He considers a date.

A letter.

Ambushing her in the lobby and just spilling it all out.

Knocking on her door and kissing her.

Goes back to the letter idea, afraid he won't be able to express himself properly if he has to face her.

Thinks of bringing her coffee one afternoon and bringing up Thomas, seeing where that leads.

The date could be romantic? An expensive place, one of those that are almost exclusive to couples. He could send her a cryptic text telling her a date and a time and to dress up. Or he could surprise her with theater tickets, a backstage pass. A presidential suite, would that be too presumptuous?

He considers flowers and a note, he considers a voicemail, he considers ridiculous, far-fetched ideas he'd always scoffed at that suddenly sound a lot more plausible because this is all or nothing, and if he's not gonna go big now, when is he?

He almost makes himself sick worrying about this for over two weeks straight. Donna deserves big things, the biggest, best, most beautiful and special things. But Harvey isn't big, definitely not the best, let alone the most beautiful or special. She deserves big, but thinking of going big makes him feel insecure and inadequate; it makes him start doubting his resolve.

And that's something that Donna definitely does not deserve - the never-ending roller coaster of Harvey's determination.

Baby steps and deep breaths, he reminds himself. Thinking big isn't working, so he decides to think small.

He thinks about how he's never cooked for her, in all the years they've known each other. He's gotten better at it in Chicago, and he actually finds it relaxing when he has the time. He pictures her in his apartment, commenting on his new decorations, picking a record to play. He pictures her moving expertly around his kitchen, sees her barefoot, wine glass in hand, as if she's always belonged there, because she has. It all seems right, far more right than backstage passes and expensive menus. It's small, but they don't need big, they just need something big enough to fit them both. Maybe it'd be wiser to pick a neutral ground, give them both ample space to run if required. But he needs all the help he can get, and Donna and his condo are the two biggest representations of home he has and he can't imagine feeling more comfortable anywhere else.

So it's settled.

He brings her coffee in her office one Monday morning. She's in a bit of a hurry because of some audit report, so he tells her he'll be out of her hair in no time, he was just thinking that he's been in the city for five months now and he hasn't invited her over to his place yet and would she like to have dinner there Friday night?

Her eyes widen a little bit, caught off guard, her hands freezing mid-air.

He tells her he'll get that wine she likes and he'll make her one of his specialties. He doesn't want to come across as flirty, because he doesn't want her to think he's trying to get her in his bed or blur the lines like he used to, because he's not. But he's also intentional in making it sound very much like a date, because if she is to agree, he wants her to have at least some clue of what she's getting herself into.

She blinks, tells him okay, nods a little. And then they barely speak all week, both buried in work.

His brain keeps resurfacing the last time he felt this nervous - elevators, Donna's wide, expectant gaze and bad timing. He remembers what suit he wore, what dress she had on, what he'd done that afternoon. He remembers Samantha's words - "You look lost". He was. Lost in his feelings for her, in the war waging inside of him between the part that wanted to be the self-important prick of always and ruin her relationship just so he could go back to having her all to himself, and the part that had finally understood that he loved her too much to force her to be tethered to him like that. That night he learned that loving someone sometimes means holding on to them, and other times it means letting them go.

To this day he still thinks that stepping back that night and not doing anything to interfere in Donna's relationship with Thomas was the biggest act of love he's ever made. It may have been the bare minimum, basic human decency, being a friend. But to him Thomas felt like a door closing in his face just as he'd reached it. His fight-or-flight instinct has always pointed to "fight", and for once he chose not to listen to it. He willingly separated himself from her as much as he could, refraining from giving her any of the ultimatums he'd given her before. If that was what she truly wanted, he was fully committed to living with it.

Part of his passiveness came from the feeling that he isn't good enough for her, a feeling that is still very much present and that he fears will choke him back into resignation once again. He doesn't want that to happen, and he keeps telling himself it's time to man up and do this. He hopes when the time comes he'll have the courage to finally tell her about everything he's been feeling for the better part of two decades.

He is so preoccupied by his thoughts and the need to work that Friday night almost sneaks up on him. He'd ordered the ingredients in advance and gotten everything arranged, but he leaves work late and sneaks a glance into her office to find it empty. His heart rate picks up, suddenly worried that she'll arrive before he's ready, that the night will start on the wrong foot. He rushes home, rushes through his shower, rushes through getting out the bowls and seasonings he'll need, rushes through lighting the candles, rushes through the words he wants to say.

