Chapter 1 - Untitled
Harvey and Donna take a little road trip and she helps him deal with life. Hurt/Comfort.

..

It's been a month.

A month since the hardest day of his life.

Life moves on, he guesses. Keeping busy, head in the game, pouring everything he's got into his new position.

It's been a month since he made partner.

It's been a month since his dad died.

She had persuaded him to go to his father's funeral. It was painful and horrible and he'd be forever grateful to her for it.

As if the gut wrenching act of burying one's father wasn't enough, he also had to see his mother for the first time in an offending number of years. Listening to her talk about his father in the service melted his soul. He felt it burn and scald him as hot tears covered his face. But for a second he thought that was good. The melting of his soul would allow it to piece itself back together, like broken pieces of glass, melted in searing fire to then be blown into a new life. He thought he was ready to forgive his mother.

He called and thanked Donna for that, too.

That was until he saw the man his mother had put between herself and her family. The ammunition she used to slaughter his family. The man who made a fool out of his father in his own home, humiliated him. Was now at his service. "Paying his respects."

The man didn't know the meaning of the word.

Neither did his mother – and he felt angry at himself for considering even for a second that maybe she did. For considering forgiving her.

And neither did his brother for accepting them both. For allowing them to keep humiliating his father over his grave.

He left in anger.

He didn't have a family there anymore because none of them understood loyalty.

..

"What happened? I thought you were gonna stay up there for a couple of days," Donna asked, surprised to see him back so soon. They had talked on the phone and she thought he had finally made peace with his mom.

"Yeah, well, things don't always turn out the way you want them to."

"Harvey, you're gonna have to forgive her one day."

"I don't have to do anything. And I don't ever wanna hear you say that to me again."

He had a finality to his tone. Curt. Sharp. He only looked at her enough to plant his words, and then glanced away to make her know that he was done. She should leave.

He knew he had been hard with her but he didn't regret it.

He was never going to forgive his mother and he needed Donna, of all people, to… accept that, at least. He knew she would never truly understand.

Her father had betrayed her family, too, in a way. He had betrayed their trust, lost everything they had, and not long ago tried to get money from her for another shady deal. Still, Donna loved the man more than anyone else in the world. She would never understand how he was able to completely desert his mother and he couldn't deal with her judgment. He could deal with her silence.

But then his brother called.

They were dealing with everything his father had left behind, emptying his home. His mind was so deep in work and he was so determined to not focus on a conversation with Marcus, especially one regarding their father, it took him some time to catch up on what was happening.

Marcus could deal with the clothes, and furniture and whatever it was. He didn't care.

Marcus hesitation and strangeness was what tipped him off.

His father's music.

That's what needed dealing with.

His father had a room in his house dedicated to that. Saxophones, music sheets, records, a few other instruments… everything his dad treasured the most. That's what Marcus was offering.

That's one thing Harvey couldn't turn his back on.

"Look, man," Marcus insisted, taking Harvey's silence as him refusing the offer when in reality it was just all sinking in "I know we didn't leave things on good terms, but I know how important all of this is to you. We're packing up his house and I just thought… I'll make sure she's not here. I can even make myself scarce if you don't want to see me. So you can come and see what you want. Keep what you want."

That was the first time he felt ashamed for lashing out at his brother. He still thinks he was in the right doing so, because Marcus had picked her side. But he felt ashamed.

"No, it's okay… you don't have to… you don't have to leave. I'll go."

"Okay, good. When do you think you can make it?"

"Uh… I don't know. I'm actually really busy at work…"

And certainly not ready to see you again.

Or to go through one more act of letting go of my father.

"We're kind of on a deadline here, Harvey... With the house."

"Saturday. I'll go this Saturday."

Better get this over with.

"Good. I'll just wait for you in the house then, to let you in."

"Thanks for calling, Marcus. Thank you for… offering."

"No problem, Harv. I'll see you."

..

When she told him what had happened he couldn't look at her.

Something about seeing the pain he was feeling reflected in her eyes, like looking in a mirror.

He turned to the side.

She stood still.

He tried with everything he had to fight the sting of his eyes welling up as he felt his heart break.

But then he found out he wasn't that strong.

He felt her cry quietly and knew he was, too.

