The Rivalry

by Spectographer

Donna's a lawyer, engaged to the senator of NY, a man whose long shadow is threatening to swallow her whole. Harvey's a prosecutor on the fast track to becoming the next DA. When they're pitted against each other in court, a rivalry quickly develops between them that's a long time coming. Both are determined to win, but at what cost? AU. Enemies to lovers.

10. The Breaching

I

"To losing." Donna clinks her glass of red against Samantha's bourbon and they both take a long sip.

She can't remember the last time she came out to have a drink on a Friday night. If she's not working late, she and Wes are attending some function or event – benefits, fundraisers, black tie dinners, charity galas. The lifestyle of a politician is a busy one, and there's always something coming up that requires their presence. Tonight is different, though. Wes is off at some political dinner in D.C. with senators and congressmen – talking healthcare reform and environmental concerns, preparing for debate and fundraisers before the Preliminary Election hits in a few months and campaigns begin full-force. If all goes well, Weston Harding will be the next Democratic candidate for President of the United States.

And it's becoming clearer and clearer by the day that all will go well.

Weston Harding, President of the United States. Donna runs those words through her head, trying to take in the enormity of it, how life as she knows it will cease to exist if this man gets elected, because everything, every single part of her life, everything she's worked for, even her damn job title, will have changed by then.

The thought makes her feel sick. It makes her feel insignificant, and small, like what little control she has over her own fate is diminishing before her eyes. And with each passing day, the stakes just keep getting higher and higher.

Which is why she needs this. To have a night to herself. A chance to decompress and release all the pent-up anxiety and fear and rage that's been simmering inside her for so long now. A night to lose herself in a haze of conversation and laughter and booze and for everything else to just melt away.

Unfortunately, her mind keeps going back to Harvey and their text exchange earlier. At how playful and flirtatious it was, how their banter felt effortless and natural. When was the last time she felt that with a man? Like she wasn't working a room or playing a part, like there were no expectations or pressure to be anything other than who she is? If she really thinks about it, she can't remember. Maybe never. And that realization causes an unexpected ache in her chest that she can't quite decipher.

"I do have an appreciation for losing every once in a while," Donna says, shaking off the memory of Harvey's dark stare as she takes another sip of her drink. "Gives me that real human reaction I feel is missing on a day-to-day basis. Without losing, I wouldn't know how to empathize anymore. It keeps me humble."

Samantha looks at her over the rim of her glass, arching an eyebrow. "You? Humble?"

"I'm extremely humble."

Rachel snorts a laugh into her cocktail glass, clearly already a bit tipsy. Her face is flushed, and she's grinning from ear to ear. Donna hadn't intended to invite her along with them, but when Rachel overheard them chatting outside Donna's office earlier, she insisted. She said she could use the distraction, and Donna couldn't exactly deny that. This case has been weighing on all of them, and as Donna's associate, Rachel's the one who's suffered the brunt of the workload. She's been in trial prep mode for weeks, and it's good for her to have the evening off.

Still, Donna had hoped for a quiet evening alone with just Samantha, a chance to unburden herself of the feelings she can't quite acknowledge but desperately needs to express, to get them out in the open and examine them more closely. Even now, in a booth in bar Soho with people all around them, the thought of actually saying the words makes her stomach tense, and she feels a flicker of anxiety.

But she reminds herself that she doesn't have to reveal everything. She just has to share something. It can be small. A detail. Something insignificant. Like the fact that Wes is selfish in bed. Or the way that he criticizes her job. Or how when they talk it feels like they're arguing most of the time.

Or, she thinks, glancing out the window at the group of suits walking down the street, the way she can't stop thinking about Harvey. Can't stop texting him for the flimsiest excuses, just to let him know he's on her mind. It's as if she doesn't care anymore about the implications of such contact, because the curiosity is stronger than her caution. And god, Wes would go ballistic if he knew, but she can't seem to bring herself to worry about that as much as she should.

Donna tries to ignore those thoughts and focus on the conversation at hand, tuning back into Rachel's words.

"It's just a motion," Rachel says, laughing. "Harvey's allowed to win some things, right? You'll get him at the trial."

"If we even make it to the courtroom," Donna says, letting out a long sigh. "You should have seen him today. The bastard had this look on his face. Like he'd already won, even though his motion barely holds weight."

"Being able to admit prior bad acts into evidence holds a lot of weight, actually," Samantha says, taking a sip of her drink. "He'll taint the jury with it. We're going to have to rethink our entire strategy."

Donna raises her eyebrows, shooting her a look. "Oh, thank you. Like I needed another issue to add to the list."

"Honestly, we should have seen this coming," Samantha says, shrugging. "We've all been so focused on preparing our key witnesses that it didn't occur to us what other grounds he'd try to introduce the evidence on. And, no offense, but you're clearly off your game, Donna. Normally you're on top of things like this. You always know what everyone's strategy is ahead of time."

It's an obvious dig, but Samantha doesn't sound hostile. Just matter of fact, like she's making a business analysis or debriefing a witness and not openly insulting her. Still, Donna can't help but frown.

"What does that mean, I'm 'off my game'? I'm trying to cover every conceivable avenue, which is a lot to do all by myself. If you'd rather do it, I'll be happy to relinquish the burden, Samantha."

"I'm just saying you've been edgy, that's all. Short-tempered. Distracted. Getting pissed off over nonsense. You're supposed to be the semi-nice, approachable one of us, but you've definitely got the stick up your ass lately."

Rachel bites down on a smile. "The bullpen actually has weather forecasts pinned to all the senior partner's photos on the bulletin board. Donna's been all over the place – hot and sultry today, with a high probability of torrential rain. Hurricane-strength breezes tomorrow. Volcanic eruptions expected throughout the week."

"So not only have I lost my game," Donna says, raising an eyebrow. "Apparently, I'm also a meteorological disaster?"

"What's my forecast?" Samantha asks, sliding closer to Rachel.

"You've been suck on blizzard since I joined the firm. Ominous. Low visibility. Sharp, stinging sleet."

"Fitting." Samantha looks pleased with the comparison, while Donna purses her lips, taking a large gulp of her wine. They're coming at her with playful jabs, but there's a blunt edge to them that makes her feel self-conscious. Because maybe they're right. She can't deny that she's distracted, her sexual frustration running at an all-time high. And that's definitely affecting her mood. It's making her feel tense and irritable and not in control of her own damn body, especially whenever she's around a certain ADA.

