A/N: I created a Tumblr where I'll upload all pics and edits related to this fic.

You can check it out at darveydaycare*.tumblr.*com if you want.

God, You Feel Like Coming Home

The sudden ring of Harvey's phone startles them both, the dessert bowls in his hand clanking as he flinches. He doesn't drop them, but it's a close call, the ceramic dishes wobbling precariously in his grip before he steadies them. His fingers tense around the edges, his knuckles briefly whitening, and for a second, Donna wonders if he's going to curse under his breath. He doesn't, but the sharp exhale through his nose tells her enough.

Maybe she's imagining things, maybe she's just projecting her own frustration, but there's something in his expression that looks almost... irritated. Not just at the interruption, but at the space that's now between them, the loss of momentum. It's a flicker, there and gone, masked quickly as he straightens, clearing his throat like he's forcing himself back into composure. Or maybe, just maybe, that flash of frustration is just in her own head. Maybe he's relieved that nothing happened.

But they almost kissed. My God. If his phone hadn't gone off, she's sure she'd be making out with him right now, tasting the remnants of dessert on his lips, his hands finally, finally on her. Instead, there's only the awkward shuffle of him, adjusting his grip on the bowls and fumbling for his phone with his free hand.

"I'm so sorry," he says, pulling it from his pocket with a wince. He shifts the bowls to one arm, juggling them with a skill that shouldn't be so attractive but somehow is. "I have it on Do Not Disturb but..."

She forces a small, understanding smile, but she knows it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She doesn't want to be that person, the one who's obviously put out by a minor interruption, but dammit, it's hard not to feel the weight of disappointment settling in her stomach.

"It's the babysitter," Harvey mumbles, glancing at the screen. "I made sure she could still reach me."

Donna lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Okay. Okay, that's good. That means he really did want this date to go uninterrupted. He wanted to be here. With her. And despite the undeniable frustration prickling at her nerves, she believes him. Because the way he looks at her, just before he answers, his gaze lingering like he's silently promising that this isn't over, makes her think that he might be as affected as she is.

And well, isn't this just so on-brand for her life?

The babysitter calling right as she was about to kiss the man she's been waiting for, craving for, for what feels like years? Of course. Classic. Life is practically laughing in her face, dangling something so sweet in front of her only to snatch it away at the last second. It's like the universe is playing some kind of cruel joke on her, and she's half a second away from looking up at the ceiling and asking, What the fuck did I do to deserve this?

She bites back a sigh and watches as he presses the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Kylie," he says, his tone instantly shifting from apologetic to attentive.

Donna studies him, her gaze flicking over his face. The first thing she notices—the thing that immediately makes her shoulders loosen—is his smile. It's subtle, barely a curve at first, but then it deepens, softens. Whatever's wrong, it's not serious. If something terrible had happened, he'd be stiffening, his expression darkening with worry. But he's not. He's still here, still present, and thank God for that, because she really wasn't ready for this night to end.

"Put her on," Harvey chuckles, his whole face lighting up in a way that sends a ridiculous warmth curling through Donna's chest. And then, he's switching to FaceTime, his voice dropping into something so effortlessly affectionate it nearly takes her breath away. "Hi, baby."

Good Lord.

He says it so naturally, so easily, like the word belongs to him. Baby. It's not even sexy, not in the way he might say it to her if they were… If she was… If they were something more. It's sweet. It's soft. It's dad Harvey. And yet she melts all the same. Because if he says it like that to his daughter, like it's second nature, like it's something sacred, then how the hell would he say it to her?

Would he whisper it against her skin in the morning, his voice all gravelly and rough with sleep? Would he murmur it against her ear, low and teasing, his breath warm as his hands slid over her hips? Would he say it in the middle of an argument, exasperated but fond, reminding her that no matter how much she frustrated him, he still adored her?

It makes her feel dizzy, because she's never even cared about pet names before. She's always been fine with just Donna. But if Harvey ever called her baby—just once, just like he meant it—she's pretty sure her ovaries would just up and explode on the spot.

She swallows, dragging her gaze away, willing herself to focus on something else. Anything else.

Harvey's laughing now, as he talks to Eden, his daughter's little voice carrying faintly through the speaker. Donna doesn't catch the words, because he's moved away, speaks too soft from that distance, but she catches the way he reacts—the way his features soften even further, the way his eyes crease at the corners, the way he listens with the kind of attention that makes it clear that no one else in the world matters in that moment.

She takes a slow, steadying breath, creasing the napkin at the corners as she watches him, as she forces herself to tamp down the ridiculous swirl of emotions rising inside her. Because tonight isn't over. And if she plays her cards right, maybe the universe will finally let her have what she wants.

"I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" Harvey says as he approaches the dinner table, his voice pulling Donna out of the haze she hadn't realized she'd slipped into.

She blinks, trying to focus, but her mind is still tangled in the moment—the warmth in his voice, the effortless affection when he greeted his daughter, the way his entire face softened. She has no idea how long she zoned out, how much time has passed between the moment he said hello to Eden and this goodbye. Time stretches and warps around him, making it impossible to track.

"Yes, I will get there before work and take you to Ms. Donna."

Her breath catches.

Ms. Donna.

She doesn't know why it affects her so much. Maybe it's the way he says it, like it's a given, like it's normal for her to be part of his daughter's routine. Or maybe it's the fact that he's making plans with her, weaving her into the rhythm of his life without hesitation. Whatever it is, it sends a flutter of warmth through her, something dangerously close to longing. Then, he glances over at her, and God help her, that smile—

That smile.

It's devastating.

He's devastating.

