The Best Laid Plans

Pairing: Darvey

Category: Romance/Christmas

Summary: Donna and Harvey are forced to find refuge at the firm during a blackout on Christmas Eve.

AN: Written for two prompts I received from krystalsteph :) Harvey and Donna get snowed in at the office together & Harvey surprises Donna by getting her a really thoughtful Christmas gift.

Standing in the pitch black of his office (half concussed), listening to Donna bump her way around with a string of curses- is not how Harvey envisioned spending Christmas Eve. It's certainly a first and the large floor to wall windows don't offer much reprieve as he tries to pour a glass of Macallan. Everything outside has either been thrust into the same darkness or is blanketed by snow.

Still, he manages to get what he thinks is a satisfactory amount of alcohol into the tumbler and feels for his chair lowering into it with diligent coordination. Once settled he tugs a hand up through his damp hair watching their only source of light come bobbing back towards him.

"Owkway..." Donna speaks around the flashlight in her mouth dumping an assortment of items on his desk. "We've got candles, matches, first-aid kit and Louis left a Christmas pudding in the fridge. Anything else?"

"Scotch."

He raises his glass pointedly and she rolls her eyes shining the torch deliberately at his forehead, the beam landing on the graze where he happened into an unsuspecting street light. "Don't you think you've had enough Mr. I-almost-just-knocked-myself-out-on-a-lamppost."

He flinches shielding his gaze from the glare. "That was due to poor visibility not because I'm drunk Miss I-tripped-over-thirty-times-in-my-Manolo-Blahniks."

She lowers the light subconsciously curling her toes into the carpet and mourning the loss of height. Her heels been the first thing to go, followed by everything else that was wet -save for the dress she still has on- and she illuminates the bottle sat on the edge of his desk considering a drink for herself.

Thanks to a last minute case going awry and the airport being closed neither of them were able to make their flights out of NYC. Commiserating was their natural go to but unfortunately for them the bosses at JFK International weren't just being asshats. The blizzard outside is worse than the bureau predicted. Power outages and pub closures have been rife across the city and the firm was the nearest, safest, place either of them could think of to take refuge. For the moment they're stuck so why not make the most of it.

"Better make it two." She concedes leaning the flashlight on the table and reaching for the box of matches. If nothing else the alcohol will help warm her up and she fumbles with the small sticks trying to coordinate her numbness.

He pours and slides a glass over watching the flame ignite and quiver against the wick the movement hindered by her shivering. He managed to stay mostly dry under his coat but from the look of it she didn't and he pushes up to his feet rounding the desk and stealing the box from her trembling hands. She startles but he doesn't pay much attention to her confusion frown. Her fingers are like ice and he glides his palm up over her shoulder wincing at the dampness setting in. She'll catch her death if she doesn't get warmed up and he runs his gaze back down over the dress. "We need to get you out of that thing."

She shivers as the heat from his touch skates over her skin. They're both harrowed from the elements, tired and strung out but it's Christmas and she curves her lips trying to make light of an otherwise crappy situation. "Thirteen years and now you want to see me naked?"

His expression eases but only slightly. She doesn't know the half of it. Ever since she split with Kessler he's been fighting the urge to address his feelings but the tremor that rattles through her keeps him from engaging in the flirtation. "Look at you, you're shaking-" he rubs her arms trying to generate some friction, "why didn't you say something?"

His worry is visible in the flickering light and she tries to still her body's reaction to the cold. Truth is she hadn't thought to mention it. They're operating with what they have and unfortunately dry clothes are in short supply. "I'm fine..." she insists shrugging off his concern, "besides I don't have anything to change into so unless you want me parading around in my underwear?"

He gets a sense the answer is a rhetorical 'no' but trace amounts of amusement wind his lips into a smirk.

"Jesus." She rolls her eyes at the predictable reaction, "really?"

He shrugs stilling his hands with a wider grin. "I'm human Donna." He doesn't mention that his limited restraint only applies to her. That there could be models strutting around naked and he wouldn't give them a second glance.

Instead he lets his arms drop coming up with a solution that should offer her some semblance of modesty. "Wait here-" he instructs making a grab for the torch, "I'll be right back."

The loss of his warmth trumps her confusion and she holds herself as he disappears into the shadows. It's eerily quiet without him but rather than dwell on the fact she takes the flickering tealight on his desk using it to light the rest of the packet. There's enough candles to bathe the office in an ethereal glow and she places each one strategically so they can see more, turning at the sound of his feet shuffling back into the room.

