A/N: Happy to announce my next update shouldn't take that long (unless real life sucks) as I have most of it already written.
AAA for Lovesick Fools
The room feels impossibly quiet when Harvey's soft cries fade, leaving only the gentle sound of his breathing. He doesn't pull away, doesn't untangle himself from her arms, and Donna feels her heart ache at the way he clings to her, as if her presence is the only thing keeping him grounded. His cheek rests against her shoulder, where every breath touches her neck, and she sighs silently, sliding her palms across his back.
"I'm sorry, Donna," he murmurs, his voice hoarse and raw. "I should've told you sooner." The words tumble out so quietly she can barely hear them.
She shushes him softly as her hand instinctively moves to his hair, her fingers threading through the strands at the back of his head. "You told me now," she whispers, "And I'm glad you did, Harvey."
He draws back just enough to look at her, and before she can make sense of the shift, his lips graze the side of her neck—a barely-there touch that sends a shiver rippling through her. Her breath catches, escaping in a quiet exhale she doesn't have time to control. And then he's gone, the warmth of his body retreating, but she can still feel the ghost of his touch.
She fought hard to hold back the tears, but they came anyway, welling up in her eyes and threatening to spill over. And now her vision is blurred slightly, giving away the empathy she feels. Her fingers find their way to his cheek, brushing gently against his skin in a gesture she hopes is soothing, comforting.
"Do you wanna tell me more?" Donna asks softly. It's an invitation, a quiet promise that she'll let him stay as long as he needs to.
"Not tonight," Harvey replies, and she nods. She sees it in his eyes, the battle he's waging with himself, and offers him a smile that she hopes feels like permission to rest.
"Okay," she whispers, her thumb skimming across his cheek. "But I'm here for you… whenever you need me."
His smile is faint, almost imperceptible, but it's there, and it's enough for her to hold on to. "Thank you," he mouths. Then he clears his throat. "I better take Eden home before she gets the wrong impression."
The words hit Donna squarely in the chest, right around her heart. She fights to keep her expression steady, but the sting of his remark flashes across her face before she can stop it. Her eyes drop to the floor, avoiding his gaze, as though looking at him might make it worse.
"But if you want…" she hears him say. "I mean, I… I'd like to have dinner with you." The way his voice rises at the end, hesitant and unsure, makes her look up. "Or coffee," he adds, a little too fast, his tone suddenly nervous, as if he's trying to backtrack. "Coffee is…" He trails off, his words floundering.
She can see it all over Harvey's face—the insecurity, the uncertainty—and it takes everything in her not to reach for him again. Coffee is safer; she knows that's what he's thinking. Coffee doesn't carry the weight of what dinner might imply. But in his eyes, she catches the glimmer of hope that she'll understand what he's really asking.
What she doesn't understand, though, is how dinner is any different from this. How can he tell her he doesn't want Eden to get the wrong impression when all they're doing is talking in her kitchen, then turn around and ask her out? The mixed signals are enough to make her head spin, and she's not sure if her heart can keep up.
But God, she wants him. More than she should. She knows it's a terrible idea, letting herself even think about going out with him. He's still the parent of one of her daycare kids, and she's the one who set the rule. Her fucking rule: No getting involved with 'her' parents. If this goes wrong, she could lose Eden, and that thought alone should be enough to stop her.
And yet, as she looks at Harvey, a quiet voice in her head whispers:
What if you could have them both?
What if Scottie's right?
What if this could actually work?
Shouldn't she at least try?
And if he's the one asking her out, doesn't that mean he wants it, too?
Donna's lips curve into a wry smile, one that softens the air between them. "You know, sometimes, you're impossible to figure out," she murmurs. "And I usually pride myself on being able to read people."
His shoulders drop slightly, the tension easing just a bit. "Old lawyer habit," he says with a small smile. "Can't afford to be too transparent in court."
Wordlessly, Donna turns toward the kitchen cabinet and opens one of the drawers. The motion is automatic, a way to focus her hands while her thoughts race. Her fingers brush against the polished wood of the drawer handle, and for a moment, she closes her eyes, letting the mundane action steady her, keenly aware of Harvey's eyes on her.
She rummages briefly through the drawer before her fingers find the familiar texture of the tissue box. It isn't just the tissues she needs to find, though, it's her composure. Her sense of equilibrium that always seems to teeter when Harvey Specter is around.
She turns back to him, holding the box out. It's a simple gesture, but she can see the gratitude in his eyes. "Here," she says quietly, a soft smile on her lips.
Harvey takes a tissue, his fingers brushing against hers in a way that sends a ripple of awareness up her arm. Donna catches the small, lopsided grin on his lips. It's faint, tentative, but it's there—a crack in the sorrow he wears so heavily.
