14. Fire and Brimstone

Harvey climbs out of Ray's Lexus, closing the door behind him and stepping onto the curb outside Donna's apartment. He gives the scarf around his neck a tug, loosening the Burberry cashmere to compensate the milder weather. In a few weeks he won't be needing the extra layer or the thick coat that's been shadowing him all winter. Spring is on the horizon, and he's never been more happy to see the back of too many long, dark days.

The sky is lighter compared to the evening prior, indigo hues from the sun disappearing, dusting the clouds, and he stretches his legs toward her building with a smile on his face. The change of season holds a new meaning to him now. Casual ambles through the city, a weekend trip to Boston or Seattle, even leave away to explore somewhere different, dare he float the idea as a holiday. He's always been career driven, and is still hoping he can convince Donna to take her old job back, but regardless of the plight, uninterrupted hours together, relaxed drives, maybe getting out of the country to laze by a Villa in Italy or roam the streets of Paris. Being with her is the only desire he has. He's never cared much for romance, and if he's honest, it's not the destination that matters. For the first time in his life, he can feel his priorities shifting. He's always had goals, but after Jessica left, he'd risen to the top, and all he'd felt was an insatiable emptiness—a void he'd tried to fill with a relationship that didn't fit. The labels he'd acquired, managing partner, best closer, boyfriend, they'd all meant nothing without Donna. But with her, they're achievements, things to be proud of, and his chest swells as he covers the distance to her place, eager to get inside, but he stops suddenly, goosebumps pricking his skin as a figure bolsters towards him.

Broad shoulders and unruly hair give away Pullman's silhouette, and Harvey forces himself into the man's path, anger seething through his veins as he blocks the stairs to Donna's apartment. "The hell are you doing here?" he spits, his nostrils flaring at the potent smell of alcohol assaulting his senses.

"I was in the neighbourhood," Collin slurs, bringing the flask in his hand up, and gulping down a hefty sip, before thrusting the container at the asshole lawyer. "Want some—oh, that's right, you don't like to share."

He rips his arm back to take another mouthful, and Harvey grinds his jaw, every muscle tense and on high alert when Pullman stumbles. The only reason he's not reefing the director off the sidewalk is because the man can barely stand straight as it is. He's blind drunk, leading Harvey to fix him with a stern glare, his voice dripping with venom. "I told you to stay away from Donna."

"Because you're fucking her, right?" he snarls, sobering himself up to confront the arrogant prick. "What's the going rate? Or is the whore giving it away for free?"

The institution drives Harvey to the brink of losing his restraint, jamming his fist into a tight ball. "Shut your goddamn mouth!" The desire to lash out is like a wildfire rushing through him, but the threat of heavy consequences keep his arm weighted by his side. "If you ever talk about her like that again—"

"You'll what?" He drives his palms into the lawyer's chest with an aggressive shove, deliberately provoking the man's rage. He's been gunning for a fight since Donna-fucking-Paulsen deemed she had the right to humiliate him, but he's blindsided by a sudden force, the wind rammed from his lungs when he connects with the building's brick foundation.

Harvey clenches the scruff of Pullman's collar, not giving a shit who's around to witness the anger leaching from his hands. "I'll break every bone in your pathetic body—" he growls, wringing his fingers tighter "—and if you come anywhere near her again, you'll fucking wish I had." He releases his death grip, breathing hard as the man is left gasping, but the burning gaze of the doorman stops him from stepping back in. "Go home. Sober the goddamn hell up," he snaps, his limbs convulsing with adrenaline as he leaves the director slumped against the wall, barely registering the pull in his thighs as he ascends the stairs.

His vision is already starting to spin, and he needs something to ground him before he loses it completely.

…

Donna hears the front door open and close, the jingle of Harvey's keys making her smile as she exits the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two glasses, ready to ask him about dinner, when the look on his face stops her. He's pale and flushed, eyes wide as he battles to remove the layers under his coat, and she sets down everything she's holding to move in and help. "Harvey, what is it?"

He shakes his head, relinquishing his jacket, and fighting to undo the knot crammed around his neck that feels like a noose. He'd lost his grip on reality the moment the elevator had closed, his thoughts trapped by too small a space and not enough air circulating. He'd been on the verge of going to his condo before coming here, picking up a few things to tide him over, and if he had… A wash of bile burns the lining of his throat.

