A/N: This was inspired by Fadwa, Anna and Aditi's conversations on Twitter a very long time ago. I realize this is a bit of a weird scenario but hey, this is what fanfiction is for, right? Hope you like it :)


Harvey is in one of his introspective moods, and even though he's clearly worried about her and trying to make sure she's okay, she's not exactly in the mood for it. So after she finishes helping him patch up and she senses him closing down, she bids him goodnight and goes home without looking back. She catches a cab, gives the driver her address and focuses on the scenery outside as it flashes past her.

She feels disgusting. Everything that happened tonight and all the information she's learned swirls in her brain like a revolving door she's endlessly trapped in, spinning and spinning without any way to get out. Stephen killed someone. He let Ava take the blame. He's friends with a dictator and killer. Harvey beat him up and called it a fight, not a duel. She slept with him and called it an arrangement, not a relationship. She thinks maybe they were both lying.

Harvey said it wasn't her fault and she fucking knows the damn case wasn't her fault, that's not what she's worried about. She was with him. With him. Emotionally. And he was capable of something horrible, something huge, and she never even had a mere inkling. Ruthless and sharp, of course, he's a hotshot lawyer just as much as Harvey, after all. But not a murderer, not someone who would disregard innocent lives like that and let someone else pay for it.

The thing is, she can't actually know everything about everything, but she's supposed to be more careful than this. She did her cute little trick looking into his living arrangements and negotiating a secretive trade with him, but she never stopped to actually analyze him. At first because she thought she didn't need to, he'd be around for too little time. But then because she thought there was nothing to analyze, because he was charming and competent and seemingly respectful. She didn't listen to her instincts, didn't even use them. She let him cloud her judgment, and there's only one man she allows herself to let do that, and Stephen isn't him.

That's the fucking problem.

The cab pulls up in front of her apartment and she's keyed up, either because she spent the ride over unwittingly riling herself up or failing to wind herself down, but all the same her hands shake a little and she feels jittery. She rushes upstairs and shoots back a dose of the first thing she can find - vodka - to see if it calms her. She draws a bath, intending to soak in it for as long as it takes for the jitters to leave her body, but lying in a bathtub doesn't help because it gives her more time and quiet and less distractions, and the revolving door becomes a maze of her mangled emotions.

She dries herself off and tries the TV instead, hoping the images will distract her enough until sleep comes to claim her, but no plot grips her and she's still restless, fingers drumming on the arm of the couch. She considers sleeping pills but she's had quite a bit to drink by now and her nerves are a mess and she's worried about mixing all of that. She runs through her options even though she can already feel the pull from the outside world telling her what the right answer is.

Donna is not one to run from her emotions but tonight she does, slipping on some jeans and a shirt and going out to escape herself. She goes to a bar nearby her place, one she's used as an emotional crutch before, one that's understated but just crowded enough that she can people-watch and try to forget about her own life. Her idea is to just sit there for a while, have a couple of drinks and let the white noise drown out her thoughts.

But a guy comes up to her. Young, attractive, seemingly funny and confident, probably works in marketing or a startup or something fresh. He's the complete opposite of Stephen, which she later guesses is what sealed the deal.

He invites her over to his place and she accepts. It's a rebound, and sometimes that's just what she needs to heal a broken heart and get back on the saddle.

Except the second he touches her naked body she flinches.

He pulls back, visibly worried, and she throws him a smile and shakes her head, conveying it's fine, it was nothing. He tries again, hand finding her center as he kisses her neck, but it's like her body just won't play along, as much as her brain seems to want this. She's not wet at all, and his ministrations aren't helping; every time she closes her eyes she sees Stephen and his chilling stare, his murderous hands, blood everywhere. She tries to focus on him, on the moment, but nothing works, she keeps coming back to Stephen and the horrible things he's done and the horrifying fact that she slept with a murderer.

The guy, clearly getting annoyed, offers to go buy some lube but she's realized by now that this was a mistake. She dresses back up and excuses herself and hurries back home, holding back tears she lets out the second she steps into her apartment.

The images of Stephen keep plaguing her, sending her into a fitful sleep littered with nightmares. It was a long day, she thinks the next morning, of course immediately sleeping with someone else wouldn't be the answer. She just needs some time to get over this and she'll be fine.

