201. {c} [suits] (harvey/donna) the times they are a changin'
the times they are a changin' (bob dylan); harvey/donna; nc-17; 3,509 words;
3, let it burn or let it smolder away (saints & sinners, bullet for my valentine)
his hand still shakes, her hair curls around his trembling fingertips
sub: what starts in chaos, ends in chaos
important information: a follow up to the silent night will shatter
11, monday afternoon
He doesn't see the things that he would normally see when he looks at her. Normally, when he looks at a woman, he would see the swell of her breasts, how high the hem of her dress is, and whether or not she's clearly asking for it. He knows what women are thinking when they look back at him. They see him as some kind of a trophy for their self-esteem because he picked them out of an entire room of women. And, boy could he pick them.
Sure, when he looks at Donna, he sees those things too, but in a way that lingers - in a way that makes him think not what she can do for him, but what he can for her. He's always taken silent moments to appreciate her in a way that she deserves because she is attractive, has always been attractive in a way that she can be rather distracting. In fact, at the end of some days, he's so incredibly greatful that she's so good at her job because he might otherwise look like a fool when she's so incredibly distracting.
There are many things that he knows. He knows that Donna is not other women. He knows that she has a way about her that she catches his attention when other women don't, that he's always felt a dire need to look her in the eye when talking to her, that he's always wanted to listen intently when she speaks. He doesn't know what it is about her, doesn't know why he notices her nimble fingers as she busies her hands or get how he notices every minimal change about her. He silently swears that he doesn't look at her for too long.
There was a switch inside of him that flipped when he was living his days without her. It wasn't like when she got fired and he knew that one day he would see her again, it was bigger than both of them - bigger than anything he could control. The part of him that wanted to die if he never got to look her in the eye again still lives within him, more than the man before - hangs around, makes him desperate for proof of life.
He's always acknowledged her as a woman who deserves more, a woman who deserves everything she could want or need or desire, but he just never thought he could give her anything beyond the material items. He'd give her anything she'd wanted now, anything she asked for he'd find a fucking way to give it to her. All she'd have to do is ask - probably not even that, probably just one look and he'd make it happen.
His eyes glaze over at the very sight of her, the constant reminder of her just not waking up lingering in the back of his head. He swears that if he ever meets the guy who did it, he'll fucking kill him. He'll squeeze his knuckles so tight and throw his fist repeatedly into the guy's face until he can't even see straight; he doesn't give a fuck who sees but he's going to make the guy wish that he were dead just like Harvey had wished he was.
He catches sight of her as she rounds the corner, his mouth tugging upward as though on autopilot; he can't even help the way that just seeing her makes him smile, and that's what makes her different than other women. She completes him in a way that no one else ever could, that no one else ever would, and he thinks that she probably always has. All of the ways she is different isn't in what he could do for her, it's all of the things she does for him just by existing, by being in his life - all of the ways she makes him feel. He's never had to face it because it's always been there, but he almost lost it, almost had to go on feeling like half a person.
It occurs to him that he should probably tell her, should probably admit that he felt like half a person and like he should just give up without her. He'd never realized how his entire body and soul depended on her so much, probably never would have admitted it to himself before now. His mouth is angled slightly, a thin line with the vaguest hints of a smile.
She offers him a steaming cup of coffee and he takes it without hesitation, lets his fingertips tap against hers and linger; he clears his throat, "thank you."
"Thank you? Since when did you start saying thank you?" She teases. Hesitantly, he lifts his eyes to hers, offering her the grin he's practiced for years, but he knows he can't distract her from the way his eyes are watery, the light bouncing off of his iris. He watches her swallow, her neck straining as she does; "Harvey, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he replies unconvincingly. His lips tighten upward as he sets his mug down on the end table and shifts his gaze back to hers. He reaches out, wraps his hand around her wrist and pulls her in his direction. It's a suggestive pull, a silent plea in only actions rather than demanding. "I just get stuck, in my head. I see you and I can't breathe."
"Harvey, honey," she starts slowly in that warm tone that has always made him forget what the real point of a matter is; he wonders what words were going to fall out of her mouth next because nothing does, she just presses her knee into his as she practically falls into his lap when she sits on the couch beside him.
He releases a heavy sigh, "it's like, I remember how I almost lost you and at the same time I can't help but watch you. I felt like - I feel like half a person at the simple thought of not having you."