If he had, god knows what would have happened.

She watches his hands tremble, no closer to removing his tie, and she pushes them away, concern hitting hard as she loosens it for him. She's never seen him like this before, and lets the silk fall open across his chest, smoothing her touch down the length of his arms. "It's okay. Breathe. I'm right here."

He sucks in instead of exhaling, his lungs not cooperating, and he angles toward the couch, sinking his palms over the back of it to support his weight. She doesn't leave his side, her fingertips resting lightly against the fabric of his shirt, and the touch helps bind the anxiety coursing through him. Pullman wasn't anywhere near her—she's safe—and the only thing causing her stress is the way he's reacting. "Sorry." He forces the apology out, coughing roughly over his embarrassment as he tries to calm himself down. "I'm fine."

The assurance is strained, and she risks adding more pressure to his side, surprised when he grabs her hand, pulling it further around and turning to hold her. She bunches the cotton beneath her fingers, letting him take as much time as he needs, and resting her head against his pounding heartbeat. She has no idea what could have gotten him so worked up but whatever caused his panic, she's not going anywhere and sinks into his embrace until she feels him start to relax. When his breathing finally evens out, she pulls back enough to find his gaze, ignoring the claim that he's fine. "What happened?" she asks, releasing his shirt when he separates them, scrubbing a wayward hand over his face.

The distance resonates a loss but he doesn't want to give her more cause for concern. He'd handled the situation and doubts the director would try another stunt like showing up here again, but he's not about to keep her in the dark over something that happened on her doorstep. "Pullman was downstairs. He was drunk, pissed off. I took care of it, but—" he shakes his head "—I think you should stay at my place for a few days."

Her feet shuffle back, confused and unnerved by why Collin would have sought her out, and she's suddenly queasy, placing the random appearance as the reason Harvey's struggling to get a hold of himself. She wants to ask how he dealt with it, but her mind floods down a path of what Collin's intentions might have been, instead. The night he'd grabbed her, he'd been aggressive without the aid of alcohol, and she folds her arms around her midsection, trying to protect herself from an endless swarm of possibilities. She'd accused Harvey of overreacting when she'd confronted the director outside of work, but this is the first time she's ever envisioned the man snapping, and she closes her eyes—jumping when Harvey lightly brushes her elbow.

"Hey..." He soothes gently, filled with regret over startling her. Barging in like he did was a mistake, but he hadn't been thinking. He'd lost himself in scenarios conjured up by his anxiety—a fear of failing to protect her, but he didn't. She's fine, standing right in front of him, and the premature scare just furthers his resolve to be more vigilant. He's not going to let anything happen to her, and he lifts his arm, cupping her cheek with a soft stroke of his thumb. "You don't have to worry, okay? I won't let him anywhere near you."

The reassurance washes over her, and she exhales slowly, relaxing as she covers his hand. Ever since she'd told him about Collin, he's been at the forefront of everything with his battle armour on, and she directs his wrist down with a gentle squeeze. "I know." The suggestion they stay at his was real enough to waive any doubt about how serious he is, but she isn't just rattled by the situation. She's also shaken by how wrong her instincts had been. She'd pegged Collin as someone who manipulated his way into seizing power, meticulous with plans—not a person who would lash out carelessly in an uncontrolled environment. And she doesn't believe it's a coincidence that only a few days ago she'd given Samantha permission to go snooping around in his private affairs.

He watches her expression drift again, this time more thoughtfully, and he prods her with a nudge. "What is it?"

She swallows, glancing up at him with a slight shake of her head. "Samantha said she would do some digging…" As soon as the words leave her mouth he tenses, slipping his fingers from hers, and she knows exactly what's going through his mind. "Harvey, this wasn't her fault."

"The hell it wasn't," he grumbles, frustration stirring up the doubt he's been paving over since being pushed aside as her lawyer. He'd told himself he was fine not handling the case because he trusted Samantha, but whatever the woman did, her actions put Donna in danger, and he paces anxiously, conscious of where he's directing his anger. "She should have been more goddamn careful."

