Okay, so I worked really long and hard on this and I would appreciate some kind of response regarding your thoughts/feelings/concerns. I know that this chapter will probably be a little boring, but stick with it because there are a lot of issues that are brought up in this chapter alone that need to be fleshed out in the next chapter for sure.
She absently taps on the cool, metal table, a habit ingrained deep within her after years of intimidating by keeping her hands busy. The echo bounces off of the walls, the faint noise of nails grinding against metal lingering in the confinements of the room they're locked in. They've been waiting for the detective to return for what feels like forever especially for two people who aren't under arrest. She realizes that they haven't spoken in a while.
She looks to her right then, catching sight of him cringing as he extends his right arm to rest it on the table. She smiles sadly, her mind not quite wrapping around the events of the evening. And to think, she didn't even want to come to this engagement party. She'd rather be sitting on the couch with a glass of wine and Murphy Brown reruns.
His tie is hanging loosely over his shoulders, the knot nowhere to be found. She thinks he's probably feeling out of sorts, like he doesn't belong with his suit torn up, tie with wrinkles, his hair disheveled. She narrows her gaze on him, realizing that he looks different, looks more rugged with a gritty five o'clock shadow. The creases in his suit even suggest that he's worn the suit more than once without it visiting the dry cleaners.
She purses her lips as she stands, unable to see him so unlike himself. His eyes follow her movement, silently questioning her. He reaches for her, his hand wrapping around her wrist as his gaze softens. Her gaze falls to his lips, studying him for any kind of hint as to what exactly is going on with him. She's heard war stories around the office but she didn't want to believe them.
He turns slightly in his seat. She expertly slips between him and the table, her fingers blindly reaching for his tie as she looks at his eyes again. He nods gently and drops his left hand to his lap. She begins to form the knot in his tie, her hands finding a new activity to keep them busy. Ever since she was a child she has never been able to sit very still.
"So," she starts. She swallows, deciding against continuing any further. She shakes her head in protest, in apology, for not daring to press him for any answer.
She absently traces his features, the contours of his face looking more jagged than she remembers, his throat bobbing as he swallows. He says, "Donna, talk to me."
She secures the knot in his tie as she locks eyes with him again. Her fingers slide down the length of his tie attempting to edge out the wrinkles. Her attempt fails and the wrinkles only seem more prominent now than before. He smiles reassuringly but it doesn't touch his eyes.
She's worried about him. She hasn't allowed herself to think about him or his well being much. She's been busy distracting herself with other things – drinks with friends, harmless dates with avid theatre lovers like herself, rereading old plays she'd long ignored. They keep her mind occupied as well as possible.
"What was that earlier?" She sounds shaky, uncertain.
They've never really been on uncertain terms before. She's never really seen him less than perfect. Sure, there are moments that he's faltered and been not quite perfectly put together, but those moments have been rare and his shoulders have still been thrown back cockily. He seems different somehow.
"I'm sorry, I…" he trails off. She thinks it sounds like a question. She quickly realizes that he's playing stupid.
"Harvey, don't be facetious," she replies evenly. She stands then and returns to her seat, the metal chair still warm from before her vacating it. The hours are wearing on her, are making her forget the lines that separated them. She angles her body away from him and stares straight ahead, unable to look at him any longer. "You couldn't breathe."
"I've just been having some trouble," he starts slow. He's quieter than normal, the volume of his voice is almost inaudible, but she doesn't dare look at him. She nods slowly, silently hoping that he explains further. She hears him sigh but she still doesn't turn her head towards him. She flattens her palms out against the table as he says, "I've been having anxiety attacks."
Her breath catches in her throat. How could she have not known that the man she had spent 60 hours a week, 52 weeks a year for 12 years is suffering from anxiety attacks? How could this have gotten under her radar? Right, because she's been actively focusing on anything but him for the last 3 and a half months.
She swallows then. She says, "For how long?"
He's silent for a few moments. The silence makes her bones ache. A pen could drop in the next room and she could hear it. She's pretty sure at this point that literally everyone in the precinct is listening in on their conversation, has gone silent and is waiting on eggshells to hear his answer. He huffs there, a lifetime of anticipation weighing heavily on her shoulders.
"Three and a half months," he says.
She feels like she's been punched in the gut. The timeline cannot possibly be coincidental. She feels responsible for his mental stability. She never wanted him to break down over her in any way. She swallows and tilts her chin upwards, reclaiming a sense of strength she doesn't even remotely feel.
"What happened?" She asks.
He says, "Everything inside of me is all jumbled up. I don't really know how to answer that question."
She's taken aback for a moment, not quite sure what to do with this man sitting beside her. He is a stranger – a Harvey Specter without all of the answers, without a quick response, without a knack for evading her, is not a Harvey Specter she is innately familiar with. She puckers her lips for a moment, toying with an endless amount of possibilities sitting beside her.
She lets the words sit on her tongue, burrowing deep into the palpable tension somewhere beneath all her taste buds. She tastes it, all of the bitterness and desperation in the air between them. She doesn't like it. She doesn't know what any of it means.
"I didn't mean to-"
"I know," he interjects. The silence that follows cuts her deep. She should have known better; she should have known…something. His hand slides across the table, his skin squeaking against the metal. His hand hovers over hers for a moment, the heat from his palm touching her skin and stinging her there. The thickness of the air between them makes her withdraw her hands, hiding them in her lap. He says, "I know you didn't mean to hurt me. Not that you did. I mean, even if you did, it wasn't what you were trying to do. I was just…kidding myself."
She slides her gaze towards him. She opens her mouth to respond but she doesn't have a proper retort. Instead, her mouth hangs open for a few moments, staring at him as his brown eyes darken and his hands retreat back to his vicinity. She closes her mouth, absently wondering what he means but too uncertain to ask for clarification. She swallows then and just as she's prepared to say something, anything that willingly falls out of her mouth, the door opens.
"Thanks for waiting," the man in the cheap suit says.
Donna notes the wrinkles. She compares every suit to Harvey's now just out of habit. Though her partner in witnessing a crime's suit looks more tired than normal, his is still notably better put together. Harvey nods slowly which prompts Donna to shift her eyes to the owner of the voice.
"Is everything all right?" Harvey asks.
The man smiles and takes off his suit jacket. He rests it on the back of the chair across from them before taking a seat. He says, "I'm Detective Garrett and I've been assigned to investigate your case."
"Our case?" Donna says, confused.
