11. A New Divide

Donna stalls on the second step outside her apartment, her body tensing at Harvey's presence. He's leaning against Ray's Lexus, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and she adjusts the wide bag over her shoulder with a sigh. He'd been calling and texting, and she should have known ignoring his efforts would lead him to turn up in person, but now he's here, the appearance doesn't make her any more inclined to engage him.

He eyes the yoga mat as it bobs by her side and lifts his gaze to the bun of hair piled on top of her head. He hadn't planned on intercepting her morning workout. The timing is a coincidence, but he was loitering, gathering his thoughts before he went inside the building, and he pushes off the car, curving the edges of his mouth. "Hey." Her stance remains defensive, stopping him with a good few steps between them. He blows out a breath, riding the balls of his feet. "I thought we could go for breakfast."

If she didn't know him better, she'd think he looked nervous. But a flash of him pinning her against the kitchen counter debunks the theory. He's a man of action, and she folds her arms over her chest, warding off the memories of them from two sleepless nights ago. "Did you get my job back?"

"No," he admits, leveling with her. "But I'm working on it."

"And yet you're here?" she challenges. He can't make good on his promise from the front of her doorstep, and she shrugs her shoulders at the obvious conclusion.

"I am." He doesn't see any sense arguing her point. He'd reached out to S&P's HR department, defending Donna had nothing to do with the incident that occurred, and they'd given him the complete runaround. He needs a new plan, one that won't make things worse for her, but an hour out of his day won't derail his promise. "It's just breakfast."

Her stubborn glare tells him the act of hesitancy isn't about the allocation of his time. Rather, that she's still angry. Which in truth, he'd been expecting. In the past he'd always given her space to calm down after an argument, let the dust settle, but now he thinks those were naïve mistakes—assuming they were never as close to the edge as it felt.

Until she'd left him standing there facing his life without her.

He'd suffered the consequences of distance between them, losing himself in the process, but he knows what he wants now. The only future he's afraid to face is one she isn't a part of. He doesn't care what it takes to get them on speaking terms again—he'll beg if he has to. "Donna, please."

She wages an internal war with her instincts, letting several beats pass should talk, place some well needed lines back between them—like he can't just show up whenever he likes, assuming he's entitled to, because he wasn't honest about having feelings for her. She needs to process her own first, not even sure what they mean anymore, and she takes the next step down to the pavement with a careful warning. "You know you can't just—"

"I know," he stops her, recognizing and wearing the dressing down—that it's a one time deal on her terms. He's fine with the condition. All he needs is a chance to put them on the right path, and he holds out his hand, silently offering to take her bag.

She shrugs it over, catching the flicker of relief in his gaze that winds down into a soft smile. A gesture she feels bad for brushing off as she moves away from him to climb in the car. He gets in the other side but she's saved from answering her guilt when Ray greets her warmly, and her focus stays on him until the radio eventually takes over their light conversation. Her eyes drift out the window, lamenting the hundreds of times she's been bunched in the back seat of the Lexus. The homely smell of leather is the same, as is Ray's attention on the road, but the space between herself and Harvey has changed. Their avoidance of each other isn't awkward—it's just there. And when she does risk a glance to properly take him in, he looks different. His elbow is resting on the side of the door, fingers pressed to his temple, and she can't read if he's relaxed or tense.

He turns his head, and she swallows the urge to ask if he's okay. If he is, great. If not—she isn't ready to sacrifice her anger to hear about it.

She moves her gaze away and a tight sigh builds in his chest, falling out quietly as the vehicle pulls up to their destination.

Donna gets out of the car first, feeling a tug of nostalgia when she stops in front of the diner Harvey hates. He's only ever been inside twice to her knowledge. When he'd asked her to join him at Pearson Hardman, and the second time, when he'd admitted he was bothered by her dating Stephen Huntley. The location is a strange but oddly fitting choice, so she follows behind him, the familiar bell at the door leading them through.

They disrobe their coats, seating themselves in a booth close to the window and, when a waiter pops up, she orders a strong coffee with an avocado salad. Harvey chooses something with too much bacon and the choice strikes her as odd. The heaviest thing he usually eats in the morning is a bagel, and she wonders if the choice is a new-old thing, a new-new thing or isn't even a thing at all. There's a lot she's missed in-between not being friends, being friends again, and whatever they are now, but he's always been careful with his health, and when the waiter leaves, she quirks up an eyebrow.