But as they learn more about Stephen's actions, all Donna can think about is that she let him in, emotionally and physically, and she never once stopped to wonder if that was wise. She feels played, tricked, humiliated, but she also feels guilty as hell because if she hadn't been so busy trying to prove something to herself, she might have been able to notice that something was off. Instead, she fell for his charm and let herself get fooled.

And the worst part is that Stephen was the first man she'd let get that close in a while, the first man she'd considered a "maybe" with despite all the complications, and that fact makes her involvement with him coat her skin like grease, slimy and thick, something she can't ignore nor escape. She told herself she needed time but every day is spent thinking almost obsessively about Stephen and his hands on her, and the fact that he was the last man she slept with doesn't help at all because it traps her in this trance where every memory is him.

It's only been a few days since her first attempt at being intimate with someone again but sitting with her thoughts isn't helping; she needs some way to replace his presence with someone else's, so she tries again. She goes out, finds a guy she likes, strikes up a conversation. He's interesting enough and it doesn't take them long to go to his place, and she's feeling more positive about things this time because he's a great kisser and good with his hands. But when the time comes to actually do something, it's a repeat of last time. Flashes of Stephen plague her vision and her body shuts down, almost as a trauma response.

It makes her panic. She can no longer stand the thought that Stephen was the last man she was intimate with, but trying to be intimate with other guys isn't working, and she feels trapped, unable to escape the past and move forward. The thought that he was her last, previously a sobering realization, begins to feel like a curse, something inescapable. A tiny, more rational part of her brain tells her it's barely been over a week, that she just needs to wait some more, but that part gets drowned out by an unreasonable sense of terror that she will never be able to be with someone again, that she will never get past this, that she will forever be tethered to Stephen, condemned to see the ghost of his fingers on her skin.

She's clearly spiraling out of control, she can feel her grip on herself slipping, wild fears taking over and sending her body and mind into overdrive.

She needs, needs to put distance between her and Stephen. But she needs to do it with someone she trusts, with someone who understands what she's going through, someone patient and caring.

And there's only one person she can think of that fits that description.

Obviously she's aware that this is an insane proposition. She was the one who made him promise he wouldn't think of them like that again, that he wouldn't try to sleep with her anymore. And he's also very affected by this whole thing, his bruises from his fight with Stephen still coloring his skin. It's a wild idea, one that could easily break them forever. But every second she sits with herself drives her a little more insane and she just... she just needs this, she needs to be able to exist within her skin again and for whatever reason it feels like this is the only way she'll be able to do that. Maybe there is some other solution but her brain has already clung to this one and it won't let go. She goes two full days thinking about it non-stop before she decides to just say "fuck it" and try. He's used to one-night stands after all, probably won't even find her request that strange.

So she goes home after work, drinks a glass of wine and calls him.

"Hey, are you busy?" she asks without any preamble when he picks up.

"No, I'm at home. Is everything alright?" he asks, concern clear in his voice.

"Yeah. Can you come over? There's something I want to talk to you about," she offers obscurely, picking at a loose thread on the cushion next to her.

"Uh, yeah, sure, I'll be right there."

Harvey is knocking on her door fifteen minutes later, wariness evident in his face. She lets him in, offers him a drink he accepts.

"So... I need to ask you for something," she starts, nervousness making her stomach flutter.

"Of course, anything," he replies promptly, though he's clearly still cautious.

She opens her mouth and it's like her heart jumps up her throat, rendering her speechless. Nerves suddenly grip her stomach and force her to swallow and regroup, focusing on the glass in her hands. She takes a breath and tries again.

"I need you to sleep with me."

Harvey's jaw drops. "You what?"

She soldiers on. "I keep... I keep thinking about him. Remembering him. He's everywhere, Harvey, everywhere I look, every inch of skin. I need to shake this off, and I need to do it with someone I trust." Her voice is tiny, low, almost a whisper, and she keeps her eyes trained on her hands.

There's a terrifying moment of silence as he grapples with what she just said.

"But...," he starts, audibly at a loss, "What about your rule?"

She shrugs a shoulder defeatedly. "I already broke it for him. At least this time it would be for a good reason."

She finally gathers the courage to face him properly and finds Harvey completely stumped, mouth agape, eyes confused. It would almost be comical were it not for the less-than-funny context.

