8. Choices

Harvey wipes the sweat beading his brow, leaning to flush the last of the shitty Thai his stomach viciously repelled, not sure if he's on the verge of panicking or is still trapped in the nightmare he was having, but his breath feels tight in his throat and he flinches when a palm flattens against his back

"Just breathe."

Paula's voice washes over him, and he can hear the exhaustion pulsing through her worry. She's only been in NYC a few hours, had turned up shortly after he'd gotten home—his evening swallowed up as he'd listened to Donna pour over what's been going on at her company.

He'd processed everything she'd told him, coming up with a plan of attack, and he'd thought stepping into his apartment would force the anxiety out of his mind until he could take action in the morning.

Paula's easy tone had filled him in on her trip to Boston, but he'd kept slipping back into a void flooded with anxiety. The bruising on Donna's wrist had painted too many vivid scenarios, the images playing out the second he'd closed his eyes, and they're still there now, making him want to heave again.

A glass of water suddenly tips near his mouth and he takes the drink with an unsteady hand, sipping the wet contents until his center of gravity slowly stops spinning, and he can finally make sense of where he is and what just happened.

"Harvey, talk to me?"

He blinks through Paula's concern, his gaze spilling over the daylight bleeding across the carpet of his bedroom, not able to reconcile with how long he's been lost in his skewed reality—if she's been there the whole time, and he just wasn't aware of it. He clears his throat, embarrassment flushing his already heated face. "Bad dream."

"Nightmare more like it." She reaches out to remove the water, placing it down on the tiles, and lifting her fingers to brush across his scalp. "Did this happen while I was gone?"

He shakes his head, pressing it back against the shower door he'd found his way to. He owes her an explanation, but doesn't have one himself. Donna's fine. And he'd rather not bring up her name here, like this, when he can see the questions burning in his girlfriend's gaze. He has every intention of telling Paula about the case with Pullman, he just needs to get a handle on it—himself—first.

She sinks back onto her thighs, letting her hand drop with a slow exhale. She'd hoped some space between them would give him time to think about their future, but if this is the result of leaving him alone with his thoughts, she's worried she'd pushed too much too soon. "Maybe we should postpone dinner tonight."

There's a flash of hurt in her expression that he doesn't understand, until the conversation they'd had before she'd left floods back to him, and the knot in his chest winds itself tighter with guilt, because it's the first time he's thought about it since she left. "That's not—it wasn't about that."

The stutter makes her tense, frustration mixing with her worry as he pushes himself up straighter, clawing himself off the ground. She moves to support him, her palm pressing against the front of his damp t-shirt.

"I'm good," he bats her hand down, shouldering the frosted glass behind him. He needs to shower, wash away the sweat clinging to his skin and rinse the bitter taste from last night's dinner from his mouth. He'd hated the shitty restaurant before but doesn't think he'll ever be able to order from there again.

"Harvey—"

"I just… need a minute, okay?" His voice edges on pleading, the veil between his nightmare and reality still feeling too weak to push, and she silently nods, giving him the space his pride is scrambling for.

Relief tunnels through him as she leaves him standing in the small room, his hand reaching for the digital display to turn on a cool stream of water. He strips off and steps under it, the temperature jolting his senses and bringing him back down to earth, where he scathingly judges his ego's knee jerk reaction to be alone. But his thoughts are still moving too fast, and he hates that the only way to slow them is by focusing on the memory of Donna pressed safely in his arms. He tells himself it's normal. She went through something and asked for his help—the pressure he's feeling to protect her only natural, but the burden stays with him long after the water has washed away everything else. Igniting his guilt when he moves out of the bathroom, meeting Paula's gaze.

She's sat perched on the edge of the bed, her hands rigidly entwined, and the air in his lungs feels as stale as the tension between them. She keeps trying to help but he feels like he's continuously falling short of her expectations. It's a cycle they need to break—he just doesn't know how. "I'm sorry, Paula."

She drops her eyes, fluttering them shut. She doesn't want him to apologize. She wants to be let in, tear down the last few barriers that he seems to be gripping onto for dear life. "You said it wasn't about us, but I'm having a hard time believing that."

There's a waver to her fear that stabs through him, and he crosses the short distance, droplets of water falling down his torso to the towel slung around his waist. He doesn't worry about dampness as he folds himself next to her, stretching his fingers over her closed fist. He waits for her to look up, his expression softening under the flicker of faith readable to him—hope that he was telling the truth— which encourages him to be honest with her. "I took on a case yesterday that I… wasn't expecting. I'm still just trying to get my head around it."