He shivers as she touches his face with her fingertips, a hint of relief coursing through him after having said something. He hates revealing any more of himself than he has to but knows that whatever he doesn't say she'll figure out anyway. It would all be a matter of time. His eyes absently trace the edges of her face, his fingers still firmly wrapped around her wrist.
He entwines his fingers with hers and absently lifts their hands to brush a hair out of her face, the hair defiantly curling around his index finger, "I'm here now. Doesn't that count for something?"
"Everything," he breathes in return. He'd expect a joke about how cheesy or cynical he's being, expect the mood to become lightened and less heartfelt, but he thinks she can see it in his eyes. He can see his reflection in hers, darkened and prepared for whatever he has to say and willing to return it tenfold. He blinks, her shoulder sliding against his, a slight smile tugging upward at the corners of his mouth. "It feels right, doesn't it? You and me?"
"It feels perfect," she admits. She shakes her head lightly in an attempt to get the red curls out of her face, his fingertips grazing her jaw. His thumb sweeps over her jawline, tracing the edges and dips in her features. "Waking up with you there every day makes every moment of pain worth enduring."
His fingers slide to her neck, her heartbeat fast and slow at the same time beneath his fingertips, "don't say that. Please don't say things like that. I'm not-"
"But you make it easier," she says, cutting him off before he can say anything that might rip her apart, "it's easier knowing that maybe it isn't all for nothing, that I got you out of it."
"Donna," he counters gently, his watery gaze lifts to hers, "you've always had me. Maybe not in the obvious way that you do now but you have."
She laughs a little, tilting her head, "it's always been a little obvious."
"What?" He asks, mouth hanging open in disbelief, "I have not. Why do you say that?"
"It's your eyes," she says with a smirk, "they don't lie."
"Yeah, yeah," he mutters.
12, tuesday morning
There's this thing about him where he doesn't reveal. He doesn't show people how he feels, barely even tells them what he's thinking and makes them read between the lines. His words are like a code that they have to figure out and only on occasion will he confirm that they are right. That's the thing about Donna is that he's always been able to talk to her, tell her his thoughts and know that she won't judge him. She'll only tease him a little bit, but she'll let up faster than most.
He's always felt like things with her weren't like with other people. His dad used to quirk an eyebrow, ask him what the hell is going on between them in a way that felt like he was being challenged rather than interrogated. He'd smirked and told his dad to just ask her out already but Gordon Specter knew - even then he knew. He thinks that in part that's why he's always kind of been partial to Donna, because he knew without Harvey ever really having to say anything.
His words catch in his throat, the things he can only say in moderation. He doesn't have a lot to offer, not in the way that he thinks she needs. He isn't used to opening up so much of himself but if there's anyone that gets that slightest bit of him then it's her. He doesn't want to play word games with her, it just seems to be happening.
She doesn't miss a beat though, she catches it without batting an eyelash and just smiles as she calls him on his shit. But she isn't much easier. She hardly reveals anything, just exhibits her power by being able to read him like an open book, and it baffles him. He knows certain things about her, like her health and when her appointments are, but he only knows little bits about her when she lets him.
Always a little bit at a time, never a lot.
So he silently encourages her to tell him more, urging her with his eyes and his hands but never outwardly pleading with her to tell him. He touches her with loose fingertips, the pads of his fingers sliding along her wrist and tracing the path of her veins to the crease in her elbow. She sighs into his shoulder, her eyes still glued shut even though he feels like he's been awake for hours.
It's the first movement he's made since counting the thump of her pulse against his touch, a comforting movement that makes his own heartbeat sync with hers. His fingers smooth up her arm, lets her hair twist around them before he pushes his hand into her red tresses. He absently wonders if he can get her to tell him more, if they'd ever be doing anything other than trying to read each other until the day they die.
There's a certain feeling that invades him, the inability to just purse his lips and ignore the feelings that he has inside - so, he presses his thumb against her jaw and tilts her mouth upward. He presses his mouth to hers, feeling her fingertips flex against his skin, and turns his body into hers. She sighs into his mouth as his chin slides over hers, his tongue briefly tangling with hers.
"What was that for?" She mutters, forehead pressing against his.
He releases an unsteady breath, "I wanted to."
