Contagion

Category: Darvey/Angst/Romance

Summary: Harvey and Donna are forced to go into quarantine after they're exposed to a mysterious illness.

Authors notes: Based on the twitter prompt by bassempire: Corona inspired fic prompt: D and H are put in quarantine together after one of Harvey's clients dies of a mysterious virus. 48 hours of boredom (or angsty steam, you choose). Then one of them tests positive. Cue angst. Pre-canon.

Thank you so much to southsidesister for the encouragement and being my eyes. Her talent is outstanding! If you haven't already, jump on over and read all of her stories :D I took quite a few liberties with this story. Hashtag fremulon not a doctor :P

A frustrated grunt echoes around the glass enclosure, Harvey's feet pacing back and forth around the small, sterilized space. Donna is on the other side of the wall in a room mirroring his own, and when her voice crackles through the open intercom, it only serves to heighten his irritation.

"That's not going to help."

He knows it won't.

But they've been confined in quarantine for six hours already, waiting for their bloodwork to come back, and it's driving him close to the edge of his sanity. No TV, no phone, no work... nothing except Donna's all too calm presence making him even more anxious, despite his repeated insistence this whole thing is ridiculous. "The chances of use having this damn thing are-"

"I know."

She's lost count of how many times she's talked him down, only to have him rise up in annoyance again. She hasn't had the same problem, channeling her energy differently- by doing absolutely nothing. She's been sat cross-legged on the bed, head leaned back into the cushions, trying to make the best out of their circumstances. No emails, no deadlines… just the impending tick of the clock, and Harvey's restlessness disturbing the silence.

She's kept him occupied where she can, going through cases, asking about his family, and dragging out old stories. If it weren't for the tension hanging over their heads, it would almost be a pleasant experience, but she has to admit, he's handling it better than she thought he would.

When they were first alerted to one of his clients taking ill, he'd been vocal about not needing the precautions urged by The Department of Health and Infectious Diseases. The CEO of Tame Industries is so far the only person in his immediate circle that's sick, and they'd only met with him a few times in the week prior to his symptoms starting to show, but she'd managed to sway Harvey with a gentle but firm hand. No matter how slim the chances are of testing positive, it's not worth the risk to themselves or their friends.

He'd begrudgingly agreed to put their lives on hold for twenty-four hours. Still, she's concerned by his unrelenting pacing, which she hopes is just a symptom of his inability to settle and nothing more sinister.

"Hey." She stops his movement with a soft tone. "You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," he grumbles, resuming the circle he was half-way through. "Just like I was this morning, yesterday and the day before that."

She hears the sudden crack of his knuckles through the intercom and watches him roll his neck, the show of stiffness adding to her paranoia, but it can easily be explained by being cooped up in the small space. She's sore as well, warm from the stuffy room, and lists out everything the doctor told them to watch for; tiredness, nausea, irritability, a sudden fever. The virus has a fast onset and she sighs at Harvey's predictable dismissal.

"I think I'd know if I were sick, Donna." He answers the sound, regretting the hostility when he meets her tired gaze through the glass again. None of this is her fault. She wouldn't even be here if he hadn't asked her to run point on a list of candidates for Tame Industries' new CFO, and he stills, worried by why she's suddenly asking. "You're not-"

"I'm fine." She assures him quickly, her lips pulling into a small smile. "Although, you could try being less of a grump."

"You'd rather be stuck in here with someone like Louis?" Anyone else and he'd bite back harder, maybe even be offended, but they're comfortable enough that when she calls him on his bullshit, neither of them are particularly phased by it anymore.

"God, no." She huffs at the thought, imagining the six hours of dramatics she would have had to endure. Harvey may be impatient, but at least he's not on his death bed with a hand over his heart quoting, 'do not go gentle into that good night.'

She can picture him worrying as it is. She and Harvey practically dropped everything, and it's the only instance they've ever both been absent and away from the firm together. "You're pissed we have to take this as sick leave," she guesses, figuring the fact is contributing to his mood.