Donna isn't sure she's ever seen a man with a more beautiful smile. Or, honestly, a more beautiful anything. There's something about him that makes her feel like the world shifts just slightly every time he looks at her like that. Like she's the only person in the room. Like he's happy. And it doesn't even matter whether that's because of her or because of Eden calling, or both.

"I love you too," Harvey murmurs, and there's so much tenderness in his voice that it physically aches.

As he blows a kiss at the screen, Donna swears she feels something crack inside her, like the frozen surface of a lake giving way under the first breath of spring. Her lips part slightly, and her own smile widens, spreading across her face like warmth seeping into her bones. Harvey slides his phone back into his pocket, shifting his attention back to her fully, and she barely has time to school her expression before he speaks again.

"I'm sorry," he says, wearing that familiar wry smile, the one that makes her stomach flip just a little too hard. "Eden was missing me so much that she asked Kylie if she could say goodnight."

Donna just shakes her head, lips still curved in a soft smile. She doesn't need an explanation. Because how could she be mad about that? How could she be anything but completely, utterly charmed by it?

Despite being on a date, despite standing across from a woman he almost kissed, he didn't hesitate for a second to pick up the phone for his daughter. Because she missed him. Because she wanted to say goodnight. And instead of being annoyed, instead of seeing it as an inconvenience, he melted. He softened in a way that most people probably never get to see.

And Jesus, if that isn't the most attractive thing about him. He glows with it. With love, with devotion, with this quiet kind of chivalry that isn't about grand gestures or empty words. It's about this—the small, effortless ways he shows the people he cares about that they matter.

This man.

This man.

How is she supposed to not fall in love with him?

Ever since Mark broke her heart, she promised herself to never feel like this again. Like she needs someone. She has been too badly hurt. Built walls around her heart for a reason. To protect herself from being vulnerable, being used, and then discarded when the heat burns out. She wants to be in control.

And Harvey? He's unsuitable in every way. Complicated, messy, someone who could break her in ways she's not sure she could recover from. But it doesn't stop the aching want that coils in her chest, the part of her that wonders—what if she's meant to let herself need someone? What if needing him isn't a weakness, but something real, something that might make her stronger? For all the risks, for all the reasons she should run, she can't shake the feeling that maybe she's meant to need him. Maybe she's been waiting for someone like him all along. And maybe he needs her, too.

"I don't think you have any idea how much my daughter loves your daycare," he tells her with a smile, his voice warm with gratitude. "I can't thank you enough for creating a safe space for her while we're trying to adjust to this new… to city life." Donna watches him as he speaks, noticing the way his shoulders relax just a little, like a man who's been carrying too much weight finally setting some of it down.

"You don't have to thank me, you know," she breathes.

"Yeah, I know," Harvey murmurs. "But I still wanted to let you know how much I appreciate what you do for us."

He reaches for the dessert bowls he'd set aside earlier when he took that phone call. "This move has been quite hard on her, even though she's still young… She's seeing a lot less of me now that I'm back at work more permanently, and with the new surroundings and all… You're giving her some stability amidst all this chaos. She's made friends, and she's…" He pauses, the corners of his lips tugging up into a soft smile, his voice filled with emotion. "She's happy." His smile deepens, more certain now. "And that's all I want for her. To be happy."

Donna feels touched by his words. She loves kids—it's why she does what she does—but hearing how much Eden has blossomed under her care? That means everything.

His gaze holds hers for a moment, something unspoken passing between them, and then he turns, walking toward the kitchen with the bowls in hand. She watches as he moves, biting her lip as she debates keeping the thought to herself. But then, before she can stop herself, the words are already leaving her mouth.

"I've been meaning to ask you something." She sees his shoulders shift, like he's preparing himself for whatever's coming next. "Harvey, who's Lily?"

The moment the question is out, she regrets it. The pause is almost imperceptible, but she catches it. The way he stills for a fraction of a second, mid-motion, before setting the dishes in the sink. It reminds her of earlier when she asked about Zoe. It was that same fleeting moment of stillness. A moment that made her feel like she's overstepped.

"God, I'm sorry," she sighs, pushing herself up from her chair, her tone filled with genuine remorse. "I keep making you uncomfortable, and it's not even any of my business." She takes a step closer, her voice softer now. "It's just that… Eden has been saying that name in her sleep during nap time lately, and I just thought that maybe you'd wanna know."

That makes him turn around. Slowly.

"W-what?" His voice is barely above a whisper.

He braces his hands on the counter, fingers splayed wide against the marble, like he needs something solid beneath him. There's a flicker of something in his expression—shock, yes, but also tenderness, like the name alone carries an entire world of memories.

Donna hesitates, not wanting to push, but she can't ignore the way his reaction makes her want to know more. "Is that someone you used to go out with?" she asks carefully, trying to keep her tone light, though the atmosphere has shifted into something more delicate.

Harvey huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "No," he replies. "God, no." He exhales, long and slow, as if he's pulling the words from somewhere deep within himself. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, more measured. "Lily's my…" He swallows, then looks up, meeting Donna's eyes with something raw and unguarded. "She's Eden's grandmother."

Without another word, he walks over to the fireplace, crouching down as he carefully places a few logs into the cassette. The soft rustling of wood against metal fills the silence before the sharp scratch of a match cuts through it. A moment later, the flames catch, flickering to life, casting warm shadows across the room.

Donna watches him closely, her gaze following the way his shoulders tense slightly as he leans against the mantle. His left arm rests against the surface, fingers absentmindedly tracing the grain of the wood while his eyes remain locked on the fire, watching the way it burns, the embers pulsing and shifting like something alive.

