Harvey has a broken arm and Donna has to stop at his apartment to help him get ready to work.


His alarm has to be buzzing for at least twenty minutes before he cracks his eyes open. He wakes up feeling sore and groggy, making a mental note to cut back on his pain killers.

Harvey glares at the cast plastered around his right arm. He's in remarkable shape, and has at least two decades before he could even be mistaken for an 'old' person. But as Donna loves to continuously remind him, he's not invincible.

A broken arm, how pedestrian, he thinks.

Harvey walks over to his closest, using his good arm to pull out one of his suits and lay it out on the bed. He slips off his pants easily enough until it comes time to actually get dressed. Harvey pulls on his suit pants and fumbles with the zipper and button, cursing the clumsy fingers on his left hand.

It takes several minutes before he finally has them done up, just enough time to make him genuinely feel like an invalid. He eyes the crisp, white shirt on the bed with its tiny, tiny buttons. He's never been humiliated by an item of clothing before.

Then he remembers the tie.

"Jesus Christ."

He glances at the alarm clock on the nightstand that reads 8:05. He has a partner's meeting in fifteen minutes that he will most definitely be late for.

Harvey grabs his cell phone, swallows what's left of his pride and presses number one on his speed dial.


"Well this is just sad."

Donna hovers at his bedroom doorway with a smirk on her face. She carries her purse in one hand and two Venti lattes in the other.

"Can you at least pretend you're not enjoying this?"

"That's not in my nature."

Donna discards her purse by the door and places the coffees on the dresser. She saunters across his bedroom, heels clacking across the floorboards.

"Besides," she continues, "You were the one who turned down personal home care."

"Because I'm not a goddamn geriatric."

Donna smiles, then covers it with an eye roll. "It would have saved you from calling your assistant to dress you."

Harvey groans. "Let's not label this."

Donna's eyes flick from his face, down to his torso, then back up – he'd forgotten he wasn't wearing a shirt. She clears her throat.

"Undershirts?" she asks.

He points to the dresser with his left hand. "Second drawer."

Harvey watches her move around his bedroom. She's been in his apartment a dozen times, but never in his bedroom. It's almost as if they mutually agreed that it would be crossing a line.

Donna stands in front of him with a wife-beater in her hands. She seems to be studying him, figuring out her best plan of attack.

"Left arm up," she instructs.

Harvey complies. Donna puts the wife-beater over his head and Harvey slips his good arm through. Her fingers clasp around his right bicep, encouraging him to lift slightly.

Harvey sucks a breath in at the small stab of pain as Donna manoeuvres the wife-beater until it fits over his upper body. Next is his shirt. Donna gently pulls the sleeve over his cast, then helps him into the rest of it.

Donna starts on the bottom button of his shirt, fingers working deftly. Her hands brush against his torso and for a second he swears he sees her fingers falter.

She finishes and takes a step back. She looks almost…embarrassed?

"Okay…I'm going to have to tuck your shirt in and I swear to god if you say one word –"

"Donna," he stops her, "Trust me, this is far more embarrassing for me than it is for you."

She gives him a look that clearly says, I highly doubt that. Donna makes quick work of his shirt, while Harvey tries desperately to hold onto his remaining dignity. When she's done, she reaches for his nearest belt.

Harvey unwittingly holds his breath as Donna loops his belt through his pants and buckles it, hands resting only a few inches from his crotch.

"Now this is familiar".

He doesn't realise he's said it out loud until Donna smacks his chest.

"I'm on a lot of painkillers," he says by way of defense.

Donna narrows her eyes at him. "And you're going to need a whole lot more for when I break your other arm."

Harvey chuckles and sits on the edge of his bed. "Are you that eager to do this again?"

"Actually smartass, I scheduled a nurse on my way over here," she informs him.

"Donna! I don't need –"

"Harvey, this is not in my job description," Donna reminds him with a laugh. She turns and scours his closet for a tie before she settles on one of his 'loud' ones.

Donna wanders back over. Now that he's sitting, she has no choice but to hover over him, standing between his legs. She gives him a look that tells him she knows exactly what he's doing.

It's an odd sensation, being this close to her.

Donna lifts his collar, loops the tie around his neck and crafts a perfect Windsor knot. She reaches for the sling on his bedside table.

"I don't need it."

She gives him a stern glare and carefully settles his arm in the sling.

"You'll wear it and you'll love it."

She's far too good for him.

Donna stares at him quietly, fingers unconsciously fiddling with his collar.

"Don't do anything stupid like that again."

He can't help but scoff. "I didn't exactly let that car hit mine, Donna."

"I mean it, Harvey," she whispers, her voice cracking.

He nods wordlessly, itching to wrap his hands around her waist and hold her close. "Okay," he promises her.

Donna steps back, all business again. She gestures towards his feet. "You better be wearing loafers because there's no freaking way I am going to tie your shoelaces for you."

He mock-sighs, "I guess I can compromise."

Donna recollects her purse and hands him one of the coffees. "Well, move it along then, old man."

He lets her get away with the "old man" comment, but only because she's the one upside to having a broken arm.