everything has changed; harvey/donna; pg-13; 3,384 words;
they have a conversation that is right on the cusp of being too late
He hears her heels click heavily on the floor, the weight of the day (the month, the year, maybe even their entire careers) etched into her caves as she brings him a stack of files and halfway abandoned documents. He checks his watch and notes that the midnight hour is creeping up on them in a hurry - and, not for the first time, he feels guilty for having her stay so late even if it was at her insistence. He slides his gaze over to her as she drops the files on his desk, shoulders slumping slightly as she gracefully takes a seat at his desk. He offers her a tight smile, his mouth quirked with a mixture of gratitude and amusement.
The silence is not unsettling or unwelcome, not as it would be with someone else, and he's thankful for that. He absently wonders why that is, why everything with her seems natural and oddly comforting. He wonders but he doesn't ask; he's never asked, like he's afraid to put it in the space between them. He silently offers her his glass of scotch, the amber liquid splashing against the sides as he steps towards her. Her hand circles the base of the glass, her fingers brushing over his and catching at the tips for just a moment.
"Did you have anything else you needed me to do before I leave?" She asks, voice echoing in the glass as she lifts it to her lips.
She puts her mouth where his had been, and for a moment he allows himself to think about what that might mean and if the taste of his lips hug the corners of her mouth. He's been thinking of things like that a lot more lately, even though he has no right - even though she is with someone else. The truth of the matter is that she has fallen in love a little bit and the guy is everything that Harvey couldn't be. Harvey's jealous a little bit, both happy for her and fearful for her at the same time. His nerves have been shaking because what if Stephen Huntley tries to take her from him.
He lightly shakes his head as he watches the burn slide down her throat, "I don't think so."
"It's just one day, Harvey," she reassures, tongue dragging over her lips to lap up an excessive bite the alcohol leaves, "you'll be fine without me."
"It's just one day," he mocks teasingly. She matches his smile but neither of their hearts are in it, their words and smiles (actions and reactions) laced in a sting that he can feel to his very bone. He lightly shakes his head in a fruitless attempt to free the tension from his shoulders but eventually concedes to the fact that it probably isn't going anywhere. Ever. He offers her a half-hearted shrug, "I can't even remember the last time I worked a day without you."
"Your day is relatively busy. You won't even miss me," she counters, "you won't have any time."
His feet grow restless, toes and heels sliding over the carpet until he can feel a static charge in his fingertips, "eh, I'll miss you. No one to guard the door."
"Mike," she replies.
The laughter rattles in his chest, "please, like he wields any kind of power over anyone. He's powerless compared to you. Hell, we're all powerless compared to you."
She smirks and shrugs, "the respect I receive comes from a place of fear but I'm still well liked."
"You tell anybody I said this and I'll deny it," he starts, turning on his heel to fully face her, "but no one would do any business with me without you. People hate me."
"I'm very aware of this," she agrees. She sets the glass on his desk, the distinct sound of glass clanking together and screeching an echo into her ears, and she pushes herself to her feet. Her hands find his lapels, slide down them in a gesture that could be easily misconstrued and he wonders where it's coming from. He recoils a bit and she rolls her eyes, "for good measure."
His breath catches in his throat. His mouth goes dry. He swallows. He wonders how many seconds has passed that he hasn't said anything before he gives her a firm nod. This is probably the first time she's been in this close proximity to him since things between her and Stephen got serious. His head tilts to the side a very little bit as their eyes lock, her fingers still firmly clasped around his jacket where it forms a v.
"Your first weekend getaway with Stephen Huntley, huh?" It's been 4 months and the English lawyer's name still tastes bitter in Harvey's mouth; "don't you think you're moving a little fast?"
"Harvey," she challenges, voice not amused and dripping in a tone of warning.
"I'm kidding," he replies.
Neither of them believe that he actually is but they both pretend for the sake of pretending. Her hands retract, fall to her sides as she smiles at him. He thinks her mouth is shaped like pity, that it isn't meant to cut so deep into the bone but it does. In his mind, he puts space between them so he can even out his breathing but in reality he doesn't move an inch in any direction.
"It's just one day," she says again.
He's beginning to think it's for her benefit rather than his. "You know, if you don't want to go you can blame it on me - tell him that your mean boss said if you go then when you get back you'll have a replacement sitting at your desk."
Hurt flashes in her eyes, his words sounding all too real for her liking, "you wouldn't do that."
The smile slides from his mouth, "I couldn't do that."
He reaches out and touches her forearm, squeezing the muscles as his touch does so many things at once. Her fingers slide towards her elbow, his thumb sweeps over her skin, his touch lingers because part of him thinks when she comes back she won't even want to stay with him anymore. He feels desperate and desperation isn't pretty on anyone.
"Don't even joke about that."
"Donna, we're good. You're not going anywhere and I'm not letting you," he reminds her. His index finger tries to hook into the crease of her elbow when he pulls his hand back, hanging on to her for dear life. He doesn't know why. "I need you too much to lose you. I'll leave this firm before I lose you again."