He moves his fingers down her arm, slides it over her hip and slips it up the hem of her shirt and presses his fingers into the small of her back. He shivers when her fingers slide through his hair, hovering over his ear lobe. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"Couldn't let me sleep any longer?" She teases, stifling a yawn.
"I think you've slept enough," he muses, "I just couldn't help myself."
"Do you think I don't notice?"
He furrows his eyebrows, "notice what?"
"You. How you're always watching me. How you can't help yourself," she replies with a slight smirk, "I notice that you kiss me a little more often than I've ever seen you kiss anyone else, that your smile is easier - more genuine."
"We don't have to do this," he says teasingly.
"Why not? Don't want your feelings to be spilled onto the table?"
"Because I'd rather tell you all about my feelings when the time is right," he counters with a narrowed gaze. He lifts a shaky hand and slides it through her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. He presses his lips against hers for a brief moment in time. He adds mockingly, "Unless you'd rather tell me how I'm feeling about you."
"It is one of my favorite pastimes," she admits.
"Okay," he whispers in agreement, lips ghosting over hers; he rolls over, pins her beneath him as he fits between her legs like he's an expert at fitting perfectly against her, "I tell you something and you tell me something."
Her fingers dig into his shoulderblades, her body arching into his as though she has no control, "okay, I can maybe do that."
"It scares me when I can't feel your heartbeat," he mutters, avoiding the possibility of the awkwardness by sliding his fingers down the exposed skin of her neck.
She sighs, almost moans sleepily, "I'm scared you're going to resent me if you don't go back to work soon, everything you - we've - worked for lost all because of me."
"I don't want to go back to work without you. I'll miss seeing you, watching you breathe. I'm not even sure that I can function," his words catch in his throat, a grunt falling out. He lightly shakes his head like it will dismiss anything that would come out of his mouth, that already has. His hand skims her breast over her shirt before his fingers press into her hip. "Looking up and not being able to see you might destroy me."
"What if I tell you that I'm not going anywhere? That when you leave work, you'll come home, and I'll be there?" She asks, lips parted and breath beating against his neck.
He releases a slightly annoyed breath, "it isn't the same. I couldn't stand it before, looking up and you not sitting at that desk, what makes you think I could stand it now?"
"Because you have to," she starts; he cuts her off, presses his lips to hers and let's them hover right over hers, "caring makes you weak."
"You make me weak," he mutters against her mouth.
Her fingers slide into his hair, the gaps between her fingers teasing the ends of his hair - her words catch in her throat, come out in a quiet moan as his fingertips skim over her waistline, "Harvey, I can't go back after this."
"What?" He breathes against her mouth, nose sliding over hers.
"You and me," she elaborates, "after being with you, I don't know how to not be with you."
"I just want you," he admits.
She pulls her leg up, her calf sliding against his side and pressing into his hip. She pins his hand between her ribs, his stomach, and her thigh - he wonders when there were three side to this, how she managed to trap his hand there like an expert. Sometimes he forgets all of her skills, how she knows exactly what to do and exactly when to do it, like she's been working him for the last 10 years rather than working for him. He looks at her like he's in awe of her, his hand vibrating against her skin.
She lets her eyes drift closed as she slides her hand around to the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their temples press together and their breathing intertwines; "let's not pretend that you believe in forever, Harvey."
His eyebrows furrow in response, his lips forming a thin line. "Well, things change. Everything I used to care about doesn't matter anymore. None of it matters if I can't have you. For weeks I had to imagine what my life would be like without you and I never want to know that feeling again."
She feels his hand shake against her skin, pads of his fingers softer than some of the men who have touched her.
"Harvey," she mutters, swallows a thick film of saliva that has gathered at the base of her throat, "I love you."
She feels his breath cut against her skin, his lips brushing over her skin as he seeks out her jaw. She can feel his pulse beneath her fingers, her newly painted nails standing out as navy blue against flesh, and his heart beat is racing so fast. She's too distracted by his mouth on her jawbone to count the quick beats and only when he releases a hot breath does she allow herself to exhale as well.
"But?" He asks carely.
She can hear the desperation in his tone, the slight pleading in his voice with the one syllable that has fallen from between his lips.
"I just love you and I don't want you to give it all up for me," she admits.
His nose touches hers, and he clears his throat. She can feel the ghost of his lips on hers. "Marry me. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. I don't care. I just want - I need you to marry me."