It turns out that, for once in their entire relationship, he didn't need to worry about timing.

His doorbell rings at the exact same time as he walks to his door to check if the key is in the lock.

He remembers he forgot to pick a dessert right before she tells him she brought them a raspberry cheesecake from Eileen's - his favorite.

He motions to take her jacket at the same time as she asks him if she can leave it somewhere.

They move as if they're in sync, like they rehearsed her arrival a million times beforehand in preparation for the most momentous opening night the world has ever witnessed.

She hands him the cheesecake to cool while he gets the wine from the fridge, he pours it for them while she checks out what he's done with the place, they meet again at his coffee table where he has appetizers waiting, and with every new thing that goes right without being planned, he feels his courage building within him.

He has a plan. He's usually not big on them but this is too important to wing it. He considered telling her right away, getting it out of the way, but this might be the only proper date he ever goes on with Donna, even if she doesn't actually know it's a date, and so he doesn't want to waste this opportunity.

It's not about seduction, or about winning some sort of game. It's about showing her, however subtly, how he'd like to treat her, how he'd like all their nights to go, what he has to offer.

He's attentive, interested, listening closely to everything she wants to tell him. He asks questions and remembers past details. He takes this moment to look at her, really look at her, taking in her face and her colors and her lines. He wants to caress every last inch of her body, trace her features with his fingertips, and he hopes he'll get to do that soon but for now he's content to do that with just his eyes.

He cooks something simple and inwardly beams with pride as she stands next to him, watching his every move, fascinated. He grins behind her back as she peruses his new collection of pictures - Marcus and him as kids, one of his whole family during Christmas, him holding Lucy on the day he met her. There are more memories here now, more mementos and references to things Harvey didn't value as much before but does now, and he thinks it's only fitting that Donna would find herself both physically and figuratively among them. They choose a record together, one of his father's, and make light conversation that feels way too easy.

All of it confirms that this was the right choice, dinner here and telling her about his feelings. There is so much that could go wrong, but somehow he likes his odds.

It's after they've eaten his pasta carbonara and her raspberry cheesecake that Donna glances at her wine glass stem, twirling it between her fingers, before she looks back up at him.

"So," she lifts a brow, "You made dinner for me. You got my favorite wine. You've had this weird look on your face all night. What's really going on here?"

She caught on, because of course she would. He can't tell if her tone implies she has an inkling of what's really going on here or if she's genuinely asking, but it doesn't matter because he wants to be absolutely clear.

He stares at his own wine glass before emptying its contents and taking a breath.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about," he offers as preamble because the nerves that had been kept at bay all night are blaring in full force inside of him.

"Okay," she drags out the word, and maybe she's a little nervous too.

"It's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while now," he exhales and leans back on his chair, eyes finding her face briefly. "Six years, to be exact."

He can see her breath hitch and her face fall millimetrically. This is it. It's now or never.

"I don't know if you remember, but before the whole mess with Thomas' case started, you convinced me to help Scottie with a case-"

"I remember," she cuts in, voice slightly rushed.

"In that case, you might also remember that I was about to ask you if she'd talked to you about something when Thomas arrived," he soldiers on. His eyes are fixed on his glass, sliding the base in circles on the wooden surface of his dinner table. He should be looking at her, but he thinks he'll chicken out if he does and baby steps right now means getting the words out in any way he can.

"I do," she confirms again, quietly.

He sighs. His throat is dry, his stomach is queasy, he almost feels like he's going to pass out. He needs to get this out. He needs to.

"Ah. Fuck it," he murmurs, smiling a little and shaking his head at his hopelessness. He leans his elbows on the table and stares at his interwoven fingers.

"I'm in love with you, Donna."

You could hear a pin drop in his living room. He'd bet she's not even breathing.

"Whatever Scottie said to me that night, it led me to finally realize that. And I'm sure I'd end up messing up the delivery as usual," he snickers, "But if Thomas hadn't arrived at that moment, that's what I'd have built up to."

She stays silent and he finally summons the courage to look at her. He finds her face wearing an expression he's seen before - wide eyes, slack jaw, disbelief glaring. He ran away last time but this time he won't, and he hopes that counts for something.

