Author's Note: I just wanted to briefly say thank you for the follows and the kind reviews :) Now on with the story...
Chapter 3
In the quiet of his apartment, their scotch is forgotten, spilled somewhere on the tiles and staining the trail of clothes they leave in their wake.
For a while they've been in a kind of holding pattern, too guarded and reluctant to approach one another. For him, it feels like they've been dancing around this since she came back, and he's more than satisfied that they've finally stopped circling one another.
It's hurried and messy, but entirely them. He fists one hand in her hair and the other grips her thigh as he directs them clumsily to the bed.
She's drunk, and he's pretty sure he's halfway blind. The choice to drink was his, especially after the day he's had. The choice to barge into his apartment after eleven in a barely-there-dress had been all hers.
It's a relief when they're both finally naked and he's buried inside her.
Her kisses are soft, while his are bruising. Her touch lingers, while his is frantic. He wonders if it's the alcohol that is making them fumble against one another like they've never done this before.
Her legs wrap around his lower back, pulling him closer and he swears it feels like he's suffocating. He thrusts his hips hard against hers but she grabs his waist, slowing their rhythm. When she kisses him he realises with a stark clarity that she's trying to make love to him.
The expression she wears is one he's never seen on her, and then it's glaringly obvious why they are so out of sync. It's different now and he'd convinced himself that it wouldn't be, that he could fuck her or she could fuck him and it wouldn't change a thing.
He stills their movements and cradles her face. "What's wrong?" she immediately asks.
The look on her face is one of hope and he hates to crush her like this.
But this isn't love, not really.
He'd been angry when she'd showed up, his rage barely bubbling below the surface for weeks now. And it's not just the merger, it's everything else. He'd been drinking alone when she arrived and she'd been convenient. But a part of him thinks he may have loved her at some point and he can never tell her such a thing.
Instead he says, "I can't."
It's inadequate and clichéd but he can't bear to see the pain in her eyes, because he's already hurt enough people he cares about.
She dresses wordlessly because she understands. She doesn't take his shirt because this time there are no winners and no rewards.
Harvey Specter is the absolute last person Mike expects to see when he opens his front door. He is actually at a loss for words and even worse, has been completely stoned for hours.
His face is neutral and his voice is resigned. "Are you gonna let me in?"
"You actually want to come in?" he asks disbelievingly.
Harvey doesn't react to his question, simply brushes past him and collapses into a heavy pile on the couch. He tilts back his head and sniffs the room, "You're back to that huh?"
Mike doesn't miss the slight disappointment that clouds his voice.
"Why do you care?" he asks without malice.
Harvey picks up the nearest joint and puts it between his lips, recreating a very familiar, very amusing scene. "I don't."
Mike sits on the chair next to the couch and rolls another joint for himself.
"Okay I know this is from the coffee cart guy," Harvey says as he inspects his joint.
"I still want to know how you know that."
They smoke mostly in silence as Mike tries to find the right words to articulate any part of what he's feeling. He's partially annoyed that Harvey believes he can just show up at his doorstep without any explanation, as if nothing has changed between them. Except he can't feel entirely put out because a considerable part of him is simply glad for the fact that he did show up.
Smoking alone isn't nearly as fun.
Harvey continues to ponder with a joint between his lips. Mike takes the opportunity to fetch them two beers.
He hands one to Harvey, "For your cotton mouth."
Harvey smirks but thanks him anyway. Mike spends about two minutes toying with the label on his beer before he finally asks, "Harvey, why are you here?"
"Would you believe me if I said I had nowhere else to go?"
"Maybe," he says honestly, because he's been hearing things around the office.
"You did good work on that case," Harvey confesses. Mike watches as he takes a long drag of his joint, as if using it as a tool to prevent himself from saying anything further.
"Donna told you then?" he surmises.
Harvey tenses at the use of her name and Mike wonders what the hell that is about.
"I, uh, told her not to."
"You deserve credit."
Mike smiles fondly. "That's what she said."
"She's a smart woman," Harvey says to no one in particular. Mike is tempted to press him further but holds back as he sees Harvey stare miserably into nothing.
The moment isn't appropriate but Mike says it anyway, "I'm sorry. For what I did, that is."
It's far from a perfect apology but he seems to appreciate it all the same.
Harvey eventually stands and Mike is quietly awed and taken aback when the man shakes his hand. He recognises a peace offering when he sees one. Mike shakes his hand firmly then releases it. Harvey crosses the room and pauses at the front door.
"Try to be on time tomorrow."
He is the last person she wants to see, especially before she's had her second cup of coffee. But fate is cruel and clearly out to get her because they meet at the elevator at the exact same moment. His eyes avoid hers immediately and Donna has to bite her tongue to keep from calling him a coward. And a prick. And a whole lot of another names that she only reserves for special occasions.
For five floors they are the only two people in the elevator. By the tenth floor Harvey's mouth is open, poised and ready to speak when several people file in. His mouth slams shut. By the fifteenth floor she finally looks at him, only to be disappointed when he keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the doors in front of them. Coward.
By the twenty-fifth floor the elevator is packed with people and he's shuffled closer to her. By the fortieth, he's standing so close that she can smell his cologne and can feel his breath on her shoulder.
It's only when the elevator dings and they reach the fiftieth floor that he dares to touch her hand. It's the lightest of caresses and if it were anybody else she wouldn't have noticed. But it's Harvey and she notices.
Donna steps out of the elevator first and Harvey trails right behind her. He doesn't say anything, but he matches her pace until they walk through the threshold of his office.
When she stops moving everything seems to sway a little because she feels sick and nauseous and furious all at once.
"I hate myself."
She scoffs, "Well we're on the same page then."
She folds her arms, grits her teeth and ignores his stare. Her shield is up but in reality she is defenceless against him when his eyes are so solemn and he can't find his words.
"I was an asshole."
"Keep going."
He takes a hesitant step towards her. "I've been pissed off and I took it out on you."
"Because you know I'll take it?" she barks. She almost regrets saying it when Harvey looks at her like she just kicked a puppy.
"Because I know you'll always come back. There's a difference," he stresses.
And she wonders idly if that's a good thing. "You can't do that Harvey. You can't take me for granted and just assume that I'll always be here."
"I wasn't trying to be cruel."
"Really? Cause you seem like a natural at it."
Harvey sighs, "Okay, I deserve that."
"You deserve a hell of a lot –"
"Donna," he cuts her off, "I'm trying to apologise."
"And I'm not going to make it easy for you," she says, smirking when she sees the tiniest quirk of Harvey's lip. It's the closest thing to a smile she's witnessed in weeks. He's closer to her now and she must have missed the moment where he bridged the gap between them.
"Would it help if I let you slap me?"
"It's no fun if you let me," she informs him, as if he should already know.
His face turns serious again. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
The way he says it makes her think that he's not just apologising for yesterday. It startles her when Harvey lightly threads a hand through her hair because he's only ever done it once and everything that followed was nothing short of disastrous.
"Apology accepted," she chokes out, removing his hand from her hair. But he grips her fingers tightly in a gesture so intimate for the two of them.
Then it's over so fast that Donna thinks she may have imagined it. He sits at his desk and she goes to hers and they start the day, ready to slip back into the well-worn roles of Harvey and Donna; boss and assistant.