with a beer in hand watching an old James Bond movie, little Harvey Specter stayed hidden on the stairs, completely fascinated.
For over two hours, he watched Sean Connery investigate the wealthy Auric Goldfinger, who was secretly smuggling massive amounts of gold overseas — all while wearing an impeccable suit and shiny dress shoes. After that movie, every time someone asked what he wanted to be later in life, he confidently answered: secret agent. Most people laughed, thinking the idea was ridiculous. So, by the time he became a teenager, hearing his classmates discuss realistic career plans, he started lying and saying he wanted to become a lawyer — apparently that sounded more serious.
« Again, Specter? »
« What? Afraid you can’t keep up with me? »
As Harvey and Mike completed their tenth lap around the track, the blond practically felt like coughing up his lungs — if Mike was the brains of the duo, Harvey was definitely the body.
The two boys had been friends for nearly a decade now as they had met in Brooklyn right after Harvey’s parents’ divorce and shortly after Mike lost his own parents and moved in with his grandmother. They clicked instantly, and while Mike eventually confessed about his photographic memory and his dream of serving the country thanks to his so-called superpower, Harvey admitted he wanted to become a spy, as crazy as it sounded.
In the end, both boys grew up with stars in their eyes, constantly supporting and motivating each other — Mike studying day and night while Harvey trained relentlessly until he became unbeatable. Eventually, once they both turned eighteen, they got accepted into Harvard Law School — not exactly easy, but definitely a way to impress future recruiters. The moment they earned their Juris Doctor degrees, they immediately applied to the CIA: Mike for the analytical department and Harvey as a Paramilitary Operations Officer, no matter what it took to reach his goal.
« Do we really have to? » Mike moaned.
« Oh, come on, brother » Harvey snorted.
« You know if we get accepted, we’re gonna go through hell anyway. You don’t need to start now »
Waiting for the results felt endless, and Harvey honestly thought he was losing his mind. So he ran and trained over and over until exhaustion, hoping physical pain would silence the stress consuming him — the fear that his entire life plan would collapse if his application got rejected. But seeing Mike one step away from passing out, Harvey finally stopped torturing his friend and called it quits for the day.
After grabbing drinks, the two headed back to the tiny Manhattan flat they shared, and while Harvey was busy playing video games in his room, he frowned at the sight of an unknown number flashing on his phone.
« Hello? »
« Harvey Specter? »
« Speaking »
« Harold Jacobs, CIA recruiter »
In a split second, Harvey sat up straighter, his heart pounding violently as the man explained his profile had been selected and he’d like to conduct a phone interview if possible.
For nearly an hour, the recruiter questioned him about his background and abilities before informing him he had strong chances of being accepted — but first, a complete security investigation would need to be conducted, reviewing his personal history, criminal background, finances, social connections, and anything relevant to determine whether he could be trusted.
Fortunately for Harvey, his file was practically flawless — excellent student, stable finances for a recent graduate, limited social circle, no criminal record. So a few days later, when he received the official letter inviting him to complete a physical and medical evaluation, his heart nearly exploded at the sight of the CIA seal printed on the paper. Of course, Harvey had practically prepared his whole life for this moment, and he walked out of the exam room with a perfect score, impeccable health, and a smug grin on his face.
« What do you think? » Mike asked.
« I don’t know, Mike »
« I’m sure you’ll make it. Soon enough we won’t even see you anymore because you’ll be traveling all over the world saving the United States » his friend chuckled.
Mike couldn’t have been more right because after the medical exam, everything moved incredibly fast.
Harvey completed a second interview involving simulated scenarios meant to test his reactions under stressful or unexpected situations before moving on to questions evaluating his interpersonal skills, teamwork, adaptability, and ability to make difficult decisions. Once again, the waiting period felt unbearable. Harvey ended up taking a small job in the mailroom at Gordon Schmidt Van Dyke instead of immediately starting as a lawyer, still hoping for an answer from the CIA.
Then, two months later, his phone rang.
His application had been accepted and in that exact moment, every year of frustration and sacrifice finally felt worth it — he did it.