"My mom and I don't really talk," he says, his voice quieter than she's ever heard it. "Eden's only met her a few times, very briefly. I never thought she'd dream—" Harvey cuts himself off, inhaling sharply before finally turning around to face Donna. His expression is troubled, his brow furrowed, like he's trying to work through something he doesn't quite understand. "I swear, Donna, I had no idea she even remembers meeting her. I—"

"You really think a child wouldn't remember their grandmother?" she asks gently, a small smile capturing her lips.

His surprise—his almost naïve disbelief—makes her heart ache a little.

"Harvey, I don't think it matters how brief their interactions were. I think what matters is how deeply they affected Eden." She leans back into the couch, tucking one leg beneath her, her voice softening. "I mean, look at us." She gestures between them, her gaze holding his. "We've only known each other for a few months, and now we're… here." Her smile deepens. "Whatever your mother said or did, Eden seems to still think about it. And I guess she hasn't told you anything because it's all subconscious. She's not really aware of it."

Harvey is silent for a beat. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and then, slowly, his expression darkens.

"This past year, I've been trying to rekindle the relationship with my mom because I want her to be in my daughter's life." He scoffs quietly to himself. If only it were that easy. "But she's expecting too much from me. It's like she wants me to just… forget what happened. To pretend everything's fine and play happy family."

His fingers flex against the mantle before he pulls away, curling his hand into a fist for a brief moment, like he needs to physically hold something in before it unravels. Then, after a pause, he moves toward the couch, lowering himself onto the cushions beside her.

"She called me last month to invite us to Thanksgiving," he says, running a hand through his hair. "But I know Bobby will be there, so I told her I'm not ready for it. That it doesn't feel right." His voice tightens at the last part, and when he exhales, it's deep, weighted. "She asked me to at least think about it," he continues, his gaze dropping to his hands. "And I said I would, but…" He trails off, leaving the rest of the sentence unfinished.

Donna's heart begins to pound in double-time as she watches Harvey close his eyes, his jaw clenching so tightly she's surprised she doesn't hear his teeth grinding together. She hesitates, then reaches out and lays her hand on his arm. He flinches slightly, but she keeps her hand there, gently squeezing him.

"What happened?" she asks, her voice quiet but firm. "You look like you'd rather jump off the roof of your penthouse than go to…"

"Boston," Harvey mumbles, his shoulders tense. "She lives in Boston," he adds, almost as an afterthought, but the strain in his voice makes it clear that she—Lily—isn't just some distant presence in his life. She's a wound. An old one. One that never quite healed right.

"She cheated on my dad," he finally admits, the words coming out clipped, controlled, like he's trying to keep himself from feeling too much all at once. His body is still tense, but Donna feels his muscles gradually relax under the slow, comforting stroke of her hand on his arm.

"She did it for years. Even after I found out. Even after she promised me she'd stop." His lips press into a thin line, and he keeps his eyes fixed on the fire, the flames reflecting in his gaze, dancing across the edges of his pain. "You know how fucked up it is to expect your kid to keep something like that from their dad?" He lets out a bitter chuckle. "I did it for so long… until I knew she wasn't gonna change, and I just… couldn't keep it in anymore. It was eating away at me."

He glances to the side, his eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment before shifting back to the fire.

"And my father—Gordon—he still treated her with kindness when he found out." His throat bobs as he swallows, and Donna watches the way his fingers subtly twitch against his knee. "I don't know what I expected him to do, really. Maybe yell at her, throw her out? But he just… left." His voice drops lower, like he's admitting something he's never said out loud before. "And I've never felt so goddamn alone in my life."

For a moment, Donna doesn't speak. She just watches him, watches the way his pain curls around him like a shadow. Then, slowly, Harvey lifts his hand from his knee and places it over hers, the one still resting on his arm. Donna barely suppresses a gasp at the sudden warmth of his palm seeping into her skin, his touch unbearably tender. He strokes the back of her hand, just once, before his fingers tighten slightly around hers, holding onto her as if she's the last tether to solid ground.

"I don't know what to do, Donna," he sighs, finally looking at her. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and it damn near breaks her heart. The past isn't something you just get over, and the idea that his mother expects him to do exactly that? No wonder he's struggling.

"I think…" She hesitates for a second. She's already put her foot in her mouth twice tonight. Should she really give him advice? But she can't just ignore the look on his face, like he's desperate for help. She has to say something. "I think she's asking the wrong thing of you. She wants you to move forward on her terms. But you don't have to do that. You don't have to go to Thanksgiving, you don't have to pretend everything's okay. And you definitely don't have to introduce Eden to something that doesn't feel safe."

Harvey lets out a slow breath, like he's been holding it in for too long. He nods, just slightly. "I just don't wanna keep my daughter from having a grandmother," he says, quieter now. "But I also don't want her growing up thinking that love means swallowing your pain just to make someone else comfortable."

Donna's heart clenches so painfully at that she's sure it shows in her eyes. She doesn't even think before she moves closer. "She won't," she assures him, pulling his hand fully into her lap. "Because she has you."

Harvey looks at her then, something shifting in his expression. Donna wonders if he even realizes just how much he's doing right. How much love he's already giving his daughter just by being this careful, this thoughtful.

"Harvey, you're the best dad that sweet little girl could ever have," she murmurs. Her voice cracks slightly, her eyes growing watery. She gives another gentle squeeze to his hand, letting one finger draw circles on his skin. "And she deserves to have as many people in her life that love her as possible, but not at any cost." Donna's voice grows louder, closer to normal speech, with every word. "Thanksgiving is still a few weeks away. Maybe you just have to give it some time," she suggests. "But no matter what you decide, don't think for a second that it changes anything about you being a great parent."

As the silence stretches between them, Donna watches the way his throat bobs with a swallow, his fingernails lightly digging into her thigh, as if he's trying to hold something in, everything in.

