10. Beginning or the End?

AN: Rated M

Harvey paces outside the front of Donna's building, the snow crunching under his feet as the wind bites his skin. There'd been no answer at her door, and nobody he'd called had heard from her, including Rachel, which worries him the most. She'd urged him not to overreact—Donna was probably just out for a drink, blowing off steam—but the assurance in her voice had been strained. They both know Donna's not the sort to go out partying alone when she's angry. She's the type to go home and drown her frustration in a bottle of wine, which is where he'd wrongly assumed she'd be.

He takes a breath, trying to get a handle on his panic like Rachel instructed when she'd told him none too gently that Donna doesn't act impulsively, that's his domain. She'd been right though, and he does draw some comfort from the fact, but not nearly enough.

He'd seen the look in Donna's eyes when she'd accused him of not having faith—he'd hurt her. In a million years that would never be his intention. All he'd wanted to do was protect her, and the idea his actions might have driven her to do something reckless hammers through him.

She's not impulsive, but she is stubborn, always determined to prove herself, and fearless in the face of confrontation. Three qualities she'd exhibited after storming into his office and firing him as her lawyer. He'd told her he would get her job back, had specifically asked her to wait for him, but then she'd deflected to Paula and he'd stupidly let her go.

If anything happens to her...

Numb fingers fumble with his phone again, hitting the speed dial he never figured out how to reprogram. It rings several times before diverting to voicemail, and he leaves what feels like the hundredth message on her answering service. "Donna, I swear, if you don't—" he stops, sucking in his relief when he sees her pulling up in an Uber. "Nevermind." He slaps the case shut, kicking his legs forward to reach the door so he can swing it open.

"Where the hell were you?"

She flinches, scared-half-to-death when Harvey appears out of nowhere. Her driver stiffens, wary of the aggression, but she assures him with a smile it's fine.

Harvey's bark is worse than his bite and she steels herself against it as she climbs out of the car. He pushes the handle closed as she runs her gaze over his snow covered coat. He isn't wearing gloves either and his fingers are tinged purple, a flicker of concern lifting her eyes up to his flushed face. "Jesus, how long have you been out here?"

He ignores the question, wanting an answer to his own first. "Tell me you were not just with Pullman." She opens her mouth but swallows what she'd been about to say, confirming his suspicion with a slight nod. "For fu'ck sake, Donna." He's livid with the response and does a shitty job of reigning in his anger but from the look of it she's mostly unscathed, and he dials back his frustration to a disapprovingly grunt. "Inside, now."

The only reason she doesn't fight the demand is because he's freezing to death, and she wants him off the street before he catches pneumonia, but she strides ahead of him—deliberately not giving him a second glance over her shoulder.

He rolls his eyes as he follows after her.

The tension between them is suffocated by the small confines of the elevator, but she keeps her mouth clamped shut, refusing to acknowledge his presence until they're inside her apartment and out of hearing range from her neighbours. He rubs his hands together, blowing air into them, but the action doesn't make her any more inclined to feel sorry for him.

She leads them up to her door, jamming her key in the lock and pushing it open, not caring she swings it harshly back.

He grabs it, scowling as he slams the wood behind him, still pissed she didn't listen to the one damn thing he'd asked. All she had to do was wait, but even now she's storming away from him, and he catches up to her at the entrance of her kitchen, delivering a scathing look.

She stops dead in the center, folding her arms over her chest as she turns to face him. "Why are you here, Harvey?"

"Why do you think?" he throws back angrily. "I told you I would figure out a way to get your job back—"

"And I told you to stay out of it." She cuts him off, not buying the bullshit excuse and tired of having to read between the lines. She'd made her position perfectly clear, even before Paula had shown up, and she's not about to back down. "I fired you, remember?"

"Technically you never hired me," he points out. "So, you don't get to make that call."

"Oh my god, you're actually unbelievable." She turns away from him, leaning her palms against the counter top. She can't deal with his ego—not tonight. The only reason she'd let him up is because his stupid, stubborn ass would have frozen to death before going home. She should kick him out, but directs her attention to the cupboard above her instead.

"Did you?" he asks, watching her shoulders flex through her coat. She pulls down a box of tea but he could give a shit about the drink. Unless she's going to lace it with whiskey, he's not interested. "Donna?"

"Did I what?" She indulges him even though she knows better.

He tilts his head with an impatient sigh. "Get your job back?"

She stiffens, reluctant to part with the truth—not wanting to admit the meeting didn't have the desired outcome. She doesn't want to talk about it at all, but can sense his stare drilling into her, and she shakes her head. "No."