"I don't look presentable enough to ask you out?" he says, the words slightly uneven, his tone rough but light, like he's trying to find his way back to solid ground.
Her eyebrows lift, and her smile widens instinctively. The warmth in her gaze grows, spilling into the moment like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Is that what this is?" she quips, "You, asking me out?"
The playful tone earns her a soft chuckle. He sniffs, dabbing at his eyes, but it's clear he hasn't entirely recovered. "It depends," he says, folding the tissue awkwardly and stuffing it into his pocket like he isn't sure what else to do with it.
"On what?" she prompts, playing along, the corners of her mouth curved into a smirk.
"If you're gonna say yes."
Her smirk falters, and then her expression shifts into something more serious, more thoughtful. "I wanna say yes, Harvey, but—"
"I'm confusing you," he murmurs, cutting her off before she can finish. "I know. I'm sorry." His voice is thick with regret, but there's a tenderness there that makes her heart squeeze. He looks at her with those intense brown eyes of his, softened by something she could never describe, but feels down to her core.
Her lips part to respond, but he doesn't give her the chance. "But I meant everything I said," he continues, his words pouring out like they've been bottled up for too long. "You're funny and smart, and so beautiful I can't take my damn eyes off you."
The confession makes her breath hitch. She watches him fumble with his hands, shifting them from his pockets to his sides, as though he's fighting the urge to reach out to her. She's seen it before—a telltale sign of his nervousness, something she's dead certain he would never show in court. It makes her wonder if she's the only one who gets to witness it.
Donna swallows hard, trying to keep her emotions in check, but the way he's looking at her is almost too much. It's a mix of hope and fear, like he's putting everything on the line and bracing for it to all come crashing down. And yet, despite his nervous energy, there's a small, determined smile on his face that refuses to fade.
"And I know I can be… I know I'm sending you mixed signals, and that's not fair to you—not at all—but I'm trying, Donna," Harvey says, his voice slightly trembling as he fights to find the right words. His eyes search hers, as if seeking reassurance, but he doesn't look away. "I just seem to have a lot more in common with my three-year-old daughter right now than I'd like to admit. Like I'm a kid and I don't know how the world works. How—" he gestures vaguely between them, "—this works."
"I've been so trapped in my grief," he continues, his voice softer now, "I forgot what it's like to feel something like this. To look at you and feel… my heart race."
Oh God, did he really just say that?
"It feels alien to me, like I'm not even myself."
Donna feels her chest tightening at the raw honesty in his tone. He knows his actions lack clarity, knows how unfair it is, but she can see it's not out of carelessness or indifference. He's caught in a fight with himself, struggling against a past he can't entirely let go of. The evidence of that past is written all over him: his bloodshot eyes still rimmed with red, the trails of tears still faintly visible on his cheeks, like a map of his grief etched into his skin. She yearns to take that pain away, even if she knows it's not hers to fix.
"So, I guess what I'm really asking is—" he takes a deep breath before he continues, "—if you could find the patience in your heart to let me figure this out while we just… get to know each other better."
For a moment, the room falls silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. Donna's lips part slightly, but no words come at first, surprise clear in her expression. It's as if she's just witnessed New York's best closer, not in a courtroom, but standing in her kitchen, baring his soul with the kind of speech that could disarm even the hardest cynic.
The sheer vulnerability of it makes her want to hold and reassure him. She feels as though Harvey just laid his entire case before her, exposing every weakness, every fear, and every hope. And yet, his sincerity is so striking, so genuine, that it leaves her completely undone.
She presses her lips together, but a tremulous smile hovers about her mouth as she struggles to contain the blissful tears welling in her eyes. Her first attempt at speaking fails, her voice catching in her throat. She clears it softly, forcing herself to focus.
"Yes, Harvey," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll have dinner with you."
There's no teasing in her tone, no guardedness, only the quiet understanding that she's willing to meet him exactly where he is, no matter how messy it might be. Because, deep down, she knows he's worth it, and that makes her want to silence the voices in her head that insist she's risking too much for a man she barely knows.
Harvey's face changes magically as a sweet, almost boyish smile breaks across his lips. It's a smile that melts her insides, raking her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. "How does Saturday sound?" he asks softly, as if afraid to push too far too fast.
"Sounds perfect," she murmurs, her smile widening as warmth blooms in her chest. The urge to reach out and touch him—his hand, his arm, anything—is almost unbearable. But she resists, knowing this moment is fragile, precious. "Where do you wanna go?"
"My place," he replies quickly, his confidence returning. "At seven."
"Seven it is," Donna says sweetly. She tilts her head, watching him with a fondness she doesn't bother to hide. "Anything else I should know?"
"364785."
"What?"