"You know, I really considered going," he finally says, his voice rough with frustration. "Because I miss hanging out with my brother and his family. And I genuinely miss my mom, even though she…" He pauses, inhaling sharply, and when he exhales, it sounds like he's forcing the words out. "But I'm not sure I can face him." There's a sharp edge to the way he says it, a barely-contained bitterness. "Her husband." He spits it out like the words leave a foul taste in his mouth, like just saying them out loud is enough to reignite every old wound.

Donna draws in a deep breath, studying his profile. "Listen," she says, her voice soft. "I'm not trying to excuse what she did, but…" She hesitates, searching for the right words, for something that won't make him shut down completely. "Don't you think it's better to know that your mother is still with that man? That she didn't throw everything away for nothing?"

Harvey's jaw tightens.

"I mean, think about it," Donna says, leaning forward a bit, trying to get him to really listen. "Wouldn't it be worse if she hurt your family for an affair that didn't even last?"

His entire body tenses, his shoulders drawing up like a coiled spring. And then, all of a sudden, he jumps to his feet. His hands clench into fists for a split second before he forces them open, and Donna watches the way his veins stand out as if carved on the rock of his temples and neck. He's still holding back, and God, a part of her wants him to let go. To stop burying it, to stop swallowing down the pain like it's something he has to suffer through alone.

She doesn't deserve to be yelled at, of course. But maybe Harvey just needs to explode, needs to scream, needs to do something other than keep it locked inside where it can fester. It's not healthy. But he just looks at her, long and hard, and whatever she was expecting—an argument, an outburst, something—never comes. Instead, he clears his throat, his voice deceptive even as he says, "Tell me who's suing you."

Great.

Just like that, he's shutting her out. Changing the subject.

Donna eases back into the cushions, pressing her lips together as she looks at him, frustration curling in her chest, even though she knows she has no claim to this part of his life. She knows he doesn't owe her anything, and she can't expect him to bare his soul just because she wants him to. But fuck, does it still sting.

Because she wants to be that person for him. The one he doesn't feel the need to shut out. The one who makes him believe it's safe to be vulnerable, to be seen, without fear of judgment or ridicule—like the moment he broke down in her kitchen. But right now, he's not letting her in. He's standing at arm's length, walls intact, carefully steering the conversation away from him and onto her.

"Donna," he says, his voice lower now, smooth and controlled in that way that makes her shiver. A commanding but sensual tone that instantly draws her attention and prompts her to meet his gaze. "Why are you being sued?"

It's not just a question. It's a demand. And for a second, Donna debates throwing it right back at him. Calling him out, refusing to let him dodge this conversation like he so clearly wants to. But then she sees it. The way his fingers twitch at his sides. The way his breathing isn't quite as steady as he's trying to make it seem. The way his walls are still up yet crumbling. She might not know him that well, but she senses pushing him now, when he's not ready, will only make him retreat further. So instead, she sighs, closing her eyes briefly to focus. Fine. If he's going to keep avoiding his own pain, then she'll let him. For now.

As she stares at him, trying to read every small twitch of the muscles in his face, Donna realizes he's already angry for her—and he doesn't even know the half of it yet. She swallows hard, her gaze darting to her lap, fingers plucking at the hem of her dress. It's not like she expected him to be indifferent, but this unspoken, immediate protectiveness makes something tighten in her chest. She's not used to it. Not from someone she's practically just met.

She hears him draw in a deep breath, the kind that fills up the space between them, stretching the moment out just a little longer before he finally speaks.

"Feels like we skipped a few dates, huh?" he says softly, his mouth twitching like he's trying to smile but can't quite commit. "Straight to the heavy stuff… Maybe we should talk about something else. But hey, nothing brings people together like a little shared trauma."

There's something about the way he says it—not as a joke, not as a deflection, but as a quiet acknowledgment of the weight sitting between them. He's giving her an out if she wants it, but he's also letting her know he's here, that he's not running.

Donna manages a faint smile as she looks up at him. She hasn't exactly been on countless dates, but this one—this one is different. Special in a way she can't quite put into words. Even if… Even if she and Harvey aren't meant to be, she knows she'll remember this night forever.

"Maybe start at the beginning?" he prompts.

For a moment, Donna is surprised that he can tell she's not looking for an out. She wants to let him in, to get this whole thing off her chest so they can move past it. But she hates feeling weak, and as she allows herself to process it, she can feel just how much this has gutted her.

"I had to expel a kid from the daycare for bad behavior," she finally says, keeping her voice steady despite the tightness in her throat. "And now his dad is suing me."

Harvey's expression hardens. "Claiming what exactly?" he asks, his tone sharpening as his lawyer instincts kick in.

Donna exhales a bitter laugh. "Wrongful termination," she replies, meeting his eyes briefly before looking away. "His kid, Milo... he was just angry all the time, especially when things didn't go his way." Her hands fidget in her lap, one thumb brushing against the other. "I tried to reason with him, but how do you even do that with a four-year-old kid?"

She pauses for a moment, her gaze transfixed on the fireplace as she forces herself to recount what happened.

"He got really violent, started hitting me, throwing things. Then one day…" Her voice falters, but she pushes herself to continue. "He bit me so hard I had to get treatment at the hospital." She runs a hand across her forearm absentmindedly, the ghost of that bite still vivid in her mind even though the wound has long healed. "The wound got infected, and I couldn't move my arm properly for weeks, so I had to close the daycare until I recovered."

The memory of the searing pain in her arm, and the fear, fear that this little boy's anger might one day hurt another child, washes over her. She blinks quickly, pushing those thoughts away.

"That's when I realized it was over," she says, her voice shaking. "I talked to his parents. Told them I had to let Milo go, because I was worried about the other kids—what if he lashed out at one of them? I couldn't let that happen."

