Hi everyone, and happy new year! I thought, let's spend the last day of the year writing fic, cause why not. Now I've not really had a chance to go over this yet, so I will do so tomorrow, but the timing in the fic with timing in real life lining out once again.. i could not let this chance slip by.

Here's the next chapter, hope you'll enjoy it and would love to know what you think.

Best wishes for 2022 to everyone. X - M

MISTLETOE MYSTERY

CHAPTER XVII

Donna pulls back before she can even look into his eyes, turning her shoulder to the right, expertly twisting her body out of the small space as she rushes into the kitchen.

She pulls a hand to cover her mouth, touching her trembling lips as her body slumps against the refrigerator. The butterflies in the pit of her stomach turn into a sickening feeling as Mike's voice confirms her realisation.

"You okay, man?" his voice echoes through the room. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Harvey snaps out of his daze, mouth closing and parting at the same time as he turns to look at his friend. "Yeah, I uhm.." He nods then, slowly shaking his head as he tries to calm his nerves. "It uhm.." he pauses, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. His fingers twitch by his side. "It just reminded me of the first time we kissed, that's all."

She covers a sharp inhale of breath with her hands, pressing her eyes shut, and she draws her bottom lip between her teeth as the details of the night she longed to find for so long finally return in full.

It's him.

He is her mistletoe mystery kiss.

The guy she'd been looking for, for more than three years. The one she, until very recently, had never been able to stop thinking about. It's always been him – her best friend.

Harvey.

"You mean at the club?"

Harvey's brows draw together in confusion at Mike's question. "What?"

"You said you two were dancing, when –"

"Ooh," he draws in a breath, thinking back on the cover story they decided to tell their friends. "Uhm. Yeah. Yeah," he can only agree because he's never told a soul that he'd been to the weihnachtsmarkt, let alone what exactly took place on that particular night. The only person that could know, not remembering a thing.

She hears him repeat the lie they came up with together, but the only thing her mind focuses on is the lie they've been living. Not the one for the past month, but all those years. All those years where she had no idea that they had shared such an intimate moment.

Hearing feet shuffle over the floor; she snaps out of her thoughts. Wiping a single tear away with the side of her index finger, she takes a few quick breaths – putting on her poker face. Looking around the kitchen for anything to distract her, the only thing she lays an eye on is the steaming pot of mulled wine.

Typical.

Turning off the stove, she grabs two kitchen gloves and lifts the large pan. Then, plastering a big grin on her face, she makes her way back to the living room – where Harvey is still lingering near the opening.

"Glühwein, anyone?"

Harvey turns his head to look at her; he can't make out if the smile on her face is sincere or not. Her stance, the way she simply continues with her task while he's still rooted on his spot, feeling his heartbeat in his ears, his fingers twitch by his side and his thoughts running a hundred miles an hour, seeing her act like this only adds to the confusion.

The way she acts now couldn't be more different from the night before when they almost kissed. However, now they did (with their friends to witness it) and yet it's almost as if the kiss didn't happen at all.

And suddenly, he wonders if that's the only reason it happened in the first place – to keep up appearances.

Harvey shifts, at last, dragging his feet to the rest of the group; he falls back into the chair. Not knowing where to look, he looks at her, watching her hand out drink after drink. Smiling left and right.

"Harvey?"

He shakes his head; he peers up and finds Donna looking at him with her head tilted to the side. "Sorry?"

"Do you want some too?" she asks again, lifting the spoon as she does so.

He's never particularly liked the drink; he loathes it right now. Still, it's also the only alcohol currently present in the room and running off to the kitchen seems out of option, so he nods - in need of any drink to numb his feelings.

"Thanks," he snarls, lifting the cup the moment she's filled it to the brim to take a large sip, followed by another and another until the warm alcohol buzzes through him.