« I’m gonna miss you, dude »
« Yeah, me too. But don’t give up, alright? You’ll make it too »
« Of course. No way I’m letting you have all the fun playing spy without me, huh? »
Barely two weeks after signing his contract, Harvey flew to Camp Peary near Williamsburg, Virginia, to begin his training.
At first, he learned the fundamentals of intelligence work — information gathering methods, ethics, law, information security, source protection — all while enduring brutal physical and psychological training. While Harvey was already the best in his class overall, he became untouchable whenever it came to field techniques, dominating every exercise to the point people started calling him the best closer in New York.
His training continued for several months until his very first mission: retrieve an electronic device from an American diplomat during a conference in Vienna. Naturally, by the next morning, Harvey stood inside his superior’s office in Langley with the hard drive in hand and his usual arrogant smile.
« What’s your secret, Specter? »
« I’m the best closer in New York, huh? »
That mission changed everything.
After impressing everyone with his speed and efficiency, Harvey was assigned more and more operations — each one more dangerous and complicated than the last. And every single time, it only pushed him further. He bluffed more, took bigger risks, constantly played with limits, afraid of absolutely nothing and no one.
Of course, it wasn’t always easy. Sometimes the young spy found himself trapped in situations straight out of movies — torture, beatings, fights — Harvey collected them all. But apparently, he enjoyed it, because every single time he came back victorious with a cocky grin on his face. Like that particular night when he stumbled into the condo he shared with his partner-in-crime and best friend, Mike Ross, clutching his chest with a groan.
« What did the doctors say? »
« Probably two broken ribs. Just a classic Thursday »
« Hey, Harv »
« What? »
« You screwed up tonight »
« You’re exaggerating. You saw me, didn’t you? I had everything under control »
« Exactly. I saw everything. And you’re lucky I’m not forwarding all of it to Pearson, otherwise she’d fire you »
« Come on »
« I’m dead serious, bro »
As Harvey painfully lowered himself onto the couch, he watched Mike sigh and shake his head disapprovingly.
Mike had been recruited by the CIA a year after Harvey and if the young man had quickly established himself as an exceptional field agent, Mike and his photographic memory had climbed the ranks to become a liaison operator and field analyst. Once both contracts were signed, they arranged to work together — Mike as the brains, Harvey as the muscle — quickly becoming an unstoppable duo.
Mike was calmer, more grounded, while Harvey constantly flirted with danger, and Mike never hesitated to drag him back to reality. They worked so well together because they knew each other better than anyone else, but also because they had become the only family either of them had left. Mike’s parents had died when he was young, and his grandmother sadly passed away a few years after he joined the CIA, leaving him completely alone while Harvey had become the brother he never had.
As for Harvey, he considered his own family practically dead too. Gordon had passed away from a heart attack the previous year, and Lily… Lily had broken his heart during his teenage years. He still occasionally spoke to his brother Marcus, but every conversation ended the same way — Marcus defending their mother — which only frustrated Harvey more and pushed him further away from his family.
Their jobs didn’t exactly allow much of a social life either. Mike spent most of his time buried inside CIA headquarters or behind a computer at home, while Harvey constantly traveled under different identities, never really being himself, moving from bed to bed, meeting women from all over the world without ever getting attached — which suited him perfectly.
Very quickly, Harvey realized — Mike too, honestly — that missions made him feel alive. Risking his life, acting recklessly, pushing boundaries… all of it gave him a sense of purpose and importance he had lost years ago when even his own mother had manipulated him. For once, he was the one in control. Lost in thought, he was interrupted by Mike dropping his laptop onto the table.
« Pizza tonight? »
« Let’s do it »
Mike had barely reached for his phone when it rang and the moment he saw their boss’s name on the screen, he sighed heavily.
« Fuck… »
« What? »
« Jessica Pearson »
« Maybe she’s calling about the mission report »
« Already sent it. Which means it can only be one thing »
« Already? »
« Apparently »
« Come on, answer »
« Yeah, you’re right — Miss Pearson? »
« Hello, Mike. Are you with Harvey? »
« I am, yeah »
« Put me on speaker. I need to talk to both of you »
« Of course — there. He can hear you »
« Miss Pearson… » Harvey muttered.