"Here, you can wear this."

He resurfaces with a white dress shirt slung over his arm and she hikes up an eyebrow at the sparse article of clothing. "You're kidding?"

"It won't be funny when you catch pneumonia." He warns handing it over. Thanks to a certain floating temp the rest of his tux is in lock-down over Christmas and the solution may not be ideal but at least it's a dry alternative. "You want pants take it up with Cameron."

The note of irritation in his voice is audible and having worked with him for thirteen years she can safely guess why he's irked. "Suit still at the dry cleaners?"

"Wouldn't be if you were still my secretary." He moves around the desk flicking his wrist absently towards the station outside his office, "that kid and his damn Brady Bunch post-its."

"He's not a mind reader Harvey." She makes the point carefully, knowing he has a tendency to expect above and beyond on a daily basis. "If you need something done you have to ask." He shoots her a look and okay- she did set a high precedence as his secretary but that's why she's COO now. Why she can ask the question that's been poised on the tip of her tongue all night. "Is he why you dropped the ball on the Belcime case?" Effectively it's the reason they both got stranded. Because someone missed something vital at the last minute and the way his eyes darken tell her it wasn't Cameron. He screwed it up, and she instantly regrets the hint of accusation. "I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did." He swallows somewhat dejectedly, digging a hand into his pockets as he sits down, "and you're right. I should have been paying closer attention."

It sounds like the beginning of an apology but he brushes it off taking a sip of scotch instead and she decides not to force the conversation. Whatever happened will come out of on its own eventually and it's not like they're in a sudden rush to go anywhere. "You could always steal Gretchen back off Louis?" She suggests leading them to what feels like to safer ground. "He's so preoccupied with the pregnancy I doubt he'd even notice."

Harvey smirks, the amusement waning his guilt slightly. He feels responsible for dragging her into this mess but she choose to stay and help, offered, and the support is another a reminder of how much he appreciates her. "Thank you Donna."

He means it sincerely, the gratitude long overdue and for more than just helping with the Belcime case. Truth is he did fuck up. His thoughts had been preoccupied with flying out to Boston -among other things- and he lifts his head taking in her soft features framed by the flickering candle light. The last time he'd visited his family it had taken a piece of him and in the end all he'd wanted to do was come back home, to his friends and to her.

She feels her cheeks warming under his scrutiny and an involuntary shiver runs through her, the reaction nothing to do with the cold. "You don't need to thank me Harvey."

He holds her gaze stretching the moment out for as long as he can before the need to break it expands in his chest. "You should put that on before you freeze to death-" he motions to the shirt with his glass, "and if you're worried don't be, you've got great legs."

A smug grin turns his mouth and she meets it rolling her eyes. "Concussion or not I will hurt you." He looks anything but worried and she bites back a sigh. His head still needs looking at but she has a feeling he'll be less stubborn about it if she does what he wants first. "Fine. Turn around."

He places his scotch on the desk to follow the instruction but she's visible in the reflection and when she glares he lifts a hand in mock surrender closing his eyes for good measure. It feels stupid. It's not like he hasn't seen her naked before but then again it's been twelve years and he still uses the memory to get him in the mood more than he probably should. Maybe it's a good idea to avoid the temptation.

She reaches for her zip with deft fingers and drags it down shivering as the cold air meets her skin. Being wet the material clings where it shouldn't, catching in the wrong places and she lets out a yelp when her hair get's tangled around one of the metal clasps.

He snaps to the sound but manages to refrain from looking. "Donna?"

"I'm okay, just... I need your help."

She sounds embarrassed and a smirk tugs his mouth. "I can't exactly feel my way over there you know?"

"Don't worry Casanova-" she breathes out an exasperated sigh trying not to tug the hair that's caught, "you can open your eyes. I'm decent."

He grins turning in his chair and letting his gaze adjust to the predicament she's in. One hand is clasped to the front of the dress holding it up and the other pressed behind her back doing god knows what. It pulls a low chuckle from his mouth and he stands biting the inside of his cheek as he crosses to help.

She gives him access to the zipper jumping when he brushes her shoulder-blade. He slights at the reaction and she exhales slowly, "sorry... cold hands."

He cups a fist blowing hot air and rubbing his fingers together. When they start tingling he presses the pads softly against her exposed skin. "Better?"

