This was written for the Darvey Valentine - for Dear Brittany who prompted this: Canon or precanon. They both hate Valentine's Day and decide to do the most un-romantic date ideas (baseball game, grabbing pizza and beer, idk lol any date that wouldn't be typical Valentine's Day) but end up having a great time.

I know several people have written for this prompt, and I'm hoping mine lives up! I like the variety and the different takes we're getting on the same prompts this Valentine's and it's been a fun exercise.

Happy belated Valentine's day, Darvey fans!

Louis has been in one of his moods all day and has just thrown a bunch of files onto Donna's desk in passing, with a snapped "give those to Harvey," over his shoulder.

"I can't wait for this day to be over so I can go home and have a glass of wine," she grumbles as she sets the folders down on Harvey's desk.

"You don't have a date tonight?" He sits back in his chair, toying with her a little and she rolls her eyes.

"It's Valentines, Harvey."

"Exactly."

"Valentines Day is for couples. I'm not seeing anyone since I broke up with Mitchell and there is nothing more uncomfortable than sitting in a restaurant full of loved up couples when you're on a first or even second date. So no, no date." She explains it like he's a child, unable to fathom how he could possibly think she'd be on a first date on Valentines of all days. But of course he thinks that. Men, she scoffs internally.

"Oh." It's a non-response, especially from him.

She studies him, and for one of the first times ever, she can't read him. His face is neutral but there's a look in his eyes that doesn't match his expression. She wants to ask, but her pride won't allow her to admit that she needs an explanation. So she makes an excuse and leaves the room, sitting back down at her desk.

"Do you want to go do something non-valentines-y later?" His voice comes through the intercom an hour later and she jumps a little, both at the unexpected intrusion and the question itself. She turns to face him through the glass, raising her eyebrows. He shrugs and after a short pause she shrugs too and then nods. He nods in return and that is that. Apparently they've just made a "date". On Valentine's Day. This could well end up being a horrible idea.

… … …

She said yes. He can't quite believe it. As soon as she'd admitted she didn't have a date he'd wanted to ask her. It had taken him the better part of an hour to work up the courage to ask, and even then he'd taken the coward's way out and used the intercom because he couldn't bear to look at her face while she said no. But she'd said yes. Completely unexpectedly. Now he needs to figure out what they're going to do for the evening.

… … …

6pm comes around faster than expected and she's wondering what he has planned when he approaches her desk looking a little sheepish.

"So, what do you want to do?" he asks hesitantly.

"I don't know, this was your idea." She shrugs, and thinks to herself how typical it is that he hasn't planned anything. It's always down to her to get him out of these kind of situations.

"What's the most unromantic thing we could do?" He asks. The word 'unromantic' stings her a little but she pretends it doesn't. She thinks for a moment, trying to determine what two people who are decidedly not in a relationship could do on Valentines night.

"Colour me mine?" It's the first thing that comes to mind, because the silence is deafening and he's looking at her so intensely that she can't focus properly.

He makes a face. "Pass."

"The Met? Or MoMA? Any kind of gallery or museum?" She knows even as she says it that he'll say no. It's not really his scene. He only attends galleries and museums when it's a gala or event and there's a possibility for him to pick up women.

"Nah. What about we just go out for pizza?"

"Nope." She shakes her head. "There'll be couples out eating and people will assume…" As she trails off he purses his lips and then shrugs, thinking for a second.

"Board games?"

She snaps her fingers and points at him gleefully. "That's it! That's the winner."

"Really?" He looks smug, and adorably proud of himself for coming up with the idea and she can't help but grin at him.

"Yes." Then it hits her. "Except…"

"Do you own any board games?" he asks, reading her mind.

"No. And I'm absolutely certain you don't."

"Nope." He shrugs. "We can go buy some. There's a Barnes & Noble by my apartment."

"We're going to your apartment?" She looks taken aback and he winces a little, clearly regretting the presumption.

"We can go to yours," he suggests hastily but she still feels apprehensive, remembering the last time they were alone in her apartment together.

You know I love you, Donna.

The last time they'd been in her apartment together hadn't ended well and neither are particularly eager to revisit those memories, despite the fact that it's been brought to the forefront of their minds once again. They're only just past it, back to normal, and it's not something either want to bring up again.

"What about a baseball game?" She suggests and he rolls his eyes.