« I’m contacting you because I have a new mission for you »
« Already? Miss Pearson, we barely finished this one. I mean, Harvey has two broken ribs. Can’t this wait? »
« No, it cannot. Tomorrow, you’ll prepare for your flight to Paris »
« Paris? » Harvey gasped.
« What, Specter? You got a problem with Paris? »
« Not at all. So what’s the mission? » the spy sighed.
« Last night, a valuable painting — a Renoir, specifically — disappeared during a prestigious exhibition in Paris. It appears the artwork was stolen by a criminal organization planning to sell it to a private buyer for an astronomical amount within the next few days. However, there’s also reason to believe the painting may be a cover for an intelligence operation involving sensitive information hidden within the frame »
« And how exactly does that concern the United States? »
« The information could contain encrypted codes granting access to security systems linked to sensitive infrastructures — nuclear facilities, military sites, secret bases »
« Great » Harvey sighed.
« I need you to investigate, locate the painting, and intercept the buyer. And needless to say, the French are already involved »
« Even better » Mike snorted.
« Alright, boys. I’m sending you all the information you’ll need. Your flight leaves Thursday at eight a.m. I’m counting on you »
« Of course, Miss Pearson »
After hanging up, Mike sighed again while looking at Harvey, clearly not thrilled about leaving so soon when his best friend was obviously in no condition to travel with two broken ribs. But naturally, Harvey couldn’t care less. That night, despite the mission briefing waiting for them, they decided to take a break, eating pizza while playing video games — feeling sixteen again even though they were nearing thirty.
The very next day, despite doctors saying it would take six to eight weeks for his ribs to heal properly, Harvey boarded the private jet with a massive bruise across his torso and a bottle of painkillers in hand, making Mike sigh yet again.
« You sure this is gonna work? »
« A couple broken ribs aren’t stopping me, Mike. Besides, we’re talking about a stolen painting and hidden information. I’m not fighting four Russians or anything. And even if I had to, I’m not getting beaten up by some French guy, huh? »
« God, your ego… »
« Come on, read me the plan again »
For the next several minutes, Mike reviewed their strategy for the next three days — the limited time they had before the transaction in Paris — while Harvey listened carefully, though part of his attention drifted toward the gorgeous French model he’d met last month whose name he had already forgotten.
After nearly eight hours of flying, the two friends rushed through customs before heading to their hotel and setting their plan into motion.
As usual, Harvey began by discreetly observing both the outside and inside of the gallery. He noted every entrance and exit, identified emergency routes and blind spots that could allow a discreet escape or intrusion. He memorized the security guards, surveillance cameras, weak points, and moments where security seemed lighter. Once he sent Mike a brief report, he casually started speaking with guests present at the gallery, pretending to be a simple art enthusiast fascinated by the story of the stolen painting.
But after questioning almost everyone, Harvey never expected to hear a woman’s voice behind him — the perfect blend of softness and teasing wrapped in an American accent.
New York.
With a slight New England influence. Probably Boston or Connecticut.
« Can I help you? »
If Harvey initially intended to brush off the interruption quickly, the moment he turned around and saw her, he nearly forgot how to speak English.
She was tall, almost eye-level with him, with huge hazel-green doe eyes, a dusting of freckles across her face, a straight nose, lips that were neither too full nor too thin — just perfect — and a stunning tailored suit hugging her gorgeous body flawlessly. But above all else… Red hair.
Standing in front of him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
And for the first time in his life, Harvey didn’t need a mission to feel alive.
If someone had told Donna one day that she would become a spy, she probably would’ve laughed.
Ever since she was little, she had known exactly what she wanted to be: a star.
The second she learned how to speak, she started singing, and before she could even properly stand on her own legs, she had already started dancing. By the age of five, she was juggling kindergarten, ballet classes, singing lessons, and piano practice. Donna had always been incredibly precocious for her age, but what truly set her apart was her determination, even when life wasn’t always easy.
As a teenager, right when she seemed to have everything, her father lost all his money, and suddenly she had to give up almost everything — every class, every instrument, every performance, every ballet outfit — gone in the blink of an eye. But while she went from private dance academies and national theater companies to community center classes and school plays, she never gave up. She kept pushing herself harder and harder until she finally reached the holy grail: Yale.