Harvey lifts his palm off of the table but doesn't make any more movements. She sees this as him telling her to let him handle it. She concedes because he certainly still knows what he is doing in this department. She keeps her hands firmly positioned in her lap, not really sure what to do with them anymore.
"We're innocent bystanders," Harvey reiterates, "What do you mean Our Case?"
"The targeted victim was a member of the cartel, Mister Specter," Detective Garrett replies, "And based off of the information Miss Paulsen provided about the vehicle it seems that the people involved in the murder are members of an opposing gang."
"Which one?" Harvey challenges. She turns her head and watches his gaze sharpen, the lines on his face contorting in such a way that she is almost fearful on this Detective Garrett's behalf.
"The specifics are irrelevant, Mister Specter. What's important here is that you two are in some serious trouble," the man replies.
Harvey grunts in response. He says, "Has my lawyer arrived yet?"
"Your lawyer?"
"If I'm in trouble then I won't speak to you without my lawyer present," Harvey replies.
Detective Garrett leans back in his chair and Donna finally looks at him, fully looks at him. His chiseled jaw is littered with patches of a 5 o'clock shadow. His hair is dark, eyes a brilliant blue. His lips are thin, his gaze is intense. He's young, she can tell by the lack of wrinkles in his features and the way that he looks too cocky like he's God's gift to earth. Donna doesn't trust this guy but she has to. She thinks Harvey wants her to.
Detective Garrett laughs quietly in the back of his throat, lightly shaking his head in disagreement. He says, "Are you aware that you witnessed a murder of one of the cartel's mid-level men by none other than the prominent mob men that have been hiding their dirty work behind legitimate businesses for years?"
"Shit," Harvey says slowly. She snaps her gaze to him then. She doesn't know what that means, but it doesn't sound good. She sees the worry lines creep onto Harvey's forehead, his eyes drifting closed. He sighs then, obviously more aware of what this means than her. "You're telling me that we were present for the murder of a cartel by the men who eliminate their witnesses?"
"Yes," Detective Garrett says.
"Wait," Donna says suddenly, "What does this mean?"
"To put it delicately," Harvey says, "We're fucked."
"What?" She baits for clarity. She thinks she's too young to die.
"The way I see it," Detective Garrett interjects, "We have two options here. The first being that we can chance it, go on with our lives, and see how this all pans out in hopes that nobody knew you were there."
Donna inhales a sharp breath. Harvey's gaze narrows on Detective Garrett. He says, "And the second option?"
"Witness protection," Detective Garrett replies. He hesitates and she finds herself looking between the two men in the room. Harvey's lips purse together like he's considering the possibility. Harvey wouldn't leave work for an undefined amount of time. She watches Harvey as he pushes his lips together, his eyes squinting at the younger man challengingly. "By removing you from the city you are ensuring that your life is no longer at risk. They will find out who you are and they will come after you."
"Detective Garrett," Harvey says forcefully, "I don't know if you know who I am, but I can't just skip town for no reason. But this woman here, she's the most wonderful person I know and she needs to be protected at all costs. Take her out of here. Protect her. If anything happens to her, I will sue you, not the city, but you personally."
"Harvey," she says then. Something comes over her, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. He's already been hurt and she couldn't stand it if anything else happened to him. She reaches over then and lightly covers his hand with her own. She slips her fingers between his and shakes her head when he fully looks at her. His lips part in a question he does not speak. "I don't want to go without you. I couldn't stand it if something happened to you."
"Donna," he says evenly.
"Harvey," she says before he can continue, "You're already hurt. You can't even put a knot in your tie without my help."
"I'll have my secretary do it," he replies flippantly with a shrug from his left shoulder.
She sighs then, the annoyance building up. "No, you idiot, I don't want anything to happen to you," she says, "Come with me."
"Come with you?" He repeats slowly. "Donna, I'm-"
"Please," she says. She hears herself and she sounds so small, so desperate.
He stares at her for a long time. His lips are parted again. His eyes are creased around the edges as he studies her. He swallows after what feels like a lifetime and slowly nods his head in agreement.
"Okay," he says, "I'll come with you."
They've been in the care of New York's finest for a good 5 hours by now, and counting.
Harvey really didn't like the idea of them splitting up. If they were going to do this then they were going to 100% do it together. So no separate vehicles to take them to their respective apartments to pack their individual items to take on their undefined time away from everyone else they know. They'd been forced to turn off their cell phones and hand them over to the detective, told that they can't contact anyone to let them know what's going on. Reluctantly, he had complied, but getting Donna to agree had been damn near World War III. He just smirked throughout the struggle because he wasn't the least bit surprised.
They're halfway to Philadelphia where they will board a plane and be escorted to their super-secret destination. No one knows where they are and no one knows where they will be. Not even them. In retrospect, the hour and a half at the crime scene, the two hours at the police station, and the hour it took to pack their bags at their respective apartments had been tiring to say the least.
And they've only been headed towards their hand off point for 30 minutes but Donna's already asleep – with her head on his shoulder and her hand on his thigh. It's fine, really. After the events of the day, he no longer has the energy to fight it. He feels his bones cramp up as he feels the needs to remove some of the weight off of his right arm which is now in a sling. He doesn't really understand what the sling's actual purpose is.
Harvey lifts his gaze to the police officers in the front seat, the one in the passenger seat snoozing away as the driver absently thrums on the steering wheel. The driver is listening to shitty music that Harvey would guess is considered alternative rock. He hopes that no one touches his records while they're gone. He wishes he could have contacted Jessica, she never did show up at the police station, and asked her to lock his office. If one thing is missing when they return he will destroy every single person in that office.
Donna shifts suddenly and he takes the moment to expel a breath. He stretches his right arm out to remove the cramp and inadvertently lets out a groan. He's haunted with aches.
"What is it? Are you okay?" He hears, hushed and rushed, from beside him. He's startled by the sound of her whisper. It sounds rough, laden with sleep, but also concerned. She clears her throat and sits up, pushing on his thigh. She quickly retracts her hand suddenly and his gaze lingers on the vacant place. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," he replies quickly, reassuringly, "I was just cramped up. Nothing you did."
"We'll have to change your bandage in a few hours," she says.
He looks over at her. The lights from the highway illuminate her features and glow behind her mess of hair. She changed into a pair of yoga pants and a loose fitting shirt with a picture of a tiger on it, the kimono from the night he was at her place thrown on top of it all for warmth. He finally registers what she said and he nods slowly.