"I'll tone it down," Donna says finally. "Starting now. I'm blue skies and a light breeze for the rest of the evening. No dark clouds in sight." She motions the waiter over for another drink. She can already feel the first glass of wine, her blood buzzing in her veins as the warmth spreads through her body. It's making her relax, allowing her to enjoy the moment, and for the first time in weeks, she feels like she can think about something other than work or her volatile relationship.

Rachel's phone chimes with a text. She glances at the screen and then back up at them, smiling hesitantly. "It's Mike Ross. Harvey's second chair..." She trails off, biting her lower lip. "We've been...talking."

Donna looks at her in surprise. "Talking?"

"I know we're on opposing counsels, but he's smart, and he's funny, and we just hit it off. I don't know. I can't really explain it."

Donna and Samantha exchange a glance, sharing the same look of amused interest.

"Well," Donna says slowly, "as your boss, I'm not exactly thrilled that you're fraternizing with the enemy..." She grins, her voice softening. "But as your friend, I think it's great. Just keep it professional in court, okay?"

Samantha shoots Donna a look of mock horror. "Professional in court?"

Donna shrugs. "I never said I lead by example."

Rachel smiles softly, averting her eyes. "He's at The Dead Rabbit with Harvey, celebrating their victory. It's super close by. Only five minutes away by taxi..."

Donna shifts uncomfortably, the mere mention of Harvey's name in a sentence triggering something in her body that's difficult to suppress. The room suddenly feels much warmer, and she crosses her legs, sipping her wine.

"Are you saying we should crash their victory party?" Samantha asks, arching a suggestive eyebrow. "A little post-mortem posturing?"

Rachel turns to Donna. "Do you think...?"

Donna shakes her head. "No, there's a line, and that's on the wrong side of it. If we show up now, it will be catty, overzealous, and entirely too juvenile. We're above that."

Samantha's lips twitch. "Speak for yourself."

"Sam," Donna says in a warning tone, before turning back to Rachel. "Why don't you and Mike meet up later, when it's not such an obvious power play?"

Rachel's face falls slightly, disappointment flickering in her eyes.

Samantha leans forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Come on, Donna. Live a little. When's the last time you did something spontaneous, something just for the hell of it?"

Donna thinks back to the night in Harvey's office, when she kissed him out of nowhere for no apparent reason, just because she wanted to, just because she couldn't stand the thought of not doing it for another second. There was no logic or restraint involved. Her decision to act was barely a decision at all. One moment she was there, looking at him, feeling his solid warmth radiating across the desk as she stared into his dark eyes, her whole body abuzz with nerves. The next moment she was kissing him, wrapping her arms around him, moaning into his mouth, the press of her lips against his the most natural thing in the world.

And that kiss had felt...God, there are no words. But it couldn't happen again. It should never have happened the first time. She knows that. She knew that even as it was happening. Even as their lips met and their tongues collided and her heart pounded against his chest and she surrendered to the heat of his mouth, she knew that it was a mistake. It's dangerous, reckless, everything she shouldn't want...

When she looks up, Samantha's watching her closely, almost as if she can tell what she's thinking about. Rachel's staring down at her hands in her lap, silent and patient, waiting for Donna to make the final call.

Donna sighs, rolling her eyes. Her resistance is all an act now, a token gesture of propriety. "Fine," she says, downing the rest of her wine in one swift gulp. "Fuck it. Let's go."

II

"So," Mike says, setting his beer on the bar and glancing at Harvey. "How does it feel finally scoring one against the legendary Donna Paulsen?"

The bar is loud, a mix of music and voices and laughter filling the air, but Harvey hears his partner just fine. They're at their usual bar, celebrating his win, and he feels damn good. He lifts his glass to his mouth, taking a long swig of whiskey before replying, "She's a lot tougher than I thought she'd be."

"I tried to tell you." Mike takes a sip of his own drink, his face thoughtful. "You think she's going to let this one go?"

"Are you kidding?" Harvey smiles. "She'll be trying to undermine the judge's decision all the way up to the court of appeals if she has to."

"Is there a chance that'll work?"

"Nope. We have all the pieces. And this is a game that Donna just can't win. Wolcott's guilty."

Mike nods and then gives him an appraising look. "You're having fun with this, aren't you?"

Harvey arches his eyebrow and grins. "A little too much."

Mike's phone chimes with a text. He reads the message and laughs softly. "Okay, I've got to take this. Be right back."

Harvey nods in acknowledgment and takes another sip of his drink. Mike is already headed outside the bar, phone against his ear, his brow creased in concentration. Harvey hasn't really spoken to Mike about it, but he knows something is brewing between him and Donna's associate. And judging by the way Mike grins goofily at his phone whenever she texts, it's getting serious fast.

Harvey wonders if Donna knows. Wonders how she feels about it. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, his finger resting on the screen. He almost taps out a message, something flirtatious and teasing, to ask her about it, but then stops himself. Too much, he thinks. He shouldn't push, whatever this thing is between them, it's edging closer and closer to...more. Whatever that is. It's making them both careless. Rash. Reckless. Every day that passes, the line grows more and more blurred, harder to see or maintain.

A part of him keeps waiting for her to pull the brake, to stop the text messages and flirtation, to call this shit off. She's the one that's engaged, after all, to a very high profile, very public person. She's the one with everything to lose.

It's not his responsibility to be the sensible one.

Still, he tells himself he won't be the one to text first tonight, no matter what. Because they both need to just cool off, and maybe when things calm down, she'll come to her senses and they can go back to hating each other again.

So, instead he texts Avery.

Harvey: Tonight?

Avery: Jesus, you're insatiable lately. But sure, why not. Can we make it late? I had three traumas in a row today and at least a dozen patients left to chart.

Harvey looks at his watch. It's only seven p.m. That'll give him time to finish his drink and maybe play a round of pool with Mike before heading home. He's got no reason to rush. He taps out his reply.

Harvey: Okay. I'll be home around 10. Just let yourself in.

He leans against the bar and scans the room. It's still fairly empty, the place slowly filling up with regulars. He catches the bartender's eye and lifts his empty glass. A minute later, he has a fresh whiskey in front of him.

