Donna feels woozy under the sudden stream of hot sun, her skin trickling with sweat as Harvey palms the small of her back, guiding her away from the bank's automatic doors. Without her ID, she had to jump through hoops to get them access to the safety-deposit box. But now Harvey has the evidence stashed in his briefcase, she doesn't feel the relief she expected as a bustle of people crowd around them.
Vasquez could have eyes anywhere, and she's fearful of Harvey's safety as much as her own. He made good on his promise to put her mother up in a hotel, handed his credit card details over without question. But now they're out in public, he's an open target, something she didn't think about when she insisted her involvement was necessary. He has a life, a job, friends, and she's standing like a beacon, her bruises visible and his sweats on her small frame drawing attention from the sea of strangers. Where they go from here hasn't actually been discussed. Over breakfast they talked more about Vasquez and his weak points, but not a game plan, and she shies away from Harvey's hand, curling her arms around her waist. "I should go."
He reads the flash of panic in her gaze, but before she can run, he slips his fingers into the crook of her elbow. She startles at the contact, and he feels the same jolt of adrenaline rush through him, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he steers her into a nook that offers them some protection from the lunchtime crowd. "Go where?" he asks, his hand falling down as he tries to understand why she's suddenly hell-bent on vanishing.
"Philly." She lands on the destination without a plan, but Philadelphia is where Harvey is putting her mother up in a hotel, and the location seems like the most logical choice. "I need to make sure my mom's okay."
He believes she's concerned about her mother's welfare, but he scrutinizes her downward gaze and the way she's clutching herself. Something has her spooked, and he glances around, searching for a clue, but he can't find anything out of the ordinary. Afraid of driving her away with questions, he tries to reason with logic, instead. "Donna, I know you're worried, but right now, Vasquez has his focus on you, not Clara. The best way to protect her is by keeping your distance."
Tears of frustration sting her gaze, because she's trying to protect Harvey the same way. They can't afford to be seen together, and she shrugs, only able to think of one other option. "I'll find a hotel, then. Here in the city."
He frowns, still confused by her rush to part ways. While he's not opposed to finding her a place nearby, he was under the assumption they'd figure out the details after going through all the evidence together. But the more he thinks about the situation, the less he likes the idea of her staying somewhere alone. The briefcase in his hand is the only leverage she has against Vasquez. If the man were to track her down, she'd be defenseless without it, and he feels queasy at the mere thought of what Vasquez would do to her. So much so, that the unsettling notion prompts him to find another solution. "Stay with me. Just until you're back on your feet," he adds, hoping the suggestion doesn't sound impulsive or unprofessional, when the truth is it's both. But without analyzing his personal feelings, he can justify that her safety is intrinsic to the case. As his key witness, he needs her out of harm's way. If she's staying at his place, he'll be better able to focus without worrying about her whereabouts.
She takes a wobbly step back, feeling uncomfortable under his probing gaze. For all his scrutiny, he doesn't realize she's trying to keep her distance for his sake. Rather, he seems to want to counter every move she makes by jumping under a goddamn bus. "I can't stay with you, Harvey."
He can see her pulling away, literally and figuratively, which is how he knows she's responding out of fear. So far, he's found arguing her stubbornness is a waste of time, but pushing when she's afraid has yielded results, and he blows air into the side of his cheek, mulling over how to make her confront her fears. "Fine." He takes a direct approach. "Then tell me how you're going to book into a hotel with no money or ID? Vasquez left you helpless to draw you out, Donna. How long do you think it'll be before he finds you?"
The comment is like a slap to the face. Obviously, she appreciates everything Harvey has done, but she's not some damsel in distress waiting to be saved. And if Harvey is trying to manipulate her by pointing out the absence of money, then he has the completely wrong idea about the kind of woman she is. "I am not helpless. And if you really think that, then you're just as bad as Vasquez is."
He's taken aback by the venomous retort. Obviously, he struck a nerve, and while that may have been his intention, he didn't intend to imply that she's weak in any way. From what he's seen so far, she has a strength about her that rivals his counterparts slogging it out in a boxing ring. But her erratic flight or fight response is indicative of being victimized, and while he doesn't consider her helpless, he does question if he's the one at fault for being insensitive. It's not a thought he's often introspective about, but when her face flushes hotly at his silence, her body twisting away in a hurry, he's fuelled by guilt when she only makes it a step before catching her weight against the wall of the nook.