His reaction is easy to strip down, but it's not fair or even warranted, and she folds her arms over her chest, forcing them straight to the crux of the problem. "You mean, you would have been more careful."

The accusation increases his annoyance, but he doesn't acknowledge the comment, too focused on fixing whatever Samantha did to put Pullman on the warpath. His only care is undoing her screw up, and he moves to where Donna bundled his jacket in search of his phone.

"Harvey, stop." She fixes him with a warning not to make the call. Acting rashly is why she'd gone to Samantha in the first place. Because he can't separate the way he feels from the right thing to do, and Samantha can.

Her voice stalls his movement, and he lets the fabric go, casting her with his own aspersions. She can't expect him to take a back seat and keep her safe. The man who physically assaulted her showed up hurling threats. He's not going to stand idly by because she has too much pride to let him help.

"I'm involved in this Donna, whether you like it or not. Pullman was here. And if I hadn't been—"

She flinches, the reaction stopping him from continuing with the crude insinuation, and regret jams in his throat as she moves further back, distancing herself from him. The last thing he wants to do is frighten or drive her away. But her arms are pulled tightly like some sort of shield, and the defensiveness reverberates through him. He swore he wouldn't hurt her again, and he stumbles over a way to bridge the sudden divide between them. "I wasn't trying to—"

Overstep, piss her off, control anything.

They're all lines he'd been on the verge of crossing. But only because he wants her out of Pullman's line of fire. If the only way to achieve that goal is by separating his intentions from his emotions, then he'll sacrifice the latter, do whatever it takes, even throw his own walls back up as a buffer if he has to. "You need to know what you're dealing with, Donna. So does Samantha."

Something akin to anguish flashes across his face, like it's paining him to be so direct, but she doesn't want to exclude him. She's trying to get him to meet her half-way and swallows thickly, correcting his assumption. "What we're dealing with," she says, hoping to get them onto the same page. "I want you involved, Harvey, but I need you to do this with me, not for me."

He catches himself assimilating the difference, surprised by a wave of relief he wasn't expecting. Their default has always been to tread a careful line. Maybe because they've crossed it more than once with consequences, but her assurance instills something stronger than the hard truth behind it. They're not always going to agree on everything. From time to time they're going to slip up, but they're together now. He can't hold back because he's afraid to lose her, but she needs to trust him with information, not automatically assume he'll act in a way she doesn't like. Forever is a given, but they still have to navigate through their insecurities, not hide behind them like they used to, and he moves from the safety of the couch, wearing his vulnerability for her to see.

She blinks up at his approach and when he steers her arms down, she lets them fall, removing the barrier between them as his voice washes over her.

"I'm not trying to make decisions for you, Donna, but you have to let me help, or it's going to keep feeling like we're on opposite sides," he says gently, needing her to understand things from his perspective as well.

She sinks her lip between her teeth, hearing what he's saying, and realising the ask is a fair compromise. She can't expect him to know which way to turn if he's standing in the dark, and she agrees with a small nod. "You're right, I'm sorry… I'll try."

She offers a weak smile and his mouth curves gently in response. "Come here…" He tugs her against his chest, fluttering his lips over the top of her head, and accepting responsibility for his faults as well. "We'll talk to Samantha, tomorrow, both of us, okay?"

The murmur tickles her hair, and she breathes in his scent, relaxing as she clasps the material of his shirt. They're both used to doing things their own way, maybe her even more so. In the past, her choices have always been her own. Her personal life never intermingled with their professional relationship, and the two times it did—when she went to work for Louis, and he chose to put Paula first—the ramifications were devastating. But this situation isn't the same. He's proved she doesn't need to be afraid. That a future together is all he wants. And now it's her turn to make sure he knows she wants the same thing. "We should stay at your place tonight. I'll get some things together."

She lingers, stepping out of his arms, and he circles her wrist, not wanting to let her go without pinning the last few bubbles of tension floating in the air. "Lacy things?"

He hooks up an eyebrow, a boyish smirk tugging his lips, and the response makes her momentarily forget everything else they're dealing with. Even in the midst of uncertainty, he's always been able to make her feel like everything will be okay, and she clasps his hand, absorbing the warmth in his gaze. "What if I let you choose?"

