He slid the key into the front door, and paused. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, let the tension out of his shoulders, exhaled, and pushed the door open. When he was ready, he opened his eyes and walked in, shutting and locking the door decisively behind him.
She's exactly where he knew she'd be: sitting on the grey leather couch, her knees bent and tucked up just under her chin, her arms wrapped around her shins, and tears running down her beautiful face.
He says nothing, but his gut is churning with sorrow, guilt, anger, and desolation. When he sits down beside her and pulls her into his side, she shudders out a sobbing breath and tilts her head so it lies on his chest.
It's been so many years that they've been each other's rock that he doesn't even know where to begin to fix this.
She's shaking a little, and he can feel the tiny shivers that run through her every few seconds.
Many minutes pass, and when he's least expecting it, she takes a deep breath and says, "I'm sorry, Harvey."
He just pulls her a little tighter against himself, and says, "I know, Donna." He rocks them just a little, back and forth. "I know."
He looks around the apartment, a place he hasn't been in for several months. She's kept it, even though she is hardly ever here, except for when she has to pick up her mail or when he has to 'entertain' for work or appearances sake. He hates that she feels as though the condo isn't someplace she'll be welcome after this fiasco.
He wonders: Is she unsure of her welcome in his home? Or does she need to be in her own space right now, where she has the comfort of home court advantage?
He shifts away a tad and immediately returns when she lets out a soft, desperate sound of distress. He's shaking his head and the corners of his lips tighten in concern and disbelief over how unsure she seems to be that he's going to stay.
He's engulfed her in his arms now, her back flush against his chest. His voice is low and gravelly when he takes a deep breath and says, "Shh… I'm right here."
She nods and takes a shuddering breath in to try and get herself back on an even keel.
This time, when he shifts himself away and stands, he goes a tad slower, his hands squeezing her upper arms before he stands. She gazes up at him as he takes off his jacket and toes off his shoes. He's standing so close that she could lean forward and rest her head against his perfectly tailored vest.
He maintains eye contact as he walks away and settles into the (highly stylish and even more comfortable) armchair that's right beside her roaring fireplace. When he holds out his arms, her shoulders visibly relax, and she's visibly relieved that he's not distancing himself from her. She's got silent tears running down her face again by the time she's settled in his lap, her face resting on his shoulder. The only difference now is that she knows he's not leaving her; her arms are wrapped around him, instead of clenched around herself and unsure of her welcome.
~ The End ~
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