"It's not baseball season, and quite frankly I'm offended you don't know that. And before you suggest it, no, I'm not taking you to a basketball game." He folds his arms over his chest.

"C'mon, Harvey. We don't have any other ideas. I like basketball, and I know you can get tickets at the last minute."

"Not for the Nets."

"There are other teams, Harvey."

He rolls his eyes again. "Fine. I might be able to get us into the Knicks game." He pulls his phone from his pocket and sends a text. Within seconds it chimes with an incoming message and he nods to confirm that he's secured seats for them. She's impressed. For a man who doesn't even know his own phone number and still can't dial out, he manages some impressive things when he puts his mind to it.

"Well then, I need to go home and change. I'm not going to a basketball game in a two thousand dollar dress." She rolls her eyes, standing up and grabbing her bag. "Pick me up in an hour."

… … …

He goes home, changing into tan chinos and a forest green sweater; less casual than he would normally dress for a game, but something is pushing him today, pressing him to be what she wants, what she needs.

He's not sure whether it's the day itself, whether it's the changes in his life recently, or if it's the change in their dynamic after she came back to him, but something has shifted and he's seeing her as if for the first time. He doesn't know why it's taken him so long, why he's been ignoring this for the better part of a decade but now he sees it he can't unsee it. Last time he'd put significant effort into forgetting what had been between them that night, because she'd asked him to, but he can't anymore. He can't go back to how it was before, he can't force those feelings down anymore, he can't keep pretending.

He feels nervous, something he's certain has never happened to him before a date. But this isn't a date, a voice in his head reminds him and he sighs heavily, pouring himself a large measure of scotch and downing it in one gulp, feeling the burn lingering as the liquid slides smoothly down his throat. He chases it with another slightly smaller measure, attempting to calm his nerves. It doesn't particularly work, and instead of feeling calmer he just feels a little unsteady, the alcohol going straight to his head. He knows within minutes a light buzz will settle in its place and he waits patiently for that feeling as he heads downstairs to climb into the backseat of the car where Ray is waiting behind the wheel.

His leg jiggles nervously on the ride, even as Ray plays gentle jazz music through the car stereo and when the car pulls up at the curb in front of Donna's building, he thinks the anticipation might kill him.

He buzzes her apartment and hears her crackly reply; "I'll be right down". He waits, leaning on the side of the car, arms folded against the February chill, even in his heavy wool Burberry coat.

She emerges from her building in a tan coat, jeans and flat brown suede boots. He can't remember the last time he saw her in jeans. Maybe a few years ago when he'd called her into the firm on a Sunday during the Pearson Darby debacle. He makes a mental note to make more casual plans with her, because the skinny jeans hug her legs in the most scintillating way and he wants to see her from behind, see what the jeans to do her magnificent ass.

He chastises himself for thinking of her like that. She's more than just a beautiful woman, he shouldn't reduce her to such. No matter how many tingles he feels in his groin, she's not a sex object.

"What?" Her voice interrupts his thoughts and he realises he's been staring. She smooths her hands over her jeans in a self-conscious move he's never seen from her and he shakes his head, plastering a winning smile on his face.

"Nothing. You just look… different."

She rolls her eyes. "They're just jeans, Harvey. I'd expect that the majority of women in Manhattan own a pair."

"No heels," he comments in response and she chuckles lowly.

"I'm not an idiot. I know what heels do to a basketball court." Her hand lands on her hip in the sassiest of ways. His eyebrows rise and she laughs again. "Just because I grew up in theatre and music doesn't mean I don't know sports. I dated two basketball players in high school." She saunters toward the car and he opens the door on autopilot, ushering her into the car, stopping just short of putting his hand on her lower back, knowing that was too intimate, but his fingers itching to do so. He sighs as he rounds the car to slide in beside her. It's going to be a torturous night.

… … …

He's acting… strange. She can't quite put her finger on it, but something is different with him and it isn't just the clothes, although she had felt a flutter in her belly when she'd first caught sight of him leaning on the shiny black Lexus when she left her building.

They hadn't spoken much as Ray drove them to Madison Square Garden, and more than once she'd caught the driver glancing at them in the rearview mirror.

When he leads her to their courtside seats, she gapes at him.

"Courtside? Why didn't you tell me? I'd have dressed better!"