"Harvey," she whispers in response.
13, tuesday 2pm
Harvey knows Donna. Harvey knows when Donna is avoiding. Harvey knows when Donna doesn't want to give him a direct answer and even more than that he knows when she doesn't want to deliver him with news that she thinks he doesn't want to hear. Harvey is a man, he is a man, and he understands that sometimes he's going to be told things that he doesn't want to hear.
He gets that asking her to marry him seemed out of the blue, like he had no reason to ask her, but he knows that it's because his life just doesn't seem the same without her.
He's tried to talk about it so many times, Donna, about what happened... but she just shrugs it off with a smile, her hands on his arms, her mouth reassuring him in one way or another. He's stuck in a perpetual state of uncertainty, but at least he knows that she loves him. It's just like her, Harvey thinks, to always give him seventy-five percent while he's giving her a quarter. He thinks this deserves to be talked about, thinks that it's been eating away at him for so long that he's about to burst from the inside out. He just wants to know what exactly the reason is that she won't marry him.
He watches her carefully but from a distance, painfully aware of when her fingers skate over his skin like she wants him to know that she's still present right before she goes back to doing something with her sister or her mother. He can feel the distance between them, can't help but wonder if it's a step in the backwards direction.
He catches her wrist as she walks by, his eyes not having half as much gull as he needs to reach hers, "Donna."
"Harvey, when you say my name like that," she starts, and she releases a sigh that rattles her chest, "I can't."
"You can't what?" He asks, voice straining with desperation.
"I can't say no. I can't think. I can't focus," she admits.
He sighs, almost in relief, "just tell me what you're thinking. Tell me what you want."
"I want you, Harvey," she replies, "I just want you. You're all I've wanted for a very long time. I want you."
"You have me," he tells her, pushing himself to his feet and standing so close to her that he can feel her warmth, "you have every bit of me, okay? I just need to know what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking," she laughs, "I'm thinking that if you don't give me some space then I'm going to say yes. If we ever fall apart, Harvey, we lose each other forever."
"This is us, Donna. We can work through anything."
For a moment, she looks at him as though he is trying to convince her, "I know."
The way her lips curve up into a smile makes him think that he's gotten his answer.
3, let it burn or let it smolder away (saints & sinners, bullet for my valentine)
his hand still shakes, her hair curls around his trembling fingertips
sub: what starts in chaos, ends in chaos
important information: a follow up to the silent night will shatter
11, monday afternoon
He doesn't see the things that he would normally see when he looks at her. Normally, when he looks at a woman, he would see the swell of her breasts, how high the hem of her dress is, and whether or not she's clearly asking for it. He knows what women are thinking when they look back at him. They see him as some kind of a trophy for their self-esteem because he picked them out of an entire room of women. And, boy could he pick them.
Sure, when he looks at Donna, he sees those things too, but in a way that lingers - in a way that makes him think not what she can do for him, but what he can for her. He's always taken silent moments to appreciate her in a way that she deserves because she is attractive, has always been attractive in a way that she can be rather distracting. In fact, at the end of some days, he's so incredibly greatful that she's so good at her job because he might otherwise look like a fool when she's so incredibly distracting.
There are many things that he knows. He knows that Donna is not other women. He knows that she has a way about her that she catches his attention when other women don't, that he's always felt a dire need to look her in the eye when talking to her, that he's always wanted to listen intently when she speaks. He doesn't know what it is about her, doesn't know why he notices her nimble fingers as she busies her hands or get how he notices every minimal change about her. He silently swears that he doesn't look at her for too long.
There was a switch inside of him that flipped when he was living his days without her. It wasn't like when she got fired and he knew that one day he would see her again, it was bigger than both of them - bigger than anything he could control. The part of him that wanted to die if he never got to look her in the eye again still lives within him, more than the man before - hangs around, makes him desperate for proof of life.
He's always acknowledged her as a woman who deserves more, a woman who deserves everything she could want or need or desire, but he just never thought he could give her anything beyond the material items. He'd give her anything she'd wanted now, anything she asked for he'd find a fucking way to give it to her. All she'd have to do is ask - probably not even that, probably just one look and he'd make it happen.
