Sorry about the lateness. Christmas happened Goddamnit ! :D

Oh and another M rating for this chapter. Skip over if you're still not feeling the raunch, lol. x

X X X

TEN MINUTES TOO LATE

CHAPTER FOUR

The Trouble with Louis

"PRESENT DAY"

Harvey stares through the glass window of the hospital door, his hand frozen to the handle. He can't move.

His eyes cloud with water and his chest tightens. All he can hear is his own pulse thudding and swishing in his ears. The pain is unbearable. A real physical pain which makes his blood thunder around his body and his legs tremble beneath him as if the bones of his limbs are disintegrating.

"You can go in and sit with her," says the voice of a Latina nurse – a large woman with huge dark eyes that were permanently embedded with sympathy. And what was up with her tone? The softness isn't soothing, in fact it gnaws at the back of his brain … it grates … it is too well rehearsed, too insincere, too scripted. How many times has she watched this same scene unfold? How many other men has she comforted while their lover lay fighting for their life … shit … why? Why was he here? How? This is Donna for Christ's sake. She's invincible. She is …

Harvey removes his hand from the door handle and takes a step back, the lump in his throat jarring as his impulse to swallow fights against the rise of panic that is building in his gut.

"Sir, are you okay?" asks the nurse as he falls back against the hallway wall, his breath rattling in his chest as his heartrate quickens. "Sir?"

His vision blurs. The nurse's royal blue overalls mixing with the chipped lilac of the painted wall they are standing against. He looks to the ceiling, focusing on something … anything … that might take his mind off the panic and get him through that door. He starts counting the ceiling tiles … they're pale and rubbery, marked with age and the brown stained aftermath of a water pipe leak. He puts his hand to his chest, feeling it rise and fall against his palm. 'Concentrate, focus, she needs you', he says to himself.

It takes a few moments for Harvey to pull himself together – the nurse waiting patiently by his side. "I'm okay," he croaks out in a whisper. "I suffer from panic attacks … but I'm okay …" The nurse's dark eyes grow wider and her sympathy overwhelms him in a rush of emotion. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. She'll be fine. She's Donna … she doesn't get ill, do you know that? Never. I've known her over a decade and she hasn't had anything other than a cold. She's strong … she's the toughest person I know … she's … she can't …"

The nurse places her hand on his arm as he falters. "It's been twelve hours. She's in a stable condition now. She's fighting."

Harvey feels a swell of pride as he imagines her battling with everything she has. He knows she isn't going to let this beat her. He knows she'll be giving her all to get back to him. She may be unconscious, but he knows she'll still be fighting. She'll wake up. He knows she will. She has to.

But then his pride morphs into a swirl of regret that threatens to sink his stomach, rocketing bile into his throat. He thinks about all the wasted years. All that time he couldn't see what was standing right in front of him. Years of her being perfect. Absolutely, unbelievably perfect … while he was a dick. She was brave, he was a coward. She deserved so much more and if … no, when … she got through this he was damn well going to make sure she got everything she wanted. Everything.

He was going to start giving her what she deserved now. Right now. So, he steels himself, sucks in a lungful of air and moves towards the door. Then he grips the handle tight and pushes it open.

His focus goes straight to her and he almost crashes to the floor. He moves to her side, her face is almost completely hidden by tubes that feed into machines and back again, several different beeping noises marking her body's status and progress. Her face – still so beautiful – is pale. He feels like that air gets knocked from his lungs because he wasn't expecting that. He didn't think she'd look so cold, so lifeless …

He stumbles into a chair, his body slumping awkwardly like he has the weight of the entire planet on his shoulders. *beep, beep, beep*. His heartrate seems to sync with the machines and suddenly he's disorientated, his mind floating, his thoughts repeating the same questions – 'how did this happen?', 'why did I let her arrive alone?', 'why her?'

Harvey reaches forward to take her hand, ignoring the cannula, wires and tape protruding from her bruised skin. He breathes a sigh of relief when he feels warmth. He expected cold – more lifelessness – but as his hand closes around hers he almost convinces herself that she's warmer than he is.

