**Originally Posted on TUMBLR** Author's note: Just a little something. They are like a constant inevitability in my mind. No matter what the writers do to them.
Harvey and Donna
By Atheniandream
I hits him like a wave of calm.
Fourteen Years.
Fourteen Years...of them.
Just them. Toughing it out against the World.
It's been a tiring week.
And he realises, that maybe,
Just maybe,
All those sick days not taken,
And those many Holidays postponed,
Are starting to add up and multiply.
He is tired.
Content.
But very tired.
He sighs, the sound of her animated voice peeling into colours a few inches away from him on the couch, her strategies and suggestions rolling into one long ream of an answer, as her hand remains suspended, chopsticks dancing in the crevice of her thumb and and second finger.
He's not sure when he zoned out, exactly.
But as the world around him started to blur, gradually, the outline of her, as he stared blankly at her, seemed to grow only stronger as the seconds passed.
Her coppery hair, fire lit by the low lighting in his office frames her vibrant expressions, her elegant posture raising herself slightly above his hunched form.
A slight frown starts to rope itself from the inside of his forehead right out onto the surface.
Due to the speed of her words, it takes her a few moments - red wine tempered and actively thinking - for her to notice what would have taken her only fraction of a second usually.
"What, Harvey?" She pauses, mid thought and frown laden to match.
"I...love you." He hears the words come out of his mouth, matter of fact, yet calmer considering he hadn't planned them.
She blinks, quickly and unlike herself. "I love you too, Harvey." She tells him simply, as if it's an oversight, an already written truth, before smiling crookedly to herself, as she delves her chopsticks into her 'shitty' thai food, and continues her ramble as before.
He blinks. Confused. As if an entire moment has passed before his eyes.
He wonders if he's broken her. If she is now truly impervious to his words.
If over the years, he has said so much and never really delivered on it.
It is a rare thought. He is a man of actions. But seemingly, he'd always had a difficulty when it came to her.
He sits back for a second or two, picking up his wine glass to sip at the remaining claret liquid.
He watches her, animated once more, only this time, just a touch slower.
He smiles to himself, setting his glass down before sitting upright and gradually closer to her.
She's talking about tactics and leverage, and all the things that he only now realises really turns him on.
It's not power. It's the fight. And he likes the fight. In her and in the world.
"Donna," He half whispers. It's the kind of application in her name that stops her dead in her tracks, her eyes suddenly deer wide and drawn completely on his silence as her hand slips the chop sticks onto her near empty plate.
"What, Harvey?" She asks, feeling the tone change. "What? Do I have chicken on my face?" She asks boldly, a hand rising to her cheek with a self consciousness.
He titters a laugh, his face bending into a smile. "No." He shakes his head minutely. "You don't have chicken on your face."
"Then, what?"
"I...think I'm in love with you." He breathes.
"You think?" She replies. The irony isn't lost on her voice, a perfect eyebrow arching to match her tone.
He rolls his eyes at her slight gussy. "I know." He counters, planting the confirmation as sarcasm peaks his tone.
"Hmmm." She hums, straightening, as if to look about herself in thought before she responds simply with an "I know."
Before any words can match his dropped expression, he notices her lean in confidently, closing the gap between them.
"But what I don't know, is if you are ever gonna kiss me again." She whispers the remark, giving him that look to match the insinuation.
Fourteen Years, he's been waiting for that look.
He smirks, his expression softening as he leans in, his left hand, although unsure, snakes around her waist, bringing their bodies together at the waist and their breath to match. He takes an inhale of breath, her shampoo and perfume engulfing him as he examines the slightly uneasy, nervous expression on her face. His right hand slides against her thick hair, and his insides warm at the smile that graces her lips, as he licks his own. He feels her fingers trace his right cheek bone, and for a moment he thinks he understands how it feels to be loved. To be looked at the way she is looking at him right now. He silently thanks her for not asking questions in the moment, as his head tilts naturally, his eyes tracing the freckles around her lip line before they blur into the feeling of her skin against his, and an electricity between them that could power his company for a hundred years.
She is vanilla and cherries and whipped cream,
He is sandalwood and clear water and Hugo Boss.
And the rest
Is history, unearthed and built upon.
And it is then, and only then, that they become
Harvey & Donna.
As always please feed the kitty! xox