"No you won't," she replies. Her hands return to his lapels, fixing them again, and he thinks that she just needs to busy them.
"You really believe that, don't you?" He asks. His question hangs in the air and he practically sees her mouth go dry right before his very eyes. He swallows like it's his own mouth that needs wet but he sees the uncertainty in her eyes. "I would. I hate it here now, the fucking British take over is driving me insane. I want them all gone. Every last one of them."
She sighs and scolds, "Harvey."
His eyes narrow in her direction before it registers what that could imply. He lightly shakes his head, "it's nothing personal. I'm speaking from a strictly professional perspective. They're trying to change the way we do things and I don't like it."
"Are you sure this isn't coming from a place of jealousy?"
"Donna," he counters. He whines gently, tilts his head and fixes her with a 'come on, get real' gaze. Although her suspicions may not be entirely off kilter but this is not at all what is driving his words. "I don't know why you think it would."
"I'm not going anywhere," she reassures.
He smirks, "now, that just isn't true. You're going to be gone tomorrow."
She looks at him pointedly, "that's not what I mean and you know it."
"I still had to use it to my advantage," he mutters with a shrug, "it's really a busy day?"
"It's a busy day without room for error," she says.
His eyebrows furrow in concern," and you're sure I'll be fine without you?"
"You'll be fine," she replies.
He scuffs his shoes on the carpet for a moment, her hands still warm near his sternum. He absently licks his lips, her own mouth a mixture between a small pout and a the slightest hints of a smile. He isn't quite sure how this makes him feel.
"So you really like this guy?" He tries. The words burn his throat, don't taste right in his mouth.
She smiles a little, but it doesn't touch her eyes. He wonders if it's because of him but he doesn't dare ask. Time ticks away and for a moment he thinks he's making it all up in his head, that she isn't really standing there with him; her hands push up his chest and her fingers linger to his shoulders. This can't be right.
"He's," she trails off, tilts her head as she ponders the right word to use, "nice, sweet."
"But do you like him?" Harvey presses.
"Don't do this," she challenges. Her eyes glaze over like there's something stirring deep inside of her and he's curious if she's noticed it too. He doesn't mean to be like this, feelings for her rising at the first hint of her falling in love and it having nothing to do with him. His lips purse and his eyebrows furrow as he lifts his hand to her face, thumb sweeping over her cheekbone. She swallows, warns, "Harvey."
"Donna," he returns gently, "it's just a question, totally harmless."
"I think we both know better than that," she counters.
He smirks slightly, his fingers smoothing over her neck, "you still haven't answered my question."
"What do you want me to say, Harvey? That I might be falling in love with him?" She snaps. She starts to retract her hands, the move sharper than he'd imagined she would make. He doesn't understand such an insane reaction and he needs to get to the bottom of it. He catches her by the wrists with his before her hands can fully leave his chest. "Is that what you want to hear? Do you want me to tell you that?"
"Donna," he starts, opens his mouth to continue but promptly shuts it when she fists his jacket tighter.
"I don't know what you expect, Harvey. Do you want me to tell you that we're going to run off into the sunset and live happily ever after? Do you want me to tell you that he's the one - that we're going to get married? Or do you want me to tell you that there's someone else that I can't get out of my head, that I can't stop thinking about you so I don't think that me and Stephen are going to last?"
He looks at her pointedly, "I'm not implying that at all, Donna. I just - I want to know if you're going to be leaving me or not. I want to be sure that you're not going anywhere."
"I'll be gone one day," she reaffirms, "it's only one day."
"I just want to be sure that one day isn't turning into one week or month or year," he counters.
Her eyebrows furrow in annoyance, "oh, get off it, Harvey. You do this every time you find out that I'm seeing someone."
"Donna."
"Stop it," she snaps. She pulls her hands towards her, only slightly relieved that he doesn't let go. He doesn't entirely understand why she's getting so irritated with him, snapping like she wants to slap him. He recoils slowly, his grasp on her wrists loosening. "Stop saying my name, Harvey. Stop acting like you're concerned about my happiness or my future because everything between us is all about you."
He steadies his breathing, lips tightening in a thin line for the briefest of moments, "I do care."
"You don't care about anyone but yourself."
"That just isn't true. I care about you," he replies, "you just never tell me what you want. Tell me what you want."
"You're not my boyfriend and I'm not in love with you," she reminds him.
"I know," he mutters. He sighs in defeat, fully releasing her from his grasp and letting her put a bit of distance between them. He doesn't allow more than 6 inches and when she steps back, he steps forward. Her back hits the wall beside his record shelves and she can feel the heat radiate off of his body. "But why not?"
She laughs in his face, unable to hold it in despite her efforts, "because you're a prick, Harvey."
"You don't mean that," he says, voice unwavering and certain.
"I do," she insists, "I do mean that. You're arrogant and self-centered. We would never work."
"We've never tried," he reminds her.
She sighs half-heartedly, "we're not ready."
"You don't think I'm ready, you mean," he corrects her.