"I can do that," he says.
"Don't be silly," she says, smile reigned to her lips, "You couldn't even change your shirt without my help."
He smirks then, masking the slight embarrassment. He'd successfully managed to change his pants and shoes, but when he'd gotten to the torso area he had struggled. He'd shrugged off his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned his dress shirt with no problem. It was his undershirt he had struggled with. After Donna unceremoniously saved him with changing his shirt, not to mention that tense moment when she had to stand between his legs and remove the white shirt to exchange it with a blue sweater, they were finally here. He'd hoped she wouldn't bring that up.
He swallows then as she moves away from him, a cold chill skating through his spine. He says, "That was just because the blood on my shirt was sticking to my skin. I won't need you the next time."
"They put in eight stitches," she gently argues. "No one thinks less of you because you need help changing your shirt."
"You enjoyed it," he counters with a smirk. "I didn't even have to go to the hospital, Donna. I'll be fine."
There's a lull that echoes with the sound of wheels on the road. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and he finds himself wishing that he'd been the one to do that. He peers around the officer in front of him and peeks at the road, the headlights becoming engulfed with the night sky. He can't catch a hint of where they are.
He taps the man in front of him on the shoulder and says, "How much longer before we get there?"
Donna promptly slaps him on the thigh. He recoils at the moment, his nerves jumping as he snaps his head towards her. Her gaze sharpens on him and the man sighs audibly. The man says, "another hour or two."
Harvey grunts in response and leans back into the seat again. He briefly closes his eyes as Donna pushes her palm along his leg, but he quickly recovers with a squirm. He shifts away from her, leaning against the door. As his arm presses against the door, he feels the sting and inhales sharply.
"Lean against me," she says quietly.
"I don't need you to take care of me," he replies.
"Don't be an idiot," she says. He leans more towards her to relieve the pressure off of his arm but he doesn't touch her. She tugs on his sleeve. He purses his lips together as he looks at her. "You look like you're exhausted and in pain. I don't mind."
"Or what? You'll fall asleep on me again?"
He watches her smirk then, a feature that isn't completely unlike his own. She says, "I didn't hear you complaining."
She scoots across the seat and presses herself against the door, patting on her leg. This backseat really isn't big enough for the both of them. But his arm screams in pain and it makes him squeeze his eyes shut tight for a brief moment. He nods slowly before peeling his eyes open again. He feels humiliated and a little nervous.
He succumbs to her requests and lies on over, resting his temple on her thigh as he crushes his left arm against the seat. He feels one of her hands slide through his hair, teasing the remainder of hair product out of it, and her other hand presses against his right elbow for a brief moment before sliding down his arm to his hand. Her palm covers the back of his hand before her fingers slide between his.
She expels a shaky breath and he shifts his gaze to the corners of his eyes to try to look up at her. He feels weird and invasive, like his vulnerability in this moment is making them into something they're not. Given his overreaction to the announcement that she was once married to this Andrew fellow and she never told him, he thinks it's safe to say that all of his unresolved issues are taking the helm.
He needs his walls. He misses his walls. He needs his therapist to tell him what to do. They have planned this far ahead. After only a month of treatment, he is terrified to brave Donna's realm without persistent guidance.
She says, "I'm scared, Harvey."
He finds himself swallowing and saying, "I'm with you."
The absence of her heels throws him off. She's at least 3 inches shorter so he has to tilt his chin downward to look at her rather than just looking straight ahead. Not to mention, she no longer has that soft echo following her as she moves about. It's only mildly disturbing in the sense that their casual demeanor is still unfamiliar.
Despite the unfamiliar circumstances, he still stays glued to her side as they beat the morning crowds to the Philadelphia airport. That doesn't mean fellow travelers aren't filing in like last call or anything. And, of course, they were told to wait patiently for Officer Grizwald to return with their tickets while Officer Lance loiters over them like a bouncer who wouldn't let them into the club. He can tell just by looking at her, with her arms crossed over her chest and the slightest hints of annoyance in her gaze, that it's a feeling she is unacquainted with.
He bumps his shoulder into hers in hopes of taking the edge off, that her determined go to hell look will falter in the slightest. It works as her lips slightly part and she looks up at him. Her chin tilts upward and he gets a better look at her long neck. He gulps as his eyes trail over the expanse of her skin and by the time he's looking directly at her mouth again, she is smirking.
"Take a picture," she mutters teasingly.
His cheeks become warm so he bows his head to conceal the dubious blush. He buries his hand into his pocket while he clutches his other arm close to his stomach, trying his damnedest not to move it so he can eliminate the pain. He reluctantly lifts his gaze back to her, lightly shaking his head in response. He pushes his tongue into his cheek for just a brief moment.
He says, "Ha ha, very funny."
"I'm the funniest person you know," she replies.
"After me," he corrects. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth at that. He smiles in silent celebration for lightening her mood. He shrugs half-heartedly, one arm almost immobilized. This is already getting on his nerves. "We'll get you some coffee once we get passed security to turn that frown upside down."
"You're losing your edge, Mister," she mutters.
His head snaps up and he teeters on his heels. He lightly shakes his head at her, twisting his right wrist in a feeble attempt to relieve pressure on his arm cramp. He says, "You don't have to be such a harsh critic all the time, Fire. Lighten up."
"The most uptight man I have ever met just told me to lighten up," she murmurs to herself. She shifts her gaze to him then and pops an eyebrow up on her forehead. A smile slyly slides over his mouth. "How are you embracing this with such open arms?"
"Sleep deprivation," he replies with a half shrug.
Luckily, Officer Grizwald returns with their tickets then and hands them over. Coupled with the tickets is state issued identification to match the names on their plane tickets. Harvey takes his and immediately takes the proffered documentation and struggles with having a look at the two forms of identification. After a few moments of struggling, Donna takes the ticket and new driver's license from him. His new identity is still a mystery to him.
"This is where we say goodbye," Officer Lance says.
"Good riddance," Donna immediately replies.
"Wait," Harvey says suddenly, confused by the plan, "You're just dumping us off without any hint as to what is going on?"
"Once you land at your destination an officer will escort you to your next location," Officer Grizwald supplies.
Harvey huffs in response and picks up his duffle bag from the ground. He slings it over his good shoulder and moves to pick up one of Donna's carry on bags. She stops him before he can actually grab the bag by the strap, her hand lingering on his wrist. He absently wonders how she's going to manage carrying everything with her two bags, their documents, and one of his bags.