The curt response isn't reassuring and he pushes for more details. "What happened?"

She wants to say nothing and leave the conversation there. He isn't owed any explanation. She'd acted off her own back, and he doesn't get to come barging into her life with questions anymore. But the quickest, least painful way to stop his badgering is to give him a straight forward answer. "I met up with Collin, had a discussion, he was an asshole, I left."

An image of the smug bastard's face makes his fist clench impulsively. He can't understand why the hell she would actively seek Pullman out after the man assaulted her. He's never had to challenge her judgment before, not concerning actions regarding her safety, and he doesn't know if she'd deliberately set out to spite him, or genuinely hadn't given a damn about putting herself in danger.

The ragged sound of his breathing leads her around, and she forces herself not to flinch at the hard line of his jaw.

He's angry—she gets it.

But approaching Collin had been a thought out decision. It's not like she'd gone to his office in the dead of night asking for trouble, and the only reason she defends herself is so Harvey will at least admit what he's really doing here. "It was one drink in a crowded bar. Why are you getting so worked up about this?"

The insinuation he shouldn't be worked up adds fuel to the fire, flaring his irritation. "How can you even ask me that, Donna?" He shoots a hand between them, using the motion to vent his annoyance. "The guy tried to force himself on you and two seconds later you're asking him out for a goddamn drink! How am I supposed to react?"

She folds her arms over her chest defensively. "I had the situation under control."

"And what if you didn't?" he fires back. "What if Pullman slipped you something or followed you here? Jesus, Donna, anything could have happened."

He starts to pace the small area and her eyes trail the movement, flashing across at him. "Firstly, I didn't even order a drink so he couldn't slip me anything, and if he had come here, he would have seen you acting like a lunatic and left."

"You think this is funny?" He stops dead at the rib, astounded she would be making jokes right now.

"What? The fact you have zero fucking faith in me?" she accuses, bitterness lacing the words. "No, Harvey, I don't think that's funny." He stares at her, like he's mid-way to snapping, and her calmness gives way to her anger. They tried doing the friend thing—it didn't work. He needs to accept they don't have a place in each other's lives anymore, and he doesn't get a say in her decisions. "What I do or who I see is none of your business. You don't get to judge me—" she pushes forcefully off the counter "—because we were finished the moment you—"

He kisses her.

Hard, fast, without warning he slams his mouth against hers—the thought of them being finished or anyone else touching her snapping his sanity. He's the only person who should be allowed to put his hands on her—the kiss giving him every right to be angry, possessive and anything else she needs goddamn rationalized.

Her mind buckles under the intrusion, but she battles his tongue with a hungry need that's spurred on by a rush of frustration and desire as he slams her back. She hits the edge of the counter but doesn't suffer from the impact nor does she care as he works to remove her coat, pushing the heavy fabric from her shoulders. She responds on instinct and mirrors his actions, driving her hands under his woolen jacket to shrug him free of too many layers.

He groans as heat from her fingers penetrates his shirt. He's freezing beneath the thin cotton but her touch is scorching, shooting a rush of blood straight to his groin. Through all the accusations he's had thrown at him tonight, his need for her is irrefutable, and his palms move like wildfire across her body to prove it. His teeth slide over her neck, nipping and soothing the exposed skin, and she whimpers against his ear, feeling him jerk in response. His erection is enough to jar her, self preservation defying her heightened nerves. "Paula?"

"It's over."

He murmurs the confirmation so casually, she's angry—livid—with him, but her core is throbbing with the desperate urge to have him closer, and she has no remorse as she claws at his tie, ripping down the length of his buttons. His low growl vibrates through her as he takes over, ridding himself of his jacket and exposing his flexing chest that begs her attention. She scratches her nails down to his trousers, but he catches her wrists, pinning them behind her with a harsh breath.

"Wait."

She glares defiantly, the bruise Collin left throbbing under his grasp. She could use the reminder to take back control but it wouldn't be fair—Harvey would never intentionally hurt her—and when he lets go, crashing against her mouth and kneading her breast, there isn't a single thing she would do or say to stop him.

He smirks—an asshole smile that he knows he shouldn't, because frustration is at the forefront of his mind. He's still mad she put herself in danger but there's something gratifying about bending her will. He wants her to need him with the same demanding urge coiling his muscles—knowing he could make her beg if he wanted to, and he does. The hour he'd spent waiting for her had driven him crazy, and he slides his hand down, skating up the back of her thigh to tease her panties—showing her the same torment he'd had to suffer through.

