don't back down; harvey/donna ; r (and maybe NC-17); 2,222 words;

3

somewhere between leaving and coming back something just changes somehow

a/n: so i have this friend erica who was all "watch suits, it's really good" and so i did and now i don't know what to do anymore because suits, so she wanted me to write baby!fic as she always does so here it starts


Harvey sits down on the couch in Jessica's office, eying her carefully. He quirks an eyebrow, hoping it has nothing to do with the bathroom incident a few days ago. He's pretty sure that as Donna's friends, Rachel wouldn't pass that information around. But that doesn't mean Jessica didn't somehow find out.

Jessica clutches her drink in her hand, something that he knows by now that she only does when she has information she really doesn't want to reveal. He swallows, bracing himself for some kind of fall. Figures that something would go wrong just when everything was starting to go right.

"Harvey, I-" she starts but cuts herself off.

He narrows his eyes, "what?"

"The client won't sign with us."

"Why not?" He asks, head shaking and eyebrows furrowing in question.

Jessica tucks her bottom lip into her mouth, eyes drifting away with uncertainty; "he said that he would take it into consideration if he could take Donna to dinner."

"What?" Harvey's face fell as he pushed himself to his feet, "you're telling me that he'll only sign with the firm if he can take my pregnant girlfriend on a date? This is unbelievable."

"It's for the firm," Jessica retorts.

He sighs, "this is one thing I can't let happen for the firm. Donna would never go for it."

"Harvey-"

"Jessica," he interrupts, "it's taken us a long time to get on the same page and now that we finally are you want me to encourage her to go on a date with a client in an effort to buy him? Have more integrity than that."

He shakes his head and leaves her office, ignoring the quirked eyebrow he receives before he can leave. He tries not to huff too loudly as he enters his office, jarring his shoulder against the glass window on his way in. He inhales a deep breath and ignores the eyes locking on him from across the room as he sits down in the chair behind his desk and turns to look out of the window.

He sits in silence for a few minutes before he releases an exaggerated breath, "Donna."

"What?" She asks through the intercom.

He smirks as he turns his chair and the lock eyes, "that client?"

"The one with the wandering eyes?" She confirms.

He chuckles a little in the back of his throat, "yeah. He ask you to out?"

"Yes," she answers.

"Did you tell him to fuck off?"

She smirks, "I told him that my boyfriend probably wouldn't be too happy if another man showed up at our house to take me to dinner."

"When did you move in?" He asks with a laugh.

She sits up a little straighter, jaw tightening and her eyebrows raising on her forehead, "is that a question you really want answered?"

"I just wanted to be sure we're on the same page," he says with a wink.


"How many secrets do you have from me?" He asks in surprise; he moves his legs in the bed as her cold feet touch his skin, "get your cold feet off of me."

"Okay, sometimes me and Louis re-enact Shakespeare in the copy room," she admits.

He stares at her deadpanned for a few moments before his lips form a smirk, "you what?"

"And I go to the associate's break room because they have Cheetos," she adds.

He chokes back a laugh as he throws his leg over hers hoping to keep her cold feet off of him, his arm sliding beneath her pillow. He shakes his head, fingertips brushing over hers as he seeks out her hand to entwine their fingers. He hovers his lips over the exposed skin of her shoulder, a smile seemingly glued to his face.

"If you want Cheetos I can be sure you have an endless supply," he comments, "anything else that I need to know?"

"Just one more thing," she starts. He lifts his eyebrows in question as he drops his lips to her skin. He drags his lips up her neck and kisses her jaw, encouraging her to speak. "I sold my apartment today."

"Okay," he says slowly.

"I didn't know if that would bother you," she replies absently.

He releases a breath just below her ear, the warmth of his breath tickling his chin. He lightly shakes his head as he mutters a no against her skin, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to slide his fingers over her stomach. She turns her body towards his and he grins when she wraps her arms around his torso.

He pushes his fingers beneath her chin and tilts her mouth towards his, briefly pressing his lips against hers; "why would it bother me?"

"Because you're losing your man space to a girl?"

"And a baby," he adds absently; he lightly shakes his head, "besides, I can't picture my life without you."

"Is that the Harvey Specter equivalent to I love you?" She questions.

He smiles against her mouth, "maybe."


"Twenty weeks? What is that like five months?" Mike asks, eyebrows furrowing, "I don't understand. Did you guys get drunk or something? Where was I?"

"First of all," Harvey starts, "you have nothing to do with my relationship with Donna and you never have. Second, it wasn't planned but we were sober."

"Since when did you have a relationship with Donna?" Mike asks rhetorically with a laugh.

"Fourteen years," Harvey replies with a pointedly sarcastic face. He tosses the file across his desk and points at a certain line in it that catches Mike's attention. Glancing at Donna's desk, he notes that she isn't there. No wonder she hasn't chimed in yet. "We've been seeing each other for the last seven months?"

His voice poses a little bit of question; not the uncertainty, Mike quirks an eyebrow, "you don't even know?"

"The days kind of blur together," Harvey admits, quickly adding, "but that doesn't change the fact that we haven't been seeing other people for quite a long time."

"I don't know," Mike says with a light shake of his head, "is this a good idea? Is it too late to get out?"

