Okay, so I hope this is okay. I may not be able to update again for like a week because I have about 2 papers to work on. Please review to let me know what you think. I'm sorry about how bad it is.
Harvey feels the ache of sleeping on a couch and he isn't even fully awake yet. His muscles scream at him as the six o'clock sun nearly blinds him before he can peel his eyes open. His head pounds and he can't figure out the reason. It could be the alcohol or it could be the sunlight, maybe even the uncomfortable couch he's laying on.
He lifts a hand and scratches at his five o'clock shadow before pushing his fingers further up his face to rub at his eyes. The itch makes him think that he's up a little too early. He clearly isn't built to function off of 5 hours of sleep anymore. His age is showing. He's always feared feeling 40.
He slowly peels his eyes open and catches sight of Theo sprawled out on the love seat at an angle from the couch. He feels a little jealous of his son's youth, the way that he looks so comfortable in the most uncomfortable looking position. Harvey sighs as he sits up, stretching his muscles and trying to crack his back so he can keep his good posture.
He's barely on his feet, dress pants so wrinkled now that he'd almost rather throw them away than shamefully take them to the dry cleaners, before he gets the urge to talk to Donna. He doesn't know how long he's carried this need to talk to her first thing in the morning around. It could be habit, but he isn't sure that it's just the familiarity that matters.
He stalks down the hallway, peeking into Chelsea's room to see that whoever is in there is still fast asleep, and lingers at her door. He's been in there a few times, but not enough to remember anything beyond the fact that he's standing at her bedroom door. He suppresses a yawn as his fingers wrap around the doorknob. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, the door creaking as it opens.
He doesn't know why it didn't occur to him that Chelsea would be sharing Donna's bed, but at the sight of the teenage girl he takes a step back. He cringes at his stupidity. He takes a step back, fingers tightening on the doorknob.
"Hey." Her voice makes him stop, halts him in his very movement, "looking for the bathroom?"
"Um," he tiredly replies, voice hoarse from sleep, "no. I was looking for you."
"You found me," she echoes the sentiments from the night before.
"I didn't mean to wake you," he replies immediately.
"It's okay," Donna counters, motioning him in, "come in."
"I don't want to wake her," he says with a light shake of the head. He lifts his hands in a non-threatening manner.
Donna laughs, "she's out like a broken light bulb. There's no waking her up without physical force."
He proceeds further into the room with a slight nod of the head. He notes that Chelsea practically sleeps on the edge of the bed, like she could fall off at any moment. Donna scoots closer to the middle as he sits on her side of the bed in the space she created for him.
"I woke up and you're the first person I wanted to talk to," Harvey admits.
She sits up a little, looking at him with tired eyes, "is everything okay?"
"Everything is great," he says. He matches her gaze. For a very long time they don't say anything. He thinks that maybe she's falling back to sleep when her hand moves. He silently hopes that it's a movement towards him, that she's inviting him to make a move, but she doesn't. "I just really wanted to talk to you."
"Are you trying to say something?"
"I meant what I said last night. I want to," he hesitates, eyes flitting to Chelsea and back to Donna. His eyes get distracted by the shape of her mouth, the way that they are tired and inviting at the same time. He thinks they look warm, that they look like everything he's been looking for. He swallows; "I want to kiss you."
"We work together. My daughter relies on you for a lot of things, Harvey. I don't want to mess that up."
"I'm not," he starts. He sighs in resignation before deciding that this isn't something that he can just let go so easily. His eyes briefly close and he covers her hand with his own. "I'm not saying we try to be a family right now, Donna. I'm just saying that maybe we could be together. Maybe we don't have to always wonder what if - what if I could kiss you or hold your hand or wake up and get to talk to you first thing in the morning. What if we tried this and we worked? What if we tried this and we didn't, but we're still alive? You said if I felt the same way this morning that we could talk about it and I still do."
"When are we ever alone?" She asks, "we aren't even alone right now."
"We can find ways," he attempts to reason, "we just have to make an effort. We have to try."
"Are you ready to do that?" She asks him.
He gives her a firm nod. He purses his lips, absently licks them, and feels her hand turn beneath his. He swallows and offers her a tired smile. "I wish we could be alone right now."
Donna stares at him for a moment before he sees the mischief light her eyes; "I have an idea."
After divulging her idea, she sends him into her bathroom to take a shower. Once the water starts running, she rolls to face her teenage daughter hogging all of the blankets in the corner of the bed. Reaching across Chelsea, she begins to tickle the younger version of herself's ear. Chelsea shakes her head in return.
Finally, Chelsea peels her eyes open and sends a growl in her mother's direction. "Mom! Stop it!"
"I just couldn't help myself," Donna replies.
Chelsea growls again. "I hate you."