"Sorry about that," Mike says as he settles back on his stool, tucking his phone into his pocket. "Turns out, Rachel's a few blocks away. I told her she could join us. You cool with that?"

"Fine," Harvey replies with a shrug. "But she's buying the next round."

"Deal."

A few minutes later, the door to the bar opens, and in walks Rachel. She spots them and makes her way over, a warm smile on her face. But Harvey's attention is immediately diverted to the two other women who have followed her in. Samantha and Donna.

"You've got to be kidding me," Harvey mutters. "Really?"

Mike glances over his shoulder, and his whole face lights up. Donna smiles and shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. Harvey takes a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving Donna's. She raises an eyebrow as she approaches him, the corners of her mouth curling up into an amused smirk.

He can tell from the soft blush of her cheeks and the glint in her eyes that she's had a drink already, maybe two, and it makes him even less sure of the path he's taking. She looks sinfully good, still in her black dress from this morning, the swell of her breasts highlighted by the low-cut fabric. He lifts his glass and takes another swallow of whiskey, letting the heat spread down his throat.

"Couldn't help yourselves, could you?" Harvey says when they reach them, casting a brief glance in Samantha's direction.

Rachel bites her bottom lip. "Guess our professionalism isn't as well-honed as we thought."

Mike grins. "I'm not exactly torn up about it."

Donna's eyes meet Harvey's, warm and teasing. Her smile never wavers as she slides up next to him, until she's directly beside his stool, leaning slightly back against the bar. And god, he wishes he didn't think she was so fucking beautiful. Wishes he didn't notice every detail of her face – the subtle freckles across her nose, the flecks of green in her hazel eyes, the way she bites down on the corner of her lip, like she's resisting something even now.

"Congratulations," she says softly, her eyes burning into his. "I guess you're not so bad at this prosecutor thing."

He gives her a slow, lazy grin. "Can I get that in writing?"

"Buy me a drink, and I'll think about it."

"Pretty sure I could buy you ten drinks and it'd still be a no."

She shrugs. "Then there's your answer." She glances towards the bartender, tilting her chin slightly. "Scotch okay?" she asks Samantha, who nods, and as she places her drink order, Harvey takes the moment to breathe, easing up on his resistance to this entire interaction, reminding himself that he can do this. He can have a drink with Donna in a crowded bar and hold a normal conversation and feel absolutely nothing for her other than indifference.

Or annoyance.

Indifference and annoyance.

He can.

When Donna turns back to face him, her eyes meet his and lock. An alarm bell sounds somewhere deep in the back of his head, but he ignores it. All he can focus on right now is how she's looking at him. Soft, alluring, tempting. Her gaze burns hotter than it should, and he doesn't flinch away. He returns it. After a long, lingering moment, he smiles, sharp and sultry.

"So," he says, setting down his glass and moving slightly closer to her, so that their thighs are almost touching. "What's the real reason you're here? Can't get enough of me?"

She raises an eyebrow, something coquettish in her expression. She's either flirting or gearing up for an attack, and he can't be sure which one it is. Likely both, knowing her. She tilts her head to the side, thoughtfully, letting out a soft hum.

"That depends. When you say 'can't get enough', what part of you are you referring to? Your insufferable personality or your perpetually breaching Orca?"

"I thought we've moved past the whale jokes. Although I appreciate how you cling to outdated associations when it comes to me. It's endearing."

Her lips quirk up at the corners. "You're just mad because I'm not here to free Willy."

"Since when am I a whale in captivity?"

"Always, where I'm concerned."

His lips twitch. "So now I'm your prisoner?"

Her smile fades as her gaze flickers down to his mouth and then back up to his eyes. "Just as much as I'm yours."

There's a quiet admission in her voice, an intimacy in her tone, that's startling in its transparency. Suddenly, she's not joking or flirting or making snarky comments. Her features have relaxed into something else, reminding him of that moment in his office, right before she kissed him. And it's both jarring and incongruent to the tenor of their conversation, not to mention the fact that they're currently surrounded by people at this bar.

As if she can hear his thoughts, she takes a step back, turning her attention towards Samantha and Rachel, who have started chatting near the other end of the bar. And just like that, she's retreating, drawing away from him as quickly as she came, abandoning the moment as casually as if she's already grown bored with him.

Harvey turns back towards the bar, gripping his glass tightly in his hand. He lifts it, finishing off his second whiskey in one gulp. The sounds of the room fill his ears, a low hum with flashes of laughter and conversation. Distantly, he's aware that Mike is talking next to him, but he's not sure what he's saying. Doesn't really care, either.

It's too loud here. He's agitated. Itchy. He sets his glass down on the bar, glancing at his watch, and then back at Mike.

"Want to hit a round of pool?" Harvey asks. "Loser buys the next round."

"Sure," Mike says. "But let's do teams. Even up the odds a little bit. Make things interesting. Maybe you and Donna can be on the same side for once, fix all this hostility between you two."

He says it with a shit-eating grin, as if the idea is ludicrous, that the mere possibility of Harvey and Donna somehow aligning together in even the smallest of ways is inconceivable. That there's so much animosity between them it couldn't ever resolve into anything amicable, no matter the circumstances. Which, to be fair, is generally true, Harvey thinks. Except for those brief moments of absolute surrender where none of it seems to matter anymore and all he can think about is kissing her. And, well, other things. Lots of other things. Like every single thing he would do to her body if he had the chance.

"You in?" Mike asks, tilting his head to the side in question, clearly waiting for Harvey's response. He's half-expecting Harvey to push back.

"Yeah," Harvey says, shooting him a defiant look. "I'm in."

III

Even though she agreed to play, Donna isn't entirely sure how she ended up with a pool cue in her hand, lining up her shot against Mike and Samantha – Rachel standing just slightly behind them, too tipsy to hold a stick right now and more amused in spectating – and across from none other than Harvey Specter himself, whose eyes are trained on her with incredible focus as she bends over the table to shoot.

She's never really played pool before, not unless you count a few drunken games in college. But she said yes anyway, because "yes" seems to be her default reaction every time Harvey is around. Even when she tells herself no, the line fades away. She can't see it, can't touch it. All she can think about is what would happen if she just stopped fighting so much. If she stopped caring about what this means or what people might think or how incredibly disastrous this could all go down if she allows anything substantial to come out of it.