"Donna... I... I don't know if that's a good idea," he retorts hesitantly and she forces herself to swallow the slight pang of annoyance that rises inside of her. She told him they could never go there again, and, while she has been thinking about this for days, he hasn't. She needs to give him a moment.

She knows him wanting her isn't the problem. She's seen the way he looks at her sometimes, and Harvey is practically a manwhore as it is, so she's not worried about him not being into it. She knows the issue is the aftermath, how they can pick the pieces of them back up later, and, frankly, she can't offer him any reassurance, not in the state she's in, but she can be honest.

"I don't know if it's a good idea either, but it's the only one I have."

That seems to strike a chord with him, because he recomposes himself a little. "Donna, it's not that I don't want to, it's just..."

"I understand, Harvey. I know what I'm asking for here. And it's okay if you don't feel comfortable with it," she says as gently as she can, tempering her disappointment.

"Can I... Can I think for a moment?" he straightens up and asks, and, while she would love for their relationship to be simple enough that they could do this kind of thing without having to think first, simple enough that one night of giving into the desires she knows they both quell on a daily basis wouldn't mean their ruin, she understands that reality is not like that. And even in this state she is capable of establishing that the endurance of their relationship and their bond is more important to her than her relief.

So she nods. "Yeah, of course. I'm gonna go to the bathroom," she announces and leaves him alone in the living room, eager for the opportunity to give herself some respite as well as giving him space to process her request.

In the quiet of her bathroom, her heart thunders in her chest, fast and loud as adrenaline courses through her veins. She just asked Harvey to have sex with her. After a decade of pretending their night together never happened and pretending neither of them wanted it to happen again, she was the one to bring the subject up again, leaving no room for doubt or double entendres. There is no coming back from this, even if he says no - in fact, she doesn't know what would be more impossible to come back from, the sting of his rejection or another night that they will have to bury deep within their souls.

The cat is out of the bag, the ball is in his court and all she can do now is wait. The overhead lights shine harshly on her, making her appear pale and sickly. She feels warm all over, her skin tingly and clammy, and her hair starts to cling to the back of her neck. She turns on the faucet and splashes some water onto her face to freshen up, closing her eyes and taking some deep breaths to try to center herself. Her heart is still racing but she feels a little better as she twists her hair to the side and reopens her eyes.

Until she spots it.

Hidden beneath her left ear, further back on her neck, which explains the fact that she hadn't noticed it before, blotchy with purple and green-ish hues, the hickey stares at her, almost as if daring her to look away.

It's not the only one. She'd spotted a couple of others along her body as well and they had made her sick to her stomach already, so much so she had been avoiding looking at her body in the mirror. But this one she didn't know about, and it feels symbolic, like he has reached parts of her that she didn't even realize, like his effect on her will stay hidden, lurking in the shadows ready to resurface whenever she thinks she's finally moving on, reinforcing the idea that she'll never be free from him. And it's like the dam breaks and all the shame, humiliation and hurt she's been feeling this past week comes crashing in, taking over her insides like an avalanche that crawls up her body.

She grits her teeth at her reflection in the mirror, glaring at the bruise for a second before she reaches into a drawer and takes out a comb. She takes her hair dryer, heats up the comb decisively and rakes it across her skin, probably adding more pressure than necessary but feeling the need to cleanse herself. She heats it up again and applies it to her skin again, and again, and again, all the while gritting her teeth, breathing heavily through her nose and forcing herself not to cry.

She's frustrated and desperate and she loses track of her movements, going on autopilot until she notices she gave herself a rash, angry and red, bigger than the hickey she was trying to get rid of in the first place. She's invaded by a wave of guilt for having hurt herself, and she feels like she keeps hurting herself, not respecting her body, but her skin is still crawling and Stephen is still all over her, his marks still on her body, and she chokes out a sob, abandoning the comb and the hair dryer and burying her face in her hands.

She lets herself cry, again, and mourn the person she was, mourn the pieces she let him break her into, mourn her faith in people and the shred of innocence she lost.

"Donna?" she jumps as she hears Harvey knock on the door, "Open up."

She doesn't, too ashamed to let him in, but he must have heard her sobs, because he doesn't ask again, instead opening the door without waiting for her permission.

