Head Over Heels

It all happens in an instant.

Donna's last glass of champagne and nine-inch stilettos conspire with gravity and the train of her gown to send her stumbling. She hears a tear right as her hand over-shoots the rail, and her ankle turns on the step, pain flaring through her body as she meets the ground with a sharp cry and hard thud.

Two smartly dressed men from the benefit race to help, and embarrassment warms her neck, flushing her cheeks as she finds the illusive banister from the grand staircase, using it to pull herself back up. She grits through a smile, assuring both of her would-be rescuers she's fine, when Harvey suddenly pushes through, and god—could she be any more mortified? Since he tore up her letter of resignation, things have been strained between them. She hoped the charity event would be an opportunity to clear the air, maybe even have a little fun, but he's been bouncing from one tight dress to another, effectively ignoring her, and the irony that he noticed 'this', makes her cringe.

"I'm fine, really." She waves him off, along with the other men, biting her lip as she puts weight on her ankle. Stars flash in front of her eyes, but she's determined to salvage what she can of her pride, and zeros in on the door to the lobby, seeing it as a way to escape the attention her slip garnered.

Harvey reaches out to help, but she pointedly avoids him, and he drops his arm, trailing behind her slight limp with a sigh. All evening he's been trying to work up the courage to talk to her, wanting to get them back on better terms, but from the moment she arrived, he's been tongue-tied, distracted by how damn stunning she looks.

He thought some harmless flirting would calm his nerves, remind him Donna is off-limits, but the truth is, all the other women don't hold a candle to her. She's the person his heart is aching to be near, and when he saw her fall, two men practically pouncing on her, he left the conversation he was having mid-sentence to get to her. She clearly isn't fine, but rather than throw her over his shoulder and make a scene, he lets her hobble to the lobby on her own, deciding to aim for an amicable truce, instead.

Once safely shielded from everyone's view, Donna leans heavily against the wall to steel herself, gritting her jaw as Harvey hovers by her side. She just wants to go home and call an end to the disastrous night, but she still has to make it to the cloakroom, and she goes to take another step, wincing when her ankle turns again, landing her in Harvey's tight grip.

She glares at him, not caring that the anger is a little childish. She has no interest in being his hand's consolation prize when there's a room full of other women he'd obviously rather be with. "I can manage."

She shrugs him off, her face tightening with pain, but he keeps his palm wedged firmly behind her back. "Donna, would you quit being so stubborn and just let me help? Please."

The softer note of his plea twinges in her chest, the throb pulsing through her calf finally swaying her, and she agrees with a reluctant nod.

He takes the response as the only invitation he's going to get, and pulls her arm around his neck, taking the majority of her weight as he leads them over to the waiting area. The smell of her perfume lingers as he seats her on one of the leather couches, and he perches beside her, patting his thigh. "Up."

She rolls her eyes, but he makes the same gesture again, and she lifts her leg, hissing out a gasp when he catches her ankle in his lap.

He winces, frowning at the purple discolouration. Her foot's already starting to swell beneath the tight straps, and he gingerly undoes the fiddly little clasps, hearing her groan softly when he slides off the shoe.

"Better?" he asks, checking her expression to see if she's in more or less pain, but she seems to relax slightly, and he cups his hand gently around the bone, relieved to find no bulges or weird angles jutting out. "I think it's a sprain. Did you hurt anything else?"

"Only my pride," she mumbles, trying to ignore the soft caress of his thumb soothing the sting. His sympathy is the last thing she needs tonight, and she swallows the embarrassment still lodged in her throat. "I'll call a cab. I just need to get my purse."

"A bad sprain, Donna," he clarifies, fixing her with a stern look. "You shouldn't be walking on it."

"And how would you suggest I get home, fly?" she asks sarcastically, motioning for him to give her shoe back. Short of crawling, she doesn't have any other option, but when he shifts her leg, she grinds her jaw, realizing it's going to be next to impossible to get the damn heel on again.

He elevates her foot, propping it on the small table in front of them, and keeping the shoe under his arm as he stands up. "Don't go anywhere."

