Carebearmaxi, Suitor16, quintacastro, cadalways, specterbowie, donnaspecter, N, Dodo, Jablonaaa, LoverandaFighter, HerOwnWay, Meeshmo, Milbuscus, EmMNarang2513, tvseriesislife and guests thank you so much for your reviews! I love reading your thoughts on the story. So here's the next chapter (next one will be the last 😱) I really hope you like it and maybe leave a review? Xx

Chapter 8: Gordon

She turns to her right side, bringing her right arm up under her head as she watches him. His arms folded under his head as he's lying on his back. The duvet pulled to his middle. She laughs as he comes up with another variant of his own name.

"Hartley," he mumbles staring to the ceiling, "Or Harriet?" he turns his head to the left, but she shakes her head. "Harriet is the name I used if I went out with Rachel for drinks."

"Harriet?" he repeats.

"Yeah, I'd be Harriet Specter and she would pretend to be Michelle Ross," she tells him her fingers tapping the matrass, "so no Harriet."

"Regina?" he smirks at her and she closes her eyes, biting her tongue to stop herself from laughing once more. "Marcia? Jamie?" he continues before he gasps as if he's found the perfect name. "Or.. or.. Gordiana After.."

"Gordon?" she sees him nod . "Did Marcus tell you about him?" she looks down, feeling bad for not even thinking about this. He shakes his head, "No.. but he passed away didn't he?" he swallows looking at her, somehow holding onto a last strand of hope. That as long as it's not said, it's not real.

"Yes, a heart attack."

She listens to him swallow heavily, sees how his eyes close and she knows that by the way his jaw clenches he's trying to stop the tears. "Tomorrow is actually the anniversary of his death," her words replaced by a soft sob coming from the man next to her and it pains her to see how he has to relive this loss all over again.

She remembers how he didn't let anyone comfort him all those years ago. How she'd brought him the news, but he only nodded turning away from her. Never allowing her to see him grieve. This time it was different. His eyes still closed, a few tears rolled down his cheeks.

She moves closer, her hand brushing against his cheek. Wiping away the tears with her thumb and index finger. Letting her head rest on his chest, she wraps her arm around him as she tells him how proud his father was of him.

He swallows ones more, brushing his own hand over his face before he removes his left arm from under his head, wrapping it around her as they continue to hold the other in silence.

.

She lets out a yawn as she walks towards the kitchen. It was a very emotional night for both of them, yet she hasn't slept that good since ages. In his arms, she'd finally felt safe again, but she's still tired non the less. Her eyes looking down at the cause of that, her hand running over her belly.

She spots him on the couch, reading the newspaper and for a second it's like he's never left. The same couch, the same position, the same way the morning sun hits his frame, the same voice, but not the same man. Not really.

"Harvey," she asks her hands already reaching for a cup from one of the cabinets. He turns around at the sound of her voice, his eyes meeting hers before she can continue her question. "Do you want a cup of coffee?" she asks, her eyes still locked with his. "Yes, please," he nods before looking to his newspaper again.

"With vanilla."

The words resonate inside her head. The cup she was holding slipping from her hands to the floor. Falling into a hundred pieces, just like her heart did when she heard about the accident all those months ago. His head pops up at the sound of the porcelain hitting the ground. "Donna?" he exclaims, "everything okay?" he adds walking over to the kitchen.

He sees her stare at the pieces of the cup, her bare feet between them. "Stand still," he tells her kneeling down and removing the sharp pieces around her. He looks up at her, still a shocked look on her face. He gets back up on his feet, "Donna," he mumbles, "is everything okay?"

"Your... Your coffee."

"Hey.. It's okay.. We'll just get another cup," he reassures her. His hands hooking around her elbows. "It's just a cup, it's no big deal."

"Your coffee..," she mumbles again, her eyes now fixated on him, "what did you say you want?" just making sure she actually heard him say those words. He looks at her confused, "vanilla," his words now causing her to cover her mouth with her hand. Masking a nervous laugh.

He frowns at her reaction, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she smiles her hand reaching for a new cup and the vanilla, not sure if she has to tell him or not. But she now knows that deep down, deep down her Harvey is still there. Somewhere buried deep inside him, is the man that does remember her.

.

Her back is pressed against the red faux leather chair of the train, her head resting against the window as she takes in the changing landscape. She's only been there two times, the funeral and last year. When he asked her to come along.