He looks wild, clearly worried and even a little scared. "What's wrong?" he asks instantly, probably thinking she'd been doing something dangerous when actually she had just been doing something pathetic.

She shakes her head, pressing her lips together and closing her eyes to stop more tears. "I still have marks from him, Harvey. He's still on me," she half-whispers, voice breaking at the end as she covers her mouth to muffle another sob.

She thinks she looks pitiful and dramatic, thinks maybe she needs to get a grip because Harvey might soon start to think she needs actual psychological help and she won't be able to handle that, but she doesn't have time to do anything before she sees his jaw set with determination and his arms pull her into his chest. They've never done this, never hugged like this before, but she's already obliterated the line between them so what's a hug. She clings to him, no longer sobbing but still feeling tears streaming down her cheeks. He holds her tight, providing a comforting and stable presence.

After a moment she starts calming down, the tears subsiding until she's just breathing him in and absorbing the warmth from his embrace. There's silence before she feels him shift minutely, his head tipping down. She pulls back a fraction, waiting to see what he'll do next, and he ducks further, turning slightly towards her. It occurs to her that maybe, just maybe, he's going for a kiss, so she angles her face towards his, still leaving enough room that she could disguise it as just looking at him.

They are very close now, their breaths mingling, and her heart is back to thundering in her chest for a whole different reason. She has no idea what's happening, because when she left him in the living room he was less than inclined to do this and now he's holding her and looking like he's about to do more. And then Harvey extinguishes the last of the distance between them and she feels his lips find hers tentatively. She doesn't fully feel it at first, her own lips a little swollen from crying, but he kisses her again, a little more intently this time, and it snaps her into action. She melts into the kiss, inhaling and pressing into him. They start with a string of chaste pecks that erupt into their tongues tasting each other finally, after so many years, and it's like they both let go at the same time.

Their kisses grow heated, intense, quenching a thirst maybe neither one realized ran so deep. Harvey's arms wrap firmly around her waist, pulling her to him and sending a shiver down her spine as a hum escapes her throat. Half of her thinks she's gone completely insane, but the other half is absolutely sure she made the right call because nothing has ever felt like this, no one has ever fit like this. She threads her fingers through his hair and feels her body come alive again, feels the familiar fire in her belly and pressure between her legs and she almost starts crying again at the fact that for the first time in over a week and after endless hours of despair and penance, she finally feels like she recognizes some part of herself.

He kisses her worries and apprehensions away, rids her brain of any thought beyond the taste, smell and feel of him. Her last shred of conscience wonders what made him change his mind and if he truly wants this, if he's not doing it out of some misguided sense of duty, but he kisses that away too.

They stumble into her bedroom with a certain sense of urgency, but Harvey's hands on her are stable and firm and she feels completely safe under his control. He moves to kiss her neck and there's a flash of self-consciousness reminding her of the hickey, but it's quickly forgotten when he nibbles her ear and pants her name and his voice is precisely the sound that's capable of convincing her brain to shut off and her body to surrender. She just holds on to him and lets him take the lead, ridding her and himself of their clothes.

She kisses him wherever she can reach as well, constantly reminding herself that this is Harvey, not because he's under any risk of forgetting but because it almost doesn't seem real, even though it's what she's been thinking of non-stop for the past few days. He takes his time running his hands all over her body, just holding her, caressing her, and she suspects he's trying not to spook her or cross any unknowing boundaries, but there's also a spark of incredulity in his eyes that tells her he's also still processing this.

They lie down on her bed and she has the sudden presence of mind to be thankful that she never brought Stephen here; her relationship with Harvey remains the only complicated one to grace her sheets.

She helps him remove her bra and panties and she can feel her whole body tingling already, anticipating all that is to come. He caresses his way up her body after he rids them of their final pieces of clothing and kisses her deeply, so tenderly she could cry. He then pulls back and looks at her, taking in her face, a serious expression on his own. It's a little intimidating, being so closely watched by him, especially in this context. Tonight is meaningful, it could never not be, but she needs to be careful not to mistake it for something it isn't. This is a favor, nothing more.

To move things along and prevent herself from overthinking, she brushes her fingertips down his front, relishing the shiver she elicits, but before her hand can reach its intended destination he stops her, taking it and setting it on the mattress, holding it in place. "Harvey," she huffs a little, trying to break free from his grasp, but he doesn't budge.