He looks up at her then and says, "I can carry something."
She rolls her eyes while looking through all of their cargo at a rather indecisive pace. She settles on the documents in her hand as she extends them purposely to his right hand. His fingers flex as he begrudgingly accepts them. He wants to say something, to tell her that he isn't an invalid, but he keeps his mouth shut.
"I've got the rest," she replies.
"Donna," he says evenly, "Don't make me look like an ass."
She sighs and grabs all of the bags, grinning at him triumphantly. She says, "I'm not the one with an injury."
"Fair enough," he concedes.
He gives the officers a solid nod as Donna turns on her heels to head towards the gates, and he follows behind. He's unsettled as he watches her struggle with an overabundance of bags, but knows that he doesn't have the energy or the strength to fight with her. All he can do is offer to help her when he catches up to her. He takes a few long strides to catch up with her by the time they reach the escalator to the security check. Thankfully, the lines aren't too long with only three or four groups of people ahead of them.
Donna is anxious though. He can tell when he looks at her that she is not in the mood to deal with anyone else. She needs a coffee. And a half-rate bagel. God, he misses New York already. He has to lower his expectations on food and other goods.
"I can take another bag," he offers again. She huffs in annoyance. He knows that his excessive offering is getting on her nerves. She's being moody. He tilts his head slightly when she looks at him. He says, "Don't be moody. We'll get through these people then you can get your cappuccino."
"I just don't want you to overdo it," she admits.
He laughs gently, the line moving forward. He inches forward and levels himself with her, his hip lightly brushing against hers. His breath catches in his throat for a moment, the lump sticking at the back of his mouth like his muscles are too busy screaming in excitement. He feels like such a pussy.
He swallows then and says, "I'm ambidextrous."
She stares at him long and hard then, disbelief spreading across her face. She shakes her head and says, "No you're not. Don't even try to lie to me. I know you better than anyone."
"You don't know everything about me," he mumbles.
"Oh please," she says, her features mocking him.
He huffs, annoyed that none of their conversations are going anywhere. He remembers when he had been special, held a special place and been able to exist with her in a special way that no one else could. He shrugs then, conceding. He's in no mood to do this.
She finally sets the bags down on the floor beside them and reaches out to take the documentation out of his hand. She uses both of her hands, an ability that is currently making him feel the slightest hints of jealousy, to lift the tickets up and look through them. The ticket on top is his and tucked inside is a Pennsylvania driver's license. She extends the license to him and he takes it with his left hand.
While she looks at her own documentation, he takes a closer look at the driver's license. It says he has brown eyes, weighs 213 pounds, is 6 foot 1 inch, and was born July 2, 1976. It's partially right. His name is shown as Harvey Jones and his picture makes him look like a douche.
He peers over her shoulder just in time to catch enough details. Her birth date is listed as August 4th, which is true, and her last name screams with the same last name the government has given him. Finally, he thinks, the government does something right.
"Will you put these in your purse once we get through security?" He asks.
"Who do you think I am? Your mother?"
He's been through this with Dr. Agard many times:
Donna is not his mother. She is not his care taker. She is a woman who does not owe him anything. She was once his partner and now she is not. She was once his teammate but now she is not his teammate. It is a disservice to Donna to expect anything from her that he does not express in certain, verbal terms. If he truly respects her, he will not treat her like she owes him something. He will be respectful and considerate of her and her desires. She did not abandon him when she chose to put herself above him.
However, one small thought lingers: she asked him to be here with her.
He grins then and flicks his gaze to the moving line. She understands his non-verbal communication and moves forward. He pushes the bags forward with his feet to follow. He's missed being able to communicate with her without this huge verbal barrier. He aptly reminds himself that she is not an extension of him and she never was.
"I'm injured. Don't you want to be a good person and help me out?" He counters.
"Because I am a good person," she says, hard, a sigh dramatically escaping her lips, "I will hang on to your paperwork. For old time sake."
"Here's to the good times," he replies as he thumps his new identity against his thigh.
He thinks for a moment that he's gotten away with it before she shoots him a look. He can see sadness in her gaze, a resting piece of a puzzle seeming to miss in them. She extends his ticket to him and he takes it, quickly shifting it and his identification to his immobilized hand.
"Why didn't you take the sling? You look like an idiot," she comments. Their silent truce has been momentarily lifted. Or so he hopes it's only momentarily.
"You should be calling me your hero, not an idiot," he says. He reaches for her heavier bag as he motions forward with a gentle kick of his foot. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion at his balancing act. "You're next," he explains.
She nods and grabs the two small bags, one being his laptop bag and the other being a small carryon of hers large enough to pack her purse into it, before moving towards the podium at security. It takes only a few moments before it's his turn and he juggles the two bags and his documentation. He flicks his wrist forward to hand the man his plane ticket and driver's license.
When the woman glares at him, he smiles sheepishly. He explains, "I have stitches in my arm." The woman's jaw clenches as she takes the items from his hand. He fights a groan as the movement ricochets up his nerves and to his wound.
Once she looks at the identification and back at him numerous times, she finally signs off on the ticket and extends it to him. As though testing him, she holds it just out of his reach. His face falls and his jaw tenses to match hers. Turns out, all women are moody. He reaches for it and groans as he does, not even bothering to conceal his pain verbally. He narrows his gaze at her as snatches the necessities as best as his arm can muster.
He stamps towards Donna afterwards, immediately handing his driver's license and boarding ticker to her so she can stuff them into her purse. She looks at him with slightly parted lips, an eyebrow raised, silently baiting him to tell her what his sudden change in mood is. He lightly shakes his head in response. She nods in acknowledgement as she zips up her purse, reaching into his laptop bag for his laptop and putting it into a bin before kicking off her shoes and putting it into a bin with her purse.
He kicks off his own shoes and reaches down for them. She stops him again before he can actually grab them. He watches her as she carefully holds her camisole closed with one hand and reaches for his shoes with the other. Everything on her shifts forward, her shirt allowing a gap for him to get a peek down into it. He quickly closes his eyes and looks away. He hears her put his shoes into the bin with her items and he peels his eyes open.
He reaches forward with his left hand and lightly touches her waist, urging her forward. She recoils from his touch though like he's hurting her. He sighs in defeat as she etches forward to go into the detector. He realizes then that he'll have to throw his arm over his head and feels beads of sweat gather on his forehead. He manages to comply to the rules, but not without releasing a girlish moan. Donna looks up at him, terrified.