She pauses again, giving Harvey a moment to process. His brow furrows as he listens, and she can feel the heat of his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

"The father was absolutely furious with me," Donna recalls. "His wife tried to smooth things over, saying they'd just hire a nanny instead. But I got the feeling they'd already been down that road before, because the suggestion only seemed to make him even more upset." She lets out a dry, humorless laugh. "And now, he's accusing my daycare of having discriminatory policies."

"Because Milo has special needs," Harvey states, more than asks, his voice edged with controlled anger.

Donna nods. "Yeah. But it was never about that. I did everything I could for him, Harvey. I tried to help him adjust, tried to work with his parents. But he was hurting me. I had no choice." She looks down at her hands, kneading her fingers. "And now I'm the villain."

Her voice cracks as she continues, "I've worked so hard to build my reputation. To make my daycare a place parents trust. And now he's threatening to take it all away." She presses her lips together tightly, but it isn't enough to stop the tears brimming in her eyes. She blinks rapidly, willing them back. "I don't know if my business can survive this."

Frustrated with herself for breaking down in front of him, Donna swipes at her face, exhaling sharply. "And the worst part?" She lets out a hollow laugh, shaking her head like the thought is too ridiculous to finish. "He's not just some dad. He's someone with power in this city. I didn't realize at first, but in those first few weeks, before Milo's outbursts started, he was trying to…" She grimaces, her stomach twisting. The words feel sour on her tongue. "He was trying to… you know. Get with me." Her disgust is palpable. She can still hear the way he'd drop hints about his influence, his success, always waiting for her to be impressed. "He probably thought his charm or his achievements would win me over. He'd bring them up constantly, like I was supposed to fall at his feet." She scoffs, but there's no humor in it.

"Tell me who it is," Harvey growls, his voice dripping with disdain, like venom trickling the length of a cobra's fang. "What's the guy's name, Donna?"

"Travis Tanner," she forces the name out, as if expelling a nauseating piece of foul meat.

The moment the name leaves her lips, she sees it—every inch of Harvey's body tenses, radiating a fury she's never seen before. It's the kind of quiet, controlled fury that's more dangerous than shouting. But he stays silent, holding himself back, as if waiting for her signal to let it all out.

Donna swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "When he stormed out, he told me he'd make sure I never worked as a caretaker again." She exhales shakily. "I thought it was just anger talking. An empty threat." Her breath catches, her chest tightening. "I didn't actually think he'd follow through. Let alone sue me."

She hates herself for not being able to control the sob that escapes her mouth. The sound feels too raw, too vulnerable, echoing in the stillness of the room. She glances around Harvey's expansive penthouse, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the pristine walls. For the first time since arriving, she feels out of place here, as if her problems don't belong in his meticulously constructed world of power and control.

How weak she must seem to him. This strong, proud man who's raising a little daughter alone, who's endured loss and kept going. And here she is, falling apart. Pathetic. She hates this. Hates feeling powerless. But more than anything, she hates that Travis Tanner might actually win.

Her throat burns as she swallows back another sob. She can feel Harvey's eyes on her, and it makes her want to fold in on herself. She doesn't want to cry in front of him—not here, not now. But the exhaustion of keeping it together, of fighting so hard only to be faced with the possibility of losing everything, is shredding the last fragile threads of her composure.

"I saved for years, Harvey," she whispers, the words barely scraping past the lump in her throat. "Every spare dollar, every late night, every sacrifice—I poured everything I had into building this daycare. It's not just a business to me. It's a part of me." She swallows hard, blinking against the sting in her eyes. "Those kids… they're my world. I watch them grow, wipe their tears, cheer their milestones. I built a place where they feel safe, where parents can trust me with the most important thing in their lives. And now, one man—one self-entitled, egotistical man—is threatening to take that all away." Her breath shudders. "How is that fair?"

Her voice cracks, and she hates the way it makes her sound—small, fragile, like a woman who's losing everything and can't do a damn thing about it. She drops her gaze, absently tracing her fingers over the fabric of her dress, grounding herself in the movement. Anything to keep steady, to keep from unraveling completely. But the weight of it is crushing her, pressing down on her chest until it's hard to breathe.

"When he bit me," Donna murmurs, her voice distant, "the pain wasn't the worst thing. It wasn't the hospital trip or even shutting down the daycare that broke me." She exhales shakily, her gaze unfocused, lost in the memory. "It was realizing that I couldn't help him." Her fingers tighten around her arm, but it doesn't make the phantom ache go away. "I wanted to help him. I've worked with kids who have all kinds of challenges. Some struggled with emotions, some with communication, some with things no one else could see, but I always found a way to make it work. I always reached them. But Milo… he was different. And no matter how hard I tried, I just—"

She swallows, her voice nearly breaking again. "I couldn't reach him." She finally drops her hand from her arm, rubbing her fingers together absently, as if trying to shake off the ghost of something long gone. "I had to choose between him and everyone else. And I hate that I even had to make that choice."

Harvey stays silent, but she notices his body tensing even more with each word, the fury inside him demanding release. Every part of him is screaming to fix this, to go after Travis Tanner with the same relentless force he brings into the courtroom. But he's holding back. For her. He's waiting. Letting her finish.

Donna drags in a deep breath, but it doesn't help. If anything, it makes her chest ache even more. "And now, this lawsuit…" She trails off, sniffing back tears. "I don't know how to fight this, Harvey. I don't even know where to start."

He finally speaks, his voice low and steady, but there's an unmistakable edge beneath it. "Donna, you're not alone in this. I'm here for you, and we are going to fight him together."