Suddenly he's aware of other people in the room – the nurse has followed him and another nurse – a tall black guy with a maddeningly ridiculous soul patch stuck to his chin – is working away in the background. The woman, leafs through the notes on a flipchart while the man takes down readings from the life support machine.

"How is she?" Harvey says quickly and quietly, his stomach burning with dread and anticipation.

"No change," replies the male nurse.

Harvey turns back to Donna and grips her hand tighter. "Come on, Donna. You can do this," he says, his teeth gritted to stop his tears from falling. He brushes his other hand through her hair, which seems duller and less shiny. A tear escapes when he finds his favourite lock – the one behind her ear – and he starts to curl it around his fingers. "You can't leave me. Promise you won't ever … leave …"

"THREE WEEKS AGO"

"You won't ever leave me, will you?"

Donna lifts her head from Harvey's chest and looks up into his eyes. A small smile tugs at the left corner of her mouth as her gaze seeks out his insecurity. "Harvey. I've been by your side for almost thirteen years. If I was going to leave you, I'd have done it by now."

"You did do it. Once."

She pulls up her elbow and rests her head on her wrist. "And I came back."

"Promise me you won't leave me again, though."

Donna sighs, her fingers caressing light circles onto his bare chest. "Harvey, I've told you before. That depends upon you. I can't promise."

His body stiffens and he looks to the ceiling. She stops touching him, her head falling back onto the pillows and he sighs softly. "We'll get married one day, you know?" He senses her sudden return to a half-sitting position, resting her head on her elbow again, and he starts to giggle.

"Harvey, if that was a proposal, I can tell you … I've had better …"

He turns back to look at her and squints. "It wasn't … it's just … I know we'll get married."

"You know? Since when did you know stuff?"

"Ah, I see what's going on here. You're Donna, right? Crisis of faith – call the cavalry – How did Donna not know she'd marry Harvey when Harvey knew?"

Donna's raises her eyes as high as they will go. "Seriously?"

His eyes twinkle with humour. "Yes, seriously. I think you've lost all your powers … or … wait a minute … maybe I've assimilated them."

"Bullshit," she says as she returns her head to his chest. "I still have all my Donna powers," she purrs as she kisses his torso, her hand snaking under the white cotton sheets.

"Mmm … shit … okay," moans Harvey as Donna's head disappears under the sheets.

X X X

They never officially 'became' an item. Things just progressed from office to bedroom – every night – repeatedly – for a week. They never officially decided to keep their progression a secret from their 'family' back at Pearson Specter Litt. It just happened that way. Awarding themselves privacy to embark on this strange new adventure was what they deserved.

One week after the second time, Harvey took Donna out for dinner, choosing an Italian in Greenwich that served log fire baked pizza on checked tablecloths. It wasn't five star, but it was cool, retro and intimate.

Following dessert, Donna's gaze shifts – for the hundredth time – to a couple seated three tables away from them.

"Okay, I'm calling it … what gives?"

"Hmm?"

"You've been distracted all evening." Harvey shoots a glance over his right shoulder. "Who are they?"

Donna's mouth makes an 'O'. "I'm not one hundred percent."

Harvey's brow furrows. "Okay … who do you think they are then?"

Donna looks over again, her eyes meeting with the woman's. She quickly averts her gaze and leans over the table to Harvey. "Don't look over whatever you do … but I think that's Tara."

"Who?"

"Tara … you know … Louis's Tara."

He looks over his shoulder and she nips his hand. "Argh! What the hell …?"

"I said don't look!"

"You've been looking all night!"

"They're in my line of vision, not yours, you idiot."

He grimaces. "Why don't you go say 'hi', and ask her if she's this Tara then?" he says as he rubs his hand, frowning at his reddened, pinched skin. "And if she is Louis's Tara … I gotta hand it to the guy. He must be packing some heat to pull a woman who looks like that …"

Harvey's chuckle fades when he sees the look on Donna's face. "Are you kidding me?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "What? Come on, be honest. She's so far out of Louis's league they're playing in different states."