The possibilities are endless. But she pushes them all out of her mind, because even if she feels incredibly reckless tonight, she's not. Not exactly. Her actions aren't without purpose or intent. The risk/reward calculus is way too high for her to not protect herself. At least, that's what she tells herself. Still, that logic sounds weak even to her own ears, and now here she is, bent over the table while Harvey stares unabashedly at her breasts, and she wants so much for him to just touch her already, even if all it is is a soft, furtive brush of their fingers or a gentle graze of their hips as he passes by her.

She pulls back the pool cue aimlessly and strikes. The balls are scattered across the table, bouncing and rolling and clashing. She can't tell what happened or even if anything did. Her shot seemed sound, or at least it felt that way in the moment, before she started actually assessing it. A ball rolls into a side pocket, and she's pretty sure that means something, but when she looks excitedly up at Harvey for confirmation, his jaw is clenched tight, and she can tell by the narrowing of his eyes that she did something wrong.

"Damn," Samantha mutters.

"What? What'd I do?" Donna straightens up, looking back and forth between Mike and Samantha.

They exchange a brief look before Mike says gently, "Um, you sunk the 8-ball."

"Meaning?"

"Means we win." Samantha pats her shoulder reassuringly. "It was a good effort, at least. What the hell was that? Did you even aim?"

Donna glances over at Harvey, whose whole face is fixed into an inscrutable mask of frustration. He looks about ready to toss the pool cue across the bar and storm out of here.

Mike grins at him. "C'mon loser, you owe us a round of drinks."

"I want a rematch." He grabs the edge of the pool table so tightly his knuckles are white. "We're playing again."

Samantha rolls her eyes. "Harvey, be a good sport. There's no point in losing twice."

"Don't need your commentary." He nods to Mike. "Rack 'em up."

Mike purses his lips to hide a smile as he starts gathering the balls at the center of the table, lining up the setup as he positions them in the plastic triangle. Rachel moves closer, looking down at the layout of the table and then over at Donna. "The object of this game is to use that stick," she taps the pool cue in Donna's hand, "to hit the white ball into those multicolored balls, until only one is left."

"I get the gist of it." Donna shoots her an annoyed glance.

Harvey hands Donna a fresh glass of wine. "You gotta do better than that last shot," he tells her. "That was too fucking messy."

Donna raises her eyebrow, unimpressed. She snatches the glass from his hand, spilling a bit of the wine on her fingers. He's crowding her space again, like he always does, seemingly unaware of the effect his closeness has on her. Before the kiss, this closeness was bearable. Now it's just that much more tortuous.

"Really?" Donna deadpans. "I was aiming for sloppy."

"More like a trainwreck."

"And here I was, thinking we'd become so much closer in our shared humiliation over the course of this evening."

"You mean, in my humiliation over having to endure you and your ineptitude."

"Wow," Donna says, shaking her head and laughing. "You really have the worst personality of any human being I've ever known. Is it physically impossible for you not be an asshole for just a minute of your life?"

"If it's physically possible for you not be so damn bad at this, I might actually consider it."

"Well, I know you're an expert, Harvey," she says, stepping closer to him. "Care to offer some constructive criticism? We're supposed to be a team, after all."

"Harvey? Constructive?" Mike snorts. "It's all arrogance and ego, I'm afraid."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Samantha mutters under her breath.

Donna looks expectantly up at Harvey, holding his gaze as he stares down at her. She watches him struggle internally, trying to find some middle ground between being a smug asshole and offering useful advice. After a beat, he nods, as if he's just come to a decision, and then points towards the table. "Watch the way I line up my shot."

He slides behind her and sets his glass of whiskey down on a nearby table, lining up his shot on the white ball, which is now at the center of the table, the colored balls neatly stacked into their triangular formation. Harvey bends over slightly, positioning himself over the pool stick, taking his time. Donna can't help but let her gaze linger on the broad expanse of his back, the way his shirt stretches taut across his shoulders with the movement. She watches the flex of muscle as he pulls back the cue, the brief stillness before he strikes – and then the sharp crack that echoes through the bar as ball meets ball.

The colored balls are scattered across the table now. A blue one rolls into a corner pocket, followed by a striped blue and then a red. Samantha shakes her head and grabs her drink, moving over to stand next to Mike, while Rachel claps enthusiastically, cheering Harvey on.

"See?" Harvey says, as he makes his way around the table to line up his next shot. "Nothing messy. Clean."

He looks up and catches her eye. The corner of his mouth turns up slightly. His expression is a combination of amused and suggestive. It makes her feel a little breathless.

"Oh," she says, lifting her chin in mock realization. "I see. I actually have to aim for something now?" She taps the tip of her pool stick thoughtfully. "Damn."

"Damn is right." His grin widens, but his eyes remain intent and focused. He bends down and aims his stick, pulling it back in slow, even movements before he strikes. A green ball rolls into the center pocket. Another follows, and then another. His shots are methodical, precise, one after the next. And as he rounds the table, Donna finds herself moving in tandem with him, anticipating where he will line up next. Her heart flutters in her chest, even though she knows he's just being a damn showoff and trying to prove a point. But, it's a point that he has definitely made, and she can't even bring herself to be irritated at him for it. She's too busy watching the way his body moves. He looks relaxed and in his element, the collar of his shirt slightly unbuttoned now, tie loose, sleeves rolled up to his elbow.

Mike laughs. "Damn, Harvey. I didn't realize you'd turn the game into a one man show."

Harvey grins. "You asked for a lesson, and that's what I'm giving you."

He looks at Donna and motions to the table. "Your turn."

She doesn't argue, just bends over, leans the pool cue into position, aiming at a decently positioned orange ball. She pulls her arm back slightly and strikes, hard and fast. The ball goes sailing across the table and hits the side rail. The cue ball follows after it, rolling straight into the center pocket. She glances up to find Harvey shaking his head, a mixture of disbelief and amusement in his expression.

"Not even gonna try to defend yourself?" he asks.

"Wouldn't be worth your time or mine."

His lips twitch. He steps closer to her, his chest brushing lightly against her arm. "C'mon, let me show you."

"It's all right," Donna says quickly. "It's Mike's turn anyway." She passes the pool cue over to Mike and steps aside. Harvey looks at her, his jaw is set, and his eyes are darker than usual. He runs his hand through his hair, looking agitated, and turns away from her.

