Beneath the Surface
Donna's purse lands on her desk with a heavy thud—the whole cubicle shuddering as she kicks her chair, cursing when pain flares through her pointed stilettos.
She's beyond furious. So livid that she walked one block back to work rather than flirt with the risk of having a break-down during the twenty-minute cab ride home.
She fucking knew going to dinner with her sister would end in tears, which it did. Because her half-sibling is always the victim. Despite her sister's three failed engagements all having one thing in common—the caring, down-to-earth men who all worship the ground Lydia walks on.
Over the years she's steeled herself against making comments and being judgemental, because there's no point. Her sister is stubborn and selfish and refuses to listen. But tonight, on the verge of engagement number three, Lydia announced she was pregnant. And by her sister's second cocktail, which she strongly recommended against, the woman was spouting about how the universe must hate her, because Daniel is an okay guy, but she could do better and so could her baby.
That's when Donna snapped—calling Lydia out on her bullshit in a restaurant full of people, and reducing the woman to tears. It wasn't her finest moment, and she probably shouldn't have stormed out. But she's spent all day fixing other people's problems; Louis needing to rush Bruno to vet, Rachel's uncertainty about which schools to apply to, and then an actual drama—Harvey's merger that almost went south at the twelfth hour.
She's completely tapped out and can't deal with four missed calls from her father since leaving the restaurant. But in the silent and empty stillness of the firm—a place she feels safe—she takes a breath, lifting her gaze to Harvey's vacant office where his decanter of scotch is secreted away.
She has no qualms helping herself. After saving his neck today, she figures she's owned the compensation. Though she kicks off her shoes first, relieving her toe from the throbbing pain the chair caused.
With just a few purposeful strides, she finds what she's looking for, about to pour herself a glass of the amber liquid when the door swings open.
"Help yourself, why don't you?"
Harvey's gruff voice washes over her, and on any other night she'd have a witty retort ready to fire back. But her walls are too thin and vulnerable, wavering at the one thing she has that her sister doesn't—someone she can trust. Harvey may wear a prickly exterior, and claim that emotions are for people who don't have objectives and goals, but she's seen him when the facade slips, and watched how he'll do anything to protect the people he cares about. And instead of filling her glass, she sets the decanter back down, using her hand to muffle the sob that collects in her throat.
He stops, freezing in place and trying to gauge if this is some sort of ploy. But as his gaze rakes over her bare feet and shuddering shoulders, he knows she's not putting on an act.
"Hey." He abandons the files he dug out from the library, tossing them onto the nearest chair as he approaches her. "What happened? What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She swallows a cough, flinching away from his touch. He might be someone she can trust but she's a mess, and he didn't ask to have his night hijacked because she can't keep a lid on her emotions. "I thought everyone left. I'll go."
She bites her lip, fighting more tears, but he blocks her exit, an urge to comfort her rearing up inside him that won't let her pass. Their relationship works because no matter how awkward things get, hard truths are the tether that keeps them grounded. And that means he's not falling for a brush off. "Donna—"
The sob she's been holding back escapes before he can any other words out, her knees buckling, and he catches her, his arms pulling her in close as he cradles her body. He's completely in the dark and terrified, conjuring up every worst scenario he can think of. But whatever did happen, she's safe now, and he clutches her tightly. "It's okay. We'll figure it out. Whatever it is, I'm right here."
His understanding and her embarrassment opens the floodgates, her tears spilling into the warmth of his chest. She isn't angry anymore. And as Harvey's palm gently circles her back, she understands the void of loneliness Lydia is trying to fill. Her sister's choices may seem wrong, but she's hardly in a position to judge. The only man she's ever given a piece of herself to has no idea he's even holding it, literally.
She's mortified and ashamed, Harvey's light caress of her hair triggering another sob. If she could command the ground to open up and swallow her, she would.
Sometimes loving him hurts too much.
But if he knew the truth, he'd bolt in the opposite direction. And she would rather have him in her life as a friend than nothing at all.