"I'm fine," he reassures, his face tightening, as he approaches her.
She jerks her head towards a bench as he grabs one of the bags and slings it over his shoulder. He grabs another one of their bags as she packs his laptop bag into his laptop bag and heads over to the benches. As he sits, she brings over his shoes, her shoes already on her feet and both of the smaller bags being carted by one of her hands.
"You know my bag has rollers, right?" She asks then.
"What?" He asks, blinking as he snatches his shoes from her grasp. "You're just now telling me your bag has wheels on it?"
He hesitates for a few moments before he shakes his head in annoyance. She would keep that information to herself. Just like she keeps everything else. He cradles his right arm gently as he puts his shoes on with his left hand. Of course he had to get shot by a wayward bullet.
"Our flight isn't for another forty-five minutes," she informs him, pushing the button on the handle of her bag and pulling it up. She drapes the strap from his duffle bag over the plastic as he stands. He takes his laptop bag from her then and throws the strap over his head across his body. "You already look like shit."
"You know you're supposed to be my loving wife, right?" He asks, a smirk sliding over his mouth as her eyebrows furrow in confusion.
"Like that's hard," she comments dismissively, "I already played that role for over a decade."
"Yeah, yeah," he teases. He walks close to her side as they move down the corridor towards their gate. Once they get to their gate, they find two open seats and dump their entire luggage. He reaches out and lightly touches her elbow to get her attention. He says, "I'll be right back."
"Okay," she replies with a firm nod.
He watches her take a seat before he wanders off towards the slowly opening Starbucks, digging into his pocket for some of the cash he was able to acquire at such short notice. The currency isn't much, but it will hopefully tie them over for a few weeks. Not that he knows any details about their new impending life.
He orders a coffee with a shot of vanilla and a shot of espresso, a croissant, and a double fat extra shot mocha cappuccino with triple whipped cream and caramel. He shakes his head at the idea of sugar overload and pays the woman behind the counter. A line starts to form behind him so he shifts out of the way and move to the pickup area. He rocks back and forth as his arm starts to cramp up again. He doesn't know why he feels so stiff.
He maneuvers his drink into his right hand and compiles Donna's drink and the croissant in the other. He's sure the delicacy of flavors will be much different than back home. He's beginning to feel out of sorts.
When he returns to their gate, Donna is leaning back in the seat with one leg crossed over the other and her elbow on the back of the chair, her head leaning against her hand. He sits in the seat directly beside her, her forearm colliding with his right shoulder. She peels her eyes open and looks at him, the beginnings of a glare quickly turning into excitement at the realization that he's brought her a drink.
"Is that for me?" She asks, pointing at the drink with her long finger. He gives her a nod and extends the drink and croissant to her. She smiles widely then, her mood changing immediately. "My hero. I could kiss you."
"Okay," he says without thinking.
His eyes widen just a bit at the realization of what he's said. He looks at her slowly. She swallows thickly, her throat bobbing as she does, and wraps her hand around the proffered items. She leans forward then and lightly presses her lips against his cheek, lingering a little low so he feels it on the corner of his mouth. He's in trouble.
She looks down at her drink, fingernails tapping against the Styrofoam. He settles into the seat, already wondering when this shuffling around will end. He doesn't think he can handle being stuck in such close proximity with her and not be in love with her anymore. He just wants it to be easier.
Donna feels relieved that they are at least sitting in first class. They got bumped during their layover in Denver. They had initially thought Denver was their destination but was rudely awakened by a TSA employee handing over another plane ticket for Los Angeles. She can tell that, even though he hasn't said so, Harvey is just as tired of the traveling as she is.
She's poised in the aisle seat while he's taken the window seat so no one can accidentally brush against his arm. He hasn't said so, but his old baseball injury has flared up which has made his arm much stiffer than it would be just from the gunshot graze. He's in a lot of pain but he's refused to do anything for it.
She looks over at him and his face is slightly contorted, teeth gritted together as he keeps any noise stifled. She swallows, feeling bad that he's caused himself so much pain because of her. She wonders if she should bring it up, the initial conversation that brought them here. He hasn't been much in the mood for talking though as their flight from Philadelphia to Denver was relatively silent.
He's exhausted and it isn't even noon yet. She's tired too but that coffee really perked her up. Plus, he is experiencing a pain that she isn't. They should have changed his bandage before they boarded the plane. She shifts her gaze back to the iPad in her lap and continues looking through The New Yorker. She's read over some brief short stories but nothing has really been all that interesting. The delays are eating away at her patience.
She thinks about how she is sitting beside a man that she was barely on speaking terms with. They play nice at work, maybe even pretend like nothing ever went wrong on occasion, but the truth is always lingering in the space between them. She's found herself continuously drawn to him, but she has forced herself to remain at a distance.
She has placated her own emotions for over a decade with him. She never thought over the course of the 12 years that they worked together that she had fooled herself into believing some kind of improbability. And her inability to acknowledge the fact the maybe she had some deep rooted feelings for her boss was a prime example on how she refuses to live in reality. She's always been drawn to the dramatics.
But her years of denial hadn't done her much good. And her separation from her boss, the man and the friend, had only brought her to a place where she has accepted that they are not anything more than colleagues. They have not communicated outside of the work place before tonight, just as she had suspected.
But with his revelation that he has been experiencing anxiety attacks since she left has made her think that he has perhaps tried to establish some kind of outer office relationship with her but she has rejected it time and time again. Ever since he told her that he has paid her salary all along, she has been livid at him and not much interested in interacting with him. Maybe the connection he wants with her runs a lot deeper than she realizes.
All this time she has thought that he hasn't wanted her. Harvey is a man who goes after what he wants without hesitation. Donna herself has said that Harvey has what he wants and what he doesn't have, he doesn't want. Living her life and making her decisions by that code has made her realize that if he wanted to be with her, then he would be. She knows he cares, maybe even cares about her more than he cares about anyone really, but if he were in love with her then he would be with her completely. That much about him is true, but when she accused him of being jealous so many times but never stopped to think what that could mean.
She flips to The New York Times on her iPad then and on the first thing on her screen is an article regarding the evening before. Her mouth drops open as her eyes skim over the article looking for anything regarding their description. But as she zooms into the picture accompanying the article, her breath catches in her throat and her heart stops beating.
"Oh my god," she says.
"What?" Harvey asks immediately, his voice rough and laden with sleep.
"This isn't good," she says.