"Exactly what a mother can't wait to hear," Donna replies deadpanned.
"I need to pee," Chelsea mumbles into the pillow.
Donna reaches onto her nightstand for her phone and begins flipping through her emails, deleting the unimportant ones and ignoring the important ones for now. She quirks her eyebrow and tosses her daughter an eye of suspicion.
"Don't wet my bed."
"Mom," Chelsea whines.
Donna presses her foot against Chelsea's calf where her pajama pants have traveled up her leg in her wild sleep, "use your bathroom. Harvey's in mine."
Chelsea's eyes nearly jump out of her head when she registers the words that come out of her mother's mouth. Could it mean what she thinks it means? She squints and rolls over to face her mom. "Why am I in your bed? Why is Harvey here? In your shower?"
"Impromptu sleepover," Donna replies nonchalantly with a shrug. She reminds herself to keep it cool.
The email with the red exclamation point catches her eye. She realizes that she's only cc'd on it and it's addressed to Harvey. It's from Dana Scott. Donna sighs and impulsively rolls her eyes upon reading the name. Time to brace herself for the fall.
Chelsea, meanwhile, suppresses a grin; "right, Mom."
"I thought you needed to pee," Donna reminds her child, turning off her phone and setting it back on the nightstand.
Chelsea sighs for effect, "fine. I know when I'm not wanted."
"Honey, don't be like that," Donna groans.
"I'm just teasing, Mom. You're a bed hog anyway," Chelsea replies with a smile as she crawls out of bed.
"Hey, I resent that," Donna mumbles.
Chelsea smirks as she leaves, practically closing the door behind her, but before it can shut all of the way the door bounces against the frame. Donna lightly shakes her head, wondering how she got stuck with a packed, full apartment. She doesn't know how facing everyone will work. She didn't sign up for this. She doesn't want to find out if this is some kind of setup.
By the time Donna makes it out into the living room during her trip to the kitchen to get a pot of coffee started, she notes that Chelsea has taken Harvey's spot on the couch and is passed out. One thing she can always count on, is her daughter predictably falling back to sleep within 5 minutes. She breathes a sigh of relief that she was right. She flips on the coffee pot and makes it back into her bedroom just in time to hear the water in her bathroom shut off.
Just as she's crawling back into bed, the bathroom door pops open. He takes a peek into the bedroom before stepping out of the bathroom completely. He's practically covered in steam, but his hair is wet. He squints and she can tell that he's still has the slightest hints of a headache. She wasn't aware that he'd had that much more to drink than she did.
"Shame that you're fully dressed," she comments playfully.
He tiredly smiles at her and falls onto the bed where she's patting the mattress, "you're never fully dressed without a smile."
He slips further down the bed and rests his head on the pillow, angling his neck so he can look up at her. She lightly shakes her head in disagreement. "Being fully dressed is overrated."
"Miss Paulsen, I wasn't aware that you could be so dirty," he baits.
"Ha ha," she mocks.
He stares at her long and hard, studying her facial features like he's waiting to see something else. Over the last 15 years, they've been in this position once or twice, laying on the same bed and looking at each other with the same thought. They both know that this time is different somehow, that even without trying to put the change in the air it would be there.
His lips purse as he reaches for her hand. With the gentlest touch she's ever seen him make, he slips his fingers between hers. She's surprised by how natural it feels, as though they've been doing this for a long time. He squints as sun rays slip between the blinds and she knows that the hangover he is fending off is much worse than her own.
"Do you need anything?" She asks, "water? Aleve?"
He lets his eyes close fully before lightly shaking his head. "Don't you dare leave me now."
He sounds so open and vulnerable that she can't bring herself to move away from him now if she wanted to. She knows him, knows how hard for him that is. So, she takes the chance. She stays right beside him and lets him squeeze her fingers as tightly as he needs to so he can believe that she is real. She knows what he's thinking, what he's feeling, because she feels it, too.
She swallows, "what do we tell the others?"
"We don't tell them anything," he replies quietly, "no reason to get the kids involved until we know that we're not going to hurt anybody."
"I'm not saying we should send out family Christmas cards this year, Harvey," Donna counters with a smirk, "I'm just saying that-"
"Donna," he interjects forcefully, "I love being with you more than I love being with anyone but I love your daughter, too, and I don't want to do anything for her to hate me."
"Harvey," she replies somberly.
Any form of disagreement dies on her lips when she sees the sincerity on his face as he peels his eyes open. She understands where he's coming from. Her daughter can be quite difficult and holds grudges like there's no tomorrow. But even then, Chelsea just wants one thing - her father to notice her. If she's honest, Donna thinks that Chelsea is on the verge of giving that up. She just needs a little encouragement, guidance that she's doing just fine without him and will continue to do so.