For a moment, the words don't fully register. She's so used to standing on her own, to being the one everyone else turns to. The fixer. The problem solver. The one who holds things together even when she's barely holding herself up. She doesn't know how to let someone else step in—even now, when she's drowning.

She looks up, meeting his gaze. "I don't want you to feel like you have to fix this for me," she says quietly, even as a part of her desperately wants him to take the reins, to tell her he has it all under control.

"I care about you," he admits, his voice shaky. "And I'm not gonna sit back and watch Tanner destroy you, or everything you've worked for."

He doesn't wait for her to respond. Instead, he closes the space between them, lowering himself onto the couch beside her. The shift in proximity sends a shiver down Donna's spine, but she doesn't move, doesn't even breathe as he reaches for her. His hands are warm, his touch impossibly gentle as his thumbs graze her cheeks, wiping away the stray tears she hadn't even realized had fallen. It's fleeting—just a second, maybe two—but it lingers, the heat of his skin seeping into hers long after he pulls away. She isn't sure if the gesture was intentional or just instinctual, but either way, it leaves her reeling.

How is it possible that in the midst of all this—when her world is crumbling, when she feels more lost than she has in years—her heart still stumbles over itself just from his touch? It's ridiculous. But it's him. And she's never been more infatuated with a man.

"When I'm done with him, you won't ever have to feel like this again," Harvey murmurs, his voice a low caress, rough with emotion. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

"It's not just about me," Donna croaks. "If this gets out, the parents who send their kids to my daycare… they're going to question everything. Even if I win the lawsuit, the damage could already be done. What parent wants to take their kid to someone being accused of discrimination?"

"Listen to me, Donna," he says, without missing a beat. "No one has to know about this, alright? If they try to leak something to the press, we bury it before it gets out." He takes a slow breath, like he's forcing himself to stay composed. "You think Tanner's powerful?" he scoffs, his tone dripping with disdain. "He's nothing. And he's making a big mistake coming after you."

Despite herself, she almost smiles at his confidence, at the unwavering certainty in his voice. But it doesn't erase the knot of fear tightening in her stomach. She wants to believe it. She wants to believe that he can make this all go away with a snap of his fingers, with a perfectly executed plan that leaves Travis Tanner crawling back into whatever hole he came from. But reality doesn't work like that. She's been around long enough to know that even with Harvey Specter in her corner, nothing is ever that simple.

"Come here," Harvey whispers, his voice soft, almost coaxing.

Donna doesn't hesitate. She practically melts into him, her body folding against his as she lets out a deep, shuddering sigh. The moment his arms come around her, strong and steady, she feels herself relax in a way she hadn't even realized she needed. His warmth bleeds into her skin, his embrace firm but not suffocating—just enough to make her feel safe. Grounded. She buries her face against his shoulder, her breath still a little shaky. Inhale. Exhale. Slow, deep breaths.

But it's impossible to ignore the way he's holding her. The way his hands trace a soothing path up and down her back, fingertips grazing just enough to leave a trail of heat in their wake. He tilts his head slightly, his breath fanning against her neck, and she wonders… Wonders if he's inhaling her scent, if his eyes are closed or wide open, if he's as lost in this moment as she is. God, if only she knew.

Neither of them speaks. A minute, maybe two, pass in silence. But it's not awkward. Not tense. Just still. Steady. And it's the safest Donna has ever felt.

Harvey Specter feels like the softest thing in the world right now. He's warm, solid, and every bit as cuddly as she imagined he would be. What she tries to ignore, though, is where his hand rests. Just above the curve of her ass, the pressure light but oh so tantalizing. And then his fingers twitch. A barely-there movement, so small she might have imagined it. But she didn't. Desire flashes through her, bright and hot, curling low in her belly as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, working it to a rosy red plumpness, then lets it loose.

Shit.

It could be the wine. She always gets a little clingy after drinking, a little… needy. But no, this isn't just the wine. She knows exactly what this is. She's ovulating, for God's sake, and her body knows it. The timing is unfair, cruel even, because now all she can think about is how easy it would be to turn her head and kiss him. To feel his mouth on hers, to let him push her back against the couch and—Jesus. She needs space. Immediately. Because between the scent of his cologne, the strength of his arms around her, and the way his knee is pressing ever so gently against her core, she's going to lose it.

"I, um…" Her voice is too breathy, and she clears her throat as she shifts in his arms, trying to put some distance between them. She forces a chuckle, though it comes out nervous. "I have to go… pee."

Smooth. Real smooth, Paulsen.

Harvey blinks at her, clearly caught off guard, before nodding. "Y-yeah, sure," he stammers, his voice rough. He lifts a hand, pointing toward his bedroom. "You can use the one in there, or the one at the end of the hallway, next to the front door."

Donna doesn't miss the way his fingers flex as he lowers his arm, like he's resisting the urge to reach for her again. She has to get out of here before she does something stupid. Something she won't be able to take back.

She stands, smoothing out her dress, hoping he doesn't notice the way her hands tremble slightly.

"I'll put some more wood on the fire," Harvey says, clearing his throat, as if trying to compose himself. "And get you some water."

Warmth spreads through her at his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, Harvey," she replies softly.

He nods, offering a small smile. She gives him one in return before turning on her heel, quickly making her escape down the hall, snatching her purse on the way. Inside the bathroom, she leans over the sink, bracing her hands against the cool porcelain as she stares at her reflection. Her eyes are a little red from crying, but her makeup has held up surprisingly well. Still, she smooths a fingertip beneath each eye, just to be sure. Her cheeks, though… they're still flushed. Not from tears, but from something far more exciting. From him.

The heat of his touch lingers, ghosting over her skin. She can still feel where his hand had rested just above the curve of her ass, possessive without meaning to be. The pressure of his thigh pressing against her as they sat together, his body so close, so warm. The memory sends a pulse of need straight between her legs, and she exhales sharply, gripping the edge of the sink a little tighter.

