Warnings: Contains physical abuse/distress and gun violence.
AN: Thank you to Southsidesister (darvey_love) for stopping my fridgegate spiral. This is the penultimate chapter, so only one more to go!
The destination Harvey arrives at is a decrepit warehouse on the docks, the construction fenced off from the surrounding properties, and the isolation alone makes his palms sweat. Everything about the place screams trouble, but the likely chance Donna is inside keeps him searching for an entrance. Despite her whereabouts not being made clear during the call, the underlying threat didn't have to be vocalized.
If Donna could have gotten in touch, either with himself or Cahill, she would have by now.
Trepidation rolls through him as he finds a weak point in the corrugated iron. He knows he's walking into a trap, but his only other option is to leave, and that's not happening. As he squeezes through the tight gap, his suit jacket collects a smear of rust which he quickly dusts off on the other side. Ahead of him is a boarded up door, and his shoes crunch several steps of gravel, leading him to the ominously loose panel.
Granting himself entry, the interior of the building doesn't settle his unease. Stacks of boxes and clutter are littered around, hiding God knows what, and a stale stench makes him queasy as he shuffles through rows of tall racks. The lack of dust tells him the place is still in use—probably where the Vasquez brothers conduct their unofficial business—and his usually cocky arrogance starts to waver.
There isn't a deal he hasn't been able to negotiate yet, but he's high-rolling his emotions, gambling rashly with how he feels. If anyone else lied to him the way Donna did, he would jam his feelings in a box and weld it shut for good. But his worry far outweighs his distrust. She made a mistake, and although the deception stings, he honestly believes in her integrity. She's loyal, compassionate, protective to a fault, and she's fought like hell against every shitty hand thrown her way. Compared to everything she's had to face, his hurt seems miniscule, and he'd trade it in a second to prevent any harm from coming to her. The thought of her enduring any more suffering makes him want to drop to his knees—a weakness he can't afford.
Cold and detached is the key to any negotiation, but when the stacks recede, revealing a small open space, his effort to compartmentalize deteriorates. The sight of Donna bound to a chair and gagged with tape cracks his stern facade, her wide, terrified eyes bleeding guilt from his gaze. He allowed for the torment by being petty and leaving her alone, a mistake he won't forgive himself for anytime soon. But when a shadow emerges behind her, he swallows his self-loathing, directing his hatred at the asshole who deserves it more. "Let her go, right the hell now!" he barks, glowering when the man ignores him, and bends over Donna's shoulder with a cruel smirk.
"You see, honey. I was right. Why should I pay for a lawyer when you can just screw one?"
Her protest is a futile muffle, and Harvey can feel his pulse pounding through his clenched fists. The crass comment and resemblance to Esteban brings him to the conclusion he's facing Michel Vasquez, and his first instinct is to unleash and shatter the man's jaw. But he's certain there's a failsafe in place that would prevent him getting that far, and he growls at whatever hidden agenda is in play. "I'm not giving you a damn thing until you untie her."
"Harvey… Is it okay if I call you that?" Michel smirks, in no rush to relieve his fiancée from the predicament she's in. "As you can see, this is a time sensitive matter. So, you can either start acting like my lawyer, or we can find out if all those yoga classes my fiancée loves so much are paying off."
Confusion deepens Harvey's scowl. He doesn't understand the threat until he looks at Donna again and forces himself to see beyond the blinding terror in her eyes. His stomach lurches at the sickly realization that the rope isn't just acting as a restraint. Her bound ankles are inches off the ground, being pulled back by the coil around her throat. Every millimeter her heels sink down tightens the knot, constricting her breathing, and his gaze flashes with a white-hot rage as he lunges forward—stopped only by the silver flash of a revolver.
His heart beats wildly as he stares down the barrel, weighing up his choices. He doesn't know how much longer Donna can keep her legs raised, but if he moves, they're both dead. "Start goddamn fucking talking," he seethes, his only option being to make a deal, and quickly.
Not in the same rush, Michel casually leans the gun against Donna's shoulder, gleaming at the lawyer's compliance. A few days ago, he was going to kill the man out of sheer spite, but when he realized Donna was seducing one of NYC's most acclaimed closers, he decided her betrayal was serving a greater purpose. Biding his time, he waited until the perfect opportunity arose to protect his empire. "Whatever evidence you have, it vanishes. I want proof, here and now, that no one is coming after my brother or our business."