"Patience," he tells her quietly, keeping her down for a moment longer until he's confident she'll follow his directive. Then he lets go and leans back, raking his gaze slowly down her entire body, almost as if he's looking for something, while she just waits, completely at a loss as to what is happening. Suddenly, he leans back down, angling straight for a spot on the swell of her left breast, a little to the side, and covers it with his lips, sucking intently on the skin.

"What are you doing?" she asks, a confused frown on her face.

Harvey releases her skin and finds her gaze earnestly. "I'm erasing the memories," he says softly and caresses her breast, and that's when she notices that the spot he was paying extra attention to already bears a mark, a faint yellow-ish blob, one of the other hickeys she'd already known about but had forced herself not to think about or look at. She understands, finally, what he's doing; he's doing what she asked, ridding her skin of Stephen, making sure that the only thing she thinks about when she looks herself in the mirror for the next few days is not murder or bribery or betrayal, but him.

It strikes her as an extraordinarily caring act, especially coming from Harvey. It's not like sleeping with her is some huge sacrifice, but this, as little as it is, denotes more compassion and attentiveness than she could have hoped for. He's going above and beyond for her and the gesture leaves her speechless, only able to stare dumbly at him as he dives back in and continues to suck on her skin until they both know there will be a red mark left behind, covering the previous one completely.

He pulls away again and brushes her hair away from her shoulders, creating some extra space for himself. She helpfully turns her head to the side, granting him more access to the other hickey, and he repeats his last motion, carefully brushing his lips over the spot she'd abused earlier before applying some pressure.

Donna closes her eyes and just gives herself over to the mix of emotions, feeling at once so grateful to him and for him, so touched by his actions, and aroused by the sensations he's causing her.

After her neck, he slides down to her thighs, where a couple of fingerprints loom ominously over her milky skin. She can see Harvey work his jaw for a second, either due to possessiveness or renewed ire at Stephen, and whatever he's feeling shines through as he scrapes his teeth across the marks, still careful but a little rougher than he'd been with the others. She watches him, gets goosebumps from the light caress his fingers are giving the sides of her thighs as his hands hold her in place and he sucks intently on her skin.

Warmth bubbles up inside of her as he pulls back to admire his work one last time, presumably checking to see if he's done enough to wipe away any remnants of her previous involvement. Her throat clogs up a little, forcing her to whisper. "Thank you."

"No," he says immediately, looking up and deeply into her eyes, voice calm but serious, "Don't."

His abrupt reaction takes her aback, stupefying her into silence for a moment. "Why not?" she finally asks, confused as to whether she did something wrong.

"Because that would make it pity. And that's not what this is," he explains quietly, with an intensity to his gaze and his tone that she's rarely seen from him before, let alone been on the receiving end of.

His words make her insides quiver, at once completely clear and entirely ambiguous. She doesn't know what exactly this is and she knows it's not a good idea to dwell on the matter, so she takes what she can get and focuses on the fact that it isn't pity, that this is Harvey in her bed again, that he's being more considerate than ever and, ultimately, that he's about to give her an unforgettable night, regardless of the circumstances.

So she reaches for him and kisses him, not quite hurriedly but with a touch of urgency, of unquelled hunger, a preamble for their next activities. Eventually, they part and he situates himself back between her thighs.

The first stroke of his tongue between her folds is heavenly, sends her back arching off the mattress and drives a gasp from her lips. He works consistently, licking her thoroughly, sucking lightly on her clit. She pants his name as her fingers wrap around his hair and hold his face to her, wanting him to stay there forever. She never forgot how good he was at this, and she fleetingly thinks he's better than Stephen but her brain is quick to detach from the thought and that is a blessing in and of itself.

She moans and bucks her hips into him as he flits his tongue across her clit again and again, resting an arm over her lower belly to keep her in place. It's so maddeningly good, so perfect, that it makes her simultaneously want him to stop right now so she can finally have him inside of her, and for him to never, ever stop.

With a final, expert flick of his tongue and a light suck she explodes, her body trembling with wave after wave of pleasure and, most of all, relief at being able to feel this way again, and with someone as meaningful as Harvey.

He waits for her to come down from her high, peppering soft kisses across her hipbones, and when she does, she finds a ghost of a smug grin on his face. She brushes his fringe away from his eyes to make up for having messed it up, and then she pulls him to her again, meeting his lips halfway and humming at her taste on his tongue.