He almost drops the briefcase in his hand, but he clings to it as he rushes to steady her, his other palm clutching the waistband of the sweats slung low over her hips. "I've got you." The assurance hums in his throat as she takes several deep breaths. There's a very real chance that when she's collected herself, she'll respond by slapping him away, and in an effort to avoid that scenario, he fumbles over an apology. "I didn't mean… Look, I need you."
She clamps her eyes shut and lets him slowly guide her around. The last thing she was expecting from him was any kind of acknowledgment to her outburst, let alone a declaration. But as much as her mind wants to stop his advance, her heart craves his comforting touch, and she forces herself to look at him. "Need?"
He's hooked on the breathless question, the way she undresses his intentions with simple, yet honest curiosity. He uttered the word in the heat of the moment, but he doesn't retract it. "You're not helpless, Donna. Far from it. Which is why I need your help to build a case against Vasquez. There's room at my condo. At least come back and think about it."
She nods at the compromise. Though before he moves, her fingers brush lightly over the hand still clutched at her waist. "What about you?"
The touch sparks a moment of clarity that pinches his chest. He thought she was running scared, but her gaze is wide with worry, and he gapes, not sure he's ever been in a position where someone's openly put his well being first, least of all questioned him over it. His career always deflects from his personal life. And yet, he just invited her into his home and blurred the lines first. "I know what I'm signing myself up for, Donna." He swallows hard, wondering if he actually does know what he's getting himself into. Because the impulse to calm her fear with physical reassurance is stronger than the alarm bells warning him to take a step back.
The shrill ring of his phone voids the urge, and his hand snaps from her waist to his inner pocket, the lit up display making him curse under his breath.
"My boss," he explains, swiping to answer. "Jessica—"
Donna stays wedged in the nook, watching him pace onto the street, and she exhales a fast, shaky breath that has nothing to do with exhaustion. Her skin is still tingling from his touch. And going with him seems like the furthest thing from safe she can do. But when he returns from taking the call, he keeps a respectful distance, and she can see the lawyer in him—calm and poised—as he orders them an Uber.
"I'll drop you off at my condo, then I need to go into the office."
Truthfully, he's surprised Mike managed to cover for this long. He knew Jessica was going to be pissed, and her rant about getting his ass into the firm to explain himself wasn't unwarranted.
He just hopes she comes round to appreciating his new found interest in pro-bono cases.
…
Jessica stands opposite Mike and Harvey, for the first time in her professional career having no idea how to berate their behavior. Not only did Harvey show up one hour after she called him, his ego is cashing cheques the firm can't handle—the story he spun about going after Esteban Vasquez is beyond absurd. Coupled with the fact he admitted this Paulsen woman is now staying with him, the entire debacle would lead her to believe she's the victim of a practical joke, if it weren't for Mike sweating up a storm on her couch.
The young associate is the only identifier that Harvey is being completely serious, and she snaps at the kid, ordering him out of the room. "Leave."
"Me?" Mike glances from Jessica to Harvey, flinching when they both glare daggers at him. "Right. Of course, me." He scrambles up, glad to finally be out of the firing line.
The door closes with Mike's hurried exit, and Jessica leans back against her desk, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her gaze. "Talk."
Harvey rolls his eyes, letting his shoulders go slack under the weight of her glare. She knows the situation with Vasquez. He explained Donna's company's involvement in depth. So, he can only assume she wants a reason to explain his motives. And judging by the way she flinches every time he brings up the redhead's name, he's guessing she's already drawn her own inaccurate conclusion. "It's not what you think."
"It had better goddamn not be," she threatens. Half of her was expecting he'd turn up and declare the mess an error of judgment, claiming he was riding high. In fact, she would have preferred him to blame the incident on illicit drugs. That she could understand. "Because I know you wouldn't do something this stupid just for a pretty face," she continues, her voice laden with warning.
"Not unless it's my own," he smirks, wincing when the joke falls flat. "Look, I didn't have a choice, okay? What was I supposed to do, just leave her on the street?"
She turns her head with a sharp shake. "You should have come to me the moment she mentioned Esteban by name. Now I'm making the choice for you. Get this woman out of your system and leave the case the hell alone."
She kicks off the desk, moving around it, and he trails the movement with an offended scowl.
"Don't," she warns. "We both know which body part you're thinking with, and it isn't your goddamn brain."