"Harvey, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

He heard the reassurance in his own voice.

But it couldn't be him saying those words because he didn't know that. He didn't feel that.

Maybe it had been her. Telling him that he was going to be okay and somehow her words had fallen out of his mouth.

It made sense to him in that moment.

..

He had no intention of going to that funeral and almost didn't. Maybe that's why it never occurred to him to ask her to come.

Now he is forced to go back there, so soon after everything that happened. Forced by his need to keep his father close. Even if it were just little lifeless pieces of his father, made out of metal and resin, paper and wood. He wants those pieces, but it feels like one more goodbye he needs to go through.

This time he doesn't want to go through it alone.

Once or twice he tells himself this is about organizing and cataloging and that's one of her roles in his life. That's why he needs her for this.

Can't convince himself, though.

He places his elbows on her cubicle wall, bending towards her as if attempting to look at her screen while she types away.

"That's not distracting."

"Busy?" he asks, seemingly casual.

"You know I am."

"Too busy for little road trip?"

"What?" She frowns and finally stops typing to focus her attention on him.

"I hear Boston is lovely this time of year."

"Harvey."

"I need to go to my father's house, to go through his possessions and… take things, I guess."

"And you want… me to…"

"Yes."

She takes her time pondering and he's terrified she's going to ask why, mainly because he doesn't know the answer either.

But she doesn't.

"Okay," she agrees with a nod of her head.

He's too relieved to delve on her willingness. Maybe she pities him, or something.

"Saturday?" He checks her availability.

"Okay."

The disappearance of her string of speech and questions and analyses and suggestions makes him nervous, but extremely grateful all the same.

"I can pick you up at seven."

"I'll see you Saturday at seven."

He grins slightly, a thankyou too thick on his tongue to roll out of his mouth.

"…and also every single moment from now to then because I literally spend every waking moment of my life fifteen feet away from you."

She quips and smirks and he's surprised he's even capable of fitting more gratitude into his being.

..

Khaki pair of pants, navy sweater with a white shirt peeking at the collar and the hem, he's leaning against his car in front of her place at 6:45 Saturday morning. He drinks his coffee slowly, gazing around at the incipient awakening of a New York weekend. The coffee he bought her is perched on top of the car beside him and he's confident it should remain hot enough for fifteen more minutes.

The coffee doesn't have to wait that long though. Five minutes later she's stepping out of her building and walking the steps down in his direction, a small smile on her lips.

"You're early," he accuses as if she were the one on his door too early on a Saturday morning.

"I saw you through the window," she explains as she accepts the coffee cup he hands her.

"Oh."

She's wearing a cream sweater with a v cut, jeans and boots and he can't remember the last time he's seen her like this. Her hair looks the same as every day, long coppery strands, straight and bangs parted to the side of her forehead. She doesn't seem to be wearing makeup, but he's sure she is. He's lived enough to know women can trick men into thinking they're bare faced.

"Ready to do this?" she asks encouragingly.

"Ready to drive for four hours. Maybe after that I'll be ready for the other stuff."

"That's the spirit."

Apparently she is a relentless optimist today. He grins, pushes himself away from the car and moves to open her door.

..

They're driving out of the city and she's still wrestling with the radio every one or two songs, unable to settle.

"Seriously?" He complains again after losing count on the amount of times she's changed stations. "I'm pretty sure we've listened to more static than actual songs at this point."

"This one is too chirpy," she offers as if it was obvious and he rolls his eyes.

"Just. Put. On. A. CD." He's also lost count on the amount of times he's said that.

"Oh my god, where's your sense of adventure? Let's venture into the unknown, face the stations with bravery and…"

"You do realize you're talking about the radio, right?"

"You don't even like CDs anyway."

"Did you expect me to have a record player in the car?"

"Kind of." She shifts on her seat, frustrated with the radio static. "We could play some car games."

"I'm not playing car games."

"Come on! Let's play twenty questions."

"No."

"Okay. I'll go first. Ask me a question."

"Are you as uninterested in car games as I am?"

"Hey, how did you guess so fast?"

She plays amazement and he watches her smirk from the corner of his eyes which breaks his moodiness a bit. He knows she's trying to distract him and as grumpy as he is, he's gotta admit it's working.