Her clit throbs. A dull, insistent ache, begging for relief.

She closes her eyes, willing the sensation away.

Nope. Not happening.

"Fuck," she mutters under her breath, breaking off into a soft, almost disbelieving laugh.

How the hell did they end up here? How did she go from worrying about her business, about her livelihood, to standing in Harvey Specter's bathroom, desperate to cool down because the mere feel of him against her has left her physically yearning for more?

She doesn't know how long she spends in there, trying to shake off the feeling, trying to actually pee and not just overthink every single second of their interaction, but it feels like forever. Eventually, she pulls herself together. A final check in the mirror, a quick touch-up of her lipstick, and she's as composed as she's going to get. That flame of desire inside her never fully burns out, but at least it's dimmed enough that she can face him without combusting on the spot.

When she steps back into the living room, she stops short—Harvey is out cold on the couch. His head is lolled back against the cushion, mouth slightly open, a soft snore escaping. One hand rests lazily on his stomach, the other dangling off the side of the couch like he passed out mid-thought. The fire crackles softly beside him, casting a golden glow over his features, making him look softer, younger somehow. Vulnerable in a way she rarely sees.

She considers waking him, maybe making a snarky comment about how undignified he looks, but instead, she grabs a throw blanket from the armchair and drapes it over him with a quiet sigh. The movement makes him flinch slightly, his eyes fluttering open, blinking blearily up at her. She smiles down at him, fighting the sudden, ridiculous urge to brush her fingers along the sharp line of his jaw.

"You're tired," she murmurs. "I should go." But before she can step away, his hand wraps gently around her wrist, his grip warm and loose but firm. A silent plea.

"No," he mumbles, shaking his head slightly as he tugs her down beside him. She lets him, lets herself sink into the couch next to him, her heart knocking against her ribs. "I'm sorry, Donna," he sighs, his voice thick with exhaustion. "It's been a stressful week at work, and then the drive back from Chicago… I'm just really tired. But please… Please, don't go. Not yet," he whispers. And then, as if he doesn't even realize he's doing it, he smiles at her. Soft. Sleepy. Unfiltered. Like he doesn't have the energy to hide how much he wants her to stay.

"Do you…" Donna starts, then stops. Her voice is barely above a whisper, and she can already feel her pulse quicken. Her mind's spinning, unsure if she's about to cross a line she's not ready to cross yet. If she says this—does this—there's no going back. It'll be something. It'll mean something. But God, she's tired. Tired of holding herself back. Tired of being so afraid of doing the wrong thing that she doesn't move at all, especially when she knows exactly what she wants.

Him.

She wants him.

She wants to touch him, to be close to him, to run her fingers through his hair and feel the warmth of him against her. She wants to kiss him, to take everything she's feeling and pour it into something real. She wants it all—everything—with him.

So she takes a breath, and before she can talk herself out of it, she murmurs, "Why don't you come here?" Her hand moves, a small pat against her lap, barely noticeable, but enough. Enough to make her stomach flip, enough to make her breath catch, enough to dare him to take the invitation.

Donna sees the hesitation in his face, and for a second, panic twists in her gut. Shit. Maybe this was a mistake. She considers backpedaling, giving him an out. Telling him he doesn't have to do it if it feels inappropriate, if it's too much, too soon. Harvey shifts on the couch, his gaze locked on hers, searching.

And then, without a word, he slides down, stretching out along the cushions, his head resting in her lap. The moment it happens, her heart stumbles over itself, her breath catching in her throat. He's heavy but in a way that feels right, like he belongs there. His body is warm, the scent of his cologne wrapping around her, and when he releases a deep, slow breath, she swears she can feel it against her skin.

Donna's fingers twitch, hovering just above his hair. Before she can overthink, she gives in. She touches him. Her nails skim lightly over his scalp, then her fingers thread through his thick hair, brushing it back from his forehead. It's even softer than she expected, warm beneath her touch, and when he smiles tenderly at the gesture, something flutters in her chest.

She should stop. She should say something, make a joke, create distance before she loses herself in this moment. But she doesn't. Instead, she keeps her hand at the top of his head, slowly combing through the silky strands with her fingers, watching the way his eyes grow heavy, the way his body softens into her. Her other hand moves before she realizes it, tracing the shape of his face. Her fingertip ghosts over his forehead, light as a whisper. She shouldn't be doing this. It's too much, too intimate. And yet—

"Is this okay?" she whispers, barely recognizing her own voice.

"Mm-hm." His response is more breath than sound, and when his eyes flutter shut, she allows herself to keep going.

Her thumb skims along his cheekbone, down the bridge of his nose. She wonders if he can feel the slight tremble in her touch, the way her hands betray the steady confidence she usually exudes. When she reaches the tip of his nose, she shifts her angle, dragging her fingers lightly along the curve of his jaw.

Harvey tilts his chin, leaning into her touch, and the small motion sends her stomach into rebellion. He's enjoying this—her touch, her attention. She shouldn't be surprised, but she is. And when she exhales, the words slip out of her mouth too quickly and she suddenly realizes that she can't take them back.

"You're so beautiful."

Oh, god. Did she really just say that?

The moment stretches between them, and she braces for a teasing remark, a smirk, anything to break the tension. But instead, color blooms across Harvey's cheeks, and his eyes flick up to hers. He smiles—soft, sincere—before turning his face so it presses into the center of her palm. Donna swallows. He's warm, and his breath fans against her wrist, sending a shiver down her spine.

"You're…" he starts, but whatever thought he had never finds its way out. He just watches her, and she suddenly feels bare, like he's seeing parts of her she hasn't even admitted to herself.