Mike and Samantha take turns at the table, while Harvey continues to hover nearby, watching Donna with a careful gaze, his brow furrowed like he's deep in thought. After a minute, she turns to look at him and smiles.

"What?" she says softly. "Something on your mind?"

"Nah." He takes another sip of his whiskey.

She narrows her eyes slightly. "Really?"

He shrugs. "Not really, no."

"Well," she says after a moment, tilting her head to the side. "You just seem a little tense, that's all." She's teasing him again, baiting him to get more out of him, and she can see it working as he arches his eyebrow and gives her a look that could burn down buildings. She returns his gaze unflinchingly, until she's aware of someone nudging her shoulder.

She glances over to find Samantha motioning toward the table. "Your shot."

She moves over and sets up her shot. Her hands are a little shaky. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Harvey moving closer, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of her back.

"Like this," he murmurs, his voice a warm caress on the side of her neck. He steps in behind her then, chest pressing flush against her back, and guides her arms into position with careful hands. His body is a solid line of heat against hers, the clean scent of his cologne surrounding her, and for a dizzying moment all she can focus on is the beat of his heart against her shoulder blade, the rise and fall of his chest with each measured breath. It feels so intimate, so close to something they should not be doing. Her throat constricts slightly. Her cheeks flush, heat rushing through her. She can feel her stomach clenching and a sudden throb between her thighs. She has to do something before she completely loses control. She moves a half step forward, away from him.

He glances up, his eyes dark and serious. "Relax," he says gently, his fingers brushing against hers. "Don't grip the cue so tight."

She loosens her fingers a fraction, and he slides one hand over the top of hers. She stares down at his fingers as he positions her, feeling the gentle pressure of his fingertips, the soft pads of his palm as he smooths over hers, his body leaning slightly into hers again. And god, she can't help but press back against him, wanting to feel all of him, even though she knows she shouldn't. But this is her breaking point. She has no restraint left. All she can focus on is the sensation of him touching her, the smell of whiskey and his cologne filling her head. She leans in even closer, her ass rubbing lightly against the front of his pants, and she feels it, the press of something hard against her, the sharp intake of breath from him at the contact.

"Donna..."

It's just a breath, soft and ragged and filled with warning, but she ignores it, watching the muscles of his neck flex with effort as he fights to maintain his self-control, to stay perfectly still behind her, but his grip on the cue tightens, his knuckles white.

"Relax," she tells him. "Don't grip the cue so tight."

A small laugh escapes his throat, rough and almost desperate, like a last ditch effort to ease the tension. "Just take the damn shot."

Donna exhales shakily, shifting her weight forward as she readjusts her stance. Harvey moves with her, his other hand coming to rest lightly on her hip, steadying her or maybe trying to keep her from rubbing up against him again. It's such a small gesture, barely a touch, really, and yet it's enough to make heat pool low in her belly. She squeezes her eyes shut, forcing herself to concentrate. She opens them again and glances back down at the table, at the ball in front of them, her body angled and aligned for the shot.

Harvey slides his hand across the front of her hipbone. His fingers splay outward, curling slightly around her side. Her body reacts almost instinctively to his touch, hips pushing back into his crotch again, eliciting a soft groan from Harvey that sends another sharp wave of arousal coursing through her. She casts a furtive glance towards Mike and Samantha. They're not even looking their way anymore, both of them leaning over the edge of the table now, talking quietly about something. Rachel has wandered over to the jukebox, too inebriated to notice what's going on, singing softly to herself as she flips through the selections.

Harvey leans over, his mouth pressed to her ear, whispering, "I'm going to need you to get your head out of the gutter and hit that damn ball, or we're never going to win."

She glances over at him. He's smirking at her, but she can tell he's on the edge of control and not quite as relaxed as he appears to be. He lifts an eyebrow in challenge.

She turns back to the table and draws the cue back, the stick steady in her grip, and aims it at the edge of the white ball. She strikes. The ball rolls across the table, crashing into a stripe, which careens into the other solid balls, knocking two of them into pockets.

She looks at Harvey and smiles. He nods in approval, his mouth twitching at the edges as he tries to contain a grin.

"See? Not so bad."

He stays pressed against her for a beat longer before retreating. Donna lets out a slow breath, hoping her face doesn't betray just how turned on she is right now. She watches Harvey for a moment, his posture tense now, his jaw clenched as he takes another sip of whiskey, his eyes still focused on the pool table in front of him.

"Think you can handle a couple more like that?" he asks.

Donna looks back down at the table, examining the layout, her brow furrowing in concentration as she assesses her options. There's another solid directly across from where she stands, just off the edge of one of the rails, the angle tricky, the ball slightly obscured.

She aims. Hits. The cue ball shoots straight, bouncing off the rails in a smooth arc. The colored ball ricochets into one of its own, hitting the very edge of the side pocket before rolling away. She blows out a breath.

"Close," Harvey says. His eyes linger on her a moment, before he glances towards Mike. "You're up."

Donna takes a step back, retreating into the background, needing a minute to calm herself down. Her whole body is buzzing and warm and she can't even look at Harvey without feeling that desperate ache between her legs. The bar is hot and crowded now, too many bodies packed into too small a space, and she needs air.

Harvey catches her arm as she moves to walk past him.

"Hey," he says softly, leaning closer so she can hear him above the noise. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine." She glances up and meets his eyes, smiling briefly. "I'm just...going to check out the patio, cool off a bit. I'll be right back."

He nods, his fingers loosening on her elbow before releasing her entirely. She walks away, making a beeline straight for the door at the far side of the room. She steps outside and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.

The patio is quiet and empty. A lone couple sits near the far side, sharing a cigarette, their hands entwined as they talk in low voices. She walks towards the opposite side and settles in a corner table, away from the light and the smoke and the people. There's a faint chill in the air that she's thankful for. She runs her hand through her hair, fingers massaging her scalp as she leans her head back, the tension starting to dissipate. She watches the lights of the city twinkle against the night sky, her head spinning a little from the wine, from Harvey, from all of it.

After a moment, she glances up as a figure emerges from the doorway. She's not surprised when she sees it's him, looking just as handsome in the soft glow of the patio light, his expression serious and intent as he closes the distance between them.

He nods at the table, motioning towards the chair. She nods. He takes a seat next to her, stretching his long legs out in front of him. The table between them is small enough that his knees are pressed lightly against the outside of her thigh. He's not even looking at her, his eyes focused on some far point in the distance, his mind clearly preoccupied by something. But he's still sitting there with her, in this secluded space, the sounds of the city surrounding them.