"Does that mean you... still...?" she asks, blinking, her eyes trained somewhere on his chest.

"Yeah. I don't know when exactly it started but...," he shrugs slightly, "Being in Chicago didn't really change anything."

She practically collapses back against her chair. She might as well have been told her parents were abducted or something, though he supposes hearing him be open about his feelings and telling her something like this must be just as outlandish.

"But you never... did or... or said..."

"You were right," he shrugs again, "I was too afraid to risk anything. I thought if I just pretended like that wasn't an option we'd never go there, but I guess that's not how it works."

"I'm... gonna need a minute," she says weakly, still completely dazed, completely and utterly shocked. It'd be funny if he didn't feel like his whole life was on the line here.

"Of course, take all the time you need," he nods, trying to reassure her. As much as he'd like an immediate answer - and for that answer to be that she feels the same way - he knows this is a huge revelation to her. He knows Donna has been just as cautious to mess with their delicate balance, especially since he came back, and he doesn't want to pressure her into anything. This was essentially just to let her know.

"I, uhm," she exhales, frowns, closes her eyes and shakes her head. His stomach drops, dread filling his veins. "I think I should go," she finishes, eyes opening and seeming more sure now. He didn't really expect her to have an answer at the ready, and though he is a little disappointed, he's not really surprised.

"Sure, no problem," he gives her a sheepish little smile, pushing his chair back and taking their plates to the sink to give her a moment.

He's halfway through putting the rest of the cheesecake back in its box for her to take when he finally hears her voice again.

"Oh, no, you should keep that. It's your favorite." Her voice isn't warm, exactly, but it's agreeable, and he decides not to argue, simply offering her a "Thanks".

She hovers by the kitchen island for a second while he stores the rest of the things back in the fridge before inhaling. "Thanks for dinner, Harvey, it was nice." When he looks at her he sees she's still troubled, but there's sincerity behind her tone.

"No problem," he presses his lips together and nods once, "Sorry for dropping that on you like that."

"No, no, it's, it's okay," she shakes her head minutely, seeming a little more composed. "I'll, uh... I'll talk to you soon."

"Okay," he agrees and leads her to the door with his heart in his throat.

They part with shy, awkward smiles, and as he watches her disappear behind elevator doors, all he can think about is that he hopes he didn't fuck this up.

.

.

"I'm in love with you, Donna."

Six little words. Simple, familiar, words she's heard before from other people. Words similar to what she's heard before from him, even.

And yet, they fall on her like cinder blocks.

Harvey is in love with her. He just said so explicitly, no two ways about it. This time there is no hidden meaning or dubious expression used, no room for him to backtrack. He's in love with her and he's ready to admit it.

She spent so many years waiting to hear those words but now that she has, after everything that happened, it's too much. It's not like she thinks he'd ever lie about this, but she's having a hard time believing this is truly real, that he really just said that.

He goes on, tying it back to Scottie, and at first she can barely follow his words, too busy reminding herself to breathe, but then it occurs to her that what he's talking about happened six years ago and apparently that's still how he feels and she realizes Harvey has been in love with her for almost a decade, including this whole time they've been apart.

She wants to react, wants to say something or even reassure him somehow because she can only imagine how much bravery it took to admit all that in their current context but she's trapped beneath an avalanche of feelings. She has whiplash from the sharp turn, she feels validated for all the years she felt the same, she's panicking over the change in their status quo yet again, a part of her even feels annoyed at him for unloading this without warning after so long.

There were times when she thought that was a possibility - sometimes it felt like that was the only explanation for some of the things he did -, but every time she raised the topic with him it felt like he was either trying to let her down gently or flat-out refuse the notion. On the rare times she considered that hypothesis, in one way or another he never let her consider it for too long. And now he's telling her he's loved her all along - even if he doesn't know when exactly it started it's been at least six years - and she almost feels gaslighted even though she knows that was never his intention.

He tells her he was too afraid to risk anything and this is not news, but there's a horrible feeling of resentment bubbling up inside of her because he thought he wasn't risking anything by not going for more with her but he actually risked everything, every other possibility they could have had. His fear ended up closing a million doors for them, a million possibilities of happiness and companionship and true, deep, all-encompassing love. All the pain and the longing she experienced because of him is the return of this risk that he never took.