She keeps moving, because stopping means thinking, and thinking means reckoning with whatever is happening here.

Her thumb circles his chin before trailing along the strong line of his jaw, up to his ear. The shell of it is smooth, and she follows his hairline with the tip of her finger, then drifts lower, skimming behind his ear and down his throat. His breath hitches. She feels it more than she hears it—the way his chest expands beneath her, the way his throat bobs under her touch.

Her finger traces back up, slow and deliberate, and when she reaches his lips, they part slightly. She barely brushes over them, but then Harvey's tongue flicks out, just enough to graze her fingertip. The contact is featherlight, but it sends a bolt of heat through her spine, her breath stuttering.

It's not even a real kiss, just the softest brush of his lips against her skin, but suddenly Donna is hyper-aware of everything—the heat radiating from Harvey's body, the steady rhythm of his breath, the way his lips still linger against her thumb as if he's waiting for something.

The air between them feels thick, laden with unspoken words and emotions too raw to name. Her heart pounds, but she doesn't move. She doesn't pull away, doesn't crack a joke to diffuse the tension. She just sits there, hands on him, feeling the slow, deliberate way he studies her face. And then he shifts.

It's subtle at first. A slow turn of his head, the brush of his nose against the inside of her wrist. He lingers there for a second, lips ghosting over the sensitive skin as he exhales softly, and Donna feels it everywhere. She barely has time to process it before he moves again, pressing another kiss just below the heel of her palm. Then another, higher this time, his lips skimming the inside of her arm as he turns onto his side, shifting against her lap.

A slow ache unfurls in her stomach, twisting lower, making it impossible to ignore how much she wants this. How much she's always wanted this. And yet, when Harvey finally lifts his head, when his eyes meet hers and she sees the quiet determination there, it still catches her off guard. Because suddenly, he's really moving, pushing himself up onto his elbows, his face rising closer to hers, the weight of his gaze never breaking away. Her fingers slip from his jaw, but before she can let them fall, he catches her hand, threading his fingers through hers as he leans in.

Donna stops breathing.

Harvey pauses, just for a beat, his mouth hovering a whisper away from hers. Close enough that she can feel his breath, can taste the warmth of it on her lips. A heartbeat later, he kisses her. Soft. Slow. The barest brush of his lips against hers, like he's savoring the moment, drawing it out just to drive her insane. A small, broken sound escapes from deep in her throat, and that's all it takes.

He shifts closer, deepening the kiss, his hand sliding into her hair as his thumb strokes the hinge of her jaw, and with her whole body Donna can sense how long he waited for this moment. How his lips move against hers, firm yet soft, completely sure. It sends a rush through her, a dizzying swirl of heat and butterflies that takes her by surprise. Because she's thought about this. Dreamed about it. But nothing, not a single stolen fantasy, can compare to the real thing.

He's a great kisser, and—damn her mind for even going there—probably an even better lover. The thought makes her shudder, but there's no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. Not when she's already lost in the way he touches her, the way he moves against her like he was made to fit. She's completely swept away by it, by him.

The way his lips mold to hers is effortless, instinctive, as if he already knows exactly how she likes to be kissed. There's no urgency, no need to prove anything. He coaxes rather than demands, each press of his mouth against hers a gentle invitation rather than a conquest. It's intoxicating, how easily he guides her, like kissing is a language only he's fluent in, and she's more than willing to let him teach her.

To him, it's a dance—slow, intimate, deliberate. He doesn't rush, doesn't push. Instead, he lingers, savoring every brush of their lips, every quiet sigh that escapes between them. She feels it in the way his hands skim over her skin, in the way he tilts his head just so, deepening the kiss at precisely the right moment. All she has to do is follow his lead, melt into him, let herself fall. And she does. Helplessly. Completely.

Donna's fingers tighten around his, grounding herself even as she feels like she might float away. With her free hand, she slides her fingers into his hair, tugging slightly, and the groan he lets out vibrates through her lips, down her spine, curling low in her stomach. This is what she's been aching for.

She presses forward, needing more, until there's no space left between them and she's practically breathing him in. The warmth of his mouth, the faint taste of red wine and something purely Harvey—it's intoxicating, overwhelming, and yet it still isn't enough.

When they finally break apart, she's breathless, her forehead pressing against his, her fingers still tangled in his hair as she fights to steady herself. "Harvey…" she sighs out his name, her lips still tingling from the kiss, her heart hammering so hard she swears he can hear it. They are breathing each other's air, just looking into each other's eyes, and the moment seems so startlingly intimate, she can't move.

"Donna…" God, she really loves the way he says her name, all raspy and extremely male. "I just…. had to…" He trails off, a flicker of hesitation passing over his features as he starts to pull back. But Donna tightens her grip, keeping him close.

The smile that slowly creeps onto his face is a strange mix of regret and wonder, and as she stares into his eyes, she notices the way they shimmer with unshed tears. She wants to believe they're tears of happiness, but suddenly, she can't read him at all, and that fills her with anxiety. Makes her stomach twist, and her throat tighten.

She tries her best to ignore the gut-clenching thoughts tumbling in her head as she untangles her fingers from Harvey's hair, forcing herself to put space between them. Leaning back into the cushions feels like self-preservation—better to create the distance herself than to watch him do it. She's not sure she could handle that kind of rejection right now.

This isn't going to make everything awkward between them, is it? Because she can't afford to lose him.

As the silence stretches between them, thick and unbearable, their eyes remain locked in an intense gaze. For a moment, Donna swears they're looking past the surface, deep into the very essence of their souls, something beyond words. But she needs words.

"Please," she whispers, her voice raw, vulnerable. "Say something."