She nods swallowing the knot in her throat as he skims down grazing over the clasp of her bra to rest on her lower back. The other time he wasn't so careful. He'd been all over her in a frenzy but that was then. Thirteen years have passed between that night and now, and she closes her eyes trying to keep the memory from washing over her.

He lingers longer than his should, unlooping the strands with careful precision. One so he doesn't hurt her and two because the smell of her perfume is intoxicating; a hint of Jasmine mixed with Orchid's and rain. His wants to lean in, taste it on her neck and heat floods hotly under his collar as he tries to focus on finishing the task. So much for avoiding goddamn temptation.

She feels a release of tension in more ways than one when his hand drops away and she's careful to keep the dress in place until he's fully turned. Trusting he won't look she slips out of it and replaces the damp fabric with the drier alternative. It's a struggle to get the buttons done up but she manages, slipping the last one in place and giving him the all clear.

He turns back around taking in the full view before his gaze darts to the hem bunched loosely at her thighs. He doesn't know what the hell he was thinking putting her in the damn fucking thing. It's likely to drive him more mad than just underwear would have but he tries to shelve the thought reminding himself it's serving a practical purpose. If it stops her from getting sick then he'll just have to control himself.

She pushes forward at his silence, not embarrassed but concerned by his glazed expression. She'd been expecting at least some quip by now and reaches her hand up sweeping her fingers over the cut on his brow. "Doesn't look like it needs stitches."

She prods the small bump at his hairline and he winces. It's hardly a matter of life or death and it wasn't even bothering him until she started poking at it. "It's fine Donna, honestly."

"Like I was fine?" She insist, waits for a beat to let it sink in, and then grabs his forearms directing him back to his chair. There isn't a lot she can do but it shouldn't take much to clean and she sits him down rifling through the first-aid kit for supplies.

He leans back with a sigh watching the clutter start to pile up on his desk. "I give you the shirt off my back and this is the thanks I get?"

"Behave." She finds what she's searching for and shoots him a pointed look, "if you're a good boy I might even get you some Christmas cake when were done."

"Define behave." He watches the comment go ignored as she leans in closer, knees knocking int the chair, and his fingers twitch as the shirt brushes the back of his hand. It suddenly occurs to him he has no idea how far the dampness penetrated beneath her dress and he gleams up at her with a smirk. "Exactly how naked are you under there?"

She stalls for a second letting the flirtation wash over her as she tears open the antiseptic packet. She shouldn't engage him but does, trying to void the feelings that have been stirring since he helped untangle her hair. "Enough that if you knew it would drive you crazy."

He suppresses a groan biting down on his lip and flinching when she swabs the open cut.

"Hold still." She instructs dabbing the blood dried at his hairline. He doesn't, shifting to avoid the contact wherever possible and she breathes out a sigh, "the more you move around the longer this is going to take. Drink some more Scotch or something."

The 'or something' is too temping an offer to pass up and he tests fluttering his palm against her exposed thigh. She falters at the touch and he swallows his amusement gliding his thumb over the goosebumps pricking her skin. "You're still cold."

Asshole, she thinks, refusing the give him the satisfaction of a rise. "I'm fine."

Her tense jaw would indicate otherwise and he traces an absent circle watching in fascination as heat flushes her face.

"Harvey." There's a warning to the tone that doesn't seem to deter him. His fingers stay pressed where they are and even though he seems entirely comfortable pushing the boundaries, she's not. If they make a stupid mistake now (because they're drunk and it's Christmas) they'll wind up regretting it in the morning and she draws in a sharp breath trying to temper the desire coursing through her.

"You want me to stop?"

It's asked tentatively but there's still arrogance in his expression, a look of smugness that drives right through her because she doesn't want him to stop and he fucking knows it. It's a game, like it always is between them, and she reaches down clamping around his hand and removing it from her thigh. He can go to hell and she mutters as much throwing the bloodied wipe on his desk.

He flinches his ego taking the hit as she tears away and shit- this wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

He'd envisioned talking to her properly, the night orchestrated around a fancy dinner somewhere with expensive wine and candles not Scotch and tealights but then again it probably wouldn't have made any difference. The problem isn't location it's everything he's not saying and the admission he's been keeping close to his chest flies out before he can't stop it.