She feels a surge of relief at the explanation, knowing they're both bound by layers of confidentiality when discussing their work. It's why when they both come home at night, there's a benefit to leaving those problems at the door, but if something is leading him to have panic attacks again, that doesn't just fall under the category of day-to-day stress. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He nods. "I do." It's not a flat-out lie. He'd promised Donna, and himself, he wouldn't do anything to complicate their friendship, and up until now a simple phone call hadn't seemed worth mentioning. But drinks while Paula was away and Donna coming to him last night, is leading toward a dangerous gray area. He's not hiding anything. It's just not a conversation he wants to have while anxiety is still echoing in his subconscious. "I'd also like to talk about what we originally planned, tonight at dinner, if that's okay with you?"

His soft smile smothers the crease in her brow, and she breathes out, her lips mirroring the same gesture. "Of course it is."

"Good."

He presses a kiss to her temple, the easiness of the quick-fix solution blanketing him with a false sense of security that doesn't last. The second she closes the door to the bathroom, the morsel of control he'd been grasping at slips—the promise he'd just made forcing his hand. He can't answer Paula's questions about the future if he's stuck spiralling in the present, and makes a rash decision to ground himself, quickly getting dressed and writing her a note. He leaves it strewn haphazardly across the kitchen counter as he grabs his keys, channeling his helplessness into an emotion he can goddamn use.

He didn't become NYC's best closer by being meek and mild and he sure as hell isn't going to change his tactics now.

...

He has Ray drive him to Donna's company instead of Zane Specter Litt, honing his charm as he greets the receptionist who bears an uncanny resemblance to Donna's description of how she'd pictured Norma in her early twenties. Anger itches beneath the surface of his composure, but he works the location of Pullman's office out of her, flashing her a forced smile that digs into his jawline. He doesn't think to ask where Donna is located. His mind is on a one track mission and he beelines into the elevator, squaring his shoulders and straightening his tie as he rides the cart up.

The doors parting reveal a dimly lit level that feels cramped but he doesn't really give a shit about the decor. He strides around the desks in his way, his fist curling instinctively to knock on the open glass but rage drives him straight through.

A thick mop of black hair lifts up, stalling him inches from an elaborate oak desk and he flexes his fingers. As much as he wants to beat the shit out of the asshole, he forces himself to control the urge. "Collin Pullman?"

There's a warning behind the address and Collin leans back in his chair, fixing the man with an equally hard stare. "You would be?"

"Harvey Specter."

The name hits the air like lead making Collin scoff, his eyebrows lifting with an amused chuckle. He'd thought the bitch would quieten down after last night, not go running to her sugar-daddy, but he can respect not stepping on another man's toes and plays along for good measure. "Miss Paulsen's former boss, the lawyer, right?"

The unphased attitude riles Harvey further, leading his palms to the flatten over the desk, his voice dangerously low as it grates between them. "Touch her again and a lawsuit will be the least of your goddamn fucking problems."

He pushes up sharply and Collin leers at the hostile threat, lifting to the lawyer's height. "If you're here for my side of the story, Mr. Specter, I can assure you she came onto me first." He rounds the wooden edge, curving his mouth into a smirk. "And believe me, she was begging for it."

Harvey sees red, his fist lashing out to dispute the claim and throwing a hard blow into the man's jaw.

Fuck the consequences.

The bruises on Donna's wrist were proof enough Pullman attacked her, and he rips the man back up by the scruff of his collar. "Stay away from her." He shoves Pullman with a growl, not caring about the eyes on him as he storms out straightening the length of his lapels.

Someone should have had the balls to stand up to Pullman long before Donna did but he ignores the attention fixed on him, too pissed to engage anyone else over the asshole. Instead he slams the button to the elevator, his breathing ragged as he steps inside, swallowing a few deep breaths to calm himself.

The descent halts after two floors and he moves further into the corner, making space for the blonde who enters with a bright smile. He forces a tight one back in response, shifting his gaze to the closing doors.

Zoey scans him from her peripheral, skipping over the man's handsome features to his grazed knuckles—which he quickly covers—and she turns her head to look more obviously, placing his face from the articles she'd read online.