His eyes glaze over at the very sight of her, the constant reminder of her just not waking up lingering in the back of his head. He swears that if he ever meets the guy who did it, he'll fucking kill him. He'll squeeze his knuckles so tight and throw his fist repeatedly into the guy's face until he can't even see straight; he doesn't give a fuck who sees but he's going to make the guy wish that he were dead just like Harvey had wished he was.
He catches sight of her as she rounds the corner, his mouth tugging upward as though on autopilot; he can't even help the way that just seeing her makes him smile, and that's what makes her different than other women. She completes him in a way that no one else ever could, that no one else ever would, and he thinks that she probably always has. All of the ways she is different isn't in what he could do for her, it's all of the things she does for him just by existing, by being in his life - all of the ways she makes him feel. He's never had to face it because it's always been there, but he almost lost it, almost had to go on feeling like half a person.
It occurs to him that he should probably tell her, should probably admit that he felt like half a person and like he should just give up without her. He'd never realized how his entire body and soul depended on her so much, probably never would have admitted it to himself before now. His mouth is angled slightly, a thin line with the vaguest hints of a smile.
She offers him a steaming cup of coffee and he takes it without hesitation, lets his fingertips tap against hers and linger; he clears his throat, "thank you."
"Thank you? Since when did you start saying thank you?" She teases. Hesitantly, he lifts his eyes to hers, offering her the grin he's practiced for years, but he knows he can't distract her from the way his eyes are watery, the light bouncing off of his iris. He watches her swallow, her neck straining as she does; "Harvey, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he replies unconvincingly. His lips tighten upward as he sets his mug down on the end table and shifts his gaze back to hers. He reaches out, wraps his hand around her wrist and pulls her in his direction. It's a suggestive pull, a silent plea in only actions rather than demanding. "I just get stuck, in my head. I see you and I can't breathe."
"Harvey, honey," she starts slowly in that warm tone that has always made him forget what the real point of a matter is; he wonders what words were going to fall out of her mouth next because nothing does, she just presses her knee into his as she practically falls into his lap when she sits on the couch beside him.
He releases a heavy sigh, "it's like, I remember how I almost lost you and at the same time I can't help but watch you. I felt like - I feel like half a person at the simple thought of not having you."
He shivers as she touches his face with her fingertips, a hint of relief coursing through him after having said something. He hates revealing any more of himself than he has to but knows that whatever he doesn't say she'll figure out anyway. It would all be a matter of time. His eyes absently trace the edges of her face, his fingers still firmly wrapped around her wrist.
He entwines his fingers with hers and absently lifts their hands to brush a hair out of her face, the hair defiantly curling around his index finger, "I'm here now. Doesn't that count for something?"
"Everything," he breathes in return. He'd expect a joke about how cheesy or cynical he's being, expect the mood to become lightened and less heartfelt, but he thinks she can see it in his eyes. He can see his reflection in hers, darkened and prepared for whatever he has to say and willing to return it tenfold. He blinks, her shoulder sliding against his, a slight smile tugging upward at the corners of his mouth. "It feels right, doesn't it? You and me?"
"It feels perfect," she admits. She shakes her head lightly in an attempt to get the red curls out of her face, his fingertips grazing her jaw. His thumb sweeps over her jawline, tracing the edges and dips in her features. "Waking up with you there every day makes every moment of pain worth enduring."
His fingers slide to her neck, her heartbeat fast and slow at the same time beneath his fingertips, "don't say that. Please don't say things like that. I'm not-"
"But you make it easier," she says, cutting him off before he can say anything that might rip her apart, "it's easier knowing that maybe it isn't all for nothing, that I got you out of it."
"Donna," he counters gently, his watery gaze lifts to hers, "you've always had me. Maybe not in the obvious way that you do now but you have."
She laughs a little, tilting her head, "it's always been a little obvious."
"What?" He asks, mouth hanging open in disbelief, "I have not. Why do you say that?"
"It's your eyes," she says with a smirk, "they don't lie."
"Yeah, yeah," he mutters.
12, tuesday morning
There's this thing about him where he doesn't reveal. He doesn't show people how he feels, barely even tells them what he's thinking and makes them read between the lines. His words are like a code that they have to figure out and only on occasion will he confirm that they are right. That's the thing about Donna is that he's always been able to talk to her, tell her his thoughts and know that she won't judge him. She'll only tease him a little bit, but she'll let up faster than most.