She looks over at him then and his eyebrows are furrowed, his nose contorted in confusion. She lightly shakes her head. He says, "What is it, Donna? Just tell me."
"They can't do this, right?" She asks, thrusting the iPad in front of his face.
He takes the iPad from her then and squints to get a better look. She can see the anger inhabit his gaze; the piercing look crosses his features like the annoyance has been building everything to this very moment. She's seen the look a thousand times, but this has something different, something more feral.
"Did you read the article?" He asks.
"I skimmed it," she admits, "I'm honestly shocked."
"They called us unidentified sources and plastered our picture on the front page," he growls, "I'm going to sue them."
"You're going to sue The New York Times?" She asks. She hears her iPad chime then and she's terrified. He's going to kill her and sue The New York Times. He's going to go on a rampage. He shoots a glare at her. "Please, don't be mad."
"Why didn't you tell me that you texted Rachel?" He hisses in a low voice.
She recoils then, nearly colliding with a fellow traveler as they move down the aisle to their seat. She never did understand why they board first class first just so everyone can nearly plummet them with their bags. She snatches her iPad from his grasp then, his fingers left flexing. She's squirming beneath his scrutiny.
She huffs, shuffling her jaw on the hinges. She says, "I didn't want you to be mad. I knew we weren't supposed to and you're such a rule follower that you'd bite my head off."
"Donna," he replies evenly, "There is a reason we weren't supposed to let anyone know what's happening."
"I just didn't want anyone to think we were running away together," she says, a smirk making its way to her lips. He merely sharpens his gaze in response. She shuts her iPad off then and puts it back into her bag. "I don't want my family to freak out. You know how paranoid they are."
"Yeah, well, they have a reason to be paranoid," he mutters.
"Harvey, seriously, what's the big deal?"
His nostrils flare in annoyance. He lightly shakes his head. He's silent for a few moments and she thinks he's going to let it go. He's never saying what's on his mind anymore. She hates it.
"The big deal is," he starts rough but huffs in an attempt to expel some anger, "You don't trust me anymore. I'm going to protect you, Donna."
She's baffled for a second, surprised that he thinks this is what it all boils down to. She reaches over and, against her better judgment, grabs his hand. Sliding her fingers between his, she feels comforted by his presence. She doesn't think she could do this without him. He is the part of home that makes her feel safe.
"Of course I trust you," she says, "Doing this with you is better than doing this with anyone else."
His lips tighten and he nods slowly. He says, "I understand that you're scared, but you have to tell me when you contact anyone. We can't have any secrets or any surprises between us. We have to be a team, an impenetrable partnership, like we used to be."
She absently thinks of how ironic it is that he's asking her not to keep any secrets from him when their entire personal relationship is built on secrets and what they don't tell each other. All of the things that go unsaid hang in the air between them as she nods slowly to cut through the thickness of the unspoken.
Her hand begins to feel warm, sweating against his palm, and she retracts her hand. He looks away quickly, the back of his head covering the view out of the window. She absently licks her lips and turns away from him, wondering what she's supposed to say and how far back of her secrets he expects her to tell him. She resigns to silence for the entirety of their flight.
Harvey is tired. She knows this because he's walking slowly and his shoulders are slightly slumped and his hair isn't perfectly positioned on his head. His exhaustion is coupled with pain. She can tell that he is in pain because his teeth are gritted together and he refuses to consume anything other than water. His pain has also contributed to hunger cramps and low blood sugar. He hasn't said much, but when he has said something it has sounded increasingly irritated and quite snippy. His attitude is therefore influencing her to have an attitude.
And she thinks, damn, she hates how he still so easily influences her moods. It isn't anything out of the ordinary because they've been, well, in tune with one another for an extended period of time and old habits die hard, but she really wishes he weren't so grumpy. She's about two seconds away from putting him in check and that is not the way that she thinks this experience should start.
Needless to say, she's really wondering who in the hell thought them going undercover in witness protection as husband and wife was a good idea. Especially since they explicitly stated, repeatedly might she add, that they are not a couple. And Harvey's behavior matched with their inability to resolve their unspoken and unapproached issues certainly has her convinced that they will never be a couple. She feels the need to clarify, or reassuring herself rather, that she was and is not expecting them to become one during this undefined amount of time.
Despite that factuality, her concern for his well-being is off the charts. She's watching him rather carefully as he continues to insist, quite aggressively, to pull her bag with the rollers that his duffle bag is perched atop of and his laptop bag while she's basically only carrying her purse. He keeps making jabs at the size of her purse and how it could undoubtedly beat his laptop bag in a fight. She simply laughs to appease him. They have fought about less than that and now isn't the time to instigate an argument with him.
She follows her currently pretend husband from the terminal at LAX and is relieved when they are met by a TSA security guard and told to keep going to baggage claim where two officers are waiting for them. He still looks rather annoyed, like he's on the verge of losing his patience. He is a borderline live explosive and she is the only person who knows the secret to handling him.
As they near baggage claim, Harvey veers towards a man and a woman who look like they are straight out of a cop drama on prime time television. Donna is pretty sure she's seen how this episode goes: two cops, one is a leak who betrays them. She is not looking forward to the big finale on this one.
"Mister and Misses Jones," the rugged looking man greets. At least, Donna thinks, he isn't too bad to look at.
Harvey grunts in response. She doesn't want this to progress in such a negative manner so she lightly places a hand against his back, pads of her fingers pressing against his spine and making him stand a little taller. He recoils beneath her touch then, back arching like he's casually trying to relieve the pressure. She feels her mouth reflect a frown.
She removes her hand from the expanse of his back and thrusts it towards the gentleman then. She ignores the glance that Harvey tosses her. She says, "I'm Donna. Harvey's hands are a little full at the moment."
"I'm Officer Lansing," the woman says, cutting in and taking Donna's hand. There is an engagement ring on the blonde detective's hand that gleams in the sun. It occurs to Donna then that they will probably need to acquire wedding bands if this is going to be convincing. The woman squeezes Donna's hand a little too tightly and says, "And this is my partner, Officer Jensen."
Donna wouldn't be surprised if this man was her fiancé, if not at least sleeping together. Their attire matches too adequately and the lipstick stain on his collar matches the shade gracing the woman's lips. The woman's closet is a knock off version of Rachel's and the man's might equal Mike's…on a good day. Despite the officers' similarities to her friends back home, they clash in a particular way that Mike and Rachel do not. It is possible that they aren't even the betrothed at all. She hopes to god that Harvey is too tired to notice.