"Harvey Specter I've always known you were a dick, but sometimes your shallowness astounds me. Maybe Tara sees Louis's kind heart. Maybe she appreciates his devotion to her. Maybe she's impressed that he fell in love with her at first sight and that he told her in considerably less time than … ooh … let me think … twelve years?" His face falls and she bites her lip when she realises she might have gone too far. "Look, all I'm saying is there's a lot to love about Louis."

He nods uncomfortably and starts playing with the stem of his wine glass. "I'm sorry … just having a bit of fun … Mike would get it. Anyway, haven't you met her before?"

"No, but Louis has her photograph on his desk. Bumped me as Ophelia in High School out of the way to make room for her, and she sure does look like that photograph."

Harvey shrugs. "So? It's not like you're shy … go over and talk to her." Donna sighs and her eyes fall to the table. Harvey notices she's twisting her mouth in that way she does when she has more on her mind than what she's letting on. "What is it?" he asks in a whisper.

"Who do you think she's with?"

He shrugs his shoulders again. "How should I know? I'm not allowed to turn around, remember. Would I know if I turned around?"

"No … okay … so, I've been watching and …" she dips her head and half covers he mouth, telling him she's venturing into gossip territory. "They've been holding hands … and … she's had a half-share of two bottles of wine."

"Does she have a brother, a friend, a cousin she likes to have over at Christmas, but then looks forward to him leaving?" Donna twists her mouth into a pout to stifle her grin at a line she spun him a couple of years ago. "And she's having wine because she's eating."

"Okay, listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth," she says in a tone which tells him he's missed something major. "She's having dinner … with a man … and drinking alcohol …"

"And so are we … because this is a restaurant … and this conversation is weird."

Donna shakes her head at him. "Do I have to spell it out?"

"Uhm … that might help …"

Donna leans in closer again, her chest resting on the table giving Harvey an eyeful. "She's pregnant," she says out of the corner of her mouth.

"Oh," says Harvey as it hits him. Then he shrugs. "Well maybe she's not into her health very much."

"Trust me. A pregnant woman beloved by pregnancy-vitamin-obsessed-Louis wouldn't be drinking that much wine." There are some stirrings behind them and Donna suddenly shoots to her feet. "Right, I'm going to ask her," she declares as she tosses her napkin down on the table, following the Tara-look-a-like to the bathroom.

Harvey puts his head in his hands, immediately expecting the worst.

X X X

The dark haired woman eyes Donna in the bathroom as she dries her hands. Donna smiles, then sides up next to her and goes straight for the jugular. "Excuse me, but are you Tara Messer?" she asks in her absolute best British accent.

The woman's expression shifts. "Uhm … yes, I am … and you are?"

"Penelope Carruthers … I looked at your company once for some work I needed doing on my … uhm … beach house."

Tara offers a vague expression. "Really? I can't remember …"

"Can't you? Oh, that's a shame. We shelved the project, but I was looking to start it up again." Donna scrutinises Tara's expression and she senses she's losing her. She wills her brain to work quicker, draws in a breath and off she goes again: "Sorry, for staring at dinner. It took me a while to place you and when I did, I realised I needed to get to work on that blasted house again. Things have been … so … uhm … so …" Donna engages fake cry style 4: bereaved woman with a sizeable dollop of scorn, "I'm sorry, it's just since Bartholomew passed away … I can't seem to …" She turns away and cries into her sleeve.

"I'm … so sorry … was Bartholomew your husband, was it recent?" asks Tara.

"No, he was my cockapoo, but he was part of the family and I still miss him so much … then that same week my absolute bastard of a husband left me for some perma-tanned twenty-something hair stylist half my age. The house is my divorce settlement."

Tara exudes 'uncomfortable'. "Oh I'm sorry," she says. "You seem to have moved on though," says Tara as she passes Donna a paper towel to wipe away her fake tears.