"My cholesterol is fine," he shrugs, deciding the comment is better than admitting the food is shit and there's nothing else worth having. He'd pick Nougatine's menu any day but the fancier restaurant didn't feel like the right space to say what he needs to. This place felt more intimate in his memory, and he starts with an act his ego has always struggled with in the past, by apologizing. "I'm sorry, Donna."

She purses her lips, surprised he decided to lead with the words, but the vagueness behind them is typical. "For what?"

There's a list of reasons he could fall back on, being liberal or specific about each, but the moment that sticks out in his mind—before he'd kissed her—is how she'd angrily deemed he has zero faith in her. The accusation has never been true. His doubt may have been cast around her actions, but only because he'd been going crazy with worry, and the fear had nothing to do with not trusting her. "I made you think I didn't have faith in you. I do, Donna—more than you know."

She nods thoughtfully, appreciating he sounds genuine, but his behaviour recently doesn't reflect what he's saying. He's been fighting her battles at every turn, like she shouldn't have a say, but Rachel's defence of how concerned he'd been while she was out with Collin floods back to her. Knowing he cares doesn't excuse everything, but it does enable her to cut him some slack. "Rachel said you called her." She bites the inside of her cheek, conscious of how to direct the acknowledgment. She isn't sorry for trusting her instincts. In the months she's been dealing with Collin, she hasn't needed to think about anyone else and Harvey's involvement had frustrated her, but she didn't set out to spite him—not intentionally. But if they hadn't fought, if she hadn't had Paula thrown in her face—again—she might not have been so hot-headed about proving herself. "I didn't mean to worry you, I just didn't think—"

He would break up with his girlfriend and turn up on her front door-step.

"I wasn't expecting you'd be there, that's all."

"I know." He hadn't expected it either. He'd gone after Paula out of a sense of duty, afraid to fail at the one relationship he's ever committed to, and because Donna told him to fix it—none of which are valid reasons to him anymore. All they do is compound his guilt. "I should never have let you leave."

She hikes up an eyebrow at the comment. "I'm sorry, let me?"

He flinches as the implication twists his words. "I didn't mean it like that." He treads carefully, recalling how she'd accused him of being controlling just like Pullman. Wanting to protect her isn't the same thing, but he can understand how she might have a hard time seeing the difference in the wake of Pullman's actions. The influence unsettles him, but if she won't let him in to help, then maybe, at least for the moment, there's a better fit. "Samantha Wheeler came over to the firm with Robert, I think you should talk to her about taking the case. She's a good lawyer."

She tilts her gaze at him. From anyone else the adjective wouldn't be much of a compliment but coming from Harvey the acknowledgement is a high form of praise, though she's wary of his motivations. "You'd be fine with that?"

He pauses for a beat, not wanting to get caught in a lie. He definitely isn't okay with being on the sidelines, but the way things currently stand between them, it's not like he has much of a choice. "I wouldn't interfere, if that's what you're asking?"

"For how long?" She tests him, the sarcasm falling half-way between a dig and a serious question. He needs to be in charge like it's a compulsion, and when he rolls his eyes, blowing out a breath and effectively admitting as much, she shakes her head at him. "This is what I'm talking about, Harvey. You don't know how to take a step back, and if you're not careful, Pullman's going to have you up on assault charges."

"Good," he quips smugly. "Let the asshole try."

He steers around the issue and she impulsively reaches for her coat and purse out of frustration. If he's going to act like a five-year-old, then there's no point even trying to have a conversation with him, and she slides out of the booth, pushing herself around the table. "You know what, this was a bad idea."

"Donna, wait."

His fingers move to connect with her elbow but she lurches back before they land, and the reaction stabs through him. He hates that she's so defensive, that the other night has driven them further apart. The only good thing is that now she's standing further from the door and he softens his gaze, trying to keep her from walking through it. "If you want me to stay out of it, I will. I don't have to like it, but it's your call."

She swallows, avoiding his stare and teetering on the edge of pushing past him. It would be easier to run. Safer than climbing in his Lexus and assuming they could have a normal conversation over breakfast, but the waiter arrives with their coffees, eyeing them cautiously, and heat flushes the back of her neck.

Maybe she is slightly overreacting.

The atmosphere wouldn't be normal unless he was acting cocky, but she can see he's trying, and seats herself down with a sigh.