She lets out a sigh as she sees him sitting in the same position as minutes ago. His mind clearly trying to catch up with everything. "Harvey, are you okay?" Her voice making him snap out of his thoughts and he looks down. She expects him to ask questions about his father she doesn't really want to answer. How often did he see his father when he was still alive? Did he visit his father's grave often?

But the question on his mind is something else entirely. "What was wrong with my coffee this morning?"

"Nothing," she leans forward, "nothing at all. You started drinking your coffee with vanilla because of me, that's all," she smiles. Staring at her, his mind goes on overdrive. "You hadn't made coffee with vanilla for me before this morning right?"

Donna moves back against the bench. "No, I didn't," she looks away, her head popping up as realization finally hits her. "OMG I didn't," she leans forward, her hands on his knees.

"And you're absolutely sure you made me drink it?" he ask levelling his head with hers. She frantically nods her head, "first day I started working for you. I uhm… I was waiting for you and I had this cup of coffee. I handed it to you, told you it had vanilla in it and you laughed at me," she pauses for a second before she impersonates his voice. "For the record I don't take my coffee with vanilla," she tells him the words he'd said to her back then. "But you did, since that day you did."

"So I –"

"You.. you remembered something," she blurts out, feeling his hands cup her face. The rest of her sentence remains unspoken as her lips slowly part. His nose barely brushing against hers, his excitement about remembering something not making him think clearly at the moment. "I'm sorry," he pulls back dropping his hands. She just smiles at him, swallowing, pretending this didn't just break her heart all over again. "You remembered," she lets her head rest against the window again.

"I wish I remembered more," he mirrors her position, burying his hands in the pockets of his coat. Letting his hands free near her proves to be difficult. His instinct taking over some times and it's not that he doesn't find her attractive because he does. It's not that he wouldn't want to kiss her either, because he would. He just doesn't want to give her any falls hope.

.

It hits him seeing the grave in front of him now. How at first he just didn't want to hear it for it to turn real, seeing the stone was that final thing that made it real. He feels his throat dry, his stomach turn as he wonders what the last conversation with his father could have been. Squatting, his fingers trace the engraved letters of the Belgium bluestone.

Gordon Specter.

Loving Father

He freezes when her hand slips over his shoulder. Squeezing his already tensed muscles, before he hears her whisper his name. Looking up to her over his right shoulder he gets back on his feet. Watching her bring her bag to the front as she slowly opens it, handing him two glasses and a bottle of scotch.

"You'd.. uhm.. " she brings her bag on her arm again, "you'd place the glasses on top of it and pour two drinks. Drinking one yourself and the other.. the other was for him."

He swallows, doing exactly as she told him. With the small glass in his left hand he steps back next to her. The back of his hand brushing past hers, before she holds it, their digits intertwining. "Thank you."

.

"Do you mind celebrating him today?" She closes the door of the fridge, turning to face him. Not sure what to say, because he'd never really done that. At least not to her knowledge or with her. He notices by the way she remains silent that this request was new. That he didn't do these kind of things before and he wonders if he's gone softer. If this amnesia thing changed him much personality wise.

"Nothing big," he leans against the counter. His arms folded over his chest, but his shoulders raised quickly. His way of acknowledging that he knows this is something new. "Thought I could make his favourite dinner and maybe listen to one of his records?" He's begging her.

"Of course," she smiles stepping closer, placing her hand on top of his. "Just tell me what to do."

Her words lifting a weight from his shoulders he can only assume being related to a feeling of guilt. About his father. Letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, his arms unfold and wrap around her shoulder in a blink of an eye. His lips pressing a kiss on the top of her head. "Could you put on your favourite record?" his breath tickling her skin.

He can hear her swallow as she nods, pulling away from his embrace and he realizes what he'd just done. It wasn't something he planned to do. It must have been an instinctive thing. His body reacting on her presence. Brushing his hand through his hair he sighs.

The excuses his mind kept telling him these past months about how it wouldn't be fair to her not even making sense anymore. How could they if being around her felt so good?

He washes his hands, pulling out two aprons and he helps her put one on. Her pregnant body preventing her from being able to wear hers, he finds himself dressed in a soft pink apron with cupcakes on it that's just a tad too small for him, but if it makes her laugh he'll wear it proudly.

"We're making pasta," he tells her before she can even ask, but he knows that was the question as he saw her looking at the ingredients. "Do we have a pasta machine?" Her mouth drops a little, before she presses her jaws together. Giving him an apologetic look, "I might have broken that. Sorry."

"No problem, will do it how dad taught me then."

.