"Do you mind if we stop by a pharmacy?" Donna says, skipping the formalities, "Harvey here is in a lot of pain and we need to get the supplies to change his bandage."
"I'm fine," he insists, "I just need a bed so I can get some sleep."
"Don't listen to him," Donna says, her hand finding his bicep, "We need to get this bandage changed so it doesn't get infected. He will sleep after."
"He," Harvey interjects forcefully, "Can speak for himself."
Her fingernails dig into his arm and slide down the length of it, scratching in a soothing manner. She feels his muscles tighten beneath her fingertips then. Officer Lansing smiles politely and nods. Donna looks towards the floor then, the toe of Harvey's shoe absently scuffing at the tile.
"Can I help you with your luggage?" Officer Jensen offers. Harvey reluctantly agrees, extending the handle for her bag to the man. Officer Jensen smile, nodding as he takes the handle and steps towards the doors. He calls behind him, "I bet you're starving."
"I could eat," Harvey admits, stepping forward to follow their escort's lead. His arm quickly escapes her touch and she feels a little bit more terrified exiting the confines of an airport where she knows security guards are watching, especially without touching him for comfort. "Can you tell us where we're going?"
"We're taking you to Long Beach," Officer Jensen supplies. He tosses a grin over his shoulder and Donna shudders at the sight. This guy is creeping her out more than he's reassuring her.
"Please tell me I'll get a bed when I get there," Harvey says.
"Afraid not," Officer Lansing chimes in, "But we will get you some food and a trip to the pharmacy."
Donna smirks triumphantly at that as Harvey slows to let her catch up to his pace. He shakes his head at her as he reaches out and ushers her forward, his hand finding the small of her back and applying pressure. She thinks that he's purposefully teasing her, trying to cause a reaction, but she doesn't exactly know why or what reaction he expects.
She offers then to take his bag, silently motioning it forward by flexing her fingers, but he declines with a shake of his head. She can tell that he's growing agitated specifically at her helpfulness. He has never been one who accepted help so easily, and she suspects that because she is no longer his employee, he isn't a huge fan of her attempting to help him so much. His patience is running thin, but she'll keep trying to get through to him that he needs to accept her help, for old time sake.
He seems to relax a bit when they step outside and are met with fresh air. She can't even begin to count the amount of times she has wanted to grab his hand for comfort because she's terrified. She's masked her terror with annoyance, her panic with an overbearing concern. Instinctually, she wants to take care of him and the only way to stop herself from doing so is to put distance between them. That will be next to impossible, especially since she owes him so much.
They haven't really addressed the fact that he paid her salary for so long, and now he's literally thrown himself in front of a moving bullet for her. She doesn't even know how she could begin to repay him for that. She doesn't even know why she asked him to come with her. They hadn't received any real immediate threat and she could have just as easily declined the offer to go into witness protection as she accepted. They could have carried on with their lives, her working for Louis and him working with his multitude of employees (Rachel, Mike and Gretchen).
Maybe she had been guided by fear. Her fear overpowered the sensibility to put distance between her and Harvey, the distance she has tried putting between them for the last three and half months, trying to ignore his existence with failed date after failed date that she didn't really care went anywhere or not. She simply wanted a distraction; she wanted to forget that she tried to leave him behind.
She's over him. She's had 12 years to get over him and she didn't look back, didn't consciously think that there was a chance for them to have a future. She never asked him for something that he didn't want to give and he certainly didn't want to give it to her. Part of her suspects that he is still waiting for the right woman. Maybe she hadn't pushed him hard enough into the right woman's arms. He is a lion in the court room and a tiger in the bedroom. But as they walk to the car approximately 6 steps behind the officers, she has to remind herself that this is all pretend and she can have any man back home that she wants.
First there was that Michael guy. She had refused to call him Mike for argument sake, because she didn't want to feel like she was on a date with her best friend's fiancé. He was also increasingly boring by the second and if she had gone one more than one date with him then she would have killed herself.
Second there was Evan. He was cute but so very stupid. Not to mention he made her a cougar which she is not. The only time she could actually tolerate him was when he wasn't speaking. She did not go on a second date with him.
Lastly there was Henry. He was a mess. He made her want to blow her brains out. He was going through an awful divorce and when he found out she worked at a law firm he would only ask her legal questions. She definitely did not call him back.
All of them only managed to be a distraction for the evening and never quite as big a distraction as five minutes with Harvey. It has been a struggle to get over the idea of him, but she has managed, especially with Louis putting so much pressure on her to do things the way that he likes. She has had to readjust the way she does certain things, things she has been doing for the last decade that have worked perfectly fine.
They load their bags in the trunk of a car. Harvey opens the door to the backseat and she climbs in. She's met with the smell of sex and food that has been spilled on the seats. Her original impression of these two had been right. They fucked somewhere between the police station and the airport.
She pulls a face as Harvey slides into the backseat beside her. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, the knit between his brows creasing a wrinkle that will probably linger for a few minutes more. She motions to the officers getting in the car which prompts a smirk from her partner in hiding.
She shakes her head, her hand slamming down on his thigh. That wipes the smirk right off of his face as he covers the place she slapped. He's probably feeling a sting in his thigh right about now. She smirks in return, making him shake his head, instantly annoyed with her all over again.
"If we aren't going to Long Beach," Harvey says after Officer Jensen has started the car and is pulling out of the parking lot, "Where exactly are you taking us?"
"You are going to Long Beach," Officer Lansing replies.
Officer Jensen locks eyes with Donna over his shoulder and he says, "You just aren't staying in Long Beach."
Officer Jensen looks to be pushing the 30 marker. Officer Lansing, on the other hand, looks barely in the field and totally corruptible. Donna has learned though that the young will survive any way possible. She doesn't trust either of them, if she's being honest.
She looks over at Harvey then who seems to anticipate her reassurance. He's already reaching out and covering her hand with his own, a slight smile dressed on his mouth. His touch is non-committal, a light pat on her hand like he's trying to keep the distance. She can feel it in her gut, the pain, the feeling of a sharp knife stabbing her. After everything they've been through and he's just like a book she's read several times but a stranger nonetheless.
"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, grave voice echoing in her head. She can count the number of times he has said that on one hand, but it's still more times than he's said to anyone else.
She looks down to his hand for a moment then back at his face. The crease in her forehead bends as she lightly shakes her head, confused about his random apology. She says, "For what?"