The next thirty minutes are a haze, alcohol is flowing, music blasts through the speakers, and he hums and engages in conversations with his friends. However, he has absolutely no idea what they're talking about – his focus is on her still. She, too, laughs and chats with their friends, sits anywhere and everywhere but close to him, and he can't stop peering at the way she fidgets with her hands. Just the way her thumb trembles as she picks on her nail – the one thing that always tells him that she isn't fine at all, and nothing makes sense anymore.

Feeling her knees ache from sitting on her legs, Donna pushes herself to stand, but her hand slips from the table, and she falls to the right – her shoulder bumping into his knee. She feels his hand on her shoulder in a beat, sending shivers down her spine. She quickly turns her shoulder away, moving out of his proximity but Harvey's grasp on her arm increases.

Harvey doesn't know why or how, but the second Donna bumps into him, his hand is on the redhead's shoulder. She's always been the one to guide him, ground him, and even in this mess, her touch still does just that.

It only lasts a second because when she looks up at him, her wide eyes locking with his, the panic he finds in them rushes right back to him. He swallows thickly, and then his hand is free once more as she pulls away, pushing herself to stand.

He does the same, following her through the dreaded wall opening and into the kitchen, just managing to squeeze himself through the gap as the door comes swinging.

"Donna," he calls for her the second the door falls shut, closing them off from the rest of the group. There's no response, not even upon calling out her name once more. Instead, he simply sees her rock back and forth on her feet, her shoulder tensing with every cadence. "What is going on?"

"Nothing is going on, Harvey." She bites back with a shrug, but she hasn't turned to face him yet because she physically can't. "Just remembered I needed to check on the sauce."

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me." This time, she faces him; her face turns into a frown with as much power as she can muster.

"There's no sauce you need to check on," Harvey counters in a beat, signalling the empty kitchen counter with a flick of his wrist. "Or bread or whatever other bullshit excuses you're coming up with next."

She shakes her head, scoffs once and for the love of God; she hopes he lets it go, but his following words floor her all the same.

"It's the kiss, isn't it?"

"What?" it comes out barely above a whisper, and she freezes on her spot.

"Our kiss," Harvey repeats, his voice is softer but as powerful as the first time he mentioned their kiss. And he takes a final step towards the redhead –boxing her in between his body and the stove. His gaze meets hers, and her reaction reminds him more of last night than the past hour, momentarily tipping his thoughts into the more favourable situation. "I've been around you nearly twenty-four seven for the last couple of days, and you only started acting this tense after the kiss."

Donna's heart skips a beat at his proximity, her mind on overdrive and her feelings are all over the place. She takes a deep breath, her gaze falling on his lips. They're so close she can almost feel them against her own like she'd been able to picture that kiss for years. Not the one he's now pushing her to admit to, but the one he's let her believe wasn't him that night.

Betrayal and anger are suddenly overpowering emotions, more than her attraction for him. She turns her head away from him. "You don't know what you're talking about."

The finality that line got delivered with knocks a peck off of his confidence, he wavers - physically recoiling. Donna sees his mouth part, and his eyes widen like a deer in the headlights as he steps back. It might only be a second, but it's enough for her to push back, doing anything to gain control over the situation. The words flow so fast; she can't make sense of them but stopping them isn't an option either.

"You want to know why I'm tense, Harvey?" She fires back, strutting forward. "It may not be the sauce or the bread. But it's the frigging migraine I've had all day; it is suddenly everyone doing the opposite of what they said they'd do. It's my dad being away for a fucking holiday yet again, my sister being God knows where and my mom being alone during the holidays cause I'm here pretending. So no, Harvey," she drags out his name, now being toe to toe again at the opposite end of the room, with his back pressed against the door frame.

"It isn't the kiss. That," Donna pauses, her gaze moving over Harvey's face; she can't help but look at his mouth. "That's easy, that's acting. Just doing what you asked me to do," she says, referring to the act they put on, the silent question earlier this evening when they found themselves under the bundle of green leaves.