"Moved on?"

"Yeah, the guy you're with."

"Oh you mean … uhm … Harold? No, no, no. Harold's my yoga instructor. I need to get in shape for a part in a play. Did I mention I was an actress? When I'm in New York, I always check in with Harold … well let's just say there's no better stress release than a spot of yoga."

"You know … I've been thinking about taking up yoga myself. Maybe I should check in with Harold?"

Donna grits her teeth and smiles. "That would be super! In the meantime, can I give you a call about my beach house? I'll be back in the city after the play ends at around … oooh … April, May, so what's that? Eight or nine months?"

"That's fits perfect, but my schedule is filling up fast for next year. I definitely have a slot available late spring through to the summer at the moment." She puts her hand in her bag, takes out a slim silver box and passes Donna a business card. "It would be my pleasure to get a chance to work on your project, Mrs Carruthers."

"Splendid," says Donna, managing somehow to ignore the swell of rage building in the pit of her stomach. "And please call me Penelope."

Tara extends her hand again. "Lovely to see you again, Penelope. Now if you excuse me, I need to get back to Joshua. He works in California part of the year and he's just got back. Tonight is a bit of a special night for us."

Donna bites her tongue as her inner tiger awakens. She fights the urge to pounce. Hell, she fights the urge to open her mouth and bit Tara's head clean off. "Have a nice evening," she says with barely disguised sadness.

"Thank you," says Tara as she leaves, her eyes registering the shift in Donna's tone.

X X X

When Donna returns to Harvey she demands they pay the bill and leave – her face scripted with words he knows her brain is processing. They go back to Harvey's apartment where she tells him all about her conversation with Tara. Harvey – ever the lawyer – plays devil's advocate. Maybe she said she was free next summer because she intended to pass any new client she won over to her partners. Maybe she was meeting Joshua for old time's sake. Maybe she didn't want to share the truth with a stranger.

But Donna wasn't having any of it. She just knew. And if she knew, Harvey knew she'd be right. He advised her to keep out of it – he and Louis were still getting used to life without Jessica – but she refused. How could she keep this from Louis? How could he even ask her?

For the first night in a week they slept together without making love. Harvey held her tight all through the night, but Donna lay awake, her brain thundering with possibilities. How was she going to break this to Louis?

X X X

Harvey slowly wakes to see his bedroom swathed in the pinkish-orange light of a fall Manhattan sunrise. He turns over, stretches and reaches for Donna, but her side of the bed is empty. He sits upright, his heartrate quickening as if it knows something his brain doesn't.

He hears rumblings and he can smell the aroma of coffee – the best of Donna smells – so he pulls on his robe and follows his nose.

He finds her standing over his kitchen island, flipping through a magazine with a steaming cup of espresso in her hand. He pauses for a moment, allowing himself to skim over the woman he is in love with. Her red hair is tussled and messy and he realises she used to style it like that a couple of years ago, but now she blow dries it into lighter, shinier waves. He wonders if he might have preferred it messier. Messy seems a little more "Donna" than polished. His eyes wander over her body, the straight line of her back, the curve of her hip, the tops of her thighs that inch high under his old and faded Harvard t-shirt. She suits maroon. He tilts his head as he fixes on her legs, the white of her skin blending with the shiny plastic coating of his kitchen units. He loves her legs – they're long and elegant and perfect.

"I know you're there." Donna glances behind her and smirks. "There's fresh coffee if you want it."

Harvey doesn't answer. He has other things on his mind. He walks towards her, pressing his body against her back and he runs his hands up her legs and over her hips. Then he buries his face in her hair and inhales her scent. "I missed you last night," he says with difficulty, his lips pressed firmly against her neck.

Donna's body shivers under his touch. "I was with you … all night."

"Not like this you weren't," he says as he pushes her hard against the island and trails kisses from her neck to her shoulder. "And who said you could wear my shirt?"