"We're not sick, so yeah, I am." He dumps himself into the chair by his bed, lacing his fingers together in his lap. Neither of them ever really take days off. Donna has Halloween and a yearly one week trip to the spa, work permitting. He occasionally springs for a long weekend, but that's all unless there's some sort of emergency. To have to forfeit his time for something this ridiculous is definitely a source of his frustration. However, there's still a one in ninety-nine percent chance they might test positive, and it's weighing on his mind. He keeps active and fit, looks after himself, but this is something the doctors have warned could have serious complications if symptoms start presenting themselves. Despite the unlikelihood, it's completely out of his control, and he pushes himself up, trying to counter another rush of anxiety. "How long does it take to do a damn blood test anyway."

His eyes flash to the green door release, and she reads exactly what he's thinking, quickly jumping in to be the voice of reason. "Harvey."

He pulls his attention away from the idea. Even though he could technically leave to find out what the delay is, there's probably more safeguards preventing him from getting far, and he scrubs a hand up through his hair, seating himself back down on the edge of the mattress.

She tilts her head at him, her earlier worry rearing as she props herself up. "You should try and eat something." She suggests, nodding at the tray beside him. If he has low blood sugar, it can't be helping any.

His stomach is wound too tightly to try, but her pleading look makes him reconsider, and he lifts the polystyrene lid, grimacing at the pile of mush. "Any recommendations?"

"Pretend it's shitty Thai?" She shrugs, relieved when the comment makes the corner of his mouth twitch up.

He follows through with the smirk, digging his fork into what he assumes is some sort of rice and vegetable concoction. The taste is so bad he recoils from it, but manages to swallow it down, and is starting to feel marginally better by the fourth bite. As usual, Donna was right, and he eyes her over the less than appealing meal. "I'm sorry, for, you know..."

Being an ass.

That's the implication, and she's surprised by the rare apology but the situation isn't exactly their typical day-to-day normal. If someone had told her this morning this was where her evening was headed, she would have said they were watching too many end-of-the-world movies. But here they are, with just each other for company, until they get this mess sorted. "It's okay, I get it."

She fixes him with a soft smile, and he does feel genuinely guilty. She's been nothing but patient, trying to distract him where she can and putting up with his crap when she couldn't. It's made being stuck here slightly more tolerable, and he sinks his fork back into the 'rice', watching her eyes trail the movement. She'd started and finished her meal not long after it had been served a couple of hours ago, and even though the meal is cold, he's worried she might be hungry again. "Want some? I'm sure I could sneak it round there?"

She doesn't doubt he would. Even though they were told not to leave, there probably wouldn't be much harm in him taking the three steps to enter her pod. The problem is if one of them is infected it would be putting the other person at risk. "I'll pass, thanks." She slides her hand over her stomach, wishing she'd eaten more for breakfast and worried the loss of appetite might be connected to why she's feeling lethargic and too hot for the small room. But then again, it could just be the conditions they're dealing with, and she flutters her eyes shut, trying to settle the rise of nausea.

Her face twists with something he can't quite identify. It's not pain but she looks uncomfortable, and he covers the food, concern bubbling up in place of wanting to eat anything else.

"Donna." He waits for her eyes to drift across to him. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Tired, I guess."

He's feeling the same way, no doubt from the stress of doing nothing, but he's sure she looks paler than she did an hour ago, and his mouth dips in a tight frown. "Maybe I should call for someone."

"Hey, we're not sick, remember?" Her voice is teasing, but there's a slight waver to her arms as she leans back into the pillows.

He watches the movement and nods, biting his lip. "Yeah." The thought of him testing positive is bad enough. The idea of Donna getting sick is something he can't even fathom. Stuck behind a glass wall, powerless to do anything, he couldn't stand it, and a lump coils in his throat, making him pull in a deep breath.