Not only do her words back him into a corner, but there's also no way of escaping – the situation has turned around completely. Where he came to confront her, it's Donna pushing his button's now, and while nothing she says is what he wants to hear, his gaze slips to her lips anyway.

The pull between them is too strong to ignore; he's no clue who made a move or why but the next thing he knows, his lips move against hers. It's searing yet soft, enough to make him lose his breath.

She so badly wants to prove her point, her tongue sliding against his like it did earlier this evening, but she realises at that moment all she's doing is the exact opposite – finding the passion she felt that very first time, but it hurts too much. So she slows down, increasing the distance between them a little, giving him one last peck – a goodbye - before she pulls away wholly.

She has to fight every fibre in her being from not breaking down right as she moves away, and the only way she knows to do that is by taking control. Spinning whatever mess they're in around for her to keep standing. "See, it's -"

Everything

"Nothing."

Her words pull the rug from under him, and the panic he feels before returns tenfold.

"I felt nothing," she adds, putting on her best poker face. Not sure who she's trying to convince. Herself mostly, but she realises it works when she catches his face fall. The way he swallows and looks down, how his jaw sets and his feet shuffle over the floor – ready to move away.

She should let him, but she can't. "Wait," she breathes. "You felt something."

He doesn't dare look at her; he doesn't just feel something – he feels everything. Everything he has ever wanted with her and more, but she just confirmed his worst nightmare. Only proving he'd been right all along and this last month, this last week, was just his feelings, his hopes getting the better off him – telling him she might feel the same.

But she doesn't.

And now he knows.

He draws in a deep breath, her observation suddenly feeling like an accusation. Like he's wrong for being affected by this, something he's starting to feel now. "I'm human, Donna," He deflects the only way he knows how - removing any sort of emotional connotation to the kiss. "What do you think it did to me."

She stares at him, feeling fucking stupid for that sliver of hope her mind dared to focus on when she saw his face. But of course, it's only her who's unable to follow her own rules—no 12 in particular.

"That's not the same as feeling something."

It is, it absolutely is. Cause, as attracted as Harvey, is to Donna has been since he first lay eyes on her, his dreams, the way his body tingles by simply being near her has nothing to with that, but everything to do with his feelings. Harvey nods anyway.

Donna breathes in and out, letting their argument settle when she remembers where they are again. With everyone near, the music still blaring through the apartment, she doubts anyone heard them, but the chances of someone barging into the kitchen grows by the second. "We should go back before anyone –"

"You should go to your mom," he cuts her off. "I'm going to Boston tonight, anyway," he reasons, letting her know she doesn't have to stay for him or for their friends to pretend. He draws his lips together, catches the surprise in her eye. "I'm telling you now." And with that, he pulls the kitchen door open, leaving her be.

He doesn't look around, and he doesn't catch how she covers her face with her hands, softly sobbing into them. All he does is march through the room, lifting his now cooled down mulled wine from the table, downing it in one go. He squats down then, retrieving the little box he placed under the tree, turning it over in his hand, thumb flicking against the tag once more.

I love you

He scoffs at his writing, slowly shakes his head and gets back up. The weight of the gift is heavy in his hand; he isn't sure what to do with it. He doesn't feel like taking it back, but he doesn't want her to get in front of everyone else either, so he decides to leave it in her room.

Her bedroom suddenly feels like foreign territory as he scans the room for a place to hide it. Finally, he moves towards the dresser against the wall, placing it on top. He's halfway turning around when he stops, pulling the top drawer open to hide it there instead.

The second it opens, he sees it. Stuck under a bunch of papers, it's just the corner peeking out from under it, but he recognises it all the same. The silly card with a Christmas greeting he crossed out and gave to her years ago for Valentine's day.

"It's not in here. Nothing important in here."