Donna's breath catches in her throat as he pulls the t-shirt up her back. She feels his hardness press against her and she moans in response, then his hands lift the t-shirt over her head and he removes his robe, their skin and bodies moulding against each other, fitting perfectly and melting into one.

He turns her around and kisses her. She tastes of coffee – with a hint of toothpaste – and he can't get enough of it. Their mouths lock, tongues chasing each other, lips brushing against lips, then his mouth on her neck, and her mouth on his jaw, his cheek, his chest. "God, you're beautiful," he tells her as he turns her back to face the counter, removing the remainder of her clothing, followed by his own in swift succession. He wraps his arms around her, groping her breasts and her stomach, his cock pressing eagerly against her ass as she moans and trembles, her arms shaking as she pushes her palms against the countertops.

Harvey pushes her hair to one side and sucks lightly at her neck as he gently explores her with his fingers. He groans when he feels her slick wetness. "My god, you're so ready," he says as he pants into her ear. Then he lets one, followed by two, fingers dip inside her.

"You need protection," she reminds him.

But he can't bear to move. "I'll pull out," he assures her, not wanting to settle for anything less than usual, but way too far gone to break the momentum. He waits for her agreement, before pushing into her fully in one impatient thrust which knocks the breath from her lungs. Then they start moving together, her meeting his movements by pushing back against him as one of his hands cups her breast and the other reaches around to caress her clit.

And it's fast. Thirty seconds, maybe forty – which is fast. Maybe it was the lack of condom. Maybe it was the 30 hour drought. Whatever it was, it was quick, but it was intense and … better yet, it was the first time that they climaxed at the same time – her body convulsing and closing around him at the exact moment he pulled out, crashing against the kitchen island next to her.

Donna gasps for air. "Oh my god that was …"

"Awesome," interrupts Harvey. "It was awesome."

Donna grins. "You know, for once, you got me. That was the exact word I was going to use."

They embrace, their bodies a hot sticky mess and the sunshine reminding them they need to be in the office in less than an hour.

"Donna," says Harvey with a lilt in his tone which immediately signals he has something important to tell her.

"Yes?" she asks as they kiss.

"I love you," he says, his voice deep and brooding and real.

"I love you too, Harvey," Donna replies. "And I promise. I won't leave you. Ever."

He smiles and kisses her again.

"Unless you're a colossal prize dick."

He gives her a playful shove and then they head for the shower.

X X X

"PRESENT DAY"

He's sat with her all morning. He can't remember closing his eyes, but he must have because he can taste sleep in his mouth. He hates falling asleep – not just because he's terrified he might miss her waking up – but because his dreams are always filled with her -

Her smile which lights up the room. Her laughter which makes his heart skip a beat. Her voice, talking to him and soothing him. Her words propping him up and inspiring him. Her body giving him pleasure, loving him, making him complete.

His eyes brim with tears as he stares at her lifeless body. No change. Still no change. The machines beep a rhythm that sets his teeth on edge and the smell … that clinical smell of her room … sends waves of nausea rippling through his stomach. He wants to smell her. He wants to smell her flesh, her bones, her skin and then he wants it mixed with coffee, whipped cream and her favourite gardenia perfume.

But at least she's still warm. He reaches for the piece of her hair that he'd been curling around his fingers most of the morning. He admires his work as he coils the copper one last time and then lets it fall over her shoulder.

And suddenly he can't look at her anymore.

It's too much – too painful – too unfair.

He walks to the door just as the male nurse – Wilfred – enters to check on his patient. Harvey says 'hi' then, conscious that his bladder is telling him he needs to pee, he takes a reprieve. He tells himself he'll be back. He'll grab a coffee, a sandwich maybe, then he'll be back.

As the hospital room door closes behind him he jumps with a start when he spots Louis sitting in a chair outside. He looks like he's been sleeping too, his body is crumpled into a heap and his shirt is pulled tight around his stomach. One sleeve of his shirt is rolled up to his elbow and … shit … is that a bandage?