They're left alone again, and he locks his gaze on her, noting the hint of red speckling her cheeks. She doesn't embarrass easily,but she's also never snatched herself away from his touch like that before, and he risks bringing up the elephant in the room. "We should talk about what happened."

She reaches for her mug, wrapping nervous fingers around it in an attempt to ground herself. He doesn't need to actually say when they had spontaneous, frantic sex in her kitchen. The inference is there and she half-regrets her decision to stay and face the music. "Or we could put it out of our minds—" she clears her throat "—and never mention it again."

The suggestion drops like a weight in his stomach.

He doesn't want to forget or push the memory aside. He'd only agreed to her original terms because it was that or lose her, and now he's staring down the barrel from another side. The difference is he stands to lose more by not being honest. He's already spent too long hiding from his feelings and they flutter to the surface beneath a quiet but solid whisper. "I don't want that."

She doesn't dare look at him, afraid to ask what he does want—having been burned by the answer in the past. Only a fool would keep sticking their hand into the fire. Even though he'd claimed she was the reason behind his breakup, he hadn't outright said anything. His reasons had been left open for interpretation like they always are, and she doesn't want to invite that uncertainty—the pain it's caused—back into her life again.

She moves her mouth over the rim of her coffee, avoiding any acknowledgement, and he swallows hard, waiting until she brings the mug down again before he fixes her with the same truth from over a decade ago, wrapping it around a soft plea. "I don't want to lose you."

"You already did, Harvey." Her cup clatters on the saucer with the forward reminder. She isn't trying to be hurtful or sound resentful. A few weeks ago she'd been happy, and he'd been just as clear about not having any regrets at Rachel's wedding. They went their separate ways for a reason and can spin things differently now, but that won't change everything that happened. "I left, remember?"

"I know." The agreement scratches his throat, the walls around his larynx squeezing tightly. At the time he'd thought he was weathering her absence, assimilating slowly, when really he'd just been burying himself in distractions. Mike had seen straight through the charade, trying to help him out of the spiral he didn't know he was in—one that hadn't been clear even during the kid's nuptials. But something had clicked into place the moment he'd laid eyes on Donna that night, and he'd coasted through believing her friendship was the missing piece, that if they could just find their footing again things would be okay. What he'd failed to realize or let himself access, is that it isn't just her guidance or presence that he needs. It's all of her, in every way that there is to want somebody—not just as someone he comes home to or shares a bed with. She's the person who makes his fear of the future obsolete, because forever between them isn't a question in his mind, except that, right now, it is. He screwed up, maybe irreparably, and the mistake is next on his list of things to apologize for. "I shouldn't have waited so long to try and fix things. I thought time would prove that I could find myself without you, but weeks, years—it doesn't matter. You make me the man I want to be, and I know I shouldn't have kissed you the way I did—" He stops to take a breath, wishing she would look at him. But her eyes remain transfixed on the cup in front of her, and all he can do is take a leap of faith. "What happened meant something to me, Donna. You have to believe that."

"That's not the problem," she flicks her eyes up from the dark brew, watching confusion flicker across his expression. She'd felt a change in him that night and can't deny it now, but she isn't ready to wear her vulnerability like he is.

"Then what's wrong?" he pushes, wary of overstepping the mark, but knowing he can't move them forward without understanding where her head is at. In the past, he's always been the closed book, but sitting on the other side of the table—literally and figuratively—gives him a new appreciation for her frustration.

"I'm mad at you, Harvey," she states boldly, encapsulating her feelings in a way he can understand. "I left my job, my family behind—knowing I had to move on because you were never going to see me the way I needed you to. Then you derail everything like a train running off the tracks, and I'm left questioning myself all over again." She shakes her head at him. "How is that fair?"

He's hit by the full depth of the hurt he's caused her, guilt storming over his defences. If she hadn't kissed him first while he was with Paula, the catalyst to her resigning wouldn't have existed. He'd blamed her for placing him in a difficult position and he thought those feelings somehow justified his actions, but they were a smokescreen. Just like when she'd claimed the kiss didn't mean anything. They'd each fled from the truth, and he's here trying to face it, but the willingness doesn't undo everything he put them both through—back then, and more recently. "You're right, it's not fair," he expels the acceptance with genuine regret. For years, he'd kept her an arms length away from his heart, and maybe he's lost the right to offer it now, but he'll wear the consequences. So long as it means she never has to question herself or his intentions going forward. "I hurt you—" he breathes out sharply "—and I hate that I did. But I won't ever make you feel that way again. Donna, I—"

"Avocado salad."