She thrusts her hips and he lowers his mouth to her neck, determined to draw out her impatience.

Her grip curls around the counter, teeth sinking into her lip as his thumb nudges her underwear aside with lazy, inattentive strokes that make her vision swim. He's doing it on purpose—deliberately not giving her enough, and she wants to scold his goddamn ego but he catches the protest with a bruising kiss, circling her clit as his fingers push inside her.

She wrenches her mouth away, throwing her head back with a gasp, and his dick throbs as his eyes draw to her, transfixed by how untamed and unguarded she is. The view is breathtaking, and something stronger than game-playing slams his chest. He wants to see her come undone, give her everything—the whole damn world if she asked for it. He's not taking control, it's being gifted to him, and he speeds up his rhythm, hooking the movement deeper.

Her hands fly to his biceps, nails biting into his skin, and the way her mouth expels his name as a plea—christ, he could lose himself for hours watching her like this. But her walls start to flutter and he sacrifices his selfishness, rubbing his thumb over her clit until the action forces her over the edge.

She collapses forward and he brings her down gently, with careful, slow thrusts, shivering when her breath feathers against his neck as she rides out the high. He instinctively holds her tighter, realizing what a fucking idiot he's been.

He's in love with her and always has been.

Nothing could be clearer as he finds his way out of her, his hardened length pulsing at the scent of her arousal, and when she captures his mouth with renewed energy, he groans at the thrall of her urgency. Fast hands latch onto his trousers and he has fleeting thoughts of telling her to wait, that it's more than just sex. But she springs free his erection, trapping it with just the right amount of pressure, and a low, desperate groan replaces the words caught in his throat.

She breaks the kiss, licking her lips to exact her own revenge, but he's already too far gone to take the punishment. He wouldn't last a second with her mouth wrapped around him, and he wants more.

She deserves more.

Her eyes flash with annoyance when he stops her. She's still pissed, but he doesn't let her dwell on the anger, digging his fingers under her thighs and hoisting her onto the counter, sealing the action with a languid, all-consuming kiss.

She startles at the depth of tenderness, not sure if she wants to run from the change or drown in the gentle caress of his tongue. Maybe both. But the way he works her mouth builds the heat pooling at her core and she wraps her legs around him, demanding he speed things up again.

He takes the hint, bunching the sides of her dress and she slides forward, moaning with irritation when he pauses with a breathy whisper.

"Donna..."

The rush of air encompasses everything he doesn't ask—is she sure, are they being safe, is this going to heal or ruin them?

She doesn't have the answers.

But physically they don't have a reason not to be reckless. She's on the pill, her body begging for another release, and her voice wavers conveying the plea. "Don't stop."

The assurance throws him into action, swift hands tugging down her underwear and removing the soaked barrier between them. She whimpers, more desperate now she's exposed, and his quads quiver with the same need as he pushes inside her, stretching further and deeper with each thrust. Her heels dig into his back, grounding him, but commanding a faster rhythm that greys his vision around the edges. The feel of her slick heat turns his energy chaotic far too quickly, threatening his grip on reality. He's never had a problem holding out, but with her, it's different. She's dragging him into an abyss void of restraint, and he scrambles to drive her there first, fumbling his thumb over the hood of her clit.

She arches her back, her breathing laboured with short sharp bursts, and he pounds a higher angle that makes her cry out as she spasms, shattering his resolve into oblivion. He empties himself with no control, his muscles going slack and his gaze dizzy as his thighs tremble with the effort to stay up right.

It takes him several seconds to reorientate, withdrawing with a sense of completion he's never felt before.

She fixes her dress, shrugging it down and his movements are slow and disjointed as he tugs the clothing trapping his ankles, snapping his underwear back in place and fastening his trousers. He's still in a haze but fights through it, landing his palms either side of her on the counter—reading the expression she's wearing with a ripple of worry.

"What's wrong?"

She blinks, confused by the question, and it isn't until his thumb swipes a tear from her cheek she realizes—right, she's crying.

"Nothing." She bats him away, embarrassed as she catches the moisture.

"Hey—"

"Don't." She discourages his concern, sliding off the counter and pushing through his arms on shaky legs. "You should go."

"What, why?"

She stops, turning to look at his stunned expression.

At Harvey goddamn Specter standing in her kitchen, hair mussed, breathing hard and—she can't. The whole situation is a collision of everything she wants and doesn't. Him here, like this, in the right place but the wrong time. It's a fucking mess, and she's still too angry to navigate through it. "You know why."

