Really old fic reposted here.

The wedding invitation comes as a surprise to him.

He doesn't know why he isn't expecting it. Maybe it's because he kind of thought they weren't a good match, that even though they were engaged they wouldn't ever make it down the aisle, that he really didn't spend much time thinking about her anymore. It could be any number of things.

He used to though, think about her. It wasn't that he loved her, just that they were the same. They were so very different but they were so incredibly cut from the same cloth that he just didn't see it working. The thing of it is that neither of them do anything half way, they're always all in to a degree that when it comes down to their careers or someone else that they always pick their careers.

Or maybe they were all excuses because he wasn't ready - they'd always just barely missed each other.

He was ready, she was getting married.

She was ready, he was recovering.

He was ready, she was mourning.

She was ready, he was in love for the first time.

But now she's getting married to the last person he'd ever expected. When she did the only decent thing she's ever done in all of the years that he's known her, tell him that she was dating his inner-office nemesis, he just laughed at her. It seemed totally ridiculous but he shrugged it off, knowing that the first woman he could honestly say that he ever loved was listening in.

Since then, Donna's asked him about a thousand times if he's okay with it, if it bothers him, if he's over her. But the thing about Dana Scott is that she's a pain in his ass. He can list more things that he hates about her than that he likes about her. And, god damn it, she never goes away; she was once just a scab but now she's a fucking scar.

He'd never admit it but opening the invitation makes him long for some kind of reassurance, that he's done the right thing by never asking Scottie to stay. It has nothing to do with Donna, not even a little bit. She's been everything he never knew he wanted all this time, through all of the years and through all of the women, and she's been more than he could have asked for. But that doesn't stop him from thinking he can't love her enough, that he's too damaged.

But he still goes to the wedding, Donna on his arm and smile on his face because he doesn't really have a reason that he shouldn't be happy. He'd never wanted to be with Scottie but that doesn't mean he wanted to see her be with someone else. Every moment of doubt seemingly disappears when Donna's fingers slide over his wrist. He'd rather be sitting with her at his ex's wedding rather than standing at the end of the aisle waiting.

He reminds himself to breathe a few more times through the I do's, keeps his mouth shut when they ask for any reasons they shouldn't get married (yeah, because this is stupid), and feels Donna squeeze his thigh just above his knee before they clap.

Donna's managed to work the room at someone else's wedding and he's not as surprised as he should be, just amused. If he's honest, going places with her is something that he almost dreads; she's the only person he knows in New York who could literally go anywhere and run into someone she knows. He thinks she's the only person he's ever met who knows more people than he does, and her connections are still flawless.

He's standing at the bar, sipping on his scotch with one eye on his girlfriend (both eyes, really, because she's hard not to look at). The bride sneaks up on his left, gaze fixated on Donna's black dress that comes right above her knees and the way her red hair almost looks orange beneath the light. He feels a sharp jab into his ribs, immediately put off that someone is touching his prestinely navy blue Tom Ford suit. The vest beneath it feels a little tight with the heat from outside making its way in the open doors.

He tilts his head, offering her a slight smile as he begrudgingly looks away from the sight across the room.

"You're married now," he teases, "again."

She takes a sip of her champagne, "I am."

"I can't believe you married Louis," Harvey says with a laugh, "now all of those times I teased him about banging his wife seem awkward."

"I'm sure that would go over real well," Scottie replies, fingers clutching her glass stem as her eyes shift suggestively towards Harvey's girlfriend.

He shrugs, "eh, she gets me."

"Honey, she's been getting you for a long time," Scottie counters with a laugh.

He grins at her, "do you remember back at Harvard when we said we'd never get married?"

"We all lie when we're young," she says with a shrug, "we were up all night studying for exams, talking shit like nobody's business."

"You're still great when it comes to talking shit," he teases her. He releases a ragged sigh, light shake of his head, a laugh tumbling out of his mouth; he sees her lips pursed in question and her eyes narrow at him. She hasn't changed that much over the years, not really. "You're wearing a white dress. Come on, no one is falling for it."

"Don't be a prick to me at my wedding," Scottie demands cheekily, finger pointed in his direction warningly.

He lifts a hand to his chest apologetically although mockingly, the animosity between them long ago abandoned, "I'm sorry. It's just funny that you think you're fooling anyone."

"A girl can dream," she says with a shrug and a smile.

"Is this what you pictured when the idea of marriage came up? The flowers, the dress, the husband?" He tries not to sound accusatory, still trying to figure out in his head if all of the problems are because the idea of Scottie and Louis don't make sense in his head or if it's more than that. She gives him a look that conveys her desire for him to cut it out, that she doesn't want to keep hearing the undercut over and over again. He sighs, glances around the room as he shifts his weight to his right leg - "just one question, Dana. Why Louis?"