She works herself back up by repaying the favor despite his initial protests; her heart isn't fully in it, but Stephen was the last man she did this for as well and this night is about erasing memories, like Harvey mentioned. Besides, even if she is not her usual enthusiastic self right now, it still feels incredible to be able to make Harvey feel this good, to see him reduced to putty in her hands so easily. It's what he did for her, after all.

She doesn't drive him to the brink, choosing instead to take him on a slow, steady climb towards release, and she stops about halfway through, feeling herself ready enough. For her final act, she rolls down a condom over his dick with her lips, securing it over him. Some other night she might have opted to forego it - she remembers well the feeling of his velvety skin against her walls and ideally she wouldn't want to miss it this time, but she was with another man just one week ago, one who clearly cannot be trusted in the least, and she wouldn't want to risk Harvey's health and well-being.

Once she's done, he pulls her back under him, takes himself in hand and brushes the head of his cock across her folds, coating himself in her desire and bumping the tip against her clit. She moans helplessly at that, her fingernails digging into his forearm as he teases them some more.

And then he thrusts, eliciting twin groans from them.

He pauses, letting them adjust, before his hips start moving slowly, in and out, languid strokes that allow her to feel every ridge of him despite the layer between them. When she pictured this night, she may have fantasized about doing it fast and rough, having the painful memories fucked out of her, with Harvey pounding harshly into her from behind. This is the complete opposite so far, slow and tender, though probably just as intense, and she finds this is what she actually needed; not something quick and harsh, but something deep and meaningful. Something loving. And that's what he's doing to her.

He picks up a degree of speed, ducking his head to kiss her neck again, and he's not even doing anything particularly extraordinary but there's a feeling of pure bliss spreading through her whole body. He just knows her so well, and after so many days of feeling like she no longer knows herself, it's a relief to be with someone like that.

She kisses everywhere she can reach, digging her fingertips into his flesh, drinking him in in any way she can, letting him invade every last inch of her body and her soul in the hopes that his light will burn off every dark thought, every bad memory, every doubt. It occurs to her, vaguely, that she should be doing that for herself, not depositing all her hopes and needs in someone else's hands like this. But there's no one she trusts to take care of her more than Harvey, and so she decides she doesn't need to be self-sufficient right now, that it's okay to ask someone else for help in patching her up.

He hikes her leg higher up against his torso, slipping even deeper into her, and she cries out, clinging to him for dear life as he drills into her, his skin glistening with sweat and his soft grunts against her ear. She is overcome with a surge of affection for him, for all that he is and all that he's doing, and she wants to be closer to him, want to deepen their connection somehow because what she's feeling right now is unlike anything she's felt before.

So she turns her head a little and murmurs, "Come here, I wanna see you."

Harvey obliges, lifting himself away from the crook of her neck to meet her gaze. There's a look of intense focus and concentration on his face, which only makes him more endearing to her. Her right hand continues to cling to his lower back, reveling in the ripple of his muscles as he moves over her, and her left hand comes to the back of his head, bringing their foreheads together so she can look deeply into his eyes as she plays with his hair. He speeds up and she moans and gasps as they stare at each other, barely blinking. She has to resist the urge to let her eyes fall close at how good he's making her feel because she doesn't want to break this bond between them. Being able to see Harvey as he moves inside her, having solid proof that it's him here, and not anyone else, feels incredible.

She holds on for as long as she can, but eventually his hand sneaks between them and he brushes his thumb softly over her clit, and from then on it's a matter of seconds until she's coming with a strangled cry, her eyes screwing shut as her insides clench wildly. She barely notices him still pistoning into her, only realizes he's come as well when he muffles a moan against her clavicle and goes completely lax on top of her.

They spend a moment just catching their breaths, their bodies still spasming occasionally from their orgasms. Donna feels almost high on her release and on him, she can smell them on her sheets and feel his weight deliciously on her, and she is again reassured that this was exactly what she needed. But as the silence between them stretches and Harvey climbs off of her, collapsing next to her on the bed as they both stare at the ceiling, doubts and worries come creeping back in, making her wonder if she ruined everything, if they'll ever be able to come back from this.