She slides into her chair, and he approaches the furniture separating them with a frustrated sigh. He probably can't blame her for the accusation. He isn't exactly the poster-child for charity, but sleeping with Donna is the last thing on his mind, which Jessica would see if she were looking at the bigger picture. "This is about taking a case that will blow Hardman, and anyone else trying to undermine you out of the water. And when I win, you'll be thanking me."
She should reprimand him for the insubordination, but she holds back the lashing, leaning forward in her chair to inspect his determination. She doesn't believe for a second he's acting in her best interests, but it is plausible he's looking out for his own. Which would make more sense than him turning around and suddenly deciding to upheave his life for a woman he barely knows. "You think taking on this case will get your name up on the wall."
His sharp nod confirms her suspicion. And he's right. If he took down Esteban Vasquez, the win would be grounds for a promotion. And as a by-product, she would be in a better position with the board. But Donna Paulsen is still a glaringly obvious complication. "Then, tell me… What happens to this woman when you get bored playing the hero? When she starts to rely on you, what then?"
He winces, his aversion to commitment thundering through his body. But the sensation is fleeting and fades quickly. He's already seen that Donna isn't like most other people. She's not clingy or self-serving, and she would deny being in need of rescuing. But she's not a game to him, either. She's different, and he implores Jessica to find that out for herself. "Come around tomorrow morning. If you still have doubts after meeting her, I'll drop the case."
She hooks up an eyebrow. "Just like that?" He nods, and she taps her fingers against the table, considering the proposal. If nothing else, she would like to settle her curiously, find out how the mysterious woman enticed Harvey to show compassion. "Tomorrow," she agrees, securing the terms. "The pup stays here, and I'm bringing Zane."
He frowns, unsure why she's benching his associate. "Why not Mike?"
She tugs her laptop forward, opening the lid. "Because, I don't give a shit if Mike can recite Esteban's preschool report card. I want someone there who understands the kind of man Vasquez is." And because she'd like to gauge Donna Paulsen's reaction to women wearing capes, not only men.
"Fair enough," he agrees, deciding the reason may even work in his favor. If there's anyone out there who wears their heart on their sleeve more than Mike Ross, it's Rachel Zane.
…
Donna leans against the kitchen counter in Harvey's condo, her stomach growling as she debates whether to use his credit card to order dinner. His bare cupboards aren't surprising to her, as is the fact it's almost 10pm and he isn't home yet. The late working hours are probably standard, and she's still debating whether to be courteous and wait when the front door rattles open, then closes with a shuffle of heavy steps.
Harvey makes his way around the corner, his tie askew, and a slight hint of surprise registering in his expression. Either his mind was elsewhere or he simply forgot she'd be here, and she fumbles awkwardly, stating the obvious. "You're home."
"And you're still here." He greets her with a light smirk. He was a little worried she might skip out on him, but he's surprised to find her still up, and he quickly glances around, noting nothing out of the ordinary. "Did you find everything okay?"
She nods, watching him slip out of his jacket. Aside from using the phone and rummaging through the kitchen, she didn't want to go prying through his things. "I used the landline to call work. I told them I was taking a few days of sick leave."
"Good." They talked about her ringing in with a cover story. It should buy them some time while she's healing, but he studies her heavy lean against the counter—the observation spilling out his concern. "You shouldn't be up, you should be resting."
A faint blush prickles along the back of her neck. "I was getting hungry. I didn't know if I should wait or…"
He takes in her sheepish expression and swings his gaze over to where he left his credit card, finding it still in the same spot. He slides it across, berating her with a sigh. "You're stubborn, you know that?"
"It might have been mentioned one or twice." She smiles softly. "But since you're here now, I wouldn't say no to pizza. Pepperoni with yellow tomatoes."
He wrinkles his nose at the odd combination, but she must be starving, so he doesn't voice his protest. Honestly, he's relieved for the decisiveness, and he pulls out his phone with a chuckle. "Anything else?"
"Garlic bread, and diet soda," she adds, fanning her hand over her grumbling stomach. He places the order, and she gingerly pushes herself off the countertop, trying not to wince as Harvey hangs up and puts the phone down.
"Let me guess, you didn't find the painkillers, either?" He regrets not having the foresight to leave them out, but at the shake of her head, he realizes they have a bigger problem. She obviously didn't use his card to order any of her own belongings, and as much as he can accept why she's hesitant to impose, she would be making his life a lot easier if she would. "Go sit down, I'll get them. Then we should talk."
