"This is a first edition," Donna comments, marveling at the tired, leather-bound copy of the Merchant of Venice.

Harvey glances at where she's perusing his books, casually shrugging. "If you want it, it's yours."

Donna sits down with the literature, musing over Harvey's indifference from when he offered her the text. She suspects the pages were gifted to him, and his interest is probably no more than a desire to enhance his collection, because the lack of any personal effects around the place hasn't escaped her notice. He doesn't have photos or tokens, not even a plant breathing life, and she feels a twinge, missing her own apartment—mourning the loss of her succulents which will have succumbed to the heat by now. But despite longing to reclaim some sort of normalcy, Harvey has given her a sanctuary, and she's found peace in the unexpected bond developing between them.

"Come here." Donna meets Harvey's hesitant look, beckoning him forward. He closes the distance between them, and she wears a soft smile as she fixes his tie for the day ahead. "There… Now you're ready."

It amazes her how effortlessly they've been able to synchronize their routines. In the morning they share breakfast, or if he's running late, a coffee over the breakfast bar. He calls her at least once from work, either to check in or sometimes even seek her counsel. He can't go into the details of his cases, but she can always sense when he needs to take a step back or dive in deeper. At night, they eat dinner together, and afterwards they relax in silence or stay up late, talking about everything and nothing.

It's easy to let herself pretend she has all the time in the world to stop and breathe, but as she opens the book in front of her, skimming through the pages, she stops at a line that resonates too loudly in her mind.

Love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit.

A tightness builds in her chest as she stares down, her own foolishness scolding her cheeks with a burning heat. She used seduction to work her way into Vasquez' inner circle, believing the shame of abandoning her morals was a necessary sacrifice. But the freedom of having time to bury her actions is no longer a blessing. It's a curse. Because the man she used to obtain her goal is just as ruthless as Vasquez, and when he returns—and he will—Harvey's going to learn she's not as innocent as she led him and Jessica to believe, and her heart aches knowing his disappointment will inevitably change the way he sees her.

But the tears that obscure her reading aren't only from the fear of his judgment.

They've both been fighting the thrall of chemistry between them. The lingering glances that follow incidental touches or stir when they retire for bed in the evening are impossible to ignore. Falling for him is something she swore she wouldn't allow, but his equal hesitation is like a safety net, letting her fantasize without the danger of anything becoming real.

Love is blind.

She reads the words again, swiping her eyes as she leans back, curling the book against her chest.

She wishes love were blind, because if it was, her heart wouldn't splinter every time she thinks about Harvey and what could have been.

…

Harvey steps under the shade of a large oak, adjusting his sunglasses as he glances across Central Park.

Two days ago, Sean Cahill called to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing snooping around Esteban Vasquez' business dealings—a warranted query from the Securities and Exchange Commission's prosecutor—but the bigger question was why Cahill was keeping tabs at all. Suspicious, and running his mouth off, he'd accused Sean of colluding with Vasquez, forcing the prosecutor to reveal there's already a federal investigation into Vasquez' drug smuggling ring currently underway.

The realization quickly became a double-edged sword. He no longer has jurisdiction to go after Vasquez—a sharp blow to his ego. And if he withholds Donna's evidence, he'll be perjuring himself. But losing his name on the wall doesn't compare to the worry pitted in his stomach over revealing her as his source. If Cahill can't guarantee her safety, he'll risk going to jail before handing her over.

Which is why, when the prosecutor approaches him across the green, his tone is brisk and void of humor. "Do you want to pat me down for a wire?"

Sean fixes the lawyer with a stern glare. "Don't be an arrogant blowhard, Specter. If we all acted like you, Esteban Vasquez would be half-way to Venezuela by now." He glowers at the man, avoiding a snippy comeback by getting straight to the point. "What do you have?"

Harvey gnaws the inside of his cheek, the temptation to claim he found nothing rearing itself. But even if Cahill did believe him, the information he has could get Donna out of danger faster, and he takes the plunge. "A mountain of evidence, documenting the trafficking from Venezuela across the US to Europe."

