This is extremely au. This is kind of a what if Harvey had said he wanted a relationship with her at the diner instead of for her to work with him. Completely an assumption. Still contemplating about whether to do flashbacks or not. Anyway, this kind of makes Donna out to be an asshole at first, but it isn't supposed to be. I'm toying with a few ideas (regarding POV) so we will see where I go from there.

She stares at him from across the table. He's just as handsome as ever, with that cut jawline and his nose. His eyes are squinted, skin between his eyebrows knitted together in deep contemplation.

They've been looking at each other, not saying anything, for far too long. They are at a stalemate. Their perpetual lack of communication is a literal representation of just exactly how hard of a brick wall they have hit. They can't even plow through it.

It occurs to her, certainly but not suddenly, that they've been sleeping in separate beds for so long that they don't even have the same essence and elegance they once had. And she can pinpoint, because she still hasn't lost her edge, exactly where everything started. It was somewhere between years 6 and 7, where the jealousy really dug its claws in for dear life.

She accused him of it once, but he had committed to the deny, deny, deny. And her suspicions had been solidified when just a few short weeks later the massive rock came at her, flippantly and forcefully and undeniably, so she couldn't say no. For a short amount of time, the proposal had bandaged up their issues.

She, however, could not ignore it any longer. He loved her, he told her so about a thousand different ways just short of the actual words, but her daddy had taught her (through life lessons, also not words) that love alone can't fix everything. Love can't really fix anything without honesty...or communication. Communication just wasn't their strong suit anymore, which is really just a damn shame. They used to be so good at it.

She presses her thumb against the silver band on the under side of her ring finger. She toys with it constantly, probably too much for having worn it for two years, but she has gone without wearing it for much longer intervals than her wearing it. Every day she puts it on it still has a newness to it.

She pushes the ring forward on her finger. She lets it rest there for a moment, toying with the courage to do the job fully. She locks eyes with him and it almost feels like a dare. She huffs, annoyed and determined, before pulling the ring off completely with her free hand which has now abandoned her lukewarm glass of wine. She slams the perfectly formed metal-diamond mixture onto the table between them.

"I can't do this anymore, Harvey, I'm sorry," she says.

His angry facial expression fades so quickly that her heart aches. His mouth drops open, lips trembling with words that won't come to fruition. She watches his eyes glaze over as a helplessness settles in them.

"Donna," he finally says. She can hear his voice squeak and she almost abandons all courage. She watches him barrel to his feet, nearly knocking his glass of scotch off of the table. He says, "Wait."

"This just isn't working for me anymore," she replies. His tears touch her. She can feel her breath evading her. She has to do this. She stands as well. "I love you, Harvey."

"You can't be serious," he mutters, barely audible, "Donna, please. Think about what you're doing. Think about our daughter."

"Can I just stay here for tonight?"

He sighs, defeated. He says, "Of course."

She watches on as he drops into the chair, more broken than she's ever seen him. She doesn't like the sight before her. She doesn't know how to help. They've grown apart.

She doesn't touch her glass of wine, just scurries off to her room, the sound of her heels etching a path into the walls.