She reads the change in his expression, from concern to near panic, and doesn't know where his mind went, but she does her best to bring it back. "Mike's going to have a field day with all of this." He glances up and she quirks her lips. "Especially when I tell him they made you wear a dress."

"It's a hospital gown," he breathes out slowly, rolling his eyes at her and feeling a little more at ease as her humor washes over him. "And if that comes out, don't think I won't spill the beans about Albuquerque."

"I told you that in confidence!"

"You told me that because you had too much tequila." He smiles, recalling the night and letting the memory drive his fear further away. They'd gone out for drinks, celebrating someone's birthday at the DA's office, and they'd both been a mess by the end of it. But they'd showed up looking no worse for wear the next day, both early and leaving the rest of their ruffled colleagues in muted awe. They've always worked exceptionally well as a team, and he doesn't regret that their careers have diverged. She's doing a brilliant job in her new role, but he does miss how things used to be. Before time had chipped away at something that was once straightforward and uncomplicated. When he'd been able to box up his feelings because she was his secretary, and before she'd moved to Louis' desk. She'd come back to him but things were different, and had changed again when he was seeing Paula.

Life keeps knocking them around, but she's his solid ground — the place he can always find his footing, no matter how rough the waters get.

"I never did find out how you got back to Santa Fe."

He hooks up an eyebrow and she flushes, sweeping her hair to the side to cool herself down. "Unless you're hiding a bottle of Tequila under that bed, you're not going to, either."

He chuckles, genuinely wishing they had something stronger than water and ice chips to pass the time with. "Raincheck then?"

"You do remember we're not in our thirties anymore." She points out, aware neither of them could deal with a hangover like the one they'd sported after that night. Not at the age they are now, and not without at least fourteen hours of uninterrupted sleep to aid the recovery.

"Dinner then?" he suggests casually. "Make up for me being such a grouch."

"Now or then?" she teases, making sure he knows it's a joke, but just the mention of food makes an involuntary rumble gnaw in her stomach. It makes her feel lightheaded, as she closes her palm over the spot, swallowing another hit of nausea.

He picks up on the movement instantly, but before he can press her about it, the door to his room whooshes open, gaining his attention.

He recognizes the doctor from earlier and stands, trying to read the look on the man's face.

"Mr. Specter, we have your results back… you tested negative for the strain, and your white blood cell count is in a completely normal range."

Harvey assumes that means he's being given the all-clear but he barely registers the relief. "What about Donna?" She's fine. She has to be. But the doctor's hesitation makes every muscle in his body tense.

"It might be best if I discuss the results with Miss Paulen in private first."

"I tested positive," Donna interjects before Harvey can, the warmth she's been feeling crawling more aggressively over her skin as she gives the doctor permission to talk freely. She'd been hoping she was imagining it, that maybe the heat was just her mind playing tricks, but the dryness in her throat and the aches rolling through her don't give much hope for a different diagnosis.

"There was an anomaly in your bloodwork that was inconclusive and there's a high chance you're carrying the virus. Have you been feeling any symptoms since you were brought in? Soreness, nausea, fever?"

She nods, indicating all of them, and Harvey flinches, his earlier frustration returning. She'd been sitting there perfectly fine to the best of his knowledge, and panic coils in his chest. "How is it possible that she's infected and I'm not? We were in the same goddamn meetings."

"There's still a lot we don't know about how the illness is contracted and how it reacts in individuals." The doctor glances at the redhead through the glass barrier. "That's why I've been instructed to keep you here so we can monitor the symptoms accordingly, which I can assure you is the best course of action to take at this point. I'll have a nurse come to check your vitals, and Mr. Specter, I'll arrange to have your discharge papers brought in."

"Wait, what?" He's still coming to terms with the information being thrust on them, but his expression hardens at the insinuation he'd go anywhere. It's isn't happening. Not even if they're gearing up to have him forcibly removed. "I'm not leaving."