"Pretty sure," Harvey counters. He missed when Donna returned to her desk but he catches her eye when she casts him a smirk. He winks at her and shifts his gaze back to Mike. "Besides, then we'd have a moody Donna, you-"

"Hey," she chimes in warningly.

Harvey smirks.


"Is this one mine or yours?" Harvey asks as he lifts an iPad off of the counter in the kitchen.

He drags a hand over his chest expectantly, his fingers lazily catching on the cotton of his gray t-shirt. He pretends that it isn't increasingly warm in the apartment from his early morning Saturday run; his shoes squeak on the floor from the puddle of water he ran through in the park and she quirks an eyebrow warningly at him. He grunts and kicks his shoes off, biting his tongue and keeping his comment about how strict she is from coming out of his mouth.

Finally, she shrugs in answer to his question, "does it really matter?"

"It might," he challenges.

She rolls her eyes as she bites back a smirk, "is that where you left it?"

He narrows his eyes and swallows at the same time, "are you being difficult right now?"

"Right now?" She counters.

"You can be pleasant sometimes," he replies with a laugh. He decides it doesn't matter and grabs the tablet off of the counter on his way to the living room. He drops onto the couch beside her, sitting oddly close in an effort to torture her. He unlocks the device and a screen pops up that he wasn't expecting. "This is clearly yours."

"So it is," an eyebrow pops up on her forehead as she glances at the iPad in his lap. He looks at her pointedly and she takes a sip of her tea - not quite enough to replace coffee but better than nothing. She sighs and slaps his thigh. "What? I'm a bored, pregnant woman who reads about babies. What's your point?"

"Let's look at your history," he replies teasingly, reading off of the list, "baby clothes, baby toys, baby furniture, baby names. Jesus, you must have been up all night."

"You try sleeping with a baby in your uterus," she mutters.

He smirks, "I'll get right on that."

"You're just upset because I was looking at baby stuff without you," she says teasingly.

"Well, kind of. I thought that was something we'd do together."

"I didn't want to waste your time and have you look at everything when I can just give you options to pick from," she admits. His eyes lock on hers and he briefly wonders if this is an actual conversation they're having - not like they usually have conversations like this on a Saturday morning or anything. "I only bother you with the really important things.".

"If it has to do with my kid then it's important," he reminds her. She doesn't say anything, just offers him a slightly apologetic glance. He accepts her apology by leaning over and pressing his lips against hers, a movement that is rapidly becoming automatic. "How about you wake me up if you can't sleep? I'll be more than happy to entertain a beautiful woman in the middle of the night."

"Oh please, you sleep in the middle of the bed, you still aren't used to sharing."

"I only sleep in the middle so I can be closer to you," he corrects charmingly.

She laughs and shakes her head, "put the Specter charm away. I'm not falling for it."

"Oh, baby," he remarks sarcastically, "I'm pretty sure I can change your mind."

He tilts his body towards hers and grabs her by the hips, tugging on her as he leans down and covers her lips with his. His sweat slicked shirt touches her chin and she cries out in protest. He makes sure to wipe his forehead on her neck before he pushes his fingers up beneath the hem of the Harvard t-shirt she has on.

"Harvey Reginald Specter," she says warningly.

"Did you just full name me?" He asks with furrowed eyebrows, "how long have you known that?"

"Please, I know everything about you," she replies with a laugh; he opens his mouth to refute but she distracts him by pressing her lips against his, fingers tugging on his shirt.


She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and she thinks that, probably for the first time in her adult life, she's never looked more unsexy. She doesn't say this, never says it to anyone, but the look on her face is one of disgust. There's just something about the way that her stomach looks a little bloated, her skin is a shade that can't be replicated on the color wheel, and her hair just will not cooperate.

For a brief moment, she considers calling in sick to work (until she remembers that her boyfriend is her boss and he knows better). Besides, what kind of secretary would she be if she were to just call in sick because she felt like it? Not to mention, her boss didn't understand her system and would be calling her all day and then come home irritated because nothing went right that day and he'd spend half of the night grumbling.

So, she should just go in.

She's just going to save her boss/boyfriend/baby daddy (that's a lot of b's, she silently adds) the trouble and just go into work. Not that he could make it an entire day without her; he couldn't read the calendar and then she'd just end up coming in eventually because he'd be short with her on the phone and she'd want to slap him. She'll just save them both the unnecessary stress and go into work. That doesn't change the fact that that she wants to do anything but go into work and she really would rather not catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

"You look nice," he attempts to reassure her.

Her eyebrow pops upwards on her forehead as she shifts her gaze to his in the mirrow; he can read her mind, apparently. Her voice drips with shock as she turns her head on to glance at him over her shoulder. Her body slowly follows and she tilts her head, "thanks."

"Don't look so surprised," he retorts with a smirk, "you've always been beautiful and you know it."

"Knowing it and hearing it are two very different things," she counters.

He nods in acknowledgement, lips turning into a thin line, "I don't tell you enough."

"You don't tell me at all," she challenges.

"Nonsense," he disagrees, "I don't have to say it. You know what I'm thinking."

"I would really hate to inconvenience you," she replies.

"Don't be a drama queen," he smirks. His hand slides over her waistline to touch her stomach, fingertips tapping against her ribcage until he gets a small smile in return. He leans forward and presses his lips against the corner of her mouth - she barely returns it and he can tell that she's wondering what his mood is about. He supplies, "maybe I'm just happy. You ready to go?"