« You did it »
« I did it »
She really had.
Donna had been accepted into Yale’s Dramaturgy and Dramatic Criticism program while also taking French language and theater arts classes, all while continuing ballet in a small dance school in New Haven. She was talented, ambitious, and dreamed of making it to Broadway someday — becoming one of the rare few to achieve an EGOT: Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony Award as she imagined herself crying on stage during every acceptance speech.
That was all she wanted — to spend the rest of her life doing what she loved. But New York competition was brutal, and Donna couldn’t picture herself working as a barista forever. So eventually, she made an important decision.
« Mom, Dad… the reason I came back to Hartford is because I have something to tell you »
« What? »
« Everything okay, sweetie? »
« Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. It’s just that lately I feel kind of stuck in New York. Every audition ends with rejection no matter how many I do, and honestly… I need a change »
« You’re moving back to Connecticut? That’s amazing news, Donna »
« Actually… I’m leaving New York. Just not for Connecticut. For… Paris »
At the announcement, Jim and Laurel were completely speechless.
They knew visiting the City of Lights had always been one of Donna’s biggest dreams. She and her mother were originally supposed to go together years ago, but after her father lost everything financially, the trip had been canceled and Donna had probably never fully gotten over it.
Jim spoke first, his voice softer.
« Donna, I understand being frustrated about not getting that trip with your mother, but this is huge. We’re talking about Paris »
« I know. But it’s not really about the canceled trip anymore. One of my friends moved there with her boyfriend and she keeps talking about it nonstop. And you know I’ve dreamed about visiting since I was little »
« But what exactly are you going to do in Paris, Donna? » Jim asked quietly.
« I got accepted into a ballet internship at the Opéra Garnier. It’s only for three months, but it’ll give me a chance to breathe and figure out what I really want »
Eventually, despite struggling with the idea of their daughter moving to another continent, her parents were happy to see her chasing one of her dreams.
So barely two weeks later, Donna boarded a plane to Paris with stars in her eyes and dreams filling her head, thrilled at the idea of discovering the City of Lights while immersing herself in the intense and demanding ballet world — because Donna had always loved a challenge. Soon enough, after being welcomed by her friend in Paris, she found herself living in a tiny maid’s room in the seventeenth arrondissement and standing inside the Opéra Garnier at six in the morning every Monday, dressed in tights and a leotard.
Donna was talented, but she had to admit the pace was exhausting. Sure, it wasn’t a professional elite program, but the competition was still fierce. Still, that didn’t bother her much. Very quickly, she made a name for herself, earning the professors’ attention and sometimes even the jealousy of other dancers while training morning and night. During the rare moments she allowed herself to rest, she wandered through Paris with a croissant in hand, strolling along the Seine.
Anyway, after finishing one of her rehearsals and leaving the theater, she was surprised to be approached by a woman she vaguely recognized — someone she’d already noticed sitting hidden in the shadows of the rehearsal room several times.
« Miss Paulsen? »
« The one and only »
« Do you have a few minutes to talk? »
Donna had no idea what the woman wanted. Maybe she was a recruiter. Maybe this was finally her big break. So despite some hesitation, she agreed.
A few minutes later, the two women sat inside a booth at the back of a quiet bar. While Donna sipped her glass of white wine, the woman pulled out a badge and placed it on the table and Donna frowned.
« What’s that? »
« Claire Gauthier. DGSI »
« Alright… is this some sort of immigration issue? Because I’m legally in this country »
« That’s not it, Miss Paulsen. DGSI stands for the General Directorate for Internal Security — French intelligence services »
« Alright… I’m gonna be honest, you completely lost me there »
« Do you know who Olga Volkoff is? »
« The girl incapable of doing a proper pirouette? Yeah, I know who she is »
« We suspect she’s part of a major Russian drug trafficking network and that she’s using this ballet internship — along with her temporary visa — to smuggle drugs into the country and act as an informant »
« Well, I’m not surprised considering her pirouettes suck » Donna snorted.