He's always felt like things with her weren't like with other people. His dad used to quirk an eyebrow, ask him what the hell is going on between them in a way that felt like he was being challenged rather than interrogated. He'd smirked and told his dad to just ask her out already but Gordon Specter knew - even then he knew. He thinks that in part that's why he's always kind of been partial to Donna, because he knew without Harvey ever really having to say anything.
His words catch in his throat, the things he can only say in moderation. He doesn't have a lot to offer, not in the way that he thinks she needs. He isn't used to opening up so much of himself but if there's anyone that gets that slightest bit of him then it's her. He doesn't want to play word games with her, it just seems to be happening.
She doesn't miss a beat though, she catches it without batting an eyelash and just smiles as she calls him on his shit. But she isn't much easier. She hardly reveals anything, just exhibits her power by being able to read him like an open book, and it baffles him. He knows certain things about her, like her health and when her appointments are, but he only knows little bits about her when she lets him.
Always a little bit at a time, never a lot.
So he silently encourages her to tell him more, urging her with his eyes and his hands but never outwardly pleading with her to tell him. He touches her with loose fingertips, the pads of his fingers sliding along her wrist and tracing the path of her veins to the crease in her elbow. She sighs into his shoulder, her eyes still glued shut even though he feels like he's been awake for hours.
It's the first movement he's made since counting the thump of her pulse against his touch, a comforting movement that makes his own heartbeat sync with hers. His fingers smooth up her arm, lets her hair twist around them before he pushes his hand into her red tresses. He absently wonders if he can get her to tell him more, if they'd ever be doing anything other than trying to read each other until the day they die.
There's a certain feeling that invades him, the inability to just purse his lips and ignore the feelings that he has inside - so, he presses his thumb against her jaw and tilts her mouth upward. He presses his mouth to hers, feeling her fingertips flex against his skin, and turns his body into hers. She sighs into his mouth as his chin slides over hers, his tongue briefly tangling with hers.
"What was that for?" She mutters, forehead pressing against his.
He releases an unsteady breath, "I wanted to."
He moves his fingers down her arm, slides it over her hip and slips it up the hem of her shirt and presses his fingers into the small of her back. He shivers when her fingers slide through his hair, hovering over his ear lobe. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"Couldn't let me sleep any longer?" She teases, stifling a yawn.
"I think you've slept enough," he muses, "I just couldn't help myself."
"Do you think I don't notice?"
He furrows his eyebrows, "notice what?"
"You. How you're always watching me. How you can't help yourself," she replies with a slight smirk, "I notice that you kiss me a little more often than I've ever seen you kiss anyone else, that your smile is easier - more genuine."
"We don't have to do this," he says teasingly.
"Why not? Don't want your feelings to be spilled onto the table?"
"Because I'd rather tell you all about my feelings when the time is right," he counters with a narrowed gaze. He lifts a shaky hand and slides it through her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. He presses his lips against hers for a brief moment in time. He adds mockingly, "Unless you'd rather tell me how I'm feeling about you."
"It is one of my favorite pastimes," she admits.
"Okay," he whispers in agreement, lips ghosting over hers; he rolls over, pins her beneath him as he fits between her legs like he's an expert at fitting perfectly against her, "I tell you something and you tell me something."
Her fingers dig into his shoulderblades, her body arching into his as though she has no control, "okay, I can maybe do that."
"It scares me when I can't feel your heartbeat," he mutters, avoiding the possibility of the awkwardness by sliding his fingers down the exposed skin of her neck.
She sighs, almost moans sleepily, "I'm scared you're going to resent me if you don't go back to work soon, everything you - we've - worked for lost all because of me."
"I don't want to go back to work without you. I'll miss seeing you, watching you breathe. I'm not even sure that I can function," his words catch in his throat, a grunt falling out. He lightly shakes his head like it will dismiss anything that would come out of his mouth, that already has. His hand skims her breast over her shirt before his fingers press into her hip. "Looking up and not being able to see you might destroy me."
"What if I tell you that I'm not going anywhere? That when you leave work, you'll come home, and I'll be there?" She asks, lips parted and breath beating against his neck.
He releases a slightly annoyed breath, "it isn't the same. I couldn't stand it before, looking up and you not sitting at that desk, what makes you think I could stand it now?"
