Hello! A new fan for this fandom, but I think I fell a bit in love with Harvey Specter, and Harvey and Donna. So this is my attempt to do something with them. Hope I'll manage to do justice to their uncommon dynamics, and relationship.

This is also inspired by a common trait I've seen in this fandom, and I've been always playing with this idea that you'll see at the end, so I ask myself, 'self, why don't we kill two birds at once?'

The last note; I've started writing this after I saw the 3x06 and and the promos for 3x07 'She's Mine' and this is spawn from the promos, but everything after 3x06 is now officially AU.

I hope you'll enjoy.

Edited by my longtime(and amazing) beta-reader Moonstruck Kitten.

Prologue:

Come to think of it, Donna knew she should have known things would end up like this; her on a bar stool, sipping slowly from her drink, the liquor hot and sour against her throat, leaving a burn behind, much like everything in her life related to him. It was all-too-familiar, and God knew how goddamned tired she was of feeling it. But despite being Donna, she had never known how to get rid of it either, never, as if it was a part of her, like how he had grown to be a part of her, which he might very well have done.

Fuck, she really should have known better. (So much for knowing things.)

Because, even though she didn't want to, there were times she'd thought about possibilities. In cold hours of the dark nights, when loneliness got the best of her, she had thought about him and her, each prospect as different as she could dream, and each one had ended with one of them pulling the short stick too far. She wasn't always sure which of them would end up with it, (and really, who could know such a thing with him?) but she had always known one thing very clearly: Harvey was the one who had better defenses.

Which was probably the reason he was out with that bimbo, perhaps already shagging her senseless, the thin blonde model, with a lovely round heart-shaped face, and an expression full of admiration for the man she was draped over his arm, and a dazzling smile on her face. Nope, she wasn't jealous, not one bit. Why she should be? It wasn't like it was the first time that she had arranged an escort for him, or it would be the last, apparently. But really, why couldn't he find someone else, someone else that didn't look like the exact opposite of her.

She sighed; inconsiderate bastard. Always had to go for the killing strike, then turn the blade for kicks.

Her mouth flattened in a grim line, and she finished her drink. Her face soured, but she told herself it was only because of the drink.

His face was as if it was carved out of stone. "I told you what he did," he said in clipped tones, voice emotionless, the only indication of his anger was the heat in his eyes that he couldn't manage to hide. "I told you what he did," he repeated, voice rising, "but you still didn't mention that to me."

She shook her head frantically. "He said he wasn't involved, that it was before," she objected. He had to understand, he of all people needed to understand. She would never betray him. "Harvey, if I didn't believe—"

"How could you believe him?" he shouted, finally losing all pretense, the impeccable impassible attitude he extruded so effortlessly crumbling down into broken accusations. And it hurt, a lot.

"I just wanted to—" she started then stopped, unable to finish. Why it was so hard for him to see? She only wanted to believe him; she only wanted to live her life.

And the truth was that she was screwing it up. "I don't understand," he shook his head, "I really can't, Donna."

And of course, he didn't. Things would have been different in that coffee house years ago, if only he did. "I just did, okay?" she defended herself, the words sounding pathetic even to her own ears. She closed her eyes, and let out a deep breath. "Look. I wasn't trying to betray you or anything. I just—"

"—believed him," he completed for her, again in that clipped tone, stoicism, as she lost him behind those walls. "I warned you, Donna," he then said. "Don't say I didn't."

And yes, he had. Tears welled in her eyes, and she gnawed the inside her cheek to keep them at bay, and told him the only thing that came from her heart. "Harvey, I'm so sorry."

"I know," he countered, turning his back to her, "That's what my mother always used to say to my father after she—" He stopped, shaking his head.

"Harvey—!" She exclaimed, unshed tears still in her eyes, "I'm not your—"

"I know," he repeated again, his back still to her. "That'll be all, Donna. I'll see you in the morning."