« Miss Paulsen, this is serious »
« I understand. But what exactly does that have to do with me? I mean, I have nothing to do with this story and I definitely don’t plan on doing drugs. Never have, actually »
« We know »
« We? »
« We’ve been observing you for a while. You’re good — and not just at ballet. Lead role in a local play at barely eight years old, several dance competitions won in Connecticut, summa cum laude at Yale, and an excellent actress. Not to mention you’re fluent in both English and French »
« Wow… that’s flattering, honestly. Also slightly terrifying »
Donna still had no clue where this conversation was going when Claire casually placed an envelope on the table — like something straight out of a movie. Donna opened it immediately and discovered stacks of euro bills inside.
« Paris is expensive, and we know you’re currently living off your savings. A little donation of two thousand euros could probably help, right? There’s already three hundred in the envelope. The rest will follow »
« What do you want in exchange? »
« Information »
« I’m telling you, I know nothing »
« You’ll find something. I just need you to keep your ears open and observe what’s happening around Miss Volkoff, then report back to me. What do you say? And not a word to your school or the Opéra, obviously »
« I say… I’m your man. I mean — your woman »
After a quick handshake, Donna grabbed the envelope and left the bar grinning from ear to ear.
For two thousand euros, gathering a few details sounded ridiculously easy — plus, she liked challenge. So soon enough, she traded her walks along the Seine and afternoons at the Jardin des Tuileries for surveillance and investigations — and to her surprise, she absolutely loved it.
While continuing to throw herself into ballet, she quietly pursued her investigation at the same time. As the internship slowly approached its end, Claire Gauthier contacted her again about a week before the program ended, asking Donna to meet her inside a DGSI office.
« Miss Paulsen, please, have a seat »
« Thanks »
« So… what do you have for me? »
Without hesitation, Donna pulled out a thick folder and a USB drive from her bag, immediately catching Claire off guard.
« What’s all this? »
« She’s screwed » Donna chuckled.
« I’m not sure I follow »
« Well, the USB contains every photo I took of her — all her secret meetings, plus documents I photographed. There are also audio recordings from the phone conversations I bugged in her apartment and the dressing rooms. And inside this folder you’ll find copies of school documents along with things I found in her bag. Most of it was in Russian, so I took the liberty of translating some sections. But everything’s there »
For several seconds, Claire simply stared at Donna with wide eyes, clearly unprepared for any of this. Meanwhile, Donna casually extended her hand, waiting for the rest of the promised money. Once the envelope was safely tucked inside her bag, Donna stood up, joked that she’d definitely be open to more missions if they all paid this well, then calmly walked out of the building.
She had genuinely enjoyed the experience.
Playing a secret agent felt no different than performing Shakespeare on stage. Still, she definitely hadn’t expected to witness Olga’s dramatic arrest during ballet rehearsal — nor had she expected Claire Gauthier waiting for her outside the Opéra afterward.
« Miss Paulsen »
« Miss Gauthier. Congratulations on today. That was pretty insane »
« You’re the one who deserves congratulations. What you accomplished exceeded all our expectations. Thanks to you — and the massive amount of information you provided — we managed to dismantle an entire network operating in Paris »
« Happy to help »
« Would another two thousand euros interest you? »
That night marked the true beginning of Donna’s career in espionage and French intelligence.
After one mission involving rare artifact trafficking at the Louvre came another involving forged documents used to illegally bring young women into France to dance in bars. Then another mission. Then another. Until Donna became one of the DGSI’s key assets.
The moment her ballet internship ended, she was offered a permanent position. And while she missed New York and Hartford sometimes, Donna had to admit the thrilling life Paris and French intelligence offered her was far more exciting than returning to the States.
Thanks to her background as a dancer and actress — along with her artistic instincts — she excelled at undercover work. Donna wasn’t the type of spy throwing herself into physical danger. She specialized in blending in, gathering information quietly, manipulating situations subtly. But for the first time in her life, she finally felt like the star she had always dreamed of becoming.
This time, it wasn’t a theater audience she was impressing.
The world itself had become her stage.
Her playground limitless.
Like a chameleon, she disappeared into every environment she entered.
Missions blurred together, months passed quickly, and one evening, while talking on the phone with her mother, a message from Claire Gauthier popped onto her screen.
