So I'm trying not to give into the my pessimistic side, but damn, these two are depressing me lately. I really needed to write something small and fluffy just to combat the stupid feelings they inspire. Lord help us all.


Donna doesn't know everything.


He wakes up to the sound of her pottering around in his kitchen, ceramic rattling against marble, the soft echo of her voice bouncing off the walls as she hums a nameless tune. He can vividly picture the scene that is waiting for him down the hall; Donna draped in the rattiest sweatshirt he owns, perched on one of his bar stools with one leg crossed demurely over the other as if she were eating breakfast in a five star restaurant rather than cereal directly from the box. She doesn't even touch her cell phone before nine am on Sundays, but she's always up before seven. Much like him, the workaholic in her doesn't allow for weekends off.

Harvey hoists his weary body out of bed and attempts to navigate a path to the bedroom door, almost stumbling over a dainty (and dangerous) pair of heels for the third time in a week. There are pieces of Donna scattered all over his home. Her dresses occupying space in his closet, pressed up against his suits. His bathroom filled with the usual suspects; a blow dryer, make-up, moisturiser, a bright purple toothbrush. He knows if he enters the office he hardly uses that Donna's laptop will be buried underneath a mountain of paperwork and well-worn copies of her favourite plays will be hidden in the spare crevices of his book case.

Donna is the only woman to ever leave a mark behind, and it happened long before he ever took notice. On the rare occasion that Harvey tried to share his space with a woman, he always felt as if he was sacrificing something. But Donna hogging two thirds of his bed every night or drinking all the coffee in his house doesn't feel like a compromise. If he were still in therapy, this may have been referred to as progress.

Harvey shuffles down the hallway to the kitchen, smiling when he glimpses a familiar flame of wild red hair. Harvey moves to her side and places a quick kiss on her bare shoulder while she's busy reading the newspaper. Donna smiles before taking a sip from the coffee mug she cradles in her hand.

Harvey spots the empty pot of coffee on the bench and sighs.

"I guess I'll run out and get some coffee." He gestures to the box of granola within Donna's reach. "Do you want something else other than that sad excuse for a breakfast?" he asks teasingly.

"No need," Donna mutters distractedly, "I went out and bought some groceries before you woke up."

"You did?"

Donna looks up sharply, a glint in her eyes, "Don't look so shocked. As much as I genuinely enjoy living out of your takeout drawer, I know how you love to show off by cooking for me."

He scoffs in protest but Donna fixes him with a patronising glare. Harvey moves behind her again, hands falling to her shoulders, lips caressing her neck.

"Don't pretend like you don't love it too," he mumbles into her skin.

Donna laughs easily, "Don't pretend like we're still talking about your culinary skills."

In the far corner of his kitchen Harvey notices a bag of dry cleaning draped over a chair.

"I hope you didn't bring Louis' dry cleaning here."

"Please, you and I both know I'm not that kind of secretary," she says, almost affronted. Harvey squeezes her shoulder in silent apology. He's mostly come to terms with the fact that they won't ever work together again, and finally admitting his feelings for her certainly softened the blow of that realisation, but it's still something of a sore spot between them.

Partners in every way except the way they started.

Donna tilts her head up, kissing his lips briefly, "I picked up our dry cleaning while I was out," she explains.

Harvey frowns, feeling the need to clarify, "Ours?"

"Yes, 'ours'. Why would I pick up mine and not yours?" Donna asks.

Harvey's hands slide from her shoulders. Donna eyes at him curiously. He circles the kitchen, tugging open the door to the pantry, then the fridge. His entire kitchen has been stocked with food. It's practically unrecognisable.

"What's with you?"

Harvey takes a long moment to really survey the state his condo is in. The two coats hanging by the door, the pair of discarded wine glasses on the coffee table, the dress he peeled off of Donna's body still decorating the couch from the night before. Coupled with his bedroom and bathroom, there is not one lingering shred of bachelorhood, everything screams his and hers. The signs have been present for months, and it's just about the only instance in their entire relationship that Harvey has arrived at the correct conclusion before Donna.

"Donna, I think I one of us needs to say it…"

She seems to sober at his tone. He finishes his thought before she has the chance to misinterpret, "I think we are living together."

Donna's expression is a mixture of relief and amusement. Her mouth opens and shuts as she considers how to respond to his half-cocked revelation.

"You think we are living together? Are you still drunk?" she asks with faux-seriousness.

"When was the last time you bought groceries for your own apartment? Or the last time you spent the night there?"

"Jeez Harvey, you never even reacted all those times I used your corporate card during happy hour," she says, rolling her eyes.

Harvey smirks gleefully. He advances on Donna, finger pointing at her accusingly, "You don't remember, do you?"

Donna picks up her newspaper and begins reading with purpose. "Remember what?" she casually asks.

Harvey folds his arms. "Wow, that part-time course is really paying off, I almost believe that bullshit."

Donna narrows her eyes.

"When was the last time you spent the night at your apartment?" he asks again.

Donna only needs to ponder half a second before she answers, "My birthday," with a triumphant grin.

Harvey smiles fondly at the memory. Rachel and Mike had had the well-intentioned, yet completely misguided idea to throw Donna a surprise party for her fortieth birthday. Harvey knew Donna well enough to understand that she only liked to be the centre of attention on her own terms. He remembers that the two of them bailed on the festivities before eleven and stumbled hand in hand back to his place, where he practically ravished her in the elevator.

"That was six weeks ago."

"No it was…" Her eyes widen as she mentally does the math. She straightens her posture and calmly folds her newspaper in half, then folds it again before she promptly whacks him with it.

"Why didn't you tell me I'd moved in?" she says, near hysterical, her cheeks flushing an attractive shade of pink.

Harvey's body wracks with laughter. "I thought you knew everything."

Her shoulders slump as she mutters, "Jeez, between this and –"

"Me being in love with you," he supplies.

"I've lost my superpowers."

Harvey kisses her forehead tenderly. He isn't under any delusions, she has her flaws (and he has plenty of his own) and their relationship isn't perfect, but she's never stopped being Wonder Woman in his eyes.

"Harvey, if you're freaking out…if this isn't something you're ready for, it's okay."

He crouches down so they're at eye level with one another. "Donna, I'm not looking for an out," he reassures her. "And I don't think I'm the one freaking out right now."

Her eyes search aimlessly around the room, avoiding his stare. "It just took us so long to get here, Harvey. And I don't want us to screw it up by moving too fast because of some knee-jerk reaction to make up for lost time."

"That's not what we're doing," Harvey insists, but there's a truth to her words that he can't exactly deny.

It had been twelve years of adamantly denying their feelings for one another, followed by several months of minimal contact before he even had the balls to address said feelings, then a whole month longer to actually convince Donna that he was in this for real.

Getting to where they are now had been work. If he's being honest, maybe he is trying to make up for a decade of missed opportunities with her.

"Okay, maybe we are," he confesses. "But I don't care."

Donna gives him a lopsided smile. "Neither do I."

"Well, good."

"Good."

Donna slides off the bar stool and Harvey stands to his full height. His hands settle on the curve of her waist. "I've got a few ideas of how we can celebrate your moving day," he leers.

"Star Trek marathon?"

"Of course."

Donna shakes her head, cursing herself. "I can't believe you knew before I did."

"Don't worry, when we're married I'll let you figure it out first."

"Smartass," she whispers in the space between their lips.