Knowing

"You know I love you, Donna."

His quiet admission caught her in the chest. She was Donna. Donna always knew what had happened, and what would happen, before anyone else, and tonight was supposed to be no exception. She had known as soon as she invited Harvey over to celebrate what the endgame would be. While they reminisced, and she poured wine, she knew. When he told her he would always protect her, she knew. When he said her faith in him was all he needed…she knew.

She knew that he would make a move…was sure that he would lawyer his way around her "no-coworkers" policy, and she was prepared for all of it. Point, counterpoint, and eventually…graceful acquiescence.

Only this time, she was wrong.

She tried to breathe around the shock of his words, calm her suddenly skittering heart, and—he was turning around and walking toward the door. She was still standing there, mouth agape, and he was—he was leaving.

This wasn't the script she had planned.

Donna opened her eyes and looked across to the other pillow. The neon sign in the diner window across the street blinked blue, then red, then yellow, washing Harvey's face in a rainbow of colors. God, he looked so young, asleep like that—all the lines of concentration and calculation smoothed away. She stifled a giggle, remembering his transparent "It just occurred to me…" of the night before, brown eyes eager as a puppy's, and the shit-eating grin he'd flashed before she'd closed her own eyes and given herself up to a whipped-cream odyssey.

He'd surprised her, she had to admit. Ready to school him in chapter and verse from The Book Of Donna, she discovered that he could ace the final without ever reading a page. He added a few footnotes, too, and his conclusion was far more explosive than she'd cared to acknowledge.

So, what did she want from him now?

More nights like tonight would be a good start, she supposed…and if her days at Skadden (or Bratton, or O'Melvaney & Meyers) were no longer filled with flirty banter and the adrenaline-fueled challenge of anticipating what he would need before he knew he needed it, well, it seemed a fair trade. She wouldn't give in too easily, though—maybe she would leave him hanging, just for a bit, let him sweat a little…

That was settled, then. Smiling to herself, she pressed a light kiss to his bare shoulder, rolled over and was asleep in seconds.

Except she hadn't counted on his driving ambition. She'd walked into the coffee shop, all cool unconcern, ready to tease him for being so hot-to-trot he couldn't wait two days to see her again.

"I don't want to lose you," he'd said.

She didn't even have time to set her face in an expression of slightly aloof reassurance before he went on: "Come work for me."

Wait—what?

Afterward, she'd castigated herself as a fool and an idiot. She knew, better than anyone, that Harvey was driving his Mustang at 90 MPH down the expressway to success. He wasn't about to let his personal attraction to her outweigh her professional usefulness. Indeed, he seemed perfectly willing to let their one time go: "If I'd known this was gonna happen, I'd never have come over." (And don't let the door hit you on the way out.)

Thankfully, pride had come to her rescue and she quickly hid her hurt under a veneer of badass negotiating; it was only sex, no big deal, and she'd never think of it again (ha).

It did get easier, in time. She told herself that no girlfriend could be as essential to him as she was, and no girlfriend had as much of him as she did. So she supported, even pushed, his relationships with Zoe and Scottie, watching as he got to a certain point with each of them…and shut down. It was supremely fitting that Harvey told Scottie about Mike only when Scottie already had one foot out the door, while Donna had been in on the secret from the beginning. In a way, she was grateful that their relationship was nipped in the bud; Harvey was obviously not ready to love someone the way she wanted (deserved) to be loved.

She was even able to look him in the eyes and tell him she loved him like a brother, or a thank-God-only-at-Christmas cousin. By that time, they had been through so much shit together that she sort of believed it herself.

And then there was Stephen. She had to live her life, she told Harvey, and it was true. She couldn't ignore those needs forever. Stephen offered chemistry and culture, and he truly seemed to care about her. Too bad he was also willing to countenance murder.

Maybe she should have been more prepared for his declaration, after he told her that the thought of her going to prison brought him to his knees. Of course he cared—she knew that—and of course he didn't want her behind bars. But she put his fiery determination to save her down to his desire to WIN ("It's what I do") as much as his feelings for her.

And now? Now, he looked sad, in spite of his win. Sad, and exhausted, and resigned. She could see it in the slump of his shoulders and hear it in his weary tone. This was no joyous revelation, no urgent plea—just a simple statement of fact, already known.

Except she hadn't.

He was at the door, one hand on the knob, and her desperate brain shouted, Say something, damnit!

"Harvey." It was a little strangled, and far less enticing than she would've liked, but it did the trick: he stopped. "Don't go."

He still hadn't turned around, and he still sounded worn out when he said, "Donna, if I don't—"

She took a step toward him. "I know—"

He tried again. "But you said—"

"You think I'm going to let you tell me you love me, and walk out the door? Are you nuts?"

He finally turned, tossing his suit jacket and coat back on the chair and crossing his arms. "No more nuts than you are right now. You had your rule for a reason, Donna—"

One step more. She stood in front of him and lifted her eyes to his. "Yeah. The reason was I thought you'd find yourself in too deep and then run for the hills."

"You think I'm a pussy." But there was, finally, a tiny spark in those deep brown eyes.

"Don't feel bad," she said, voice low. "This"—gesturing to herself—"is a lot to handle."

Harvey pointed at what, by now, was a wicked—even wolfish—grin. "So is this."

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes and tossed her hair over one shoulder, turning away. He caught her arm and pulled her close, nuzzling just below her earlobe until her head fell back and her arms tightened around his neck.

"OK, hot shot," he smirked. "You sure we can do this? Work together and…be together?"

"Well," she answered, a bit breathlessly, "I don't know about you, but I can do my job with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back."

"Let's try it." He took one arm from around his neck and held it behind her while he kissed her quite, quite thoroughly. "Yep…that definitely has possibilities."

After that, there was no more talking for a very long time. There didn't need to be—it would all work out.

She just knew it.

Author's Note: Just discovered this fabulous series and am loving these characters! First fic for this fandom so feedback is especially helpful. Thanks for reading!