"You look…" he pauses, seemingly weighing up his options before finishing the sentence, "...great."

A moment passes between them, a moment where their eyes lock and feelings bubble and neither are quite sure what to say. Eventually she ducks her head shyly, uttering a low thanks before taking the seat to his right.

It feels awkward again and she's not sure what's happening. This is not them. For everything they've been through, awkwardness has never been a part of their relationship.

Thankfully the game starts soon after and they're both distracted, their minds turned to the entertainment in front of them, rather than the tension between them.

… … …

It's time out, and a player approaches them; Lance Thomas, number 42 for the Knicks. Donna noticeably perks up and Harvey holds back an eye roll.

"Hey sweet thing. You want to get a drink after this?" Lance leans in and grins at Donna.

"If you win the game, maybe I'll consider it," she flirts, turning on a winning smile.

"I'll play the rest of the game just for you," Lance says before the whistle goes and the game resumes.

"You're not really going to go out with him, are you?" Harvey's scowling and she hides a smile at his possessiveness. Typical Harvey.

"Probably not. But who knows."

"He called you "sweet thing"!" He's horrified and she can't help but laugh.

"A little harmless flirting, Harvey." She tosses her hair over her shoulder, trying to look more confident than she feels. Inside she's a mess of uncertainty; something she's unaccustomed to feeling. She can't figure out whether he's bothered by her flirting because he wishes she was focusing all her attention on him, or whether he's just looking out for her as a friend and a colleague. It's a horrible feeling.

"I don't think he sees it that way." He nods toward Lance who has just thrown her a wink after intercepting the ball and passing to a teammate who made a basket.

… … …

It's half time and they're sitting in comfortable silence, Harvey munching on his nachos and Donna sipping a glass (well, plastic cup, anyway) of Merlot, when the music begins and Harvey freezes. He knows that music. He darts a glance sideways to see if Donna has noticed anything but she's fiddling with her phone and so he turns his gaze to the screen, half hoping the kiss cam will find them and half hoping it won't. He's not sure which outcome he wants more; a staged kiss isn't how he'd prefer to taste her lips, but it's the most assured way to tell her how he feels without using any words.

He watches anxiously, sipping from his beer every now and then, crunching tortilla chips and waiting for something to happen. He darts a glance at Donna and she's still on her phone, his lips pursing as he wonders who she could be texting. She seems to sense his gaze and meets his eyes, her cheeks colouring slightly.

He cocks his head, silently questioning her and she looks sheepish as she locks her phone and slides it into her bag.

"Who were you texting?" He asks eventually when she doesn't say anything. She looks caught, taken aback by the question, almost as if she didn't expect him to be bold enough to ask. She mumbles something that he doesn't hear and he leans closer and asks her to repeat it.

"No-one," she says, "don't worry about it, it's nothing." He leans away from her, annoyed and more than a little disappointed. They're on a date and she's texting someone else?

He has to remind himself that they're not on a date. That this is friendly. That they're just two friends enjoying a basketball game. But they're not, and deep down he knows it. He thought she knew it too, but it doesn't seem that way.

A wave of anger flows through him. Anger at himself, at her, at their whole situation. He stands swiftly, grabbing his jacket and striding away from her, not looking to see if she's following.

"Harvey!" He hears her call out to him but doesn't stop. He feels stupid for thinking this night could be something. He needs to go home and pour himself a scotch and forget all of this ever happened.

"Harvey." Her voice reaches him as he exits the court, finding himself in an almost-empty lobby.

"What?" He whirls around in time to see her slip through the doors he'd let swing closed behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm walking away from a failed evening. Now, if you don't mind…"

"I do mind, actually," she snaps. "You want to tell me why?"

"Really? Really." He rolls his eyes. "You were texting another guy while we were…" he trails off, unsure what the end of that sentence is.

"Are you serious right now? You were skittish as hell when the Kiss Cam started. I was giving you an out! And I wasn't texting another guy. I was reading Vogue online."

"You… what?" He's confused. She'd been trying to… what, save him? From embarrassment or something else? He studies her for a second, the fire in her eyes, the tension in her posture. "Fine. Let's just go."

… … …

They walk side by side down the street and she wonders what they look like to passers-by. Do they look like a couple? Or do they look like the boss and secretary that they are? Either way, she's sure he looks pissed. Come to think of it, she's a little pissed too. He walked out of the game, giving her no choice but to follow, and still hasn't said a damn word in explanation.