"He likes the Opera. He's smart. He's appreciative," she lifts her gaze to his, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, "he's everything you never were for me. Besides, you have Donna and that seems to be going for you."

"Yeah, I'm different," he says, pauses to take a drink of his scotch, "I'm better."

"She manages you which is what you need."

Harvey swallows the rest of his drink, drops his gaze away from Scottie's because he doesn't know how to look her in the eye. "It's because I love her. I was never going to be...I don't know, I was never going to be enough or something. I couldn't feel this way about anyone else, I don't think. With Donna, when we get married that's it for me. If we get divorced, that's it. I couldn't love anyone else after her."

"You said when," Scottie observes.

Harvey's eyebrows knit, "I did?"

"You never speak in absolutes," she reminds him, grin sliding on her features, "are you going soft, Specter?"

"Hey, you're one who got Litt Up," he counters.

He breathes a sigh of relief when she laughs, glad that they're not on the topic of him anymore. If he were to tell the truth, he'd say that he only feels comfortable showing his weakness to Donna - for Donna, the person he knows won't walk all over him. Not the way he had once expected, not after over a decade of loyalty (aside from the memo, which she did for him rather than to him). He offers Scottie a smile.

Her mouth purses, "why Donna?"

"Because," he pauses, sets his glass down on the counter and leans towards her, "she goes to Yankees games with me."

"Oh yeah," Scottie counters, setting her own glass down on the counter beside his, "that is the one thing you always said you wanted in a woman."

"That and she likes my records."

"You have horrible taste in music," she recalls.

"That's why I'm in love with her, not you," Harvey says cheekily. She lightly smacks his arm even though she laughs a little. He thinks that things are finally getting to the point that they aren't awkward between them. "Think I should marry her?"

"Probably," Scottie agrees, "but what do I know? I get married all the time."

"Good point. I'll get a second opinion," he says. He offers her a smirk, turns on his heel just enough to catch sight of Donna and Mike dancing on the dance floor. He pushes his hands into his pockets to watch her for a second, the way her laugh carries across the room making his smile become genuine; the truth is, it's Donna because he smiles easier with her then he can ever remember. "Look, I owe you a congratulations, Dana."

"I can always tell when you're being serious with me because you use my first name."

He nods half-heartedly, adding a shrug in for good measure, "it's because my heart's on the dancefloor."

"Harvey Specter has a weakness," Scottie says accusingly; she sighs, "if that's the case, I suggest you marry her."

"You think she'd say yes?"

Scottie's fingers push into his hip as she pushes him in the direction of the dance floor, "she just might."

He takes her hint, shoes sliding along the worn in floor as he makes his way through the other wedding guests. It's ironic how they spend nearly 24 hours a day with each other but he manages to keep himself contained, keep himself from getting distracted by her. He thinks he's probably losing his mind to not just feel overwhelmed and consumed by her.

"Hey," he mutters, invasive but simple because she always knows where he is.

She takes a half step back, away from Mike, mouth forming a tired greeting behind a growing smile; her hands immediately settle on his upper arms, "hey."

"So," he starts, his hands finding their place at her waist, "how weird is it to be at my ex girlfriend's wedding?"

She smirks, "I was thinking that it's weirder to be Louis' wedding. I guess that means no more hookups with Scottie."

"Scottie being married isn't what would stop me," he counters, eyes narrowing at her. It takes him a moment, a moment that he freely pushes his fingers to the small of her back and up the base of her spine where he finds the v dip in her dress. The pads of his fingers trail lightly over her skin, her fingers pressing hotly against his neck. "I think we both know what's really stopping me."

"You did just spend the better part of your evening chatting with the bride at the bar," she reminds him.

"The better part of my evening is always with you," he corrects, "besides, we were just discussing how when we were grad students we always said we'd never get married. And that obviously isn't true for her anymore. I've just been thinking that it isn't true for me anymore either."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, maybe," he says with a shrug. His fingers glide over her shoulderblades, toying with the straps on her shoulders on his trail. She moves a little bit closer at the motion, months and years boiling between them; he sees the way she's studying him, how she knows that on the surface he's being calm and nonchalant but on the inside his heart is beating faster than it ever has before. He swallows, "I don't know yet though."

"Well, you let me know when you know for sure. Don't rush it," she says with a smirk.

"I'll let you know when there is absolutely no doubt in my mind of what your answer would be."

He feels her fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck as she leans forward to lightly press her lips against his; her mouth moves against his, "I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you."