She considers playing it casual, pretending like it was just a random one-night stand, but this prospect terrifies her much, much more. So much so that she turns to him, takes a breath and whispers, "Please don't say this didn't mean anything."

She notices Harvey stiffening slightly and holds her breath, bracing for his reaction.

"I won't," he replies quietly and her heart leaps in her chest. "But I don't know what it meant either," he adds after a pause, dampening her original reaction.

She reflects on his words for a moment. She has no idea what she's looking for here. She has a lot more healing to do before she even considers a new relationship, especially with Harvey. They have an incredibly complicated history, one that was made even more complicated by Stephen, and they shouldn't try anything before they are truly ready to have an honest talk about their feelings. And Harvey is still so afraid of being vulnerable, even though that's exactly what he is when he is with her, whether he wants to or not. Trying or even hoping for something more right now will likely only lead to disappointment and heartbreak. Besides, she really needs some time to herself to regroup.

So she sighs, accepting his honesty for what it is and giving him her own. "Neither do I. And I don't think I'm ready to find out tonight," she tells him quietly and he finally looks at her.

"Yeah, me neither," he finally agrees, and there's not enough resolution or closure to call the matter settled but she thinks this is good enough. They're not sweeping it under the rug, but they're not cracking their chests open right now either, and that's a good compromise. They'll get back to this when they're ready.

They just watch each other for a moment longer before Donna sighs audibly. "I should go clean up," she says regretfully and gets up to go to the bathroom.

"Should I... Do you want me to stay?" Harvey asks shyly as he sits up as well.

Heat spreads across her chest. Once again it's such a small gesture but it means the world to her that he even offered. She smiles gently at him. "You can stay if you want. But you can also leave. It's okay," she says, leaving it up to him to decide what he'd rather do.

He looks uncertain. "Sounds like a test."

She chuckles at his wariness, crossing to room to where he's sitting and cupping his cheek affectionately. "It's not a test," she tells him softly and kisses his cheek, "You can do whatever you want."

She then makes her way to the bathroom to clean up, as well as to give them both some space. She makes it a point not to overthink tonight just yet, instead choosing to try to stay with this feeling of relative peace for a while longer. There's a lot she has yet to process, but she stares at her naked body in the mirror, sees the reddening patches of skin where Harvey paid extra close attention, runs her fingers softly over them and thinks she'll be just fine.

Once she's done, she puts on her robe and rejoins the bedroom, noticing Harvey is almost fully dressed, denoting his decision.

"Thought it'd be best to leave," he offers a little awkwardly.

She smiles amicably, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms. "That makes sense."

"Donna," he eventually steps towards her, tone serious, but she interrupts him, not wanting to spoil the evening.

"It's alright, Harvey, we don't have to," she shakes her head, letting them both off the hook.

"No, listen to me," he insists, closing the distance between them and looking fiercely at her. "He was scum," he starts bluntly, "He was nothing. And I'm gonna make sure he pays for what he did to us, to Ava and to you. But you can't let him change the way you see yourself. You're the only one who can control that. Don't give him that power."

He's watching her expectantly but his words completely shock her, making it so that she can only gape at him.

He's... Well, he's absolutely right. Stephen did change the way she saw herself, and that's probably why she was so affected. She let him get to her and she convinced herself that meant she lost her touch, that she allowed herself to be fooled, that she gave in to her feelings and they ruined her. She let their relationship taint her body and her soul and her heart, and she let her memories of him overpower her own perception of herself. And of course this is a harrowing experience that would affect anyone, but Stephen is gone now, he can't affect Donna anymore, unless she lets him.

And she's done letting him have any power over her, ever again.

"Okay," she mumbles and nods, and then she winds her arms around Harvey's neck and hugs him tight, silently conveying her thanks since he doesn't want to hear them. He hugs her back, his arms firm around her waist for a long beat until she feels him tap her back, giving her her cue to let go.

She follows him to the door, simultaneously feeling so full and replenished, but also a little sad at the fact that they're parting ways again, even though she knows it's the right thing to do.

Once they reach the entrance, she lets him out and leans against the frame again. "Text me when you get home so I know you made it okay," she asks him quietly with a little smile.

"Alright," he nods and offers her a small smile back. "Good night, Donna."

"Good night, Harvey," she replies, and watches him leave, wondering what the future holds for her and for them.