"Mr. Specter, I appreciate your concern but we need this room for-"

"She isn't staying here alone." He argues flatly. There could be a hundred people lined up waiting. The only person he cares about right now is Donna, and he winces at the pleading warning that punctures the intercom.

"Harvey..."

He locks with her gaze, seeing straight through her bravado. Screw being rational. She's scared, and he'd promised himself he'd never let her feel that way again. He's not going to just abandon her, and his feet kick past the doctor, his palm slamming the button to open his door.

He's inside Donna's cubicle a second later, ignoring her confusion. If the problem is the goddamn room, he'll take the need for a separate one out of the equation.

"Harvey, what are you-"

He kisses her without thinking, not caring that it's reckless and impulsive. He needs a reason to stay, and this is it, so he takes it, moving his mouth against hers and forcing himself not to get lost in the sensation.

When he steals himself back she's staring at him with wide eyes, and he tears away from her, his focus on the doctor who's looking at them in utter bewilderment and swearing profoundly under his breath.

Harvey figures that means he's going to have to be tested again. It's bought them some time, and he turns back to Donna, the consequences of his actions crashing down around them.

"I-"

"Don't." She doesn't know what the hell he was thinking and presses her temples willing the moment to undo itself. This is so typical of him. Reacting, then having it blow up in his face because he can't control his impulses, but there's still every chance his antics haven't put him at risk. The reality they're facing is that she tested positive, he didn't, and they don't know why, but every second they're in close proximity is another one he can't afford to lose.

"Just go, please."

"That's not happening." He's firm but calmer with his resolve, unable to explain his motives, but determined he's not leaving. She means too much to him and he draws her hands down, placing his palm against her forehead. The heat emanating there makes his heart pound in his chest. "How long have you had a fever?"

"Harvey-"

"Stop." He's not arguing about this, refusing to accept the guilt in her gaze. She has nothing to feel bad about. If he gets sick then so be it, but right now, all he's concerned about is making sure she's okay. "I'm staying."

"Why?" Part of her is hoping the question will drive him away, that he'll do what he always does. Run from something he can't answer, but he doesn't. He sinks himself down in the chair next to her bed and she moves back against the pillows, too tired to keep fighting him.

"You know why," he admits softly, "because I need you, and we don't leave each other."

His fingers find hers, seeking out comfort that's just as much for his benefit. He's terrified that opening himself up will mean losing her, but he's more afraid of walking away.

"Hey. Talk to me."

There's a lump in her throat, a rawness she has trouble swallowing, and she doesn't know if it's her symptoms getting worse or his devotion striking a cord. He won't leave. This is Harvey Specter-loyalty firing on all four cylinders, but he's not looking ahead and she needs him to. "I'm going to get worse."

"We don't know that." He never jumps to worse case scenarios straight off the bat and he's not about to start now. Even the doctors don't know what to expect but whatever happens, she's in the best place to get the right care.

She glances down to where his thumb is absently skating over her knuckles, taking a breath, and trying to justify what's happening. Not just with her diagnosis but with his sudden affection. It has her even more on edge, and she tries to distract from it any way she can.

"You'll be bored."

"Better me than Louis." He counters, willing her to react to the humor but she doesn't.

She pulls her hand back, covering a cough that strains her chest. Even though she introduced the flippancy, it's only making things harder, and she turns things around, growing more serious. "What if you get sick?"

He doesn't acknowledge her pulling away. Instead he focuses on easing her concern. "Then they can drag another bed in."

She wishes it were that simple but it isn't, and she drops her arm, finding his gaze again. He might be willing to risk his health, but his heart is another thing entirely, and she curls onto her side, pushing him, because one way or another, she can't face what's happening without the truth. "You kissed me."

"I know." He shakes his head. "I shouldn't have." There's regret resting underneath his voice which he realizes could be misconstrued, and he quickly backtracks. "I mean, I should have, just not like that." It's never been easy for him to admit when he's wrong but it doesn't matter how uncomfortable he is. He needs her to understand why he's sorry. "I want it to mean something, Donna."