He can still hear her say it – it was such a throwaway comment back when they were looking for the can opener; now it's another slap in the face. He pulls the tag from the ribbon, tossing it towards the bin. Then he drops the wrapped box in the drawer, pushing it to shut with his elbow.

Turning the tab, she uses a paper towel to remove the water she used to splash in her face. Next, Donna pulls out her phone, and she uses her front camera to check her make-up (thank God for waterproof mascara); she unlocks it then and calls her mother.

"Hey, honey," Clara answers the call.

"Hi, mom," she whispers, turning around. She tosses the paper towel in the bin and leans against the cabinets. "I'm uhm... I'm coming home tonight."

"Tonight?" her mother sounds surprised and excited at the same time.

"Managed to change my ticket." It's a lie; she bought a new one. "I'll catch the Greyhound from nine tonight, so I'll be at Union around midnight. Could you pick me up?"

"Of course, is every -."

"Thanks," Donna says quickly, needing to end their conversation now before she finds herself recapping the last month through the phone. "I'll see you tonight then. Bye." She ends the call like that, shaking her head at her own manners, but she has to make it through a couple of hours of this party first.

Slipping her phone back into the pocket of her skirt, she makes her way to the living room at last. "Turned the oven on," she tells Rachel, sitting down on the couch next to her, accepting another drink. She quietly turns it over in her hand, looking around the room once more.

All her friends are chatting loudly, singing along to songs and just having fun. Everything she is not. She eyes the empty chair then, the one he had been sitting in and that's when she senses him. Turning to look over her left shoulder, she peers to the hallway; he appears from the right.

She figures he used the bathroom.

Glancing towards the living room as he walks by. It's her eye he catches first, and he swallows thickly. It hurts, it hurts too much. So he sticks to the lie he told her ealier, removing his coat from the rack he puts it on. Then, still feeling her gaze on him, he turns to look at her one last time – he nods, and she does too.

And then he's gone.

.

It takes another fifteen minutes before anyone realises he hasn't come back yet, and it's just enough time for Donna to compose herself. A bright smile plasterd on her face as she answers the questions, telling everyone what he told her – that he's gone to Boston.

Rachel tugs on Donna's arm, questioning the statement with a simple look.

"He promised his dad," Donna reasons. "And I told my mom I'd be home," she adds, shrugging lightly as if everything is fine. "I'm leaving tonight too by the way, dad won't be there so I –"

Rachel nods in understanding, her roommate always the one to cancel her own plans to be there for a family member. Her mother in particular. She squeezes the redhead's hand. "Tell her I said hi."

"I will," Donna promises. "You remind Sean he promised to get rid of that thing," she adds pointing towards the tree.

Rachel laughs and nods. "I will."

.

.

December 24th, 2018

When her mom picked her up last night, her eyes were glassy and her nose red but she used the time to her advantage and dodged any questions by going to bed right away. But, unfortunately, sleep didn't come easily, and it didn't last when it arrived.

She's been up for three hours now, and has been pacing around the room ever since. Staring at all the decorations, Donna wonders how the happiest time of year could become the saddest in the blink of an eye.

So when her mother wakes and makes them both breakfast, the older redhead doesn't even have to ask before the answers come. Words flow just as fast as the tears stream down her face, and she tells her mother everything.

From the mistletoe mystery kiss years back to the pact they agreed upon. How for the last month she's been pretending to date her best friend only to end up falling in love with him – and then when she finally, finally thought they might have a chance. Pushed upon them by a tradition no less, she realises it's been him all along.

.

Handing his father a cup of hot chocolate, the twenty-one year old takes a seat at the kitchen island. "So," Marcus starts. "What time did dickhead say he'd be here?"

Gordon gives his youngest a disapproving look. Then, stirring the whipped cream with a small spoon, he taps it against the edge of the cup and drops it to the counter. "Actually," he starts, smiling to himself. "I don't think he'll be here this year."

"Why did you invite mom and Bobby?"