It's no stretch to wonder why Donna's former boss would be coming down from Pullman's office. She knows something happened and has been genuinely worried, but she feels a surge of relief knowing Donna has someone looking out for her.

"Left or right side?"

He shifts a little uncomfortably, clearing his throat. "Left."

"Nice." She wouldn't usually condone a violence outburst but in this instance she figures it's warranted. "Jerk had it coming." He stays quiet, almost timid and definitely not what she'd expect from a man who just clocked a guy—until she realises he's heading straight to the lobby, and her mouth twitches with a smirk. "Donna doesn't know you're here, does she?"

The name grabs his attention. "How—"

He stops himself, taking in the way she's poised with a know-it-all gaze, the expression too familiar to be a coincidence. "You're her assistant."

"Pretty and smart," she teases him, "but you look like the sort who's bad with names. I'm Zoey."

"Harvey—"

"Specter, I know," she fills in, quirking up an eyebrow. "For the record, I meant what I said. Guys an asshat." He snorts at the description, loosening his shoulders slightly, and she isn't surprised that he'd confront Pullman and is still more scared of facing Donna. There's no doubt her boss will be pissed, and she doesn't blame him for taking the cowards option, pausing at the doors when they slide open. "Don't worry, she won't hear it from me."

He nods his thanks, and she lets the metal slide shut, knowing it's going to be nearly impossible to force down the questions that are bubbling up around tall, dark, handsome and brooding Harvey Specter. If she had a white knight lawyer like him on retainer she'd be suing someone every five minutes.

But she manages to keep her expression concealed as she moves inside of her cubicle, flashing a smile at Donna through the glass. Under any other circumstances she would never keep her boss in the dark over something like this but omitting isn't the same as lying, and she feels bad for the guy. There's obviously something between them and she's sure there's a reason Donna has been keeping her distance, but right now all she wants to do is protect her boss. And if there's one thing she's learned from the woman, it's that certain situations require pushing boundaries.

And now is definitely one of those times.

...

...

Harvey tears a hand up through his hair, the paperwork in front of him blurring as he struggles to pull focus for what feels like the hundredth time. He doesn't regret what happened with Pullman, and his panic had receded the moment he'd lashed out against the asshole, but he's been waiting for the other shoe to drop. The consequences he didn't give a shit about earlier, rearing themselves when he least expects them, but the afternoon crawls by morphing into a dusk light with no sign of any trouble.

He starts to relax, taking in his first easy breath since he woke up drenched in sweat, when the illusion is shattered by a fiery red blur storming into his office. He immediately tenses again, inwardly recoiling from the anger flashing across Donna's face when she stops just shy of his desk.

"What the hell did you do?"

"Donna—"

"I just got fired." She tears her arms over her chest, expecting some form of regret to register in his features, but he looks almost relieved and disbelief wraps around her frustration. "And you don't care."

The allegation isn't true but as far as he's concerned, the less contact she has with Pullman the better. He didn't set out intending to make things worse, but if this is the other shoe dropping, he'll take it—whether she's pissed about it or not. "Of course I care, Donna. Why do you think I went over there?"

A humorless sound burrows up in the back of her throat. She knows exactly why he confronted Collin. Because his ego was being driven by testosterone. "You know, you're almost as bad as he is."

The dig seats itself in his chest, the comparison stirring his own irritation. "I would never do what that son of a bitch did."

"No," she agrees, folding her hands over her hips. Harvey wouldn't lay a hand on a woman, but treating her like a forties house-wife isn't much better, and it's the last thing she'd expected from him. "You'd just prefer I stay locked up at home, while you go off and fight my battles for me, right?"

"That's not—"

She stops the protest with a glare, and he leans back, swiveling his chair with a frustrated sigh. He was trying to protect her and now he's getting labelled an asshole because he wants to keep her safe. He doesn't know where the middle ground is and shrugs his shoulders at a loss. "What do you want me to say, Donna?"

"I want you to say you'll fix it and get me my goddamn job back," she throws the instruction at him, amazed he hasn't been able to figure it out for himself.

He flinches, the demand grinding against his nerves. What she's asking him to do isn't impossible but Pullman has even more incentive to target her now, and he's not sending her into a situation that might put her in danger—especially one created by his actions.

He'll get her job back.

After Pullman is out of the picture.