Harvey's mind spins, searching for an alternative to the impossible request. Even if he wanted to, he can't unravel an FBI investigation, and there's no way to create a convincing bluff under a ticking clock. In order to come up with something believable, he sticks closely to the truth, exuding false confidence with fiercely squared shoulders. "It's too late for that. The FBI already has an open investigation into Esteban that started before Donna's evidence was handed over. Your only way out is if Donna signs an affidavit saying you had no knowledge of any illegal—"
"Not good enough!" Michel screams, losing control of his temper. Under no circumstances is he going to railroad his brother to walk away with a pitiful compromise of freedom. Their empire needs to stay intact, and he's ready to unleash his demands when Donna's trembling shoulders calm his fury. Taking a deep breath, he reminds himself that she's a better tool at his disposal than anger. He saw the way Harvey looked at her when he walked in, the fear and shame only a man who's in love would display freely, and he relaxes, tenderly sweeping back Donna's hair. "Poor thing, you're exhausted. Aren't you, baby?"
He glances up, delighting in the flash of hatred that fills Harvey's gaze. "Keep her up all night, did you, Specter?" he taunts, teasing the rope to make her struggle.
She tries to gasp, fighting to stay conscious, and Harvey sees red—doesn't think twice as he barrels toward the chair. A burn tears through his shoulder, but the gunshot wound doesn't slow him down. His knees crash to the ground with the same determination as he rips the knots from around Donna's ankles, expecting the second shot that rings out. But instead of more pain, a loud crash whips his gaze around to where Mike is wrestling with Michel. The fight only distracts him for a second, his attention back to freeing Donna.
Untangling the rest of the rope, he pulls the tape from across her mouth, and she gasps, coughing violently as he collects her in his trembling arms. "You're okay. I've got you." He cradles her against his chest as heavy footsteps pound the cement behind him. He turns to see Michel fleeing, and he snaps, warning Mike not to follow. "What the hell took you so goddamn long?!"
Mike doubles over with a wheeze. "You're welcome."
Harvey's thoughts collide in a muddle as he tries to check Donna for injuries, but finds his limbs uncooperative. They're heavy and feel fuzzy—the room starting to spin as he dimly recalls—right—he was shot.
He considers it a small price to pay, and he lets the fact Donna is safe wash over him, before his mind slips into darkness.
…
Donna thanks the woman at the nurses' station, grateful to learn Harvey's awake. When the doctor informed Mike that Harvey wouldn't be needing surgery, she reluctantly let herself be seen to, and as anticipated, she was discharged with nothing more than some bad bruising.
Quickly signing and handing over her paperwork, she sighs flatly, not daring to assume the worst is over. Harvey was shot, and even though he's going to be okay, Michel is in the wind, and without her testimony, the FBI is no closer to apprehending Vasquez. Fortunately, the arrest is within her power to change. There are officers already waiting to take her into custody, and she's ready to go with them, wincing when Mike springs up with two coffees bundled in his hands. She was hoping to slip out quietly, but the temptation to ask about Harvey steals any weak excuses. "How is he?
"Cranky. Hence the caffeine. " Mike waves one of the blue paper cups, smiling softly. He's not sure Harvey's even allowed the beverage, but he wasn't going to antagonize the situation by arguing. Plus, Harvey tasked him with checking on Donna, and he suspects the latter will lift the man's mood significantly. "Here." He offers her a coffee. "How are you holding up?"
She declines the drink, answering him with a deflated shrug. Getting kidnapped by her ex-fiancé, watching Harvey throw himself under a bus to rescue her, and putting Mike in danger, wasn't how she planned to spend the day. After her lie nearly cost them all, she doesn't expect forgiveness or even kindness. But there's no judgment in Mike's gaze, only concern, and she swallows her guilt so she can show her honest gratitude. "Thank you, Mike. For everything."
She ducks her head, fidgeting nervously, and the foreboding feeling she's saying goodbye makes him tense. He called Sean himself, and the prosecutor was adamant about sending protective detail to the hospital for Harvey's safety, along with officers to take Donna into custody. They're working with a short time-frame, but not so small that she has to go right away and, suspecting she knows that, he tries coaxing her into a conversation. "Actually, I should be the one thanking you."