"That's the passcode to my elevator."
She blinks, her mind racing to catch up. "You have… a… private elevator?"
The corner of Harvey's mouth quirks upward, a small, almost smug smirk that she swears could be patented. "You can access it from the lobby. Just punch in the code, and it'll take you straight up. I'll tell Ray, my driver, to pick you up."
"Your—" She stops mid-sentence, her eyes widening slightly as the weight of what he's saying sinks in.
A private elevator? A personal driver? It's not as though she didn't already know Harvey Specter lived in a world of privilege and luxury, but moments like this still have a way of blindsiding her.
"Harvey, that's… that's too much. I don't…" she stammers, her words tripping over themselves as she tries to process it all.
His smirk softens, melting into something quieter, almost reassuring. "It's not too much," he says gently, his gaze steady on hers. "It's just… me."
The simplicity of his statement makes her pause. Just him? Maybe for Harvey, this is normal, second nature even. But for her, it is something else entirely.
"Donna," he adds, his tone almost pleading as his gaze meets hers. "I'm not trying to impress you. I just want to make this easy for you. That's all."
The raw emotion in his expression makes her swallow down the urge to deflect. It isn't about the elevator, or the driver, or any of the trappings of his life. It is about him wanting her to be there, plain and simple.
"Okay," she finally says, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles. "But you might have to warn Ray… I'm not used to being chauffeured around."
"Don't worry about Ray. He'll be fine, trust me," Harvey says, smirking. "The only thing you need to worry about is what you'll be wear—No, scratch that. Don't worry about anything. Just… come. Please?"
She raises an eyebrow, a slow, mischievous smile capturing her lips. That slight hesitation, the way he almost slipped—she caught it. A subtle dig at how women sometimes overthink their outfits, especially for dates. And it's so him, the way he tries to soften it with charm.
"Well," she says, cocking her head to the side, "what do you want me to wear?"
The question catches Harvey off guard, his confident demeanor faltering for just a moment. A low chuckle escapes him, and she swears there's a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I just… I just want you to feel comfortable," he says, his voice quieter now, almost shy.
"Comfortable, huh?" she echoes, her expression warm as she chuckles. "I think I can manage that."
"Good," he replies, his voice rougher, the faint edge of anticipation threading through his tone. He lingers a second longer, as if reluctant to let the moment end. "Then I'll see you at seven."
As Harvey walks back into the living room, Donna trails behind him. He bends down, his arms strong yet tender as he lifts Eden from the couch. The little girl stirs just slightly, a sleepy sigh escaping her lips before her head falls naturally against Harvey's shoulder, nestling in as if that's exactly where she belongs.
Donna feels her heart swelling in response. The image is so achingly sweet, so filled with love, that she can't help but smile. She watches them, taking it all in—the softness in Harvey's expression as he cradles his daughter, the gentle rise and fall of Eden's breathing, the way they seem to form their own little world in that moment.
"You're a great dad, Harvey. You know that, right?" Donna says softly so as not to disturb the little girl's sleep.
Harvey turns his head to look at her, and for a second, the intensity of his gaze and the beauty of his smile makes her legs wobble a little. If holding his daughter wasn't already enough to make him look devastatingly attractive, that half-smile seals the deal.
"Thank you," he murmurs. "I'm doing my best."
Donna's steps carry her closer to him. She reaches out, her hand gliding gently across Eden's back in a soothing motion. Her fingers brush against Harvey's as they travel downward, and the light, fleeting contact sends a jolt through her. She stills, her eyes meeting his.
"I'm really sorry for your loss," she whispers, true sorrow showing in her eyes. She wishes there's something more helpful she could say, but she doesn't have the words.
Harvey's Adam's apple bobs, the muscles of his tanned neck flexing. He inhales deeply, his chest rising and falling as if the words are both painful and comforting at once. "I still got a piece of her," he replies quietly, leaning down to press a soft kiss against his daughter's hair.
Donna watches as his eyes flutter close, the gesture so tender it makes her heart ache. When he opens his eyes again, they're glassy with unshed tears, and the sight of his raw emotion threatens to undo her once more.
"Thank you for taking such good care of my baby," he says, his voice rough but filled with gratitude. His hand shifts slightly, finding hers where it rests against Eden's back. His fingers curl around hers, and then his thumb moves—slowly, deliberately—gliding along her knuckles.
Donna inhales sharply at the sensation, the soft pressure of his touch sending a shiver down her spine. She wonders if he notices, but his attention remains fixed on her, his eyes so open, so honest, that it takes everything in her not to crumble under the weight of his gaze.
"I know you're just doing your job, Donna, but she's the most precious thing I have, and from what I hear, you're treating her like she's the same to you." His voice cracks slightly, forcing him to pause, to take a moment to gather himself. "My wife would've loved you," he says finally, his voice thick with emotion. "I know my daughter does."