The waiter appears, abruptly cutting off what he'd been about to say, and she entertains the interruption with a forced smile, her stomach churning at the array of food placed down. Though she suspects the bout of nausea has more to do with the anxiety coursing through her. She hadn't been prepared for Harvey to show up after ten years and suddenly be emotionally available. Her mind can't process how she's supposed to respond and when the waiter leaves them alone again, the air moving inside her lungs feels tighter, like someone's stuffing it into her chest.

"Hey—"

His mouth dips in concern, worried by the thin pull of her lips and pale features. He'd cautioned himself about pushing too hard and adopts a tentative smile. "Why don't we get out of here, go for a walk or something?"

The light suggestion helps calm her nerves,, but he hasn't even touched his plate, and she swallows thickly. "What about breakfast?"

He shrugs at the meal. "Like you said, too much cholesterol anyway."

There's a hint of amusement behind the comment that grounds her, and she nods, piling into her coat while he fixes up the bill.

She doesn't care that the sky is greying and overcast when they step outside. The wide snow covered pavements allow her to breathe more freely as she falls in line with Harvey, no mind to question where they're going.

He keeps a watchful eye over her but she seems to relax, her cheeks flushing a more natural pink as he steers them toward the nearest body of water. There's no real purpose to the direction other than the bridge is nearby, and he buries his hands into his pockets, glancing across once more to make sure she's okay.

"I just needed some air," she answers his silent concern, but doesn't feel his gaze move away. His attention stays resting on her and she's about to reassure him more firmly when his next words catch her off guard.

"I had a panic attack." He lets the weight of the admission settle before quietly explaining himself. "The morning after you told me about Pullman. That's why I went round to confront him." He scuffs the snow under his shoe with a sigh. "It's not an excuse. I was thinking clearly enough by the time I got there, but then he made a comment about you, and I just... lost it."

The admission surprises her, although not that Collin had provoked him. She'd suspected as much, but had no idea he was suffering from panic attacks again. They might not excuse his behavior but knowing he'd had one helps her to understand why he'd acted so impulsively. The last time they'd been happening he'd thrown Louis across a glass table and even though he's come a long way since then, he's still never openly talked about those feelings of anxiety with her. It's the only answer she's never sought because truthfully, she'd always felt partially responsible for triggering the episodes, and a flicker of guilt softens her expression. "Are you still having them?"

He shakes his head, forcing down a rise of embarrassment. When the attacks first started happening he'd been ashamed by the weakness. It had taken months for him to accept they were a part of something bigger just like he hadn't been able to see the last one wasn't about Pullman, not really. The emotions were tied in to not being involved in her life anymore—a problem he's willing to do anything to fix. "I didn't mean to upset you back in the diner. If what I said was too much or—"

"It's fine, Harvey." She folds her arms around herself, warding off the chill as they trudge the incline up to the bridge.

He falls silent, his eyes scanning the Brooklyn divide, and he knows it's not a distance they're going to cross today. She needs time and when she stops to take in the river below, he leans against the rail beside her, content to just be present in the moment.

His focus shifts to the horizon, and she's grateful for the space to clear her mind. He's never been the patient type but she appreciates he's not trying to pressure her into a conversation she isn't ready to have. There's still too much fear woven into her hesitation—not just about their relationship, but surrounding her life in general. She needs a chance to catch back up and turns out of the wind to face him, poised with an excuse that he gently steals away from her.

"You're cold." He offers up the out with a light smile. "I should call Ray."

She nods, hugging herself more tightly as he slips off his glove to retrieve his phone.

They meet the Lexus not too far from the bridge, and the warmth of the interior slowly spreads through her as they navigate through the city to drop Harvey off first, and when he gets out, closing the door with a promise to call, her lips almost manage a genuine curve in response.

Harvey told her how he feels. He's not taking it back or running in the opposite direction like she thought he might when the reality of his collapsed relationship sunk in. If anything, he seems more at ease with himself now than he ever has, which means the rest is up to her.

She has to decide how she feels, and make a decision one way or another, because wherever they go from here, things are going to change.

AN: Thank you for all the amazing reviews and comments! And to Southsidesister (darvey_love) for being amazing ❤️