She pulls him forward and he follows without hesitation. They're not always going to get every right, but the majority of times they will, and the rest they'll figure out along the way.

…

…

Donna wakes to her phone buzzing in unfamiliar surroundings but the arms wrapped snugly around her waist are a reminder she's somewhere safe, and she reaches for the noise disturbing her sleep, falling short of the bedside table, and smiling softly as Harvey's grip tightens, keeping her in place.

Until last night his condo had been somewhere she'd only visited in passing, and on the cab ride over she'd wondered if the space would introduce a different dynamic, but nothing had changed. When they'd crossed the threshold he'd welcomed her into his home like she belonged there. Exactly how she feels now, nestled in his warmth, but the vibrating intrusion reluctantly draws her out of his embrace.

Harvey stirs, mumbling a groggy protest at the loss of contact. He's still blanketed by sleep, but Donna's words start drifting into his consciousness and he fights the exhaustion threatening to pull him back under. He didn't hear an alarm, his mind registering it's still early, but when he blinks open heavy eyes, there's enough light for him to see Donna perched on the edge of the bed. She ends the call and he realizes he must have missed more of the conversation than he thought, time still a foreign concept as he takes in her silhouette.

"Everything okay?" he asks, his voice croaking through the quiet but she doesn't answer, and he shrugs the blanket down, unnerved by her silence. "Donna?" He moves close enough to see she's shaking, and a knot of concern twists in his stomach. The room isn't cold. He'd put the heating on a timer before they'd turned in, and he clears the unease in his throat, brushing her shoulder. "Who was on the phone?"

She startles, registering his presence with a sharp intake of air, still trying to get her bearings. "Zoey…" she finally answers, sick to her stomach from hearing the woman's ordeal. "Collin attacked her..." There's a shudder to her voice as the room seems to shrink in size. "She was ringing from the hospital."

Her fingers have a death grip on the phone and he reaches out to prise the object from her trembling hands, replacing the device with a light squeeze. There are a hundred questions spilling through his mind, but he asks the most obvious one first. "Is she all right?"

Donna nods, even though it's a stretch to say Zoey is fine. Her former assistant had been admitted overnight with a concussion and several bruised ribs, the ramifications prompting a rush of guilt that slams her, making the room spin. The blonde had reached out in concern because Collin had been ranting about women trying to ruin his life. Zoey was worried, that's why she'd called, and Donna sinks her head down, feeling a lump well in her throat. "She was working late... he must have gone back to the office after he left here. Oh god—" she sucks in sharply "—this is my fault."

A sob erupts around the declaration, and he drops in front of her, his heart breaking at the flood of tears burying her gaze. He's seen her upset before but never like this, and he runs his palms over her thighs in an attempt to settle her down. "Donna... listen to me," he urges calmly. "What happened to Zoey wasn't your fault."

"How can you say that?" She glares through her haloed vision, torn between needing his comfort and not deserving the reassurance. Zoey had warned her from day one not to antagonize Collin, but she hadn't listened, determined to put the director in his place. Harvey had pleaded with her to stay away from him, and just a few hours ago he'd tried to step in to keep things from spiralling, but she hadn't let him. Every decision she's made led to her former assistant getting hurt, and she pushes Harvey's hands aside, stealing a deep breath. "I need to see her."

He nods, not sure what else to do except agree and hope it's the right call. He's only met Zoey once, but given how much she'd struck him as being like Donna, he can't picture the younger woman directing blame at anyone other than Pullman. But either way, he's not leaving Donna to face anything alone. "We'll get dressed, then I'll call us a cab." He pushes up slowly, brushing his fingers lightly against her shoulder. "It'll be okay."

She winces as his touch falls away from her, but pulls herself together, focused on finding something to wear. Zoey needs her strength, not reams of self-pity, and she puts on her armour, readying herself to do what she can to make things right.

...

AN: Sorry for the delay! Thank you to Southsidesister (darvey_love) for the motivation, advice, and encouragement to get these chapters over the line. And to drimicheletti (dri_micheletti ) who reminds me why I love to write and keeps igniting that spark! Plus, everyone still sticking with this story and leaving reviews :D xx