And it's so different from the times before, so unlike their usual heated exchanges. It's softer, more contemplative. She's not sure how long they stay like that, just the two of them in silence, before he finally looks up, catching her eye. His expression is soft, open.

"I'm sorry."

Her mouth turns down into a slight frown as she regards him thoughtfully, a little confused. "For what?"

His hand flexes at his side as if he's gearing himself up to say something he's not quite sure he's ready to say. He runs a hand through his hair before turning his gaze back on her, his expression serious. "For kissing you."

"I don't know if you noticed, but I kissed you back," she reminds him softly. "And then I initiated round two."

The corner of his mouth turns up briefly, before settling back into a thin line. He stares out at the cityscape, the distant honking of cars, the hum of the surrounding neighborhood. He leans back in the chair and takes a deep breath. She can tell he wants to say something. Maybe even needs to.

"Yeah, but..." He glances down at his lap. "You're engaged."

"I know," she says after a beat, her voice barely above a whisper. The admission sounds weak, and she's not sure where else to take it. What else to say. "But that doesn't change what happened," she finishes, hoping he doesn't ask any more questions because she has no more answers. She knows he's right, that it's wrong on every level for them to be doing this. She knows whatever this is can't go anywhere. She knows, she does –

She just doesn't want to think about it right now.

Harvey lifts his head, his expression clouded with uncertainty and frustration, a flash of heat behind his eyes. It makes her heart race a little, the way he's looking at her. It's so intense. She swallows, her throat going dry as his gaze travels from her eyes to her mouth to the rest of her, his eyes lingering on the neckline of her dress before settling on the table between them again, like he's struggling to contain himself, fighting to regain some kind of control over the situation.

"I know it seems like I'm the kind of guy who's okay with doing this kind of shit, but...I'm not." He blows out a frustrated breath and then glances at her, his jaw clenched. "This isn't normal for me. And this whole thing..." he gestures vaguely between the two of them.

Donna nods. "I understand."

"No," he says roughly. "I don't think you do. I know you probably think I'm the type to screw around with anyone who crosses my path, and I won't deny that I have no problem hooking up with random women. But you..." He shakes his head. "I'm not a fucking cheater, okay? And I won't do it."

"Neither will I."

"Well then we should stop."

The words hit her in the chest and she has to look away from him to hide how much it affects her. Anger wells up inside of her as she stares at the city in front of them. Anger at herself. Anger at him. At Wes. At everything. The fact that they even have to be having this conversation, that there's no other way this can possibly go.

"Yes. We should." She turns to meet his gaze again. "Although, I'm not the one that's antagonizing this situation. Did you ever even sign it? The agreement we drafted?"

"No."

The word comes out flat. There's no apology behind it, no admission of wrongdoing. Just a statement of fact.

Donna's hands clench into fists in her lap, searching his face. He's staring back at her with an almost defiant look in his eye, but underneath she can sense the sincerity and vulnerability, the hint of a man who is struggling against some kind of inner conflict, wrestling with a part of himself he can't control, or even comprehend.

"You need to."

"I will," he says, the muscles of his jaw clenching tightly.

She stands abruptly, her chair scraping across the ground, her whole body suddenly trembling with a surge of adrenaline. "Right now. Let's go."

"What?"

She turns to face him. "You're going to sign it now, Harvey. How far is the DA's office from here? Two blocks?"

"Donna –"

She walks back over to where he sits. "Get up. Let's go."

His brow furrows in confusion. "Donna –"

"This is done," she cuts in sharply, gesturing between the two of them. "Tonight. Now."

He stares at her for a beat longer. She watches the internal war waging in his brain. It takes all of her self-control not to reach out and shake him. She keeps her face impassive, unyielding, refusing to back down, her expression mirroring the defiant set of his jaw. Finally, he rises slowly, the muscles of his throat working. He holds up a hand, as if he's about to make an objection. She stares at him until the words die on his lips, the fight leaving his body in one slow breath.

"Fine," he says, shaking his head as he follows her off the patio and into the night.

IV

Harvey steps out of the elevator and into the DA's office foyer. It's past 9pm now and the place is deserted. He pauses, taking in the quiet surroundings.

Donna marches past him, heels clicking sharply against the tile. He hurries after her. They walk in silence, weaving through hallways and past closed doors, their footsteps echoing in the emptiness. Donna moves quickly, purposefully, leading the way down the darkened hall toward his office. She looks so angry. He wonders for a moment if this is the end, if she'll just walk out and not speak to him for the rest of the trial, but then she glances over her shoulder and the look on her face is one of resolve, not hatred, so he keeps following, letting her set the pace and the direction of things.

They stop in the middle of Harvey's office. "Okay," he says, taking off his suit jacket, folding it neatly across the back of a chair. "This is a little dramatic, even for you."

She fixes him with a stare. "Just sign the goddamn agreement, Harvey."

He sighs, glancing around at his darkened office, at the files scattered across the desk, the stack of paperwork still sitting unread at the corner, the laptop open, the glow of the screen lighting up his empty workspace. His office is a mess, a disaster of discarded legal briefs and scattered notes, the remnants of the last few weeks' worth of work spread out like the detritus of his life.

"Fine," he relents. He sits down in his chair and pulls open his bottom drawer, searching through the mess of folders until he finds the one he needs.

Donna comes up beside him, her face blank as she watches him take out a pen and flip open the contract, the paper creasing slightly. He stares at the document for a minute, feeling suddenly drained. He lets out a tired sigh and turns his attention back to her. She's still standing in front of him, her eyes trained on his face. She seems calm now, less frantic than before.

"I'll sign it," he tells her. "But I need you to admit it first."

She frowns at him. "Admit what?"

"That you're into me." He raises his eyebrows at her and leans back in his chair. "You're attracted to me. Admit it. Out loud."

Donna glares at him. "I'm not –"

"Then why did you kiss me?" He pushes, not letting her finish the lie.

"Why did you kiss me," she fires back, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "I'm not the one that started this."

"You were the one that flirted with me first, remember?" He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Sliding your goddamn foot up my leg at the deposition. Are you seriously trying to pretend like you didn't instigate that? That you didn't start this whole thing?"