He's baiting her, and she shouldn't fall for the tactic. It's better for everyone not to prolong the inevitable, but after everything he's done for her, the least she owes him is an extra minute. "Why is that?"
He takes a sip of the coffee she refused, trying to keep things light and buoyant. If he's learned anything from befriending Harvey, it's that a caged tiger acts out of fear, rarely aggression, and he tries to placate her. "For the past few weeks, Harvey's been a lot less of a hardass. You're good for him, Donna."
A flash of Harvey's anger rattles her broken confidence.
Is that why you ran to him? To set a fucking date for the wedding?"
Tears spring to her gaze, but she refuses to let them fall. Maybe if she hadn't betrayed his trust, Mike would be right, but in the end, all she did was hurt him. She's no better than all the other people he feels let down by. "I wish that were true."
The words are spoken softly, but they're propelled by a stubbornness Mike knows all too well. Before he intercepted Harvey's frantic run to the elevators to go after Donna, Harvey blocked him with the same wall. The man was afraid to accept that mistakes can be undone if love runs deeper than contempt. And in the time Harvey's known Donna, he went from not giving a shit about people's problems to changing his outlook, and even being humbled by Louis.
If he wasn't convinced Donna is just as much in love with Harvey—willing to protect him at all costs, even to her own detriment—he would keep playing the soft card. But it's time he let the tiger out of its cage. "Okay. Hey… The man just risked his life for you, but I'm sure you can send him a thank you card in the mail. Maybe fifty bucks to cover rent."
The sarcasm stings, and her lashes gather the moisture she's been fighting, but she musters enough strength to blink away her regret. She can handle Harvey hating her. She can't bear the thought of looking into his eyes and seeing resentment, walking away from last words which will haunt her. Facing Vasquez, and sparing Harvey more pain, is the only path to redemption she can see. "I care about him, Mike. But after everything I put him through, and with the trial coming up, cutting ties is for the best."
If his hands weren't full, he'd be tempted to find the nearest wall and bang his head against it. But instead, he glances over his shoulder at the two agents waiting for her. "Maybe you're right," he sighs. God knows the situation is complicated enough. Harvey's case load is going to suffer while he's recovering, and Jessica was furious over the phone. Donna leaving would simplify everything. "I get it. Walking away is the easy option. And maybe in a few weeks or months, you'll both move on." He shrugs, not denying the possibility. Harvey managed without her before, but if she up and vanishes, he'll be devastated, and even though the man will probably kill him for speaking his mind, Mike doesn't hold back. "But you know what he won't get over? If you make this decision for him and break his trust all over again. He's in love with you, Donna, and if you really do care about him, you won't put him through that."
A ball of nerves wedge in her throat. Mike is right. Harvey took on her case, offered his home to her, and he risked his life to protect her. If he can't forgive her mistakes, he at least deserves closure, and shakily nods her head. "Okay."
Relief thunders through Mike as he hands her a coffee. "Here. He's in room 378c." He motions at the officers behind him. "I'll keep the vultures at bay."
She takes a deep breath, her heart beating faster as her feet slowly carry her to the big blue double doors. On the other side, at the end of a long twisting corridor, she finds Harvey's room, and knocks softly on the open door.
He's sitting up on the bed, trying to button up his bloodied shirt with a painful grimace. "What are you doing?"
He abandons the task, relieved he no longer has to go track her down. He wanted to see for himself that she's okay, although now she's here, he's not sure she is. Her face is white as a sheet, and his expression hardens at the deep mottled bruising around her neck.
His pupils darken, aggravating the silence, and she quickly averts her gaze, placing the coffee down on the trolly next to her. "I can't stay. Sean is expecting me. I… I just wanted to thank you before I go," she rambles, fidgeting with her hands. "So, thank you, Harvey."
She turns to leave and his frown deepens. "Donna, wait..."
Guilt stretches his awkward pause. He's never been good with apologies, and he doesn't really know where to begin. But while he was waiting for Mike to return, his mind was going back over the last twenty-four hours, and a hunch drove his need to check and make sure she's okay, so he starts with his niggling intuition. "The call I took came through the firm's reception, not my cellphone. Why?"
