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Down in the Hole
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He thrusts and thrusts, pounding her heat with everything he has.
With each slap, he wills his focus on the sensation of flesh meeting flesh, but like pesky cockroaches, those tormenting thoughts keep crawling to the forefront of his mind. No matter how hard he tries to be the red-blooded male who can satisfy his woman whenever she needs him to, he feels himself lose the battle, and with it, his arousal deflates, and he crawls off her body in defeat.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, hiding his shame in his palms as he perches himself on the edge of the bed as the night's cool air rushes over his bare skin. "I'm just…" Giving in to his sorrow makes his eyes sting and his throat swell, and he swallows.
"It's okay." They laid his mother to rest only days ago. She was surprised he seemed to be in the mood at all, and she pushes the sheets aside gently.
He feels her breasts press into his back, and then she plants a kiss on his shoulder, and the feel of her body grazing his own, her skin brushing his, is all the strength he needs to maintain a semblance of composure. He's so tired of leaning on her, afraid she might break from the mountain of misery he keeps unloading. Although she'll never complain. And doesn't that make him the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.
"What's going on?" she asks, and he wishes he could shrug off the world and plaster on a smile. But the world feels like a giant elephant sitting on his chest, and he needs to offload the burdens that cage him tonight.
"It's just so much. I mean, Faye... And now I'm going up against Mike, and I'm afraid of what it'll do to our friendship. It's already hard enough with the distance between us." He pauses, the next admission blocking his airways. "I don't wanna lose him, too."
She slides beside him then, one hand on his back, the other on his knee, shielding him from the grievous world with her grace. "You won't," she whispers. "He's family, too."
He knows her comment is meant to reassure him, but the term family and what it entails has been muddied in light of recent events. Because there's no guarantee family will be around forever. He's an orphan now, just when he thought he had it all. "You were supposed to meet her," he blurts. The mere thought of his mother causes his vision to blur. He was convinced he had no more tears left after days and days of crying. And yet, here, in the dead of night, he realizes he was a fool to think he'd dipped below the surface of his grief.
"I did meet her. We spoke on the phone several times."
"I know. But I wanted her to show..." His throat closes up fully, and he's done being sad; of being hit with regrets he never imagined existed. It's all just so goddamn unfair. They were going to have birthdays and Christmases together; long picnics in the park with Marcus' kids, maybe eventually with a new baby to lighten up Lily's face whenever they visited. He hadn't realized he'd been looking forward to it all, and he chokes out, "She never got to see me happy." And, goddammit, his lashes dampen, and he curses the inevitable tears that follow.
If her heart could break further, it would. "Oh, Harvey." She rests her cheek against his shoulder, squeezing his hand while praying to the gods above for the ability to carry this pain for him. But she's met with deafening silence from the heavens, and mutters, "She knew."
He shakes his head, not to disagree with her but to express his utter hatred for the cursed path of destiny he finds himself on—although he's aware Donna might not know the difference. Perhaps extended happiness is simply not in the cards for him. Maybe that's his punishment for having been such a lousy son.
The notion breaks him anew, and his body shudders in tandem with the sobs.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he is grateful he can face the agony, to feel it down in his marrow instead of being utterly terrified of the pain and seeking refuge in booze and women—like he'd done when his dad had passed away. The realization doesn't keep his stomach from knotting but the knot is loose, ephemeral. Because the monumental difference is Donna being by his side now, and he becomes aware of her angelic touch as her fingertips trail over his back.
"Come on, you're getting cold," she coos.
Without a word, he follows her lead, and when she holds the covers up for him to join, he curls himself against her stomach where he cries until the tears run out and the edges of his despair ruffle with a pale whisper of hope that things will get better, eventually.
"I don't know how I would have gone through all this without you."
"I love you, Harvey." She threads her fingers through his hair, feeling how his palm digs into her waist. "I'll always be here, so you never have to think about that again."
"I'm sorry I'm such a mess," he finally says.
"Look at me," she whispers. When his weary eyes glance up, she cradles his face and states, "For better or worse."
He is silent for a beat, blinking in confusion. Had he told her about the letter and his grandmother's ring? Did she somehow work her Donna-magic and figure it out? Or is she just confirming that, no matter what his future holds, she will be in it?
His heart expands with delight at the shift in tone, and he says, "Did we get married already? Was I there?" A faint smile colors his face as he clambers up her body until their faces are inches apart.
"We might as well have."
Even in the darkness, the sincerity in her eyes—having her in his bed at all—submerges him in a pool of love he never thought he'd be blessed with. And he knows then that love conquers all. He will make it out of this alive, scarred, sure, but with Donna by his side, he can handle anything.
She wipes at his tears until they are nothing but moist echoes of what used to be.
"Don't ever apologize for feeling sad, Harvey. I'm here for you. Always."
Once more, he is overwhelmed with the desire to cry—this time because he wants to drop to his knees and thank the universe or whatever higher power deemed him worthy of her devotion. As an alternative, he lowers his face and kisses her gently. "I love you, Donna."
She welcomes the brush of their lips, lets him take the lead in case he wishes to rekindle the passion from before. But instead of blanketing her body with his own, he eases his head onto her shoulder as a forlorn sigh floats over her skin.
"Try to get some sleep, okay," she says, kissing the top of his head. He hugs her even tighter then, but sleep escapes them both.
When the first rays of sunlight trickle into the room, she finds the bed empty beside her. She eventually spots his already clothed form on the sofa whereupon hearing her footsteps, he quickly tucks away the letter he's been reading repeatedly.
She wonders about its contents but knows they are his to disclose. And she believes him when he says he will, in due time.
A/N: Somehow, sad Harvey is what my mind conjures first thing in the morning. So this is the result. Please let me know what you think :)