She's standing next to him, working side by side in perfect synchronisation, like the team they always were. Her cutting the vegetables while he's working on the mixture of flour and eggs. Her eyes drifting off to the movements his muscular hands are making. She swallows, pushing back the memories of the last time his hands touched her like that.

He feels her eyes burning his skin. She's looking at him and he knows it, his smirk smile appearing as his hands move in a slower pace resulting in her breaking her gaze on him. He glances to the right, seeing her focus on the vegetables. A strand of hair hanging in front of her eyes, he sees her lips stick out, her breath lifting the auburn locks slightly until they fall down again.

He quickly brushes his hand past the apron before his fingers scrape over her cheek, bringing the loose curls behind her hair. Her eyes closing fleetingly, as she shivers under his touch. "Thank you," her eyes still on the cutting board in front of her. Afraid to look at him, she continues with the task at hand. Realising he does the same as she hears the sound of running water hitting the sink, she promptly puts her knife down. Lifting the cutting board in one go before she disposes the diced items in the pan he's stirring now.

She turns around quickly again, her hand around the rolling pin before he can grab the item. Not sure she'd be able to handle seeing him mould something else than her right now. She's knows she's practically attacking the pasta dough, but it's the only way to get her bottled up frustrations out of her.

Her breathing gives away how she's struggling, that and the way her arms are tensed making robotic like movements. He lets go of the wooden spoon, stepping up behind her his fingers slide over her bare arms until his hands cover hers. "Harvey," she freezes on the spot, her eyes closing.

"Softer, just follow my lead." His words making her body melt against his as he moves their hands over the dough. Her eyes still closed she focuses on his voice, the way his five o'clock shadow brushes her cheek. Upon hearing him whisper 'perfect' she absentmindedly lets her head fall back against his shoulder. The warmth of his breath caressing her collarbone.

"I.." he whispers. She's waiting for his lips to be pressed against her freckly skin, he's waiting for her to take his hands and wrap them around her. Neither of them taking that first step. "I.." love you, he closes his eyes surprised by his own thoughts. "I should look at the sauce," his voice already sounding distant as he moves to the other end of the kitchen.

She sighs.

.

It's not quiet over dinner. Stories about Gordon being exchanged, she pretends to hear them for the first time and he listens eagerly to the stories she's telling him. Their mouths never stopping out of the fear their hands or bodies will take over. They're pretending like nothing has happened and he can't help but wonder how often they've done this in all those years before they'd gotten together.

Pretending, he repeats the word in his head. Now not even sure if they're pretending nothing happened, ignoring the moment in the kitchen. Or if they're pretending to be the way they used to be, something they're not anymore?

But why does being near her feel so good then?

"Let me clear this," she smiles, taking the plates from his hand as she walks over to the kitchen. The soft sounds of his father playing in the background coming to a halt and Harvey walks over to the record player.. Searching through the records for something else. Something to dance on, he shakes his head pushing away the thought as he glances to his left again. Observing her from a distance.

She's so beautiful.

Not being able to find the record he's looking for, he flips the orange record between his fingers. Pulling it out of the cover before he switches it with the record still on the player. The room around them filling with the familiar sounds of 'Let's get it on'.

"Seriously?" Donna mocks him, her eyebrows raised as she walks over to him. "Marvin Gaye?" she adds, but he doesn't seem to get what she's referring to. A stupid grin on his face, his shoulders moving up and down as he walks around the couch again towards the record collection. "It's not my fault you scratched my Miles Davis," he counters then.

"What?" she brings her hands to her face, her mouth dropping again and he just stares at her, confused. "The record you scratched with your nail," he scoffs like it's no big deal. It's just a record after all.

The words have barely left his lips as she nearly jumps up from her spot, her arms falling around his neck. His arms instantly wrapping around the small of her back in reflex, his head resting in the crook of her neck. Closing his eyes, he listens to her saying he remembered that too and he takes in that familiar smell again he now knows is her vanilla flavoured shampoo.

His hands simultaneously moving to her waist as her hands move down his arms. Resting on his biceps as she slowly lifts her head, her cheek brushing past his until their eyes lock. Both their chests moving up with every breath they take, their noses nearly touching.

Her head tilts the slightest, her top lip scraping his bottom lip. Her eyes already closing she feels him pronounce her name directly on her lips, but neither of them move.

"Kiss me," she begs him in a whisper.

He swallows, their eyes locking once more. "Donna," he breathes, "you're one of the most amazing –"

"Please?"