It's out of character for Harvey that he doesn't mimic her by saying her name, that he doesn't retort with an equal amount of playfulness as well as snark. She wonders if this is going to be their repertoire now. If so, she doesn't like it. She doesn't like that when she pushes he won't push back. She needs for Harvey to stay the same.
She'll give him a pass because he is irreversibly hungover and that is the only time his wit fails him.
Monday morning comes and it's almost as if Saturday had never happened. Donna doesn't know if it's a game that Harvey is playing or if he's just trying not to do too much too fast. She suspects it could be either. She thinks that there's a possibility that Harvey didn't mean a single word that came out of his mouth between Friday night and Saturday night.
Despite her uncertainty in the state of their personal relationship, the part of her who is no doubt the best secretary a lawyer in New York City could ask for waits for him at the door. Without admission, it's regarding the email she haphazardly chose to ignore on Saturday morning – the one which rocked her to her very core. Part of her wonders if that's the reason he didn't call or text on Sunday, if it's because the She-devil Dana Scott that there is already so much more standing in the way of the possibility of them. She's disappointed in herself and the way she's become so unsettled with herself just within the span of two days.
She rocks on her heels, eyes tracing over the empty spot beside Jessica's name, and ultimately deciding that it is her only goal to get his name on the door. If nothing else, at least she can give him that before they part ways. She believes that their undoing is inevitable. She doesn't know how long she can live like this. She was a mess for all of Sunday. Chelsea didn't notice. She was too busy talking about Rachel and Mike.
The elevator doors slide open and it nearly knocks her off of her feet when he stills of the doorway. She can't tell if Harvey is standing stock still because he's awestruck, or if it's disappointment upon seeing her. She doesn't want to ask. She's already become attached to the idea of trying to have a relationship with him after just one day. She's speechless.
Harvey notes that a speechless Donna is never a good thing. He feels the desire in his chest upon seeing her and he can't take his eyes off of her. The entire ride up he'd tried to brace himself to see her, but he hadn't been expecting her to be there waiting. He likes that she is. Maybe a little too much.
"Donna," he murmurs. He finally steps out, toe of his shoe nearly catching on the space between the lift and the floor. The doors shut promptly behind him and he's trapped. He takes a swift look around and notes that they are the only ones there. He absently checks his watch for the time;7:58am. "Is everything okay?"
"Dana Scott will be in the office later this afternoon," she informs him.
She turns on her heel and begins heading towards her desk. He's forced to fall into step beside her, taking much larger strides than he's prepared himself for this early in the morning. He needs the largest cup of coffee in existence this early in the morning to stay on point with her.
His gaze narrows at her. "Wait a second." She doesn't miss a step. "Why is she even here?"
"Should I cancel your one o'clock and schedule you a long lunch?" She entices with a wink.
"What?" He nearly yells, "no. I can't afford to have you out of the office that long."
She almost can't tell if he doesn't understand what she's hinting at or if he's choosing to ignore it. Either way, the smile on her mouth is utterly apparent that she appreciates his answer. She almost doesn't even realize that she is smiling until he tilts his chin and mirrors her look. His eyes take in her frame, the way that her blue dress hugs it, and he steps a little closer.
He leans heavily against her cubicle. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"
"Theo!"
Chelsea's voice makes him halt in his step as he exits the locker room. He sighs on impulse because he's already running late to baseball practice. If he doesn't make first cut then his dad is going to kill him when he isn't on the team in the spring. He doesn't have time for this, not right now.
"Yeah?" He asks, turning on his heel to face her.
Chelsea almost trips over her flute case and backpack because both of them are hanging from her arms while she's running in his direction like a mad woman. She's already the annoying little sister that he never wanted but couldn't live without. When he first arrived on his father's doorstep, he and his father stared at each other for what seemed like hours before a single word was uttered in the space between them. Harvey had simply asked, hungry?
He didn't know how to raise a kid, barely had room for one in his uptight New York City elitist apartment and certainly wasn't one to encourage messes. Theo practically went from a household that was so messy he could barely walk through it to one that if anything was on the floors then his ass was grass. He still doesn't understand that term but when Harvey told him that at 9 years old, it struck the feat of god into him. He didn't even know if he believed in god, but he's pretty sure that he believes that his father has become a sucker.
"We need to talk," she spats.
Her breath is hot, indicating that she's problem run from all the way across school ground, and it's labored like she thinks that it's important. He really doesn't have time. He wishes that he did, but the tension is gathering in his shoulders. He really needs to catch a break. It's only the first week of school.
He absently checks his watch. "Can it be later? I can't do it right now. Baseball practice before try-outs."
She huffs a little but relents off of his gaze, "fine."