Her eyes flutter shut, not sure why the detail is important. She refused to give up the private number, but Michel still got through, and Harvey got shot, all because she kept him in the dark about her involvement with Michel. "It doesn't matter."
Harvey shakes his head. If she was willing to sacrifice her own life to save his, then it matters."He threatened you, didn't he?"
She shrugs limply. "He was going to kill me either way." Even though she couldn't keep Harvey safe, a few extra bruises were a small price to pay just to spite her ex-fiancé.
His stomach churns at the harsh fact. Had she been honest with him sooner, he could have protected her. Or maybe he would have kept his distance—he wouldn't have fallen in love with her. But he did. And the thought of her walking out of this hospital without him, is all the motivation he needs to find his voice. "Donna, look at me."
She refuses, afraid to face him, but she can't bring herself to leave, and her feet unwillingly betray her. She angles herself towards him, and after what feels like an eternity, she lets her gaze wash over his blood-stained shirt. "I almost got you killed."
"I don't care." The rebuttal isn't profound, but it's the truth. He knew exactly what he was doing when he defied Michel, and he'd do it again, because losing her isn't an option.
His expression softens and a lump nestles in her throat. Facing his anger would have broken her, but his eyes silently begging her to stay are almost just as bad. If his stubbornness doesn't get him killed, then his ego just might. "Michel isn't going to give up, Harvey. You're in danger now because of me."
"I don't care." He repeats the statement again, not sure how much clearer he can be. He thought his biggest problem would be struggling to forgive her. But he was able to the second he was forced to picture his life without her. So long as there are no other skeletons hiding in her closet, he's ready to move forward. "Just tell me, aside from there being two homicidal megalomaniacs out to kill us, is there anything you kept from me?"
She doesn't understand how he can be making jokes, and not sure what to say in return, she shakes her head.
"Good." He tilts his gaze at her. "Now, would you come over here?" She stays stubbornly frozen in place, and he rolls his eyes. "Could you at least pass me the coffee?"
Worried he'll try to get up, she reluctantly forces herself to carry the cup into his orbit, her hesitation growing when he slips his fingers into her empty hand. With a small tug, she finds herself nestled between his thighs, and she can't deny the spark that skips, humming through her body. Being close to him instantly melts her fears, and, realizing the coffee was just a ploy, she places it down on the bedside table, lightly stroking her palm across his hair. "Are you okay?"
"I am, now." He smiles gently. His shoulder will heal, and until then, all he needs is Donna safe in his arms. "You didn't put me in danger."
She looks uneasy, and lets go of her hand, crawling his fingers up to her waist so he can quiet her doubts. "I chose to help you, and I'm going to keep choosing to. You can't change my mind about that."
"I wish I could," she mumbles, grazing her touch over the dried blood on his collar. She doesn't want to see him get hurt again. And even though now it's harder to leave him, testifying is the best way to protect him.
He presses her spine, and she ignores her own silent protest as she leans down to kiss him. The salty taste of her tears on his lips are bittersweet. His forgiveness is more than she deserves, and she pulls back, smiling sadly. "I have to go, Harvey."
He catches her hand again, motioning at the sling tossed carelessly on the bed. "Help me with this thing."
She frowns, confused by his casual expression, until it dawns on her he's planning to leave with her. "But—"
"Donna, we just covered this." He smirks, reminding her there's not a chance in hell he's changing his mind. "Mike and I have to give our statements. And if you think I'm letting you go anywhere alone after this morning, you're wrong."
"You were shot." She picks up the velcro sleeve, keeping it out of his reach. "You need to rest."
"And I will, after." He stretches with a grimace, stealing the sling back. "Believe me, I'm going to be cashing in on plenty of sponge baths."
She shakes her head at the flippant remark but, realizing there's no point arguing, she reluctantly helps him slip into the straps with a sigh. "Are you this stubborn with all your clients?"
"Only one." He grins through his pain, letting her do up the rest of his buttons."Except, she's not my client anymore."
Her cheeks warm as she works his shirt closed. He shouldn't be going anywhere, but the relief that he'll be with her, even just for a few more hours, cocoons in her chest. "Who is she?"
He takes hold of her knuckles, his gaze growing serious. "Someone I care about. A lot. We'll get through this, Donna. I promise."
She nods, feeling confident now that the weight of secrecy is no longer separating them.
Whatever they have to face next, they will, together.