Apologize

Harvey hates fighting with his wife. He hates that she won't share her coffee, remind him of things, and the distance that gets spun between them.

For years, he thought he was the stubborn one, but Donna can fill their marital bliss with bouts of silence that can roll around for days. Particularly because they both go to extreme lengths to avoid admitting they're wrong.

Even when there's irrefutable proof he's right, Donna will use every tactic in the book to make him apologize first. Everything except withholding sex—which goes for him too, because they can be pigheaded but they're not sadists, and his wife is hot when she's furious with him, but her mouth is desperate for his cock.

"Wipe that smug look off your face right now, because we are not having sex."

Donna scolds him from across their bedroom, where she's sorting clothes in their hamper, and he bounces on the mattress with a smirk. He gives it fifteen minutes before she changes her mind.

A t-shirt smacks him square in the face, and he balls the fabric in his hand with a groan. "What do you want me to say, Donna? I'm not going to apologize for defending you."

"So that's what we're calling this?"

He shrugs, and she abandons their laundry, shoving her arms over her chest. "You punched the opposing counsel, Harvey."

"Wouldn't be the first time," he huffs, regretting to grumble when she glares daggers at him, her voice raising several octaves.

"What happens if Connor presses charges, and the bar suspends you? Are you going to think this is funny, then?"

He rolls his eyes. "That's not going to happen."

"Maybe not in New York." She's quick to remind him that the shit he pulled back home won't fly so easily under the radar in Seattle. "You barely got your license approved as it is. Or did you forget you're still on probation?"

"How could I forget, Donna? II'm reminded every time I do something you don't agree with."

"Well I'm sorry for trying to make the life that you wanted work out here!"

The bitterness in her shout is like whiplash. Six months they've been living in Seattle, and the occasional fight aside, she's never given him any indication she regrets leaving New York. "What are you saying? You want to move back?"

"No. Of course not."

They didn't uproot their lives for nothing, and her gaze shifts to the window—the expansive view of Seattle stretching out behind him. She loves seeing new sights, dinners out with Mike and Rachel, curling up in bed with Harvey when the weather is dreary and miserable. But she's had a harder time adjusting than her husband. If her sass is being treated as snobbish or condescending by strangers, then her confidence is being patronized by her veteran colleagues at the theater. She loves her job, but stepping back into her secretary heels has been challenging. So, when Harvey plays Russian roulette with the gamble they took moving, she gets frustrated. "I know you're having fun. But you have to start thinking about our future here, otherwise what are we even doing?"

"You think listening to some prick make derogatory comments about my wife was fun for me?" He hits back at her claim he's out there jerking around.

She lifts her shoulders, indicating he could have been spoiling for a fight, and the accusation pisses him off.

"You're my future, Donna. Wherever we are, you're all I care about. So let them suspend my license. I'll retire early, I don't give a damn!"

"Oh my God, what is wrong with you?!" She slaps a hand over her face, wishing he could take responsibility for his actions. But of course he has to be stupid and stubborn and goddamn romantic, because he really would sacrifice everything for her. And how's she supposed to argue that he loves her too much? "You're such an asshole, you know that?"

The tension evaporates as her arms fall down in resignation, and he breathes out a tired, relieved chuckle. "Yeah... but don't pretend you didn't know that long before you married me."

Pushing up from the mattress, he cautiously pads across to her. "What's really going on, Donna? Because if you're not happy here, then you need to tell me."

"I am happy here." She sighs, shaking her head. It might not all be smooth sailing, but she wants to build their life in Seattle. She wants to find her feet at the theater and make a name for herself. But they're not in their twenties anymore. Starting again is more complicated now. "Then there are some days I'm swimming upstream and I just need you on solid ground."

"In that case, we might have to write up a schedule."

She glares at his attempt to joke, and he steps forward, brushing her elbows with his thumbs.

"Look, I'm not going to watch my manners because some suit swinging a dick in his hand told me to."

"Do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?"

"What I want is for you to stop worrying about me so much. Mike's got riding my ass covered, so let me support you for a change." He squeezes her elbows, reminding her she doesn't always have to be the one steering them. "Talk to me."

Biting her lip, she ducks her gaze sheepishly. Diverting attention away from herself is easier than admitting she's struggling. Especially now she doesn't have the same window into his life at work. She misses him, and she relinquished her frustration, leaning her head against his chest. "What if I made a mistake taking a new job?" His arms fold around her, relaxed without judgment, and she pokes him. "What if you go to jail and I have to pay for this apartment on a runner's salary?"

He sweeps his fingers through her hair with a chuckle. "At least I wouldn't be sleeping on the couch."

"I hate you."

He smiles, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. "If you want to quit, then come back to the firm, run it like you did Specter Litt Wheeler Williams." Her palm lifts between them, resting against his stomach—a sign she's listening, and he hums a whisper. "Or stick it out, show those pompous pricks what you're capable of. Either way, I'm proud of you."

His confidence in her fuels her pride, and she slips her arms around his sides, hugging him. It may be difficult working without him, and she's never going to stop worrying about him doing stupid shit, but he is her solid ground. "Promise me you won't punch anyone else this week."

"I'll try." He grins. "If you agree to kiss me instead of filing for a divorce."

She smiles up at his beaming expression, and she accepts his terms, kissing him and squealing as he his hands hook below her thighs, lifting her up.

"We're definitely having sex," he smirks.

"No shit."

She squeezes her legs around his waist, nipping his ear as he stumbles the couple of steps back—not quite as smoothly as the first time they made love, but with the same passion.

He hates fighting with his wife, but he really loves making things right between them.