He's going out on a limb, like he did when he'd bolstered into her room, and it's what she's been waiting to hear for over a decade. That he's finally ready to take a chance on them but the situation would be different if she hadn't tested positive. They'd each be going home, trying to erase the day from their memories, and the turnabout does nothing to fill her with confidence, about what he's saying or her diagnosis. "It does mean something..." she dips her head nervously, "but we should wait-"

"Don't."

He stops her before any doubt can work its way in-between them. This isn't some crazy, off the cuff confession because she might be sick. Maybe it's the wake up call he needed to move the line but it was too many wasted opportunities and a future he's been desperately craving that landed them here, not her results. "You're going to be fine."

She shifts her hand back toward his and he grabs hold of it, convinced of the fact. He refuses to accept anything else, even when things turn faster than either of them could have expected.

One minute she's coherent, insisting he wear the mask the nurse brought in, and the next she's sweating through the bedsheets, her fever worsening despite the drip the doctor started her on.

He doesn't know what to do.

Because there's nothing he can do.

He'd forfeited any outside help when he'd locked himself in with her, and he wishes he had Mike in his ear, but doesn't regret the decision to stay. As hard as it is watching her, being on the outside and not knowing what was going on would be a hundred times worse.

This is where he's supposed to be and he reaches up, smoothing down her damp hair, even though he's been warned several times about making contact.

She gives him a disapprovingly look from beneath hooded, half-closed eyes, but she still leans into his touch, her breath raspy as it falls across the inside of his wrist. He shakes his head, silently conveying he doesn't feel any different, which fuels the guilt wound in his chest. He should be the one suffering, not her. He brought Tame Industries in as a client and he'd asked her to attend their meetings.

If he could trade places with her, he would, in a goddamn heartbeat. "I'm sorry, Donna," he whispers to himself, not expecting her to hear it behind the fabric covering his mouth, but she does.

"Not your… fault."

She coughs away from him, into the pillow, the air sounding even more hoarse as it wracks from her body and he winces. "You should roll on your back."

She nods but is in too much pain to move, and she shivers when his hands help to guide her over. It's easier to breathe, but he shouldn't be touching her- something he seems to have no concern about, and her eyes flutter shut in defeat.

He doesn't expect them to open again for a while. They've been closing for longer each time and the nurse said she should try and sleep but he's been siding with Donna's stubbornness, scared to let her drift into a place he can't reach.

She needs rest though, and he dips his head closer to her with a sigh. "I'll be right here."

She murmurs an acknowledgment but it's barely audible, more of a whimper, and the sound cuts through him, his own breathing ragged as he sinks back into the chair. He's been holding himself together for her, but she's getting worse and he thinks about calling for a nurse, but they're already doing everything they can.

It's a waiting game.

And he sits, surprisingly calm, letting his thoughts wander to happier times. The god-awful dinner party, nights spent sharing a drink or working late over a meal in his office. He'd been an idiot to put off facing his feelings for so long. For letting something like this be the catalyst. She's been his entire world for so long he can't imagine his life without her, and when she stirs suddenly, he's relieved, until the twitch becomes more prominent, jerking her prone body and setting off a frantic beeping from the machine beside her.

He slams the call button and it feels like hours when in reality it's probably seconds before there is a flood of people in the room trying to stop the seizure.

He moves back out of their way, legs shaking as they administer more drugs into Donna's IV, words that have no place in his vocabulary being thrown into a conversation that makes no sense to him. All he can do is watch, his vision slipping in and out as he pulls the mask off his face so he can breathe properly.

She finally stills, the shrill beeping dying down to a steady rhythm again, but his heart is hammering so loudly in his chest he can barely hear the change.

"Mr. Specter?"

Bile rises in the back of his throat and he swallows it down blinking at the nurse. "What happened?"