"Marcus," Gordon scolds his son this time. "She's still your mother. But no –" Gordon pauses to take a sip of his drink.

"Well."

"He said he was going to tell Donna."

Marcus's eyes widen, he bobs his head to the side, but his father merely nods in confirmation. "Ooh."

"If you miss him, you could always give him a call," Gordon teases him then, but it only results in an extensive eye-roll, making him chuckle. "I'll tell him you said hi when I call him later."

.

.

Donna stares at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom. She's woken up now after a quick nap, exhaustion had come upon her upon letting it all out, and now she's left with her thoughts, and she has a lot of them cause her mother wouldn't be her mother if she didn't have some hard truths to share.

How for one, they never should have pretended to date – but they did.

How whether or not he told her the truth, she has some vague memory of him coming onto her (Donna believed it to be just that, a move, so she joked and he gave in, never mentioning it), she shouldn't have lashed out at him, telling him she felt nothing – because she did, she does. Feel everything.

And maybe most importantly, how they promised they'd always go back to being best friends – cause he is, always will be.

She turns around on her stomach, glancing at the time on her alarm. It's five-thirty, and it's now officially been twenty-two hours since she last spoke to Harvey. Then, letting out a deep sigh, she drops her head in her pillow and muffles a scream.

She grabs her phone and moves to his profile when she comes to. Her thumb hovers above the call button for a minute, she chooses the safer option and hits the message button. She is going with a simple holiday greeting to break the ice.

Merry Christmas, Harvey. Tell your dad I said hi. X, Donna

.

.

Harvey stares at his phone, pressing down on the screen, so it lights up for the umpteenth time that night. His screen is still displaying Donna's text message, he contemplates what to write back, but even the most straightforward holiday wishes feel too much of a task.

He rereads the message.

Tell your dad I said hi.

He scoffs – she thinks he's in Boston. His phone vibrates in his hand at that moment, his father's face filling the screen as it rings once, twice. He lets it go again, closing his eyes, and his jaw sets the second his ringtone comes to an end, and a 'voice mail' text follows it up.

But he can't answer; he simply can't.

With the ping of the microwave announcing his Christmas dinner is ready, he drags his gaze from his phone and tosses it aside on the couch. He doesn't bother getting up, he simply stares into the empty apartment. Not a single light turned on.

He sends his answer at three in the morning,

I'm done pretending.

.

.

December 30th, 2018

Head leaning against the bus window, she stares at the changing landscape as the Greyhound takes her back to New York. The past week in Hartford has been good to her. She's had a lot of time to process things and think everything over.

Her mom was right, of course – this pretending to be together wasn't the best idea and yet she doesn't regret it. Even if he genuinely doesn't feel the same or does but wouldn't be willing to cross that line and be more, she knows she loves him. Wholeheartedly.

They've done many crazy things over the past month to convince their friends they were together. The things they did at the beginning were too wild even to comprehend now; faking sex and sharing a shower, the longer their act lasted, the smaller the moments were that had them fazed.

It's precisely that which gives her reason to believe it could be mutual after all.

One of the signs announces it's forty more miles to New York, and she sighs then, tearing her gaze away from the scenery to the phone in her hand. She promised her mom she'd talk to him, tell him everything, no matter what.

The thing is, it's been six days since they last spoke. And speaking is an exaggeration cause it was two texts, and his three words only confuse Donna more. So she thinks she really should find out what he meant before they officially end this. And before she tells him how she feels, something she plans to do at midnight tomorrow night because that's when their act comes to an end and everything after will be genuine.

"Donna?"

The redhead hears his voice before she realises she used her speed dial; shifting in her seat, she quickly brings the phone to her ear. "Hey, Harvey," she whispers, fingers of her free hand tapping against her knee. She hears a non-committal hum on the other side of the line. "About uhm – tomorrow."

"I told you, I'm done pretending."

