#walshies

She’d have been proud of that fact once, back when he was an aspiring junior partner and that responding flare of desire sparked in her stomach when he argued with her, but not now. Now she’s tired, and they’ve fought in a more serious way than usual, and she has no claim to it but it hurts. 

They’ve fought before but it’s never felt like this—like one more wrong move, one more misstep will mark the swift end of them. Because there is a them, has been ever since that first night twelve years ago that Donna still can’t quite manage to forget. They can’t deny it any longer, that much is clear; they can’t poorly disguise it behind too-familiar flirting and banter and toeing the ever blurring line that separates friend from lover when they fight like this.

Neither a friend nor a lover would hurt quite like Harvey hurts Donna, though, and maybe that’s her problem. Harvey has been her friend, her confidante for twelve years and he’s shared her bed once. They occupy that uncomfortable gray space, and Donna is all too aware of how she struggles with it every day in silence.

She knows how his skin tastes, the pitch of his moans, the straining flex of his muscles under her fingers and her lips and she’ll carry the weight of the implication to her grave if nothing ever happens again. It’s hard to forget him. Even harder when he occupies so much of her life.

Donna sighs deeply, kicks her heels off, and curls into herself, feeling the beginning of a headache pounding behind her eyes. Maybe it should be the end this time. Maybe she should stop waiting for the unidentifiable moment. Maybe Donna has always been too quick to believe, to forgive when it’s Harvey. Because it’s Harvey.

Sometimes, Donna thinks, late at night and twisted in her sheets, she’d do anything for Harvey. And she knows that Harvey would do anything for her so, really, it was just quid pro quo. But Donna is proud, so if he won’t say anything, she won’t break her own heart. She’s dated other men. She’s had her share of fun. She’s lived her personal life just as well without him.

But here she is, staring blankly out the window, feet chilled but tucked under her, all because of Harvey. Again.

A knock sounds at her apartment door, jolting Donna out of her thoughts. She sighs heavily, stands, glances at the glowing blue numbers above her stove. It took him less time than she’d have thought to cave and show up at her door. Then again, he’s shown time and again that he’s lost without her. Maybe it’s just as well that he’s here, so they can end it quickly.

Donna pauses, eyes the unopened bottle of red on her kitchen counter. No matter how these next few minutes go, she’ll need it.

“Harvey,” Donna says, quiet, voice clear of any inflection he can use to his advantage. One of the perks to knowing him a little too well.

“Five minutes, Donna,” he says, hands thrust toward her in a choppy, desperate gesture, “please.”

Donna sighs, opens the door a little wider. She’s always been too weak, too partial to him to say no and mean it.