Sean's expression registers his surprise. So far, the FBI hasn't been able to get any physical tracking receipts, only drop locations. But if the paper trail is the smoking gun he suspects it could be, then he's sure there's a catch. "How credible are the documents?"

"They're genuine or I wouldn't be here," Harvey snaps. He didn't come all the way uptown, cloak and dagger, to piss around the park, and he's insulted by the insinuation he would hand over a dodgy lead.

Willing to believe there's value in the exchange, Sean presses Harvey to come clean. "Then you have a witness. Who?" To his surprise, the man clams up, but whatever Harvey is looking to gain, he won't secure it by being evasive. "Harvey, if your client can present as a material witness, you need to hand them over to the FBI."

The warning is a veiled threat, but it doesn't change Harvey's mind about keeping his cards close to his chest. He won't throw Donna into a pack of circling wolves, and he's not giving up anything else without knowing how soon the FBI will make an arrest. "Where does the investigation currently stand?"

Frustration unravels Sean's patience. He isn't at liberty to disclose any details surrounding the case, but Harvey seems intent on digging in his heels and playing hardball. He could drag the man in, force him to talk, but from what he's seen in the past, Harvey is just as likely to perjure himself before backing down, and he reluctantly reveals their latest update. "A few days ago, Esteban's younger brother, Michel Vasquez, flew in from Venezuela. He cut his trip short for personal reasons, and when we find out what those are, we're leaving to try to flip him into testifying."

"Which means an arrest could still be weeks away," Harvey grumbles, knowing that time frame could be brought forward if Donna testifies instead. "What will happen if my client agrees to cooperate?"

He flexes his fists anxiously, and Sean scrutinizes the sudden and protective change in Harvey's demeanor. He was expecting the notoriously selfish lawyer to demand credit, not to put the well-being of his client first. But he can guarantee the person will be safer under the FBI's protection, leading him to test Harvey and see if the man's concern is genuine or part of a ploy. "In all likelihood, they'll be taken into protective custody until we make a formal arrest."

Harvey winces. The thought of Donna being shoved into a witness protection program, for God knows how long, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. At least now she's safe where she is. But if she agrees to testify, she won't be. Unfortunately, that's not his or Cahill's call to make. It's up to Donna how they proceed going forward, and he firms his jaw, giving Cahill his ultimatum. "You get the evidence, but only if she agrees to contact you on her own terms."

Sean shoves his hands into his pocket with an angry sigh. Technically, both Harvey and his client are breaking the law. But on the off chance Harvey does actually care about this mysterious woman, then biding his time and playing to Harvey's weakness is his best tactic. "Fine. But if I were you, Harvey…I'd convince her to come forward. Because if Esteban finds her first, that's on you."

Harvey flexes his fist as the prosecutor turns, reeling at the unlikely but possible truth. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Donna on his watch, and he shouldn't be this emotionally invested, but every time he tries to take a step back, he finds himself moving forward instead. They haven't known each other that long, but she has a way of drawing him in, like she already knows him better than anyone else, and his anger dissipates with a heavy exhale.

He should go back to the office and fill Jessica in, but he needs to see Donna first. Striding out of the park, he reaches the street and hails a cab, giving the driver his address. As the car pulls out, he lets his mind drift, thinking about Donna and how their friendship has grown.

"I don't take vanilla in my coffee." Harvey looks at the cup skeptically, then back up into Donna's smiling gaze.

"Trust me." She winks, nodding at him.

He does, a grin spreading across his face as his palette adapts to the distinct taste. "This is amazing."

"Told you."

Not all of their interactions have been light-hearted. Living in close quarters has proven challenging at times, especially when he let his short temper get the better of him.

"Louis is the asshole, here, not me." He waves his arm, having expected her to take his side, but she doesn't, placing a pointed hand on her hip.

"Are you sure about that?" she challenges, not trying to piss him off. But from what he's told her about Louis Litt, the man has a different approach to life—that doesn't immediately make him wrong.

"Yes," he answers, holding her silent stare and facing two options. He can either find a valid reason for his argument or accept that maybe he could have been slightly more forgiving. Struggling with the first choice, he rolls his eyes, Donna's persistence deflating his anger. "No," he concedes, annoyed that he finds her knowing smirk cute.