"We are not ready," she growls.
His breath catches in his throat, the stern look on her face giving him a mixture of emotions, "we're not ready for each other or we're not ready for anyone?"
His attempts to clarify come with strings attached, ones that she recognizes from a mile away; "you don't love me, Harvey."
"Sometimes I do," he admits.
She lightly shakes her head, "that isn't love. That's something a lot like love but it isn't love."
"Donna," he practically screams into his throat, voice echoing forcefully off of the walls, "is it too late for us to try?"
There's a beat, a moment of silence before her front partially presses against his in an attempt to pass him without giving him an answer. He can feel her shake, it's just a little tremor that would pass without notice if he weren't as perceptive as he is. He plants his feet firmly on the ground, refusing to waver to let her pass. He would stand his ground. He would not let up. He would keep pressing until it hurt (not literally but he couldn't let this moment pass).
His arm blocks her, his hand wrapping around the arm furthest from him as he pulls her back to him; and then -
"We could never go back," she echoes.
His eyes trace hers before dropping to her mouth, trying to figure out what exactly she is challenging him in this moment. He's never had a more difficult time deciphering her intentions in his entire life and he feels it tighten in his chest. He wants things to be different but he wants them to remain the same.
His fingers flex against her arm, flesh reddening beneath his fingertips, and he feels her inch towards him. Everything happens at once - her lips crush against his, her body presses flush against his, her hand fists his suit jacket just above his hip. His fingers slide to her elbow, lips parting beneath hers so he can dart his tongue out. It trails over her bottom lip, a moisture so underwhelming that she moans into his mouth, and he grinds his hips against hers with her guidance.
Her back slams against the wall, his hand slipping just beneath the hem of her slightly too short dress (and it occurs to him not for the first time that she may choose her attire in the morning with the intentions to drive him crazy despite their feigned attempts to play it safe over the years). His fingers scratch along the flesh of her milky white skin along the back of her thigh until the long stiletto of her heel presses into the back of his leg between his knee and his calf.
His tongue twists around hers and it feels like years of tension is released beneath his fingertips as her fingers press into the back of his neck. His hips thrust into hers, the hem of her dress slipping a little further up than either of them can fully realize. He has her pinned against the wall and her elbow moves from beneath his fingertips as she pulls on his shoulder to have him nearer. Her nails dig into his skin through 4 layers of clothing and it's a testament of her need.
His lips are swollen when he pulls away from her to catch his breath and their warm breaths mingle in the space between them as though it's entering into a dance. A noise falls out of her mouth and her fingers push into his hair at the back of his neck; the combination of the two makes a chill run down his spine in response. He swallows and his thumb presses into her skin, his mouth quickly returning to their previous location.
Her teeth nip at the corner of his mouth and he isn't ready, isn't entirely prepared for the way she molds against him like she completes him and they are finally where they belong. For a moment he thinks that all of the time they spent telling themselves that there was nothing and would never be anything between them was simply time wasted. He thinks that the taste of her tongue is so unique that nothing could completely fulfill him again once this moment is over and his fingers inch towards her center like it will solidify wherever this is going.
Mike clears his throat from behind them and Harvey is stunned, ripping himself away from Donna because he hadn't realized that not everyone had left for the day. If he were someone else he would probably appear sheepish, but they go from 0 to 6ft of space between them as he snaps his gaze in his associate's direction. His body follows his eyes and it's surprising that he can see Donna cover her mouth with her hand out of the corner of his eye. He would apologize if he were sorry; not to mention, she made the first move.
"Am I interrupting?" Mike asks and Harvey supposes the question is obviously rhetorical but the kid would never let this moment of leverage pass.
"We were finished," Donna insists all too quickly.
She moves much faster this time than she did the last when she steps around him because by the time he reaches out to stop her his fingertips simply meet the warmth of where her body had been. Much to his dismay, it has ended too soon and he's left to wonder what it all means. He would rip Mike a new one for cutting this moment short if it weren't for the bridge between them being so damn fragile. That, however, does not keep Harvey from fixing Mike with a well-deserved scowl.
Donna moves away from him so elegantly and so quickly that it is as though she is floating on air, her footsteps nearly silent despite the sharpness of her heel. He can feel his features admit defeat as they soften sadly, watching her retreating form, and he has to stop her. He can't let her leave when everything between them feels so unfinished. He wants to call after her, wants to tell her that she should stay and that they should talk to figure out what it all means.
But instead when he opens his mouth, encouraged by her practically unnoticeable hesitation in the doorway of his office, objection does not fall out; instead he says, "Donna, it's just one day."
She doesn't stop to respond, just keeps walking away like she's running away from everything and he really doesn't blame her. At her desk, she angles her body towards his and catches his eyes as she gathers her things to leave. He sees her swallow and lightly nod her head but he can still feel the water pinch the corners of his eyes.
They are drowning in silence and he thinks that's been their biggest fault all along - everything that they don't say.
In the morning she is at her desk and neither brings the moment up nor do they mention the fact that she shouldn't even be there.