She bites the inside of her cheek, nervous as she moves to the couch.
Finding a position to sit comfortably in is impossible, but she does her best, eyeing Harvey when he returns with a glass of water and the box of painkillers. She knows what he's going to say and preempts the conversation as he drops down opposite her. "I'm not trying to be difficult. This is your home. I didn't want you to think I was snooping around."
"I get that, Donna." He even appreciates that she isn't taking advantage of his hospitality. For all he knew, he could have come back to find all his stuff gone or his credit card charged to the max. But he trusted her to do the right thing, and she needs to realize that as far as he's concerned, loyalty goes both ways. For this to work, she has to at least try and trust him, too. "Look, I wouldn't have invited you to stay here if I were hiding bodies under the bed. This place is yours for as long as you need it. I mean that." He sinks forward, nodding his head at the counter. "And anything you need to buy isn't charity. Pay me back when you can, okay?"
"I know." She pulls in a deep breath, acknowledging his point. Even though it's clear Harvey has money, he doesn't seem to wield it in the same way she's used to men flashing it around, and she finds herself starting to relax.
"So, are we good?" he asks, running his gaze over the outfit he loaned her this morning. "Because eventually I would like my clothes back."
She chuckles at the comment, her body reacting as the muscle movement prompts a painful twinge in her ribs. "No jokes, please."
Assuming they're okay, he shifts his focus to where her hand collects around her side. The doctor warned him she needed to rest, and he's mindful of her earlier spell in the street this morning. Even though the trip wasn't strenuous, he's worried all the moving about may have caused more damage, and he hesitantly gnaws the inside of his cheek. He could call the doctor again, but the man explained during the examination what to feel for, and he carefully clears his throat. "You mind if I take a look?"
"Don't tell me... You're a doctor as well as a detective and a lawyer." She flashes him a smirk, surprised when he takes his own initiative and stands up.
"I know a thing or two about bruising," he covers. "My younger brother was always getting himself into trouble as a kid."
As he motions for her to lay down, a smile ghosts his lips, but it doesn't stay long, and she uses the observation as a distraction. "Was?" she queries, lifting her legs and sliding onto her back with a grimace.
He stiffens, his estrangement to his family is something he doesn't like opening up about. A few months ago, even Mike didn't know about Marcus. But seeing Donna in pain compels him to try to take her mind off the discomfort. "We're not close anymore."
He kneels down, and she can sense the topic isn't one he feels comfortable discussing, which she can understand. Her sister hasn't been to see their father once in the hospital. But in hindsight, it's probably a good thing the woman keeps herself at a distance, at least with everything going on at the moment. "I'm sorry." She offers the apology sincerely, catching his gaze, and her pulse skips at the haunted look he quickly conceals. But it's not just his eyes she has to worry about. His hands are an equal threat, and her lips toy with a sheepish smile. "Just remember, this isn't a game of Operation."
The quip renders him back to reality, one where he's now faced with having to lift her t-shirt, and he hides his sudden nervousness with cocky reassurance. "I'll be gentle, I promise." He clasps the hem of fabric, rolling it up slowly, and it strikes him he's never taken genuine care undressing a woman before. There's always been a goal, the action a prelude to sex, and he's in tune to the way her body responds, her breasts puckering as his thumbs skim the edge of her bra. But the twitch in his groin is dowsed by the deep discolouration marring her skin. An unearthly rage simmers inside him, and he firm's his jaw as his light touch makes her whimper—not in a way he's used to.
She squirms, flustering at how exposed she feels. Not from his hands, but from the way his eyes darken as they roam her body.
Any apology creeps up as he presses down, checking for anomalies, but he swallows it. He's never been good with the words anyway, and while he hates causing her pain, he chooses to channel the regret into his anger toward Vasquez. But his warring feelings aside, he is relieved to find her injuries don't appear to be any worse than last night, only the bruising. Withdrawing his hand from her skin, he slides the t-shirt back down over the fast rise and fall of her chest. "I don't think you did any more damage. But for the next couple of days, you need to rest. No arguments."
