Tears
"Jesus, Donna! I expect this kind of thing from Mike, but you? You're supposed to goddamn know better!" Harvey drags his gaze from the window in his office to snap at her. "What the hell were you thinking!?"
With his anger out in the open, he takes in her sallow complexion, not expecting the wall of tears behind her eyes, and shit. It isn't the first time this week—or even today—he's blown a gasket. And sure, he's not proud to admit she usually ends up in his firing line whether the blame lies with her or not. But she never cries. Not unless she's trying to weasel his condo for the weekend, and he scrutinizes her tears, trying to determine if they're real.
She bites her lip, heat crawling beneath her skin as he stares expectantly, waiting for an answer she doesn't have. She messed up—added another notch to her already shitty day which has been one drama after the next. Between her broken shower, an unexpected call from her sister and two hours of work ruined by a spilled half-fat, whipped mocha latte, getting on Harvey's bad side was probably inevitable, and she swipes the sting of frustration blurring her gaze. "I'm sorry."
She shrugs helplessly, and a frown caves his mouth as she turns to leave.
"Wait."
Her heels stall, and she breathes out a shaky sigh as his feet approach, not expecting his large hand to close gently around her wrist. With a small tug she faces his tight jaw and stern gaze. All she wants to do is go home and crash with a tub of Chunky Monkey, but guilt keeps her from bolting. "What can I do?"
"Nothing." He shakes his head. "I'll take care of it." She nods, and he feels like an asshole. Usually when he's angry he doesn't care about the other party involved, at least not until he's had a chance to cool down. But she's clearly off her game today, and concern punctures his frustration. He could stumble over some words to ask if she's okay, but history has taught him he'll probably come off sounding like a bigger jerk if he lets his mouth take the reins. So he keeps his mouth shut as he tentatively hooks his palm around her waist, pulling her towards him with a slow breath and silently resting his chin over her shoulder.
She relaxes as his arms squeeze her, another film of moisture coating her gaze as holds her securely. It's rare for his ego to buckle when he's still mad. Rarer for him to reach out. But these are the kind of moments that get them through the worst days. When they can put aside the rest of the world for a few fleeting seconds and reset.
He cautiously eases back, looking her up and down. "You good?"
"Yeah." She nods. He doesn't need her to apologize again, and the best thing she can do is keep him on task. "I'll be at my desk."
...
Later that evening, with the drama taken care of, she goes into Harvey's office to thank him.
They wind up listening to one of his father's records, sharing a drink, and she mentions her sister for the first time. He covers his surprise by toasting to shitty family members, and just like that she decides that maybe the day wasn't so bad after all.