The deliberate choice of wording hurts him more than the dismissal. The irony behind the recall isn't lost on him but he's not going to walk away this time. "That wasn't a mistake."

"No," she agrees, bitterness lacing her tone. "It was a rebound fuck, and I don't want to hear what happened with Paula, Harvey. I don't care. So call Mike, your mother, whoever, because I'm done." She turns, grabbing her purse off the counter, because if he won't leave she will.

"You happened, Donna."

She falters with her back facing him, and the truth jams in his throat. He'd denied all the accusations Paula made, and he hadn't lied, not intentionally, but that doesn't make him less of an asshole for not accepting what his heart has been trying to tell him for years. "I've spent so long hiding from my feelings, convincing myself they didn't mean anything. I couldn't see what was right in front of me. You weren't the rebound, she was."

She drags in a ragged breath, not sure how to handle the confession. It doesn't feel like she was ever his first choice—just a catalyst to impulsive ones. "That's great, Harvey. I'm glad you finally figured it all out."

He flinches at the sarcasm, reaching to pick up his clothes and bundling them onto the corner next to where she's standing. He knows he screwed up. Her life is up in the air right now, and it's his fault, but he wants to fix it. "Come back to the firm."

She snaps her head at him. "What?"

"As COO. I'll file the suit against Pullman, we can—"

"Oh my god." She cuts him off, realizing he's being serious. "What is wrong with you?" His brow drips in confusion, answering with a shrug, and she doesn't know whether to laugh at the ignorance or slap him for it. "I told you, you're not my lawyer anymore. Banging me against the kitchen counter wasn't a goddamn retainer," she spits harshly. "And I quit my job for a reason. You can't just put a band-aid on everything and act like the last few months didn't happen."

"That's not what I'm—"

"Get dressed and get out." She throws her purse back down, deciding she's not going to be the one to leave. It's her apartment, and she's through with always working around his arrogance, retreating away from it instead.

His hand twitches to stop her but after what Pullman did, he thinks better of it. He doesn't want to make her more upset than she is, and heaves a sigh, doing what she asked. Butting the holes that are still intact and shrugging into his suit and coat, stuffing his tie in his pocket with a glance in the direction where she stormed off.

His chest aches with the desire to go after her and sort things out, but it isn't possible—not tonight. She needs time to cool down and he needs an actual plan, not a half-cocked idea that should've been thought through before he'd opened his mouth. She was right. He can't snap his fingers and take it all back.

But he's not giving up on them.

Not now, not ever.

...

Donna hears the door close, and sinks her head back against the wall with a heavy breath, clasping her hands to stop them from shaking. When she'd marched into his office earlier she'd never expected things would fall the way they did.

You happened, Donna.

A tremor courses through her and it's like she can't breathe properly. They'd had sex in her kitchen, where his buttons and her underwear are no doubt still laying on the tiles. She doesn't want to think about it but can't help it. The way his hands had blazed across her body, how his mouth had claimed every part that was accessible. He'd poured his anger into something else, more, but he'd had no goddamn right.

In her mind that act had been an ending, not the beginning of one, and she moves on unsteady legs in search of her phone.

If anyone can see her through this mess, it's Rachel.

Their friendship has proved the woman would never judge, and she digs out the device—reading twenty-seven missed calls on the screen. She'd put it on silent when going to meet Collin, and seeing Rachel's name at the top of the list, she immediately rings her back.

"Donna, what happened? Are you okay?" Rachel answers, having worked herself up into a panic. She'd kept her concern in check while she was speaking with Harvey but it's been steadily building with each hour that's rolled by.

"Relax, Rach, I'm fine."

As much as she can be, given the reason she'd needed to reach out. But there's no way her friend could possibly know the details, and she bites her lip, confused. "Why would you think—"

"Harvey rang me." Rachel tips the device closer to her ear. "He said you'd been fired and he couldn't get a hold of you. He was worried sick."

She blinks, realizing the majority of missed calls must have been from him. He'd been so angry when she'd gotten out of the cab she hadn't thought about why, but given where he'd been prior to arriving, the way he'd been acting is starting to make more sense. "Harvey and Paula ended things, he was just upset."

The news surprises Rachel. He hadn't mentioned one word about Paula, too focused on Donna, and she scrambles to put all the pieces together. "What I heard wasn't break-up sad, Donna, he was freaking out. He thought you were going to see Collin." The line echoes with static and Rachel screws her eyes shut. "Please, tell me you didn't?"