She hadn't allowed herself to entertain any further possibilities with Harvey in years, because she'd been there before and it had always ended badly for her. And now here he is, completely open and ready, and she doesn't even know if she wants any of that anymore.

She's not going to be able to give him an answer tonight because all she feels like doing right now is crying and pretending she never heard him. He seems willing to wait, though, and she takes it as a good sign of his maturing process. She stands there uselessly as he puts everything away, he walks her to the door, they awkward-smile their goodbyes and she feels like she can only properly breathe again once she's out in the street.

What the actual fuck. What the actual fuck.

Her hands tremble when she sets her keys down and pours herself a glass of wine. Harvey's words swim in her head, making it impossible to focus on anything else, and she's practically moving on autopilot as she removes her jacket and her heels and sits down on the couch. It's hard to understand why the words she longed to hear so much for so long now feel like an impending death sentence.

It's just been too long. Too long since she last allowed herself to believe or even dream of a future for them. Too long since she last allowed herself to acknowledge her feelings, too tired of feeling like a fool. She told him she didn't feel anything when they kissed, he didn't seem inclined to dispute that statement and that was that, she decided to try as best as she could to move on. She dismissed his flirty comments, refused to take their drinks and nights out as anything more than friendly, tucked away any and all hope, and committed to making it work with Thomas once he came along.

It was the only solution she could see because she wasn't sure just how many more times she'd be able to take being disappointed and feeling trapped by her feelings for Harvey. It wasn't necessarily anybody's fault but it kept happening and it kept breaking her heart and driving her mad.

Her experience with loving Harvey had unfortunately done her more harm than good, and even though her conversation with Thomas on the morning of the hearing had been a fairly clear indication that she wasn't as far along in her process of getting over him as she might have thought back then, the distance, both physical and emotional, that ensued after her royal screw up ended up being a blessing in disguise in that sense, forcing her to accept that Harvey was well and truly out of her life.

And she'd gotten used to that, used to her own narrative that the butterflies in her stomach and the ache in her chest didn't mean what she was constantly secretly scared they meant. She thought she'd convinced herself and she'd been too afraid of the real answer to that question so she never asked, and now she's too comfortable in that new normal. She doesn't want to open that can of worms again.

The thing is, it's not a question of whether or not she could feel that way again eventually. She's been in and out of love with Harvey - and has thought she was fully done with him only to fall hard all over again - enough times to know that her perceived overcoming of her feelings is never to be trusted. The problem is not what she feels. It's what she wants to feel.

As deprived of malice as his actions and words throughout the years may have been, because she doesn't believe Harvey has ever intentionally hurt her in this way, the fact of the matter remains that he has hurt her. A lot. More than anyone else. And as beautiful as trying could be, it could also be even more painful than before.

She's not sure how easy it would be to fall back to her old mindset after spending half a decade denying it. She's not sure how easy it would be for them to go from friends to strangers to friends to lovers again. She's not sure how their relationship would translate into more. And, to be really honest, more honest than she's ever been, she's not sure they can actually make this work. She's always told herself they were soulmates and if Harvey could just see that they could be happy together. It was easy to blame it all on him because it was a convenient way to avoid considering her own share of blame in the whole situation, or the fact that they both had trouble opening up and being honest about their feelings, that they both had family trauma that could easily break them.

Them never getting together because Harvey was afraid to try was one thing. It was horrible, humiliating at times, and suffocating. But that she could take, and she did. Them getting together and not working out... Now that is something she doesn't think she'd survive.

And now he's basically asking her to give them a chance and to risk that happening. It almost feels unfair, but it's essentially the decision he himself had to grapple with and, in the end, she supposes it's what everyone who's ever been in love has to risk.

It would take time to get reacquainted with loving him like that. It would take effort not to let fear and insecurities hold them back. It would take work to dismantle years of walls they put up to protect their hearts, to talk through their issues. It would take trust - and she trusts him with her life but she's not entirely sure she trusts him with her heart. It would take her giving him everything, every last bit of her, the bits she thought he never wanted. It's a lot to ask of herself and of her battered and bruised heart.

But not giving them this chance, the chance he's finally ready to take, would mean she'd be the one denying them the possibility of finding something they could never have with anyone else, she knows that now. And she's longed so much for that before, with her whole being.

She has two days until she sees him again at work. She supposes she'd better go to bed, rest and recharge. And then she'd better get to thinking.