She wants to point out she can't, not with him taking her stiletto hostage, but swallows the futile argument, frustration misting her gaze as he steps around the corner. Out of all the stupid things she had to go and do tonight, having to ask for help is a blow to her confidence she didn't need. The entire evening she's been trying to convince herself that there's still a way back for them, but maybe too much has happened. If 'complicated' is going to be their new normal, then instead of fighting the push and pull, maybe they're better off getting out of each other's way.

He returns with both their jackets and her clutch, and she musters all the energy she has to force a smile, steering herself to take the high road. "Ray can help me to the car. You were enjoying yourself… You should stay."

He stiffens, the assumption not true by any stretch. The only reason he's here is because a crowd full of people seemed like a good buffer to fix things—too good, it seems. But seeing her hurt trumped his nerves, and now they're here, just the two of them, he doesn't want to hide anymore. He wants to get her home safely, find the words to tell her he was an idiot. That he pushed her away because he was reaching in the wrong direction for the right thing—a chance to be happy.

Paula wasn't the one, but deep down—in a place he's terrified to access—he knows Donna is, and he dumps the pile he's holding, sitting beside her, and winding his hands awkwardly in his lap.

"I wasn't enjoying myself." He nods at the door to the function room. "I didn't even want to come, but I thought…"

The sentence hangs, like he's unsure of where to go next, and she prompts him with a small frown. "Thought, what?"

He lifts his palm, scrubbing the back of his neck. "It might give us a chance to talk."

She stares at him, confused and frustrated by the admission when that's all she wanted as well. But he's given no indication that patching things up was ever his intention, and she raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?" she asks flatly. "So you've been searching for me this whole time in other women's cleavages?"

"That's not—" He stops, flinching. The accusation does hold some truth, but not for the reasons she thinks. "I was nervous, Donna. You walked in and I couldn't take my eyes off you… Everything I wanted to say just vanished."

Her cheeks flush, scared to read into what he means, but she felt it too, the pull across the room dragging them together. But two seconds after he rushed out a compliment, he was gone, and the next time she checked he was chatting up some blonde at the bar. "What about now?"

He angles his head towards her, still just as entranced by how beautiful she looks. Even with her slightly smudged make-up and swollen ankle resting between them, all he wants to do is kiss her, taste everything he's been missing out on, but she's asking for words, not actions, and he tries to put what he's feeling into a coherent sentence. "You're perfect," he says softly. "The only person I need... want, and I… that scares me."

He ducks his gaze, swallowing thickly. "You said you didn't feel anything, and I thought that's what I wanted to hear, but now I know it's not."

She breathes in shakily, resting her hand lightly over his knee. "I thought so too. That's why I lied…" She watches him carefully, letting the admission sink in. "But the truth is, we both felt something. I've just been waiting for you to realize it."

A slow grin spreads across his face as he sits up straighter, brushing her fingers. "So, we're agreed… we never have to come to one of these stupid benefit things again?"

She chuckles softly, her mouth winding around a smile. "You're an idiot."

He doesn't argue, but he does lean in to kiss her, and everything he's been searching for expands in his chest, a giddy euphoria rushing through him. He thinks he could probably stay like this forever, finding himself in the slow, teasing glide of her lips, but they still need to take care of her ankle, and he reluctantly pulls himself back. "How about you let Superman fly you out of here?"

"Sure." She smirks, clutching his hand with a wink. "I'll wait here while you go find him."

He rolls his eyes, his mouth twitching with amusement as he reaches for her coat. "You know, Lana Lang would never say that."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not Lana Lang… I'm Lois Lane," she teases, sitting up so he can wrap the fabric around her shoulders.

"You have the best of both because Lana was a redhead," he quips, kissing her again, and savouring the taste before he separates them, shrugging on his own jacket while she collects her shoe and clutch. "Ready?" he asks, hovering over her with a smile.

She could protest, try and hobble her way outside, but he picks her up effortlessly, and she decides of all the stupid things that could have happened tonight—maybe this fall wasn't so bad after all.