Call me as soon as you get this message.
As much as Donna could’ve listened to her mother gossip about neighborhood drama for another hour, she immediately understood this probably meant one of two things: either she was about to get scolded for nearly ruining a mission by flirting with a target… or she had a new assignment.
Hartford would have to wait.
« Mom, I’m sorry, I gotta go. Work’s calling »
« Why would the museum call you at almost eleven at night? »
Ah, right.
Donna was lying again.
Of course, she had never told her parents she worked for French intelligence services, traveled all over the world on dangerous operations, or regularly dealt with criminal organizations — that information would literally kill them. So instead, she told them she worked in the Louvre’s marketing department — which conveniently explained why she traveled so often and rarely returned to the United States.
« Big exhibition tomorrow, Mom. Everyone’s freaking out »
« I understand. Anyway, I’ll let you rest so you’re ready for tomorrow. Keep me updated? »
« Of course. Bye, Mom »
The second she hung up, Donna immediately called Claire back.
« Claire? »
« Hey Donna. Sorry for bothering you this late, but I wanted to tell you about your new mission »
« Alright, hold on — let me grab something to take notes. Tell me »
« Do you remember the private exhibition at Atelier des Lumières yesterday? »
« Yeah, what about it? »
« A Renoir painting disappeared, and we believe it was stolen by a criminal organization planning to sell it to a private buyer for a huge amount of money »
« Seriously? » Donna gasped.
« Yeah. As you can imagine, this is a complete disaster for the French art world. We absolutely need to recover it »
« Makes sense »
« But apparently, sensitive information was hidden inside the painting’s frame — classified intelligence. Which means the CIA is getting involved too »
« What? Ugh, seriously? »
« Well… you know them »
« Alright. Send me everything you have and I’ll see what I can do »
« Thank you, Donna »
The moment she hung up, Donna poured herself a glass of wine, grabbed her laptop, and stepped onto her tiny balcony overlooking Paris, the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance while she opened the file Claire had just sent.
« Alright… »
This honestly didn’t seem too complicated.
She simply needed to investigate the scene, analyze the situation, and request access to the full files afterward.
Easy.
After finishing her wine and doing a few stretches, Donna went to bed ready for the next day.
The following morning, after carefully building an entire persona for herself and dressing in an elegant suit and heels, she left her apartment and headed toward the exhibition. After briefly showing her DGSI badge to the manager, she began wandering through the gallery pretending to admire the artwork as about twenty minutes later, while blending naturally among the visitors attending the permanent exhibition, she casually glanced toward the entrance as the door opened.
She expected an elderly couple — maybe rebellious art students — but instead, she nearly stopped breathing.
Dirty blond hair.
Sharp jawline.
Chocolate-brown eyes.
A fitted polo shirt stretching perfectly across muscular arms.
Black tailored pants.
And above all…
A smile that instantly turned her legs to jelly.
He was gorgeous, ridiculously sexy, and for a moment, Donna completely forgot why she was even there. But even if she could have spend her day watching how sexy he was, dhe was quickly pulled back to reality by Rachel’s voice in her earpiece.
Rachel — her best friend, former paralegal turned journalist, who had followed Donna into this insane life and now worked as a liaison operator.
« Donna? Donna? »
« Hmm? »
« Why did you stop responding? »
Moving discreetly toward the mezzanine to avoid being overheard, Donna kept watching the mysterious newcomer.
« Sorry. I got distracted by a certain… piece of art »
« Alright… so? Anything new? »
« Wait »
Because while seeing someone like him inside a gallery was already unusual enough, it became even stranger when Donna noticed him carefully studying the surveillance cameras and emergency exits before lowering his gaze toward the floor as if quietly speaking to someone.
Donna wasn’t stupid. It only took her a few seconds to understand as a discreet chuckle escaped her lips.
« What’s going on? » Rachel asked.
« I found him »
« Found who? »
« The CIA guy. Or should I say… the CIA hottie »
« Donna, seriously? »
« Wait »
Without wasting another second, Donna quickly descended from the mezzanine, crossed the room, positioned herself behind him, and softly murmured.
« Can I help you? »