Harvey shakes his head, gazing out the window as the city passes by. There's just something about the way Donna looks at him. She doesn't poke or prod, but somehow she always manages to nurse his raw wounds.

Donna rests her head against her palm, leaning into the back of the couch. His mother's name just slipped out, followed by the same reaction he had when first mentioning his brother—fondness and then a flash of hurt that rendered his expression blank. She doesn't want to pry, but she is curious. "Tell me about her."

"Donna," he warns, not angry, but not in the mood to discuss his past, until Donna's fingers gingerly reach down to brush his thigh.

"It's okay. It's your story. It's yours to keep or share," she reassures him, pulling her hand back into her lap.

He glances across, finding no judgment, only a warm curiosity etched in her soft features, and he clears his throat awkwardly. "I haven't spoken to her in a while."

She sighs sadly, not knowing the circumstances behind the estrangement, but able to tell he feels guilty. "You're mad at her."

He leans forward, masking his surprise behind a sip of whiskey. "How do you know that?"

"Because you smiled, just for a second. You want to hate her, but you can't, because she hurt you. That doesn't make you a bad person, Harvey. Only human."

He knows he's in trouble. That at night when he goes to bed, the thoughts of tucking her in beside him are becoming dangerous and hard to ignore. He can handle the sexual chemistry and the casual flirting, but the fact he's no longer looking at her as a way to step up his promotion is a sign his priorities are changing. And when he arrives at his condo, the tension coiled in his muscles eases at the mere sight of her asleep, curled up in one of Rachel's sundresses—the Merchant of Venice clutched in her hands.

He'd found the book in his father's collection years ago, almost forgetting about its existence until Donna had pulled it from the shelf. But he has Gordon's record collection as a sentimental token, and when he'd watched her eyes light up, he saw no harm in parting ways with the play. If anything, he likes knowing the worn pages will be shown love again, and he gently takes the memento from her grasp, perching next to her.

She doesn't stir, and he sits quietly for a moment, noticing the sea of freckles beneath her vanishing bruises. He absently wonders if she used to cover them with makeup—hoping she didn't. She's naturally beautiful, more so than any model he's ever dated, and he has to stop himself from sweeping her hair back. He shouldn't be letting himself get distracted, and he nudges her shoulder lightly. "Donna, hey."

She wakes to Harvey's voice, rubbing her eyes as she takes in his soft smile, but the daylight streaming into the apartment confuses her. "What are you doing home so early?" she asks, groggily lifting herself up.

"I have information about Vasquez. It couldn't wait." His expression darkens, an air of seriousness resting heavily between them as he fills her in. "A prosecutor for the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission came to me today. The FBI already has a case against Vasquez, and is asking me to turn over the evidence I have."

"Including me," she assumes, the concern in his gaze confirming she'll have to testify. She isn't naïve. Facing Vasquez in court has always been inevitable, but like she told Jessica, she trusts Harvey. Vasquez has contacts as high up as the chain goes, and she swallows nervously, scared of what will happen if she turns herself in.

"I'm not putting you in danger, Donna." He reads her fear, letting her know her options. "If you agree to testify, they'll take you and your mother into protective custody. You'll be safe, but it's your decision."

"What about you?" Her eyes flash up, worried about the implications of his involvement. "What will they do if you don't give them the information?"

He shrugs. "Maybe nothing." Although Cahill will be pissed, if he can help the prosecutor build his case off Michel, instead of Donna, there's a chance he can avoid an official strike on his record. "Vasquez's brother flew into the country this week. If I work with the FBI and find out why he's here, I won't have to turn you over."

He expects her to relax, but her face turns deathly pale, her breathing growing more rapid, and he frowns, trying to figure out what brought on the sudden wave of panic. "Donna, what is it?"

She shakes her head, unable to stop her throat from closing around her anxiety. Michel wasn't supposed to be back in the country for weeks, and the secret she's been keeping burns in her chest—the cavity restricting the flow of air to her lungs. Harvey moves from her side, and her heart thunders. She's the reason Michel returned—the missing piece Harvey and the FBI are going to start searching for.