"Because you have to," she starts; he cuts her off, presses his lips to hers and let's them hover right over hers, "caring makes you weak."
"You make me weak," he mutters against her mouth.
Her fingers slide into his hair, the gaps between her fingers teasing the ends of his hair - her words catch in her throat, come out in a quiet moan as his fingertips skim over her waistline, "Harvey, I can't go back after this."
"What?" He breathes against her mouth, nose sliding over hers.
"You and me," she elaborates, "after being with you, I don't know how to not be with you."
"I just want you," he admits.
She pulls her leg up, her calf sliding against his side and pressing into his hip. She pins his hand between her ribs, his stomach, and her thigh - he wonders when there were three side to this, how she managed to trap his hand there like an expert. Sometimes he forgets all of her skills, how she knows exactly what to do and exactly when to do it, like she's been working him for the last 10 years rather than working for him. He looks at her like he's in awe of her, his hand vibrating against her skin.
She lets her eyes drift closed as she slides her hand around to the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their temples press together and their breathing intertwines; "let's not pretend that you believe in forever, Harvey."
His eyebrows furrow in response, his lips forming a thin line. "Well, things change. Everything I used to care about doesn't matter anymore. None of it matters if I can't have you. For weeks I had to imagine what my life would be like without you and I never want to know that feeling again."
She feels his hand shake against her skin, pads of his fingers softer than some of the men who have touched her.
"Harvey," she mutters, swallows a thick film of saliva that has gathered at the base of her throat, "I love you."
She feels his breath cut against her skin, his lips brushing over her skin as he seeks out her jaw. She can feel his pulse beneath her fingers, her newly painted nails standing out as navy blue against flesh, and his heart beat is racing so fast. She's too distracted by his mouth on her jawbone to count the quick beats and only when he releases a hot breath does she allow herself to exhale as well.
"But?" He asks carely.
She can hear the desperation in his tone, the slight pleading in his voice with the one syllable that has fallen from between his lips.
"I just love you and I don't want you to give it all up for me," she admits.
His nose touches hers, and he clears his throat. She can feel the ghost of his lips on hers. "Marry me. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. I don't care. I just want - I need you to marry me."
"Harvey," she whispers in response.
13, tuesday 2pm
Harvey knows Donna. Harvey knows when Donna is avoiding. Harvey knows when Donna doesn't want to give him a direct answer and even more than that he knows when she doesn't want to deliver him with news that she thinks he doesn't want to hear. Harvey is a man, he is a man, and he understands that sometimes he's going to be told things that he doesn't want to hear.
He gets that asking her to marry him seemed out of the blue, like he had no reason to ask her, but he knows that it's because his life just doesn't seem the same without her.
He's tried to talk about it so many times, Donna, about what happened... but she just shrugs it off with a smile, her hands on his arms, her mouth reassuring him in one way or another. He's stuck in a perpetual state of uncertainty, but at least he knows that she loves him. It's just like her, Harvey thinks, to always give him seventy-five percent while he's giving her a quarter. He thinks this deserves to be talked about, thinks that it's been eating away at him for so long that he's about to burst from the inside out. He just wants to know what exactly the reason is that she won't marry him.
He watches her carefully but from a distance, painfully aware of when her fingers skate over his skin like she wants him to know that she's still present right before she goes back to doing something with her sister or her mother. He can feel the distance between them, can't help but wonder if it's a step in the backwards direction.
He catches her wrist as she walks by, his eyes not having half as much gull as he needs to reach hers, "Donna."
"Harvey, when you say my name like that," she starts, and she releases a sigh that rattles her chest, "I can't."
"You can't what?" He asks, voice straining with desperation.
"I can't say no. I can't think. I can't focus," she admits.
He sighs, almost in relief, "just tell me what you're thinking. Tell me what you want."
"I want you, Harvey," she replies, "I just want you. You're all I've wanted for a very long time. I want you."
"You have me," he tells her, pushing himself to his feet and standing so close to her that he can feel her warmth, "you have every bit of me, okay? I just need to know what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking," she laughs, "I'm thinking that if you don't give me some space then I'm going to say yes. If we ever fall apart, Harvey, we lose each other forever."
"This is us, Donna. We can work through anything."
For a moment, she looks at him as though he is trying to convince her, "I know."
The way her lips curve up into a smile makes him think that he's gotten his answer.