Donna feels completely overwhelmed by the flood of emotions coursing through her, her composure threatening to shatter beneath the force of his words. She feels her throat tighten, her eyes prickling with tears that she doesn't even try to blink away. Harvey's eyes, so gentle and yet so intense, lock onto hers, and she feels like she's suspended in midair. Falling and floating all at once.
The urge to kiss him is sudden and all-consuming, so strong that Donna has to avert her gaze just to keep herself from acting on it. She looks down, her hand still resting against Eden's back. But when she finally glances back up, Harvey's gaze hasn't wavered. His eyes are still fixed on her, and it steals the breath from her lungs.
For one wild moment, she wonders what would happen if she just leaned in, if she closed the distance between them and kissed him. The thought sends her heart into a frantic rhythm, but she forces herself to stop. She knows better. She can't jeopardize this—the delicate foundation they're building, the trust that's forming between them.
"Harvey," she breathes, her voice trembling with the effort of restraint.
Slowly, she lets her head fall, resting it against his shoulder. The soft fabric of his suit is warm beneath her cheek, and she closes her eyes, allowing herself this small moment of closeness. Her nose brushes against the material, the subtle scent of his cologne tickling her already overloaded senses.
Harvey doesn't move for a second, but then she feels it—the subtle tilt of his head, his lips pressing softly against the side of her face. It's a quiet, unspoken gesture, but it says everything she needs to hear.
I want you, Donna.
Maybe he's not ready yet, maybe he'll never truly feel ready, but in this moment, there's no denying it... Whatever she thinks is between them, he feels it, too.
She knows she's falling—hard. She knows this. And despite the fact she can think of too many reasons not to be, she falls anyway and lets it happen.
It all starts right in the center of her chest, though her heart is realistically positioned slightly to the left, and spreads throughout her body like liquid fire. It courses through her veins, igniting every nerve, until the heat reaches the very tips of her fingers and toes. The feeling is intoxicating, and she's addicted and hopelessly so, and she wonders if there's an AAA for lovesick fools. Too bad she doesn't have the freedom to attend, even if there is one.
"I should go," Harvey whispers, his voice rough, like he's reluctant to even say the words, and he sighs deeply.
No. What if she doesn't want him to?
"I know," Donna whispers back, even though the truth feels much harder to accept. Slowly, she pulls away from him, creating just enough distance to breathe. "When are you leaving for Chicago?"
Harvey shifts slightly, stepping forward as if to put more space between them. It feels deliberate, like he's protecting them both from something that could spiral out of control if they're not careful.
"8.50 a.m.," he replies, his tone steady, though Donna can tell he's already in his head, thinking about the logistics, the schedule, and probably everything else he has to manage.
"And your boss doesn't mind if you take Eden?" she asks lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear to give her hands something to do.
He huffs a quiet breath, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm more or less my own boss," he admits, "but yeah, I usually can't take her, so I cherish the times I can."
Donna's smile softens. The way he talks about Eden always does something to her—his love for his daughter is so pure, so absolute, and it's a side of him she's not sure he even realizes he shows.
"If you ever need me to look out for her while you're away on business, you know, I…" She trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence without sounding overly eager. She watches as his expression shifts, his lips curving ever so slightly, the faintest smile playing on his face, as if her unfinished offer means more to him than she realizes.
"I know," he murmurs, his voice soft, almost tender. He hesitates, pausing for just a second as if he's about to say more, dive deeper, let her in just a little further. But then he seems to stop himself, pulling back before he goes too far. "I'll see you in a few days, okay?"
Donna nods, forcing a small smile onto her face. "Saturday. Seven o'clock. Your place," she recalls, flashing a small smile she hopes hides the longing in her chest.
"I'll tell Ray to text you the time he'll pick you up."
"Your chauffeur," Donna says, teasingly. "Got it."
He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, everything feels easy again and she lets herself bask in it. But then his smile morphs into that familiar smirk, the one that's somehow both infuriating and irresistible. "Goodnight, Donna."
She watches as he heads for the stairs, wondering if he'll miss her the way she's already sure she'll miss him. It's only five days, she tells herself. She can go without seeing a man for five days. But it's not just any man—it's Harvey.
Her heart twists at the thought of his absence, the quiet realization settling over her that he's become such a huge part of her life, he's practically woven into the fabric of her days. Like every other parent at her daycare, he's there—constant and steady. It feels effortless and natural.
But Harvey isn't like anyone else. He's wedged himself into her heart in such a way she knows that no one else will ever be able to dislodge him. And that's why she knows she'll feel his absence more than anyone's.
Eden's, too.