Harvey sinks beside her with water, the liquid splashing as he helps guide down small, gasped sips. "Donna, I think you're having a panic attack." He places the glass on the table, surprising himself as he instinctively folds her shuddering body into his arms. He doesn't do the comfort thing, but when she buries her head into his chest, his hand automatically slides through her hair. "I'm right here. Nothing's going to happen to you."

She muffles a sob, trying to ground herself. She should have told him about Michel, and now she doesn't have a choice. But the soft assurances his lips murmur against her ear still her shaking. "I'm sorry," she hitches, clutching him tightly.

He frowns deeply, bunching the thin material of her sundress as her shallow breathing echoes between them. "Listen to me. You have nothing to apologize for."

She screws her eyes shut, collecting her strength, but when she pushes herself back, the concern riddled in his expression steals her resolve. She can't tell him the truth. The only thing holding her together is the faith he has in her, and losing that right now would break her.

The fear in her gaze is palpable, and he lifts his fingers, curling them beneath her chin so she can't look away. With nowhere else to go, her eyes dart to his mouth, making his stomach drop and tighten. Replacing her anxiety with his own desire is all he can think about, and he cups her cheek, brushing her flushed skin with his thumb. Not long after they met, she asked him what he wanted, and the answer blinds him as his breath flutters against her lips.

"Harvey," she begs, willing him to either let her go or kiss her senseless, because she doesn't have the strength to pull away.

Her plea for him to act drives him forward, and he passionately claims her mouth as she arches into him, his palms molding around her. The desperate need to keep her close blooms like nothing else he's ever experienced. She fits into his hands with the kind of perfection that makes him lose himself and groan into the kiss.

She grasps his shirt, letting herself drown in the taste of him, forgetting the world exists as he cocoons her. Falling for him is wrong. But it's too late to stop the feelings swelling inside her as they break for air, resting their foreheads together.

His hands slide up and down her back, and her eyes slip closed as she concentrates on the wild beat of his heart beneath her palm. She's sure her own is about to burst through her ribcage, but the weight of reality crashing down shatters it. She can't let Harvey involve himself with Michel.

As it is, he's unknowingly been in danger since the man flew back, and she wouldn't be able to live with herself if Harvey wound up getting hurt.

"I'll testify." She cradles the lie in her chest, hating herself for the deception. But if she goes into witness protection, she's as good as dead. And if she doesn't, then so is Harvey. "When will I need to leave?"

The question leaves him feeling hollow, the thought of her being anywhere but in his arms difficult to grasp. But they have space to figure out a plan. "There's no rush. I can call Cahill tomorrow, give you time to think it over."

She nods, dipping her gaze out of his view, and he eases her back to look at her properly, frowning when she doesn't respond.

He reasons the reaction is because she's scared, and he ignores an unsettling feeling of unease. She's stronger than she realizes. She just needs to have faith in herself—and them. "It's going to be okay, Donna."

A lump nestles in her throat as she pivots out of his arms, and when he catches her hand, gently caressing her knuckles, she forces herself to take a deep breath. "I know," she says softly, and this time she isn't lying. Because so long as she can keep him safe, nothing else matters. "You don't have to stay." She smiles, hoping the gesture doesn't appear as broken as it feels. "I should call my mom, let her know what's happening."

He doesn't have to stay, and shouldn't, either—his phone no doubt blowing up with messages from Mike and Jessica. But he wants to, even as he breathes out a light acceptance. "Okay.'

He stands, and she feels the room sway, the words to stop him like a thorny vine winding around her windpipe, but she stays mute as he drops a kiss against her forehead. He promises he won't be home late, and the second he's out of sight, silent tears spill across her cheeks, turning into a muffled sob when she hears the door close. It takes several minutes to pull herself together, her legs shaking as she pushes herself up, quickly moving to collect her things.

The only way to protect herself and Harvey is to go to Michel first, find out what he knows, and hope like hell the man is still capable of trusting her.

Because if he isn't, lying to Harvey won't be her worst decision.

AN: Thank you to Southsidesister (darvey_love) for being my eyes, and to everyone following and leaving reviews! I know this one took a little longer to get up, but I'll try to be quicker with chapter 6. Time to find out what Donna is hiding... :P