Excuse me for not holding up to your ridiculously high standards, Mr. Specter. "I just made a mistake in—reading—his intentions," she said out loud to the man in front of her, Philip Fields or Heels, she wasn't sure. Possibly, not Heels. Though, that would be really awesome. She would like to be a Heels. Donna Heels. Rather fancy. "I mean, who wouldn't make such a mistake with them?"

"Are you really going to talk about your boss the whole time?" Fields/Heels asked. Donna leaned forward and squinted to understand if he was bored or jealous. Bored, she decided after close inspection.

She pulled back, and nodded at him. "You know what, Philip, you're absolutely right!" She lifted her glass up, and drank it in one swallow. "No more talk about bosses." She set the glass on the bar with a hard thud. She waved her hand at the barmen. "Sweetie, another round for me and my friend here."

"Whoaa..."the man said, taking the glass away, "You might wanna consider going a bit more slowly."

"Don't boss me around," she chided, her words slurred, as her forefinger rose. "No more bosses, remember?" He laughed, and let the drink go. She took it, and looked at it. She made a face. "So," she asked, "what are we going to talk about now?"

"I don't know," he answered with a shrug. "Why don't you tell me about yourself a bit?"

She moved closer in her stool, and whispered to him, "I think I'd like to be a Heels." The man looked at her in confusion. "Donna Heels," she said, "Fancy, isn't it."

"Yeah," he said, laughing, his hands starting to play with the ginger locks over her shoulder.

She pulled back, "God, you're being touchy-feely."

"And you're drunk."

"I'm not—" she protested indignantly.

"Drunk?"

"God, I'm drunk." Her head fell on the bar, between her hands. "My sort of—boyfriend used me to get to my boss, my boss thinks I'm such a bitch, and now, I'm drunk."

"Hey," he said, patting her shoulder, "you're a funny one, at least."

She turned her face to the counter, and smiled at the stranger that only knew her name. "Aw, aren't you sweet."

The man laughed, and ordered another round of whiskey.

Tonight, she decided, was going to be a long night. She was going to make sure of it.

Biip Biip Biip! Groaning, she opened her eyes, and then closed them immediately. That wasn't a good idea. Too much light. It was hard, whatever this place was, it was hard, and cold, and it was tearing up her skin. And that fucking biip was just killing her brain.

She opened her eyes, and forced them to stay open. She gulped through her throat, letting out a low raw groan. Jesus, that was one hell of a hangover. She rolled over the pavement—then stopped, as her clouded mind finally registered where she was. Pavement! What the hell she was doing on the pavement, and where the hell were her jeans?

She bowed her head and looked at her legs, and blinked a few times at the thin line blood dripping over them. Oh, that must be the reason why it hurt like a bitch. And whoever that person on the phone was, he was one of a persistent son of a bitch. She groaned reaching for her phone in her clutch bag, a little surprised to find the bag open, but not surprised one bit to read the name on the screen.

"Didn't I tell you I'd see you in the morning," Harvey said, obviously aggravated, "Where the hell are you?"

Pulling herself into a sitting position, she answered, "I'm not—sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure?"

She rested her back against the wall of one of the buildings. "God, please, no more screaming. I'm battered, hurt, I passed out on the pavement—"

"What?"

"Bloodied—"

"Bloodied?!" his voice rose, as Donna sensed the panic in it.

She looked down, down at her legs, where the blood poured into a little lake. "Oh my god!" she whispered, "Oh!My!God!"

"Donna," he said in a commanding voice, "Donna, stay calm, and tell me where you are."

"Oh, god," she could only mutter, tears bursting from of her eyes like a downpour, as reality finally settled in, and the ache between in her legs became unbearable.

"Donna! Goddammit," Harvey yelled, as the phone dropped from her hand. She pulled her legs over up and slowly skidded over her side, her mind numb to Harvey's screams.

"Donna! Donna! Donna! Donna, please, TALK TO ME!"