On the plus side, he's not striding away from her; he's keeping a manageable pace and walking side by side with her. When they find Ray parked two streets away, they slide wordlessly into opposite sides of the car, and as Ray pulls smoothly away from the curb he glances in the rear view mirror and asks where they're going.

"My place," Harvey replies decisively, and she shoots him a glance, but he's staring out the window, deliberately not meeting her gaze.

There's a fluttering in her stomach that she can't quite place. It feels like arousal, nerves and nausea all at once and it's new, it's unusual and she hates that she doesn't know what it means. She knows Harvey is attractive, she'd worked beside the man for over a decade and she'd have to be blind not to appreciate how good the man looked in a three piece suit, but she hasn't allowed herself to think of him that way for a very long time. But tonight it was there. She was thinking about what he looked like under his chinos and sweater, what he'd look like in her bed, what he'd feel like pressed against her naked body.

She folds her left leg over her right, squeezing her thighs tightly together as the thoughts reeled in her head. Now that the dam was broken, the images wouldn't stop coming. Pardon the pun, she thought to herself, stifling a grin which fell off her face when she looked over at Harvey who was still staring stubbornly out the window.

What the fuck is going on and how the hell am I going to fix this?

… … …

They sit in silence in his living room for almost fifteen minutes before Harvey finally speaks.

"Tell me you don't want me."

Her mouth falls open and she stares at him for a moment before shaking her head. "I'm not going to say that."

"Then tell me why you're resisting this."

"Resisting what?" She's stalling, and they both know it. Harvey refuses to back down, shocking them both.

"Us. You're resisting what's going on between us."

"I'm not, I —"

"You are. And I want you to tell me why." He folds his arms over his chest, staring her down, waiting her out. She stares back, eyes searching his, trying to read him, trying to figure out what he wants her to say.

Everything that has happened tonight feels like a trap, like it's not real. But the reality is that she does want him. She wants him more than she cares to admit because she's afraid she's going to be hurt by him again. So she crosses her arms and tells him exactly that.

"I'm afraid you're going to hurt me again."

"Again? When did I…" he can't finish the sentence and she doesn't know why. She's always been able to read him so well but ever since this morning he's been an enigma to her. He's looking at her now as though he's trying to read her too and she sighs, shifting in her seat on the couch.

"Why don't we try this another way? Instead of trying to guess what each other is thinking, why don't we just communicate openly like normal humans?" She's half joking, but she means every word.

He stifles a smile, but she sees it in his eyes as he leans back in the armchair opposite her, the amusement he feels at her words. "I'm game if you are."

"Then let me start with your last question. You want to know when you hurt me before?" She crosses one leg over the other and folds her hands in her lap. "It's not a long list, Harvey, but honestly I'm surprised you need to ask. The fact that you don't know tells me a lot."

"I do know," he says lowly. "I just…. don't like to revisit those times."

"Harvey…"

"I know, I know." He holds his hands up in defence of himself. "I've had enough therapy to know that hiding from things is how I ended up with so many problems in the first place." He sighs heavily and levels his gaze on her. "But I am sorry for everything I've done to hurt you. In the diner after… the other time, the Liberty Rail case, that night in your apartment and everything afterwards. I'm sorry."

"Harvey, you don't have to apologise."

"Yes, I do. I was wrong. Many times. And I want you to know I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

A heavy silence falls between them, one that folds over the room like a blanket, trapping them in a bubble of uncertainty. Donna presses her lips together, waiting for him to speak, to give her something, anything to move forward with. She begins a countdown in her head, giving him until one hundred to speak or act or something.

… … …

She's never looked more stunning. She's pressing her lips tightly together, probably because she's frustrated with him, he's seen her do it before. But all it does is make him think about kissing her.

In her casual clothes, her shoes kicked off by the door, hair tossed over one shoulder, she looks like she belongs here. It's easy to pretend they're just hanging out at home on a Tuesday night, rather than two more-than-friends on a failed Valentine's Day date, having an awkward conversation.

He's not sure what to say now. They've made zero progress and she's so closed off, with her arms folded and legs crossed. He knows how to read body language, it's what makes him so good at what he does, and her body language is screaming at him that she doesn't want to be here, she doesn't want to be having this conversation.