"It's a foot, Harvey!" She throws up her hands, exasperated. "If I would've known you had some weird foot fetish, I would have never –"

"I don't have a foot fetish! Jesus Christ. I just –" He exhales sharply and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I obviously can't hide the fact that I'm into you, with my 'perpetually breaching Orca' as you put it so nicely, and I need to know that I'm not in this alone, okay? So I need you to just admit that you're into me, and then I'll sign the goddamn contract. Deal?"

"No. No deal," she says vehemently, shaking her head. "This is bullshit, Harvey. That's your goddamn contract. You're the one who had to have it and I'm just trying to hold up my end. But you and your raging libido are the ones constantly pushing for more, and it has to stop."

He runs his hand down over his mouth, shaking his head, trying to clear away some of the haze of lust and anger and confusion that clouds his mind. This whole thing is so stupid and so complicated and so fucked up, and he can't figure out why they keep going back and forth on it, like there's any way to solve any of this other than a firm end. But he just can't let it go. He needs something from her. Anything. Even if it's just an acknowledgement.

"Just tell me why you kissed me," he says, his voice softer than he intends it to be. He swallows, forcing himself to stay calm, to keep his voice steady, not to give in to the anger rising within him.

She doesn't respond immediately. She stands there in front of him, silent, her eyes flicking over his face. There's something unreadable in her gaze now, something different. She stares at him for a few seconds more before speaking again, her voice low. "Because you kissed me."

"So what? It was your way of leveling the playing field? Making sure neither of us has the upper hand?"

"Something like that."

"Bullshit."

She meets his gaze, her eyes glittering in the semi darkness. "You don't know me very well then."

"Oh, I think I'm starting to figure you out." He stands abruptly and steps closer. "The fact of the matter is, you want me just as much as I want you. And that pisses you off. Doesn't it, Donna?"

She stares back at him, unflinching, refusing to look away. The corner of her mouth quirks upward, an amused glint in her eye. "So sure of yourself."

"I bet..." He moves closer, bringing them within inches of each other, his face hovering above hers. "You're wet right now."

She smirks, shaking her head as her eyes narrow at him. "I can guarantee you I'm not."

"Liar."

"Do you need proof?" She lifts an eyebrow in challenge, her voice low. "Go ahead. You know where to find it."

Harvey's eyes flick downward. He lets out a slow breath. His chest feels tight. His palms are sweating. He wets his lips and lifts his gaze back to her face. Her eyes are still focused on him, but there's an undercurrent of amusement beneath the defiance, like she's convinced he won't actually call her bluff. Like she thinks she's got him figured out too, and he's too much of a gentleman to put her to the test. But she's wrong. Because the second those words left her mouth he was instantly, irrevocably hard. And all he wants to do right now is prove his theory correct.

Harvey holds her gaze, letting her know just how serious he is, as he moves one step closer. She doesn't budge.

He drops a hand. Slowly. His fingertips brushing over the hem of her dress before he slides them under the fabric, his fingertips grazing across smooth skin. Her breath hitches but she doesn't look away, her gaze locked on his. His fingers drift across her bare thigh, tracing a delicate circle on the sensitive inner skin. Her breathing picks up, but her face is a mask of calm, the only thing betraying her emotions the subtle flush that colors her cheeks. He slides his hand up. His thumb brushes across the fabric of her underwear, barely a whisper of contact, and he feels her shiver, a sharp intake of breath followed by a soft exhale of air. The muscles in his jaw flex as he dips beneath the silk edge, gliding a finger along her slick slit. The heel of his palm presses against her clit and her mouth parts, lips trembling slightly as she breathes through it, eyes falling shut for just a second before fluttering open again.

"I think..." He dips a finger into her, drawing out a soft moan. "This is the wettest pussy I've ever felt."

She tilts her head back and lets out a quiet whimper, her hips moving involuntarily. "God...don't..."

"Don't what?" he asks, adding another finger into her wet heat, the heel of his palm rubbing against her clit, sending little tremors through her body. Her thighs tense as his fingers slide inside her, stroking slowly as her hips move in tandem with him, his other hand coming up to rest on her ass. She arches her back slightly, giving him more access, letting him feel her better.

"I don't – oh –" Her words trail off, lost in a series of short pants. "Harvey..."

He stops, withdrawing his hand from her. Her eyes flutter open and she looks up at him in surprise. He takes a step back and licks his fingers slowly, tasting her wetness. Her lips part. Her gaze flickers between his mouth and his eyes.

"Too bad you're not into me," he says, smirking. "I'd lick you clean right here if you were."

She lets out a soft gasp and blinks several times, like she's coming out of a trance. He watches the confusion play across her face, her eyes dark and lust-blown, cheeks flushed pink, lips swollen with need. Fuck. She looks so goddamn good. He can't stand it anymore.

He grabs her hips and pushes her onto his desk, his lips crashing against hers. He kisses her fiercely, deeply, devouring her mouth, his tongue slipping inside to stroke against hers, tasting every bit of her he can reach. She responds immediately, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, her thighs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer. Her dress rides up around her waist, legs spreading, hips moving restlessly against his as her hands travel down his neck, along his shoulders, along his back and arms, exploring his body everywhere, like she needs to touch him as much as possible in the limited time they have together.

She moans into his mouth as his hands travel under her dress, sliding over her ass and hips, lifting her higher against him. He nips at her lips before moving down her neck, kissing the smooth, silky skin of her throat and collarbone. She smells incredible, her hair, her perfume, all mixed with something that's so uniquely Donna he doesn't even know what to call it, but it makes him feel drunk.

She presses herself closer and his cock throbs between them, his arousal so intense it makes his knees weak, makes him desperate to bury himself deep inside of her and fuck her until he's spent. But instead he forces himself to slow down, his hands skimming up over her stomach and then sliding back down, teasing over her hips as he drops to his knees between her thighs.

"What are you doing?" she asks, voice breathless and rough with want. Her fingers clench against the edge of the desk. She stares down at him in surprise, her expression wary.

"I'm gonna make you come," he says simply, lifting one of her legs over his shoulder. She lets out a soft gasp as he pulls her towards him, her legs spread wide, his hands on either side of her thighs. He takes a second to appreciate how sexy she looks sprawled on his desk before he lowers his head between her legs. His tongue runs slowly up her center, through the lace barrier of her underwear. She whimpers, arching up toward his mouth, her fingers tangling into his hair. He closes his lips over her clit, sucking lightly, teasing it through the silk.