"Louis what the hell happened?" asks Harvey.

Louis's body jerks to attention as he's pulled from his half-dose. "What? … oh … we gave blood. Me and Mike … and uhm … Stu came down too. And Claire. We wanted to do everything we could to help."

Harvey nods his gratitude and sits next to his former partner.

"How is she?" asks Louis tentatively.

"No change," says Harvey with a gulp. "But she'll be fine. I know she will."

Louis returns a confident nod and Harvey notices his eyes are still red through crying. "I'm so sorry Harvey. You know that don't you? I'm so truly … deeply sorry."

Harvey puts his hand on Louis's shoulder. "This has nothing to do with you Louis. If anyone should be sorry it's me. I didn't … I should have known … I should have known Gallo might pull something like this off. If only … Goddamnit why didn't I hear he'd got out?"

"No, Harvey, you don't understand," says Louis as his face crumples into a frown, his eyebrows angled into deep crevices. "Haven't you heard?"

Harvey's expression falls as the blood rushes from his face and surges through his veins. "What?" he says with a gasp. "What haven't I heard?"

"It's Gallo. They caught him."

"They did?" Harvey shoots to his feet, his hand running through his hair as he collects his thoughts. "I … I've got to see him."

"Harvey, they're never going to let you see him."

He starts pacing backwards and forwards. "Well I need to see the DA. I need to make sure they do this right. No fucking technicalities. No cock-ups with evidence or statements or goddamn confessions … I …"

"Harvey, it'll be fine. Cameron Dennis is handling the prosecution. I already checked it all out. He's got him … he'll see this through for you. He hates Gallo." Harvey stops walking but continues to stand, seemingly taking in the news. "Harvey, that's not all. There's something else I need to tell you and I'm so sorry …"

"Hmm?" Harvey's mind races. He had been so busy thinking about what he could do to make sure Frank Gallo spends the remainder of his miserable life behind bars that he hadn't paid attention to Louis's earlier apology. What was this all about?

"Gallo got out two days ago. It was day release, but he assaulted the guard he was assigned – fed him some bullshit story about having to be somewhere – they don't know who – but somebody helped him. And the only thing he did for the entire day was wait outside that restaurant …" Tears spring from Louis's eyes and stream down his face. "The only thing he did was hurt Donna."

Harvey's body stiffens as he watches Louis collapse in hysterical sobs. He doesn't understand. They knew this already – they knew that Gallo had laid in wait, used a decoy, then … oh shit … the decoy?

"Who was it Louis? Who did it with him?"

Louis shakes his head. "They don't know yet, but a considerable sum of money landed in Gallo's mother's bank account yesterday morning."

Harvey's eyes narrow as his throat constricts. He runs his finger along the collar of his polo shirt trying to give space so his Adam's apple can dislodge from his tightened throat. "Someone paid him to do this? Was it the decoy?"

Louis starts to cry again. "They don't know but they wired the money through two accounts before it landed … and, well I don't know for sure, but …"

"What, Louis? For Christ's sake just tell me, will you?"

"I'm trying!" he barks. Then he pauses to collect his thoughts before lowering his voice. "One of the accounts used to route the money was Tara Messer's firm."

Harvey falls back on his heels, his eyes popping as if he'd been shot in the stomach.

He says nothing, but the pain is real. Could this be down to her? He looks at Louis's devastated face as he sobs into his folded jacket, his body rocking backwards and forwards in the chair and he wonders if his ex-partner can take any more heartache. Losing Tara was one thing. Losing his place in the firm another … now Donna? He knows how much she means to him …

His brain can't connect.

The noise rips through his veins. The siren. It's loud and Louis jumps with a start, but he can't connect.

Not for what seems like minutes.

Not until Wilfred is running out of Donna's room, hollering down the corridor for help.

Not until he hears footsteps pounding down the corridor. A team of doctors and nurses running, clanking equipment on metal trolleys.

He hears Louis cry out – a guttural, painful scream into the sterile space.

And then everything fades to black.