"I had to Rachel." She moves from the kitchen back out into the lounge. "I got fired because Harvey went over there and punched him, but I'm guessing he didn't mention that part, either?"

He hadn't, but as far as Rachel's concerned, that's beside the point. "So you thought it was a good idea to confront Collin, when he was already pissed off?" she asks, sliding a hand across her mouth.

"Nothing happened. We met up at a bar, he was a jerk, I left again." Donna folds her feet up on the couch, relieved when the brunette takes the explanation better than Harvey did.

"I'm sorry it didn't work." She's not happy about the situation but she's always trusted Donna's instincts, even though she's still concerned. "You're really okay?"

Donna hesitates, the reason she'd gone for her phone rearing up again, and she takes a deep breath. "I had sex with Harvey."

"You did what?" Rachel jerks forward with wide eyes. "When, where? How?!"

Donna sighs. "He was outside when I got home, frozen to death like an idiot. I invited him up and he was just so… angry. One minute we were arguing, the next we were, you know—" she motions with her hand "—in the kitchen."

"Oh my god, Donna." She doesn't know what else to say, if it's a good or a bad thing, but judging by the fact her friend called, whatever happened afterwards—it didn't go well. "Then what did you do?"

"I told him to get dressed and I kicked him out." She sinks back into the cushions, glancing at the offending room.

Rachel waits for more details to come but they don't, and she prods the redhead. "Well, did he say anything?"

Donna stares at the space where they'd been standing, hearing his voice echoing through her head.

What's wrong?

You weren't the rebound, she was.

Come back to the firm.

She closes her eyes, the weight of everything washing over her. "He said that I was the reason he ended things with Paula."

A cautious flicker of hope sparks in Rachel's chest. She knows how badly Donna was hurt, and she would never tell her to put her heart on the line again if she thought there was any doubt—but Harvey finally admitting his feelings is big. "Donna, this is huge."

"Is it?" she asks, not so sure. "Because then he tried to give me my old job back, like everything I've been working towards for the past few months meant nothing."

Rachel bites the inside of her cheek hesitantly. "Are you sure he wasn't just trying to help?"

"I don't know, Rach," she says honestly. "It didn't feel like it." But then again, as long as she's known Harvey, he's never been one to express his intentions clearly. "I just... keep trying to cut him out of me and every time I think I have, there he is again."

"Maybe because you don't really want him gone." Rachel makes the suggestion carefully. "He told you how he feels. How do you feel?"

The first word that comes to mind is, stuck. Like she can't move forward, but can't go back either. She's spent years imagining what a life with Harvey would be like. Usually when they were on the cusp of a disaster or averting a crisis, and it's only been recently that she's been able to shake the habit. But that doesn't mean the feelings have gone away. They're still there, buried beneath a mound of hurt and regret she isn't sure she wants to face.

Not now, maybe not ever.

The quiet stretches, and Rachel breaks it with a small smile. "Whatever you decide Donna, you know I'll support you… but if there's any part of you doubting his actions, I meant what I said before. The only thing he cared about when he reached out was you."

Her chest flutters with the assurance. Harvey doesn't play fast and loose with his emotions but part of her had been afraid that—despite what he'd told her—he was just reacting to his relationship ending. Hearing Rachel's confidence puts her mind more at ease, even though she still has no idea what to do. But it's something she needs to figure out for herself. "Thanks, Rach."

"Call me if you need anything." She can sense her friend nodding, the two beats of silence before the line cuts out stealing her worry. Or at least the majority of it, and she glances up when Mike walks in, hanging up his phone at the same time. "How was he?"

Mike shakes his head with a sigh. "Not great." And after hearing Harvey's recount of what happened, he's not surprised. "Donna, okay?"

"Given the circumstances. Did he tell you about—"

"The sex in the kitchen," he answers. "Oh, yeah." He plants himself next to his wife on the couch. "Bet it had nothing on us in the file room though."

He smirks, and she elbows him, trying to hide the amusement on her lips, but her smile quickly grows serious again. "You think they'll figure it out?"

He opens his arms as she leans into his chest, and honestly he can't say either way.

But he really hopes so.

AN: I forgot to put an AN, so I'm adding it in now. The support I've gotten for this story has been overwhelming and I'm in awe! But these chapters wouldn't be where they are without Southsidesister (darvey_love on twitter) and a special shout out to mieh (miieh_ on twitter). Sending giant hugs to the Darvey fandom ❤