"Oh god, yes..." she whispers, her eyes falling shut, head tilting back as she grips the edge of the desk for balance, hips rocking into him, legs spreading wider for him to continue.

"You like that?" he murmurs against her.

She whines softly. "Yes. God, don't stop... Please, please don't stop..."

"I won't," he promises. He can't. Not now. Not ever. He can't resist this. Can't resist her. His hands grip her hips tighter, holding her still while his mouth moves hungrily over her clit, licking and sucking through her underwear. She moans, her thighs shaking around his head, her hips thrusting upward. She grinds against his tongue and mouth, seeking more friction, seeking more pressure, seeking more of him. It drives him crazy. The sounds she makes, the feel of her under him. The way she writhes against his mouth. How badly she wants it.

"Harvey, I need..." Her voice trails off, lost in a whimper as he pushes aside the thin piece of fabric, exposing her to his mouth, his tongue stroking along her slit.

Her whole body jerks above him and he has to tighten his grip on her hips to keep her from slipping off the desk.

"What?" he whispers between licks. "What do you need?"

"More," she gasps, her hands tightening in his hair, urging him to go harder. "I'm... so close. Just – please, don't stop…"

"I'm not stopping until you come for me, Donna."

His tongue presses into her entrance, thrusting into her before dragging upwards. She cries out, her fingers pulling roughly on his hair. She writhes against his face, trying desperately to keep herself still while she continues to ride his mouth. She's close, so fucking close. Her back bows sharply off the desk and she lets out a choked sob, her body trembling and shaking as he licks her into oblivion. Her heels dig into his back, her nails rake across his shoulders and scalp, and she's whimpering, moaning, pleading his name, her body jerking beneath his mouth as she comes undone.

Harvey kisses her through it, letting her ride it out until the spasms stop and her hips finally relax against him. She drops her legs from his shoulders, falling limply back against the desk as she catches her breath, eyes closed and chest heaving as she tries to regain control of herself.

"Oh my god," she pants, her fingers sliding out of his hair. She pushes herself up on her elbows, looking down at him.

"Good?" he asks, licking his lips clean of her. She nods shakily, her breathing still coming hard and fast, her thighs trembling as she tries to recover. He rises slowly from his knees and leans over her, his lips hovering inches above hers, his body pinning her to the desk.

"I told you I wouldn't stop," he whispers. "I always follow through."

Her lips quirk, but her eyes look a little glassy and unfocused. He thinks there may even be a tear at the corner of one. But before he can examine her face more closely she leans up, capturing his mouth with hers.

Their kiss is slower than before, almost tentative, exploring each other more gently. Harvey feels like he's on fire, every nerve ending in his body burning with a deep, aching need, his desire so powerful he can barely control himself. But he's still lucid enough to know they've gone way, way too far, that there's no coming back from this. No amount of contracts or deals can save them now.

"I think..." She murmurs against his lips. "That's the hardest I've ever come in my life."

His mouth curves into a smug smirk, and he gives her ass a little squeeze, eliciting a quiet moan. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Her tongue slides between his parted lips, and his hand tightens possessively around her waist, pulling her closer.

"What do you think about that?" he whispers, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. "You being that turned on by me."

He feels her smiling against his mouth, her hand moving down to his crotch, palming the hard bulge. He hisses against her lips as her hand massages his erection. She pulls back and meets his eye.

"I think it's my turn to try to get back the upper hand," she says, squeezing gently. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, groaning softly as her hand moves along his length, her thumb teasing over the tip of his cock through his pants. She smirks. "And I have a feeling I'm about to."

Harvey grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from him, shaking his head as he leans further down to press another hot, open mouthed kiss to her lips. He pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. "No," he says breathlessly. "I think I'll keep the upper hand. At least for tonight. And if you don't like it, well then," he gives her a smug smile. "I'm sure you can make a counter-offer."

He pushes off of her and pulls her to a sitting position on his desk before moving around to sit in his chair, watching her intently. She stares at him with an unreadable expression, her face flushed, her lips swollen, her dress wrinkled and askew, exposing her lacy red bra. The sight sends another jolt of desire through his body, making his cock throb. Fuck, she's so beautiful. He's never seen anyone as stunning as her. And here she is, half-naked, sitting in his goddamn office, with her wetness coating his mouth, and he's not going to fuck her or even let her suck him off.

Instead he does something he never thought he'd ever do – he pushes aside his own pleasure in favor of making her regret what just transpired a little less, making sure she leaves his office satisfied but with at least some sense of self-respect. It's an unprecedented show of restraint on his part, but he doesn't want her to think she owes him anything, least of all a blowjob or fuck, no matter how much he desperately wants to feel her wrapped around him. Because despite everything, he can't shake this weird protective impulse towards her, and the nagging sense that whatever happened here tonight, it doesn't mean anything good for either one of them.

He needs to sign the goddamn agreement.

He reaches out and picks up the document on the desk between them, sliding his eyes back to hers. He watches the way the color drains from her cheeks, her expression falling into one of alarm. She crosses her legs demurely, tugging the hem of her dress down over her thighs, and it's a stark contrast to the way she'd looked just minutes ago, completely bare and exposed in every sense of the word. The sight of it makes something tighten in his chest. It's almost like she's embarrassed about what they've just done. It's almost as if she regrets it already.

It stings more than he would ever admit, and he can feel himself bristling instinctively, the need to protect his ego, to save face, taking over. Because if she does regret what's happened between them, then so does he, and he needs her to know that this was never something that he wanted or ever even asked for in the first place.

So he signs his name, his hand steady as ever, even as something deep inside of him feels like it's starting to come undone. And when she reaches out and takes the document from his hands, he knows that whatever chance he thought they had together, that moment is now officially over.

Harvey leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, staring at the floor as she quietly exits his office. He sits alone in the darkness, waiting for his dick to go limp and the self-hatred to hit, but before either gets the chance, he hears something in the outer hallway...

The soft hum of a paper shredder.

---

A/N: Well, this went a lot farther than it should have, and the insanity will just keep snowballing from here, I'm afraid. What was I thinking?! Anyway, hope you enjoyed the ride, and thank you all for reading and commenting on the last chapter! Your encouragement, love and enthusiasm really make this fic so much fun to write.