She doesn't argue, catching her breath as he pulls himself up off the ground. Fortunately, her fluster is disguised by genuine discomfort, and even though her side throbs from his exploration, she felt safe under his touch; a feeling she tries to dissociate from as she curls into a sitting position again. The pills he pops for her to take aren't going to chase away her confliction or the pain, and her gaze lands on the trolley of alcohol rolled by his window. "Something stronger might help."
He follows across to where she's looking, and a low warning hums in his throat. But he's not her keeper, and he could use a drink himself. "Whiskey okay?"
She nods, and when he returns, she snakes her fingers around the glass, taking a sip and washing down two painkillers.
He sits opposite her again, rolling up his sleeves, and watching with interest as her eyes fall closed and her lips paint a pleasant smile.
"Johnnie Walker Blue." She savors a second taste, washing the familiar notes across her palette.
Her eyes flutter open, and he nods, impressed. "You know your whiskey."
She swirls the amber liquid, her smile fading. "A little. This is my dad's favorite."
He understands the shadow that taunts her expression. His father passed away a few years ago. But he still commemorates the anniversary with a shot of Macallan 18 at the man's gravesite. And while he doesn't know much about Jim Paulsen, the information Mike was able to dig up paints a picture of a well respected family man.
"For what it's worth, I think he'd be proud of you."
She scoffs, not sure he would. If he knew the mess she'd landed herself in, he'd be devastated. And if it wasn't for Harvey's intervention, she wouldn't even stand a chance of getting her father justice. "All I did was screw everything up. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time."
He takes a drink, swallowing his frustration at the way she's so quick to blame herself. Going after Vazquez took balls, and she found the evidence to make a case. Getting caught obviously wasn't part of her plan, but all her espionage aside, she also achieved something few seldom have—she made him want to do the right thing before there was even a glimpse of a reward. "I lied. You're the first client I've ever brought back here. Not even my associate has been inside."
The confession surprises her. It isn't strange that he keeps his personal life private, but to hear him admit that she's different sends a tingle of heat along her neck. And maybe it's the whiskey making her brave—or stupid—but she revisits her curiosity. "Why did you bring me back here?"
He hangs over his glass, mulling over the answer he couldn't give Mike or Jessica, but it comes more readily as he faces her gentle gaze. "Because I believed you." When she told him her life was in danger, his heart listened. It's really no more complex, and he smirks at her. "I also may have been a little high on weed."
She snorts into her glass, the irony that she's in trouble because of drugs not lost on her. But smoking a joint is hardly the crime of the century. A puff to ease her pain would actually be favorable, but the whiskey and meds are doing a decent job of dissolving her discomfort, and she leans back, stifling a yawn.
He relaxes with her, indulging the silence when his watch suddenly beeps.
He covers it sheepishly, and she raises an eyebrow. He doesn't strike her as the type to embarrass easily, and she prods him with a curious look.
"It's nothing." He clears his throat, taking another sip of whiskey, and mumbling under his breath. "Just a TV show I catch reruns of sometimes."
The lie is blatant. He has the time programmed into his watch, so he obviously stays up for it, and now her interest is even more piqued. "You can tell me. I won't judge, I promise."
Her eyes glimmer with amusement, and he gets the feeling she's setting him up. But the pizza will be here any minute, and she should eat before going to bed. It wouldn't hurt to sit down in front of the tv for a few minutes. "Alright. It's not something I advertise, but I watch Survivor."
Her grin widens as a knock at the door rings through the apartment. "You shouldn't admit that."
"Hey. It's an underrated show, but I like it." He admonishes her teasing as he pushes himself up to get their food.
When he returns with a box, plates and napkins, standing expectantly, she smiles at his eagerness. It's not a side of him she was expecting to see, but after everything he's doing for her, it would be rude to turn him down.
He watches her gingerly climb off the couch, bothered that he doesn't have a free hand in case she needs help, but she moves a little more easily than she did before, and he follows behind her to his entertainment room.
She curls up in the corner of the white four seater, and he takes the other end, flicking on the TV, and he dishes up two plates, surprised to find he doesn't actually mind having the company.
It's an odd feeling, considering he can't remember the last time the room was utilized by more than one person, but he sinks back, finding himself at ease having her nearby.
Had she decided to go to a hotel, he's not sure he would have been able to unwind so quickly, but for now, she's here, and when Jessica makes her decision in the morning, they can decide, together, what happens next.
AN: Thank you to Southsidesister (darvey_love) for being an amazing beta! And a huge thank you to all the people leaving reviews :) xxxx