His tone is cold, a little harsh. Donna has heard Harvey angry, sad, and everything in between, but this is not at all what she's used to, and it throws Donna off her game. "Right, yeah," she stammers. "I… I know."

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he paces through the room. Just hearing Donna's voice makes him realise how much he's missed her, misses her, but he cannot and will not continue with their act – cannot pretend to be together in front of their friend anymore. "What's the plan?"

"The plan?"

"On how we end this, what we'll tell the others. We're all going to The Crew tomorrow night anyway."

"Ooh," she breathes, returning to stare out of the window. She thinks about the tickets they bought for the new year's eve party. "I don't know; we hadn't –"

He takes a deep breath, downs the remainder of his beer. "I'll be the bad guy, do something stupid, and that will be that," he muses, sticking to some sort of plan. "And we can go back to being us."

"What?" she whispers, "Harvey."

Harvey cuts her off with an "I'll see you tomorrow" and ends the call. He eyes the empty six-pack on the coffee table, feeling numb and everything at the same time. He grabs his coat and gets out, trying to figure out how to pull this off.

.

.

December 31st, 2018

It's once again been nearly twenty-four hours since she last spoke to him, and it's driving her up the wall, but she doesn't have the guts to climb three flights of stairs and knock on his door either.

She knows he's home. Rachel told her as much. She figures he never left deep down, but she doesn't entertain the thought too much. She's been a constant bundle of nerves ever since he hung up on her the day before.

He's ready to end this, once and for all, so they can go back to being them.

She wants to tell him they could be more.

It has her stomach doing summersaults, and she's downright avoiding him and anyone in their circle. Afraid she might let it all out, and if anything, she needs to talk to him first.

That's why she arrives at The Crew alone and at half-past eleven. Keeping her coat on, she moves through the crowd, waving back at people greeting her, but her mind is elsewhere. She is scanning the room for his familiar face.

It doesn't take long to spot him. To be precise, the back of his head, and she steps to the right to move closer to the other side of the bar. She notices he's talking to someone then, a girl, blonde, and she suddenly realises she's seen her before. At the rink – with him acting sketchy when the woman greeted him.

Her stomach turns again, Donna diverts to the bar, ordering a manhattan before she joins some people she knows from the theatre that don't know her well enough to realise she's nervous.

She engages in small talk, something about a play, but she watches him from the corner of her eye for the rest of the evening.

Time slowly ticking away, her nerves increasing with every minute it gets closer to midnight.

She excuses herself from the group, going to the bathroom to freshen up quickly before making her way over to him. She looks at the bar, the spot he'd been at before, but it's empty now. Donna turns her head, scanning the room again, but she doesn't see him anywhere.

She starts moving then, just aimlessly through the crowd, searching for his face.

"Donna?" it's Katrina grabbing her arm as she walks past their group, and she momentarily snaps out of her daze.

"Sorry," she says. "I need to go find Harvey. Have you seen him?"

The blonde nods but has no idea of his whereabouts. Wishing Donna luck with a simple squeeze of her hand, Katrina lets her friend go.

Donna walks further, looking left and right and almost tapping every guy's shoulder in hopes to find him when the countdown starts.

Ten.

Nine.

She rushes ahead now, stepping in between a couple as she whispers his name.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

She catches a door closing then, and it's her only option left. She rushes towards it, pushing it open with both of her hands. The cold air greets her as the crowd continues counting down.

Two

One.

And then she sees him, with the blonde girl.

Happy New Year.

Her breath falters, and her feet come to such an abrupt halt she almost slips on the ice forming on the steps. His name automatically leaves Donna's lips in a cry for help.

Harvey pulls back, instantly turns around when he hears Donna call his name. His hand falls around her wrist, keeping her upright, and then he finds himself staring into her eyes. All he sees are tears, hers or a reflection of his own.

He isn't sure, and he doesn't get the chance to find out, as she pulls her arm from his grasp and storms off.