He swallows and absently licks his lips; he says, "You were right about the bandage. I need to accept your help because I can't do it on my own."
"Are you feeling okay?" She replies sarcastically. He gives her a look then and she nods in understanding. He feels tired and exposed and is in pain – no he isn't feeling okay. Her mouth folds into a frown, wishing she knew how to make his pain go away. "We'll be there soon and we'll get you cleaned up."
"Does that mean you'll give me a sponge bath?" He asks, eyes widening as a smirk beams across his mouth.
She shakes her head, the inevitable smile making an appearance. She says, "You're incorrigible."
"In the best way though," he adds.
He's been waiting and waiting and waiting and this has been the longest night of his life. That includes the two days he was sleep deprived during finals week his senior year of law school when he and Scottie alternated between two different types of cramming. If he's being honest, he had the day from hell at work yesterday and that doesn't even begin to address the eventful evening his brain hasn't even had an opportunity to register.
Not to mention, Officer Cool and Officer Horny have been driving him crazy for the last two hours with their inappropriate professional manner and their vomit inducing heavy petting. He detests public displays of affection more than he detests Louis which has been on the up and up lately. At least he hasn't had a panic attack in the past 12 hours. Progress is progress. And Donna, thankfully, hasn't brought it up again, yet, though he knows she will.
He's even more irritated that when they finally left the place that Officer Cool claimed had the best burgers in the entire world, which didn't, and finally stopped at the pharmacy at Donna's persistent request, they ended up at a ferry station somewhere in the middle of Long Beach. Not only will Officer Cool and Officer Horny refuse to give them a destination like they are terrified that he knows every number he's ever dialed (which isn't many, admittedly) off of the top of his head, but they won't even give him an ETA when all he really fucking wants to do is sleep.
Donna's hovering isn't helping one bit. If he were honest, and he's trying very hard to keep his mouth shut right now because he knows he is losing his patience and this is not how he wants this extended agreement to begin with them at odds which is the only reason he apologized, then he would tell her to back off. He knows she's only trying to help, but she is driving him crazy. He can't even begin to explain what he means by that.
He thinks about the things that have been covered in therapy. Breathing in and out, thinking….rationally and not thinking like, well, Louis. He can control his actions and his reactions. He will be someone Donna doesn't even recognize if he sticks to his rules.
"Hey," she says, coming from behind him. He glances at her over his shoulder, the startling sound of her voice making the ends of his arm hair tingle. The absence of her heels gives her the rather unfamiliar element of surprise. He tilts his chin upwards in acknowledgement. "We should change your bandage."
"They said every twenty-four hours," he replies. He knows that his annoyance is obvious by the way that her eyebrow arches challengingly. She sighs then and crosses her arms in front of her chest. "I'm sure it's fine."
"You're so thickheaded sometimes," she says.
Her own annoyance has flared up in full force. Her bags are at his feet as the officers sit a few yards away as they wait for the next boat to take them to Catalina Island. He's at least pleased that he finally has a destination.
"Donna," he says evenly, standing up and reaching for her arm. She doesn't recoil from his touch, which he thinks is a plus. "I'm not trying to fight with you. I'm just tired and I'm hurting. Everything is happening so fast. We haven't even really spoken in the last few months. How am I supposed to handle this?"
"I don't know," she says softly. She sits on the bench beside him and crosses one leg over the other. His gaze lands on her knee, the muscles of her thigh flexing as her leg bounces. Shit, he thinks, she's nervous. "We're in untreaded water."
"I don't know how to be around you," he admits.
She looks offended at this and he wants to apologize, but he can't apologize for his honesty. She swallows and pushes her hands into her hair. Her red locks look tired after she slowly pulls them out.
"Then why did you come?" She sounds angry now; much like the last few times they've tried to have a real conversation.
He stands up then, his gaze sharpening on her. He says, "I came because you asked me to. I do everything you ask me to do. Why don't you understand that?"
"Harvey," she says, gently.
He shakes his head in response. He cuts her off before she can say anything further. He says, "Look, I'm not happy that we've resorted to being like this. I gave you space because you wanted it – needed it or whatever, but we are here now and it is too late to turn back. We may have a lot left to talk about, but can't we just get through today first?"
She nods slowly. He turns away from her in search of something kin to fresh air.
Harvey doesn't say much in the hour long ride to the island. It…bothers her. She doesn't do well with tension. She doesn't know what to do with it, doesn't know where to place it. So she in turn just lets it settle in the space between them, like everything else they've left unresolved.
So once being dropped off at the hotel and checking in at the front desk, they make their way to the room. Regardless of their inability to get along at the moment, they do still have to be married for their identity to stay under wraps. She carries most of the bags because he's too tired to argue and in too much pain to take the initiative.
He leans against the doorframe as she pushes the key into the lock. Finally pushing it open, she steps inside. She stops to take a look at the room and notes exactly their first of many problems. There is one bed and there isn't even a couch for one of them to sleep on. He steps in behind her and stops when his chest collides with her shoulder.
"Shit," he says. He voices her exact thoughts.
She nods, dropping the bags to their feet. She echoes her own sentiments with a breathy, "Yeah."
The door clicks shut behind them and he steps forward, heading towards the bed. He sets his laptop bag on the floor and takes a seat on the bed. She wonders if she should say something about sharing the bed but she isn't sure that either of them are really ready to have that level of awkward conversation.
"I need some sleep," he says, rubbing at his eyes.
"Did you need me to do anything?" She asks.
He doesn't bother looking up at her and just shakes his head. She moves the bags closer to the dresser by the wall closest to the bathroom. He exhales a deep breath and it gets her attention. She looks at him, absently rubbing her palms on her legs.
He says, "What are you going to do?"
"I'll probably take a shower, get settled in," she replies with a shrug. He nods then, kicking his shoes off. They hit the floor with a thud. He stares at her and it makes her uncomfortable. His eyes are dark, tired, and his gaze feels like she's being punctured. "Seriously, Harvey, get some sleep. When you wake up, we will change your bandage."
"And if you're asleep?"
She offers him a small smile and says, "Then you'll wake me up."
He huffs but nods in agreement. He lays back on the bed, careful to apply more weight onto his left arm, and his eyes slowly close. She wonders why he didn't pull the bed back and get comfortable, but then she realizes they aren't in New York anymore and the temperature is much different this time of year. She watches him for a few moments to be sure he is comfortably settled in before she drags her bag into the bathroom so she can scrub the smell of travel off of her skin.