"Miss Paulsen's fever spiked which is what caused the seizure. We've given her something to help reduce the swelling in her muscles, but at this stage, we're still reliant on her immune system fighting off the virus."

In other words, there's still nothing they can goddamn do.

"What if it happens again?"

"The main thing is to keep her still so she doesn't injure herself, but not forcefully. We'll be monitoring her more closely over the next few hours, but I would recommend we re-test your bloodwork, and that you return to your own room."

"You can test me in here," is all he says, moving away from the woman and back to Donna. He still doesn't feel any different and if he were going to get sick, he's sure it would have happened by now.

The door suctions closed again and he tosses the mask aside, taking in Donna's frailness, and bringing his palm up to swipe the sting of moisture burning his gaze.

He doesn't cry because he can't.

No matter how terrified he is, he's not about to give up on her, on them, and he resumes his position in the chair by her bed, trying to calm the anxiety rattling through him.

"You can't scare me like that, okay?" The plea goes unanswered, and he may as well be speaking to an empty room, but he finds it helps.

He'd taken their conversations earlier for granted, sulking because of bullshit reasons like they were missing work. Now he'd give anything for her to wake and scold him for being immature. So he keeps talking about anything he can think of. What they'll do when she's better, where they'll go, even how he wants to get her into watching Survivor so it can be their 'thing' after a busy day in the office. He lets himself imagine the endless possibilities he's spent years denying himself, hoping they're what she wants too, and that the motivation will bring her back to him.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, baring his soul to four silent walls, but it's so long that his head starts to droop, heavy under the weight of exhaustion. Night has come and gone, the light outside beginning to turn a bright shade of blue, and he feels safer resting his eyes for a few seconds.

When he opens them again, the sun is streaming in through the windows, leaving him foggy and disoriented, and he glances around, his eyes landing on Donna's soft smile.

She looks awful.

Beautiful, but completely drained, and he quickly shoots up in the chair. "Are you okay? Should I call someone?"

She shakes her head, wincing at the stiffness in her neck. The nurse had been in an hour ago to check her vitals which are improving, but slowly. She's going to need to stay in the hospital and regain her strength but she's not the only one who seems worse for wear. "You're still here."

"Did you think I wouldn't be?" he asks as if it was ever in question.

It's rhetorical. Even if he'd wanted to leave, he still would have had to somehow show he wasn't infected, but she can tell by his firm expression the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. "Thank you." She doesn't remember a lot of what happened, just that she'd been hot and in pain, but whispers of his voice are echoing in her head, and she knows he didn't just stay, he was right there with her until exhaustion had claimed him.

"You don't need to thank me, Donna." His tone softens and his fingers reach out to cover hers. She flinches, trying to pull away, but he grips hold of them, a cocky smirk ghosting his lips. "They've been doing regular tests and haven't found anything. Guess my Superman genes really are superior."

Amusement tickles her throat, but before she can tell he's an idiot, it erupts in a coughing fit leaving her breathless and clutching at her ribs. She doesn't have to glance across to feel his concern, and she forces a tight smile onto her lips. "I'm okay."

The wheeze that follows says otherwise, and flashes of her seizing make him sick to his stomach, but he pushes aside the memory. She's here now, talking and doing her best to joke with him, and he tries to focus on that, not the panic still crawling beneath his skin.

"Hey." She steals his attention back, the anguish in his watery gaze adding to the ache in her chest. He doesn't get emotional, which tells her it was bad, and she hates he had to go through it alone. "I'm not going anywhere either..." she says softly, "we don't leave each other, remember?"

He swallows his fear with a nod, exhaling slowly. "Not ever." He affirms, leaving no room for any doubt that the second they're out of this place, his focus is going to be on cementing that reality. Making sure she doesn't just know it but feels it in every way that matters.

She's never going to have to question how.

He's going to show her that he loves her completely, and nothing is ever going to get in the way of that again.