"You don't want to be here," he says. It's not a question.

"I didn't say that," she snaps.

"You didn't have to." He raises an eyebrow at her and she scowls but uncrosses her arms, settling her hands in her lap, but her legs stay crossed. She raises her eyebrows back at him, challenging him to call her out on it but he won't. She seems to be spoiling for a fight, god knows why, but he's not going to give it to her. That's not what he wants from this night.

"I'm not trying to be difficult, Harvey. I'm trying to protect myself."

"From me?"

"Yes! Of course from you. We're talking in circles now." She's exasperated and it bothers him. He's trying to understand what she's thinking, what she's feeling and they're going back and forth and getting nowhere. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, calming himself, settling his nerves.

"I don't want to hurt you, Donna."

"I know, Harvey. You never want to, you never mean to, but you do anyway." She sounds sad now, resigned, and it makes his heart ache in ways he didn't think it could.

"Will you tell me how you feel about me?"

Shock registers on her face at his question and he almost hates himself for asking it but then shakes that feeling off. He's asked an honest question. He's hoping she'll answer it. He doesn't need to hope for an honest response because he knows she wouldn't lie to him, but whether she responds at all is the main question burning in his mind.

… … …

She can't believe he's had the balls to ask her that, it's thrown her for a loop. She doesn't want to lie, she wants to be open and truthful but she doesn't want to lose him from her life. She bites her lip as she thinks about how to answer. Whatever she says, there's no going back. If she lies and says she feels nothing, their relationship will never be the same again. But if she tells the truth, she's opening herself up to more hurt at his hand, and she's not sure her heart can take it.

"Do you want a drink?" he asks and she looks at him, bewildered. "I'm not giving you an out, just to be clear. I'm just giving you a moment to think."

The gesture warms her heart. He's trying, he's really trying. A seed of hope begins to sprout. Maybe he can be what she wants. Maybe this time will be different, maybe now is finally the right time. She watches as he pulls a bottle of red wine from a cabinet, admiring his form in his casual attire, something she rarely sees but is officially very fond of.

He hands her a glass and she watches as he pours, the ruby liquid sloshing enticingly. Maybe this is worth something, maybe it can be something. Her mind briefly flashes on the potential for nights at home just like this; sharing a bottle of wine on the couch, in their casual clothes, comfortable together in the apartment.

"There's a chance that I'm… pushing you away," she says slowly, taking a sip of her wine before continuing. "I'm afraid of getting hurt again, but it's not fair on you for me to assume this will be the same as it's been before." She meets his gaze and he nods, waiting for her to go on. She rolls her eyes inwardly, of course this is the one time he doesn't want to jump in. "What are you expecting from me?"

"I told you. I want you to tell me how you feel."

"I thought that's what I was doing," she replies with a wry smile.

"Nice try, Paulsen."

"You haven't exactly told me how you feel," she fires back at him, on the defensive under his scrutiny.

"You want to know?" He watches her and seems to be waiting for her acknowledgement before continuing, and when she nods yes, he takes a deep breath. "I'm in love with you. Fully, completely, head over heels, can't eat, can't sleep kind of love. I have been for a long time, but I just haven't been able to admit to myself, let alone to you." He shifts from the armchair, moving to the couch to sit next to her and take her hand.

"Harvey—"

"Let me finish?" he asks gently, his earnest eyes on her. "I've made a fucking mess of everything. I've taken all the wrong turns, made all the wrong choices and I've hurt you more times than you should ever have had to put up with. But I'm here now. And I want everything with you."

"Everything?" She tries to blink back the tears she can feel forming, but she knows her eyes are shining in that way they do right before she cries, and that's not the way she wants this to go. She needs a chance to tell her side of things.

"Everything." His eyes are shining too.

"I say yes, Harvey. Yes to everything." She leans in and their lips meet, gently at first, hesitantly, before she runs her tongue along his lip and he opens his mouth to her, deepening the kiss.

It's a kiss for the ages, a kiss that fairy tales are made of, a kiss that every person hopes to have. It's the kiss of their lives, the kiss to set their future by, the kiss that promises them everything they've ever wanted. And when they part, breathing heavily, hearts racing, they smile and nothing more needs to be said.

Apart from one last thing.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Donna."

"Happy Valentines Day, Harvey."

And there's that. Hope you enjoyed!