"I didn't want to go to Boston.",

It's obviously not what she was expecting because she stops and turns with an irritated glare and he blows air into his cheek resigning himself to the telling her the full truth. "Strictly speaking I did but I wanted you to come... I just, I didn't know how to ask you."

Surprise ebbs through her but she cautious about acknowledging it, looking for clarification instead. "You wanted me to spend Christmas with your family?"

He nods firming his jaw at the accusing tone.

"Why?" She asks hands falling to her hips. Honestly, she's not expecting a straight answer and when he pushes up from his chair she regrets taking off her heels. Paired against him she always feels like she needs the height and she takes a slight step back as he approaches with an impossible to decipher expression.

"Because the last time I went, I wanted you there." He stops just shy of being able to reach out and touch her, his arms hanging loosely by his sides.

"As what?" It might sound presumptuous but given he just had his hand practically up her shirt she's willing to take the risk. If he'd wanted her there as a friend or a buffer she would understand, would've gone to support him, but if he's choosing now to admit something else then she needs to hear him say it.

"It's more complicated than that."

She lifts her gaze to the ceiling feeling a humorless laugh stall in her throat. Of course it is because heaven forbid he actually try and find words to explain it but she brings her head down flippantly, moving to where her dress is heaped in a pile.

He watches her with a confused from. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving." Her voice isn't resentful or even angry, just deflated. She's tired of the same fight and turns startling when she almost collides with his chest.

"Donna, there's a goddamn blizzard outside." Frustration is his first response to the ridiculous statement but he realizes the mistake when her eyes flare up with stubbornness.

"I'll take my chances."

She pushes passed and he reacts instinctively grabbing her wrist to stop her from leaving. Like hell she's going anywhere. Not only is it dangerous but they're not finished yet, not by a long shot. "You honestly think I'm just going to let you walk of here?"

"Let me?" She throws him an icy glare, "how exactly do you think you're going to stop me Harvey, tie me up in the corner?"

He loosens his grip and despite the frustration seething through, despite everything, he smirks.

"Jesus Christ." She swears at the institution, the fact that even in the middle of a heated row he can still manage to act immaturely. "Can't you keep your mind out of the gutter for five minutes?"

Evidently he can't. Because despite the tension pulsing between them all he wants to do is wrench his mouth over her lips and show her exactly 'how' he loves her until they're both broken and can't think straight. It's what he wants to do not what he does. Instead he lets her go completely offering no explanation as he strides over to where his records are kept. He's banking on curiosity keeping her in place and the bet pays off as he locates the gift that's been hidden there for weeks. He doesn't get nervous. Usually prides himself on a confident demeanor but his gait is slow as he walks back to her.

"What-"

"Open it." He hands her the pouch balling his fists to keep his anxiety from showing. He's never bought her a present before. At least, not one she didn't pick out for herself first and he's silently hoping the sentiment will reflect everything she needs to know.

She tips the bag and a chain pools into her palm followed by a sliver ring that has an inscription woven around the twisted metal.

To thine own self be true, and then at the end, always- H.

She isn't sure what to say but the anger drains from her body as she stares up at him, moisture pricking her lashes. "I... it's beautiful, thank you."

He doesn't show his relief, motioning for it back and signaling for her to turn around. She does and he collects the damp curls at the base of her neck pushing them over her shoulder so he can fasten the necklace in place.

She runs her fingers over the pendant, still at loss for words when his fingertips drag down to settle lightly against her waist.

"Merry Christmas Donna." His voice is a hoarse flutter against her ear and her insides melt as she circles into him placing her palm against his chest.

All the labels and questions that needed an answer suddenly don't and she smiles up at him. "I knew it."

He can read the gleam in her eyes and smirks in spite of it. "Knew what?"

"That you'd fall for me." He opens his mouth to protest but she catches the sound with her lips, tasting the hints of oak-wood and scotch as his fingers curl deeper into her waist.

He lets her have it. In fact he gives into every plea and whim; the desk, the floor, Louis' office, the sofa. The candles flicker out long before they're finished and it isn't until the blue hues of morning start rise that they take refuge on the leather couch, his hand idly playing with the pendant as she drifts off to sleep in his arms.

It isn't how either of them planned spending Christmas Eve- but he can't help hoping it sets a precedence for the rest.

From now on that's the only wish he's going to be making.

.🅜Ⓔ🅡Ⓡ🅨 Ⓒ🅗Ⓡ🅘Ⓢ🅣ⓜ🅐ⓢ.