"I will." He takes a breath, gearing himself up. "As soon as the class action suit is filed—"

"Damnit, Harvey," she clips the end of his assurance, turning on her heel in a futile attempt to compose her anger. He's her lawyer, he's supposed to do what she goddamn tells him, not dictate the terms back at her. And if he can't do that, then her instincts have been right from the start—she never should have asked him to get involved. "Don't file the suit." She faces him again, her voice calmer as she bites the inside of her cheek. It's not a punishment but if he can't stay impartial, then she'll find someone who can. "I need a lawyer who has faith in me, and right now that isn't you, so—"

She shrugs her hand, and the words slice straight through him. It's not about a lack of faith. He knows she can handle herself. It's Pullman he doesn't trust, and he could give a shit if she gives the case to someone else—he does—but he cares more about her staying out of trouble. He might be the arrogant one, but she's just as goddamn stubborn, and she's not leaving until she promises him she isn't going to do something stupid. "You need to stay away from him."

"No, Harvey, what I need, is to get back the job I fucking earned."

She spins on her heel and he's up so fast his chair crashes into the display unit behind him, several objects clattering over. "Donna, wait—"

She stops, her shoulders bristling in response, and a sigh heaves in his chest. If getting her job back is what it's going to take to keep from doing something reckless, then it's not like he has any other choice, but before he can tell her he'll do it, the door swings open, redirecting his attention to Paula, and shit—dinner. He'd completely forgotten about their plans, and his heart jams in his throat when she steps into the office.

The tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife and Paula's gaze darts from Donna to her boyfriend, dread dropping in her stomach like a stone. "Harvey, what's going on?"

Even though the question isn't directed at her, Donna answers it for him. "Nothing. I was just leaving." She forces a strained smile and pushes through the gap between Paula and the exit, not giving anyone in the room a chance to block her escape.

Paula feels the whoosh of a breeze behind her but she doesn't care, her eyes trained on Harvey, who has his focus locked on Donna's retreating form. She'd clearly interrupted something, and a tight pain stabs through her chest. "You've been seeing each other again."

It's an accusation he doesn't have time to defend, his legs already kicking around the side of his desk. "I can't, Paula. Not right now."

Guilt hammers through him as he bypasses his girlfriend, desperate to catch Donna before she finds her way off the level. He'd never forgive himself if she acted out because she thought he didn't have faith in her. He does, more than anyone, and when he spots the doors to the elevators closing, he rushes forward, slamming his palm out to force them back open. "I'll get you your job, I'll fix it, but I'm asking you not to confront him, please, Donna."

She stares at him, a lump residing in her throat that has nothing to do with Collin Pullman. She'd seen Paula's expression when the woman had caught them and there was no mistaking the hurt that had flashed through the therapist's surprise. "You didn't tell her." It was the only condition she'd made at Mike and Rachel's wedding, that he be honest about the two of them working towards becoming friends again, and the guilt that tightens his jaw makes her eyes sting. She'd thought he could trust him, but clearly she'd been wrong about that too. "Then we both know my problems aren't the priority here."

Every fibre of his being wants to tell her she's his priority. That the thought of anything happening to her is more important than anything else, but the sound of footsteps behind him halt the words, and her hand flies against the button, making the decision for him.

The doors close with a finality that rattles through him, and he's only jolted out of it when Paula's arm reaches in front of him to leave as well. She doesn't look at him, and his first reaction is defensive. "I was going to tell you tonight—"

"Don't bother," she snaps, not interested in hearing whatever bullet-proof excuse he has lined up. He'd lied to her and she stalks into the adjoining cart, lifting her hand up to swipe the tears slipping free.

He stands motionless as she disappears from his sight, his heart beating in time with each second that passes—knowing he has to choose. He can't go after both of them but is slammed by the realisation that his relationship with Paula is as good as done if he doesn't try to fix it first.

Donna had just scolded him for not believing she could take care of herself and he's invested too much to lose everything he's been working towards with Paula by making a snap decision. There's only one right thing to do and he pulls out his phone, texting his girlfriend to meet him downstairs. Donna wanted him to have faith in her, but he's doing more than that. He's trusting she'll wait for him, that they'll figure things out like they always do—because she's a part of his life, and he's not giving up on them either.

AN: As always thank you to southsidesister (darvey_love) who continues to grow my writing exponentially! And to everybody leaving reviews, they truly make my day :D I hope everyone is staying safe xxxx I'm on twitter if anyone is going stir crazy in quarantine and wants to talk Darvey (Cassie_Ether) ❤