With a shuddering hitch, she forces air into her lungs, trying to regulate her breathing. And when she's sure she can face him without more tears flooding her cheeks, she shakily pulls back, scrubbing a hand over her puffy eyes. "I'm sorry. That was—"
"Stop." He shakes his head, brushing his fingers against the curve of her spine. "Here. Come on, sit down." She wobbles under his touch, and he follows closely behind, guiding her to his leather sofa. Usually he takes the chair, but he grabs a box of tissues and seats himself next to her. His biggest fear is that she's hurt somehow, but he can't see any physical signs that she's in pain. Though any relief he might have felt is overshadowed by his concern, and her silence. "Did something happen?"
She pulls out a tissue, blowing her nose, her cheeks burning under his worried and gaze. "I had a fight with my sister."
He blinks at the explanation, his shoulders sagging as he tears a hand up through his hair. "Jesus, Donna. I thought…"
He exhales sharply.
Really, he's grateful that's all it was, and he awkwardly tries to cover the slip. "How bad was it?"
"Bad enough for me to scream at her in front of a hundred strangers." She winces sheepishly. "Lydia's pregnant. She's already using the situation as a bargaining chip. I lost it and stormed out." She steals a deep breath, avoiding his gaze. "I'm sorry... I had no idea you were still here."
A pang of guilt twinges in his chest and he answers the uncomfortable feeling with a sigh. He's not good at comforting people. But knowing she would have actively chosen to avoid him is just as bad as picturing her alone and hurting. "You don't need to apologize for being upset, Donna." She nods, but still doesn't look up, and he attempts a gentle prod. "Maybe for ruining my shirt, though."
She meets his smirk, realizing he's kidding. "You're an idiot."
He chuckles softly. Seeing her smile is worth the hit to his ego. But he can't help wondering if there's more going on beneath the surface that she's concealing. He doesn't know much about Lydia. Just that Donna has a rocky relationship with her half-sister and hates talking about it. But the way she broke down didn't seem fuelled by anger. And the small distance between them on the couch feels off. Normally he would adhere to the warning, take the easy out, and later pretend he wasn't just being a coward. But tucking her into his arms to comfort her felt right, and he moves his hand, proving to himself the inches separating them aren't impenetrable.
"I get it, I make it hard." He squeezes her fingers. "With Mike, especially Louis… But with you, it's different. You can always come to me, no matter what. And you never have to be sorry, okay?"
"Never?" she asks softly. He shakes his head, and several beats of silence pass until she takes his palm, guiding it around to rest at the small of her back. He looks confused, but her heart skips when he doesn't pull away. And she tentatively brushes the damp spot on his shirt. "Not even for this?"
Her eyes lift up, hooded but bright beneath her lashes, and his fingers sprawl more firmly across her spine. Blurring their lines is the last thing he set out to encourage. She's upset, and acting on the chemistry she's provoking leaves his mind and body conflicted. They tread a careful line because it's what she wanted, and now he's terrified of making a casual mistake that could wind up ruining them. But as her breath flutters across his neck, her lips feather-light as they brush his jaw, he seeks her out, his mouth eager as he kisses her. And nothing about the way they connect feels casual or like a mistake. The heat burning between them is trust on fire—a promise they'll always be okay, no matter what, leading him to pull back with a heavy pant. Because if he draws her into his lap, it'll all be over in minutes. They have time, and he wants to use it properly. "I want to take you home."
Her surprise wraps around a smile. She isn't panicked or scared he stopped things to bolt. He's looking at her in a way he's kept guarded for years. And in that moment she knows she's not all that different from Lydia. She held back from Harvey for so long because she was afraid he'd run first. Maybe neither of them were ready, but they are now. And she reaches down, squeezing his hand. "You mind if I do one thing?"
He can guess it's calling her sister, and he steals her lips with a chaste kiss. "Take all the time you need."
She slides off the couch, feeling giddy, and when she calls Lydia, she apologizes. Even tells her sister that if Daniel's not the right guy, then she shouldn't settle. The advice is met with a huff, and the line disconnects shortly after. It's unlikely the two of them will ever see eye to eye. But she's learning to make peace with that, and tonight, she's putting herself first.
Well, not just herself.
A smirk ghosts her lips as slips into her shoes and picks up her purse, moving to collect Harvey so they can go home. It doesn't matter where they end up, her place or his, so long as they wind up at the same destination, they'll find they're exactly where they're supposed to be.