"I'm wicked smart."

Eventually, she settles on a station and relaxes into her seat for longer than five minutes. Which inevitably makes her fall asleep.

She doesn't sleep for that long and she's soon straightening herself on the seat and stretching a bit.

"Where are we?" she asks, sleepily.

"Just past New Haven."

"Still? I could've slept longer."

"You're a great road trip company, by the way."

"You'll thank me when you're tired of packing and I impress you with my tireless energy."

"How can you even sleep after all that coffee?"

"I don't see the connection." She widens her eyes and he rolls his, but she is a more awake and chatty company all the way to Boston.

..

Long before he approaches his father's house a heaviness dawns on him. He reckons Donna feels it too, or at least she notices his nervousness, because she's quiet now.

He's not ready to see Marcus and he's absolutely not ready to go through his father's things. It's too soon, for both. What was this need people had to deal with hardship so efficiently? To get things dealt with and done and out of the way as soon as possible. Maybe his way of dealing wasn't the best, but neither was this.

If it was up to him he'd store the grief deep inside, hidden under a pile of daily obligations and denial to only deal with it when he was ready. Even if he never was. Maybe he'd be able to suppress it so much, to put so many other things into that pile and squash the feeling so deep that when he was forced to retrieve it, it'd be gone. Or at least flattened paper thin from all the weight and time and it would hurt less.

Donna said he couldn't do that when she made him go to the funeral.

His brother made it impossible for him to do it when he said he had to come for his father's belongings.

Maybe his way wasn't the healthiest but he couldn't see how his family's way of dealing would make anything more bearable. It was like they were trying to erase his father's existence as soon as possible. Rid every physical space he habited and object the touched of him. Clean, rearrange, move on. But then again, they weren't loyal to his father in life, why would they be in death?

He swallows the bitter thought as he parks in front of the house.

He feels her eyes on him and he breathes deeply, trying to force himself to be ready as he takes the key out of the ignition. He gets out of the car without looking at her and when he gets to her side she's already waiting for him on the sidewalk.

They walk side-by-side to the front door and, before they even get to the threshold, the door opens abruptly and they're faced with Marcus.

"Hey! I… heard the car," he explains seeing the startled look on his brother's face.

Harvey could've used the few extra seconds between knocking on the door and it being opened to prepare himself.

Normally he would hug his brother. But nothing feels normal anymore.

"Hey, hm…" he hesitates.

Good morning? It wasn't.

How are you doing? You should be doing pretty shitty.

"This is Donna." He decides, glancing at the redhead.

He notices Marcus nervous eyes soften as he focus his attention on Donna. "Hi. It's nice to finally meet you."

"You too, Marcus. I'm sorry about your loss."

Harvey watches as they hold each other's hands and a sudden wave of irritation crashes low on his stomach. His loss. His hands.

"So… brother, I guess you want some time to yourself to do this?" he chances, extending the house keys to Harvey's hand.

"Right."

"Do you want to have lunch? Have you guys eaten yet?" Marcus offers, checking his watch for the possibility of a group meal.

"We're fine." Harvey's teeth might crack from how hard his clenching his jaw. He knows anger is seeping through the cold of his tone and he doesn't know why.

"Okay, so… when you're done you can leave the key under the mat or… come by my place? Leave the key, have some coffee, say goodbye?" His tone is zealous, probably aware of the possibility his brother my might explode at him soon.

Harvey's silent.

"Thank you, Marcus," Donna answers in his place, after glancing at Harvey and assessing his silence as permanent. "I'm not sure how long we'll be busy here, but Harvey will let you know when we're done."

Marcus smiles softly at Donna before directing his words back to Harvey. "I've taken a couple of records and that music sheet for 'Impatient', but everything else is pretty much as it's always been so… just take whatever you want and after we can… decide what to do with what's left."

Harvey merely nods, avoiding looking into Marcus's eyes.

He passes between the pair mumbling a shy goodbye to Donna and leaves.

Harvey's gaze is fixed firmly on the tips of his shoes. As firmly as Donna's gaze is fixed on him. He draws in a breath soundly, straightening his slumped posture before he looks at her and wordlessly extends his hand in the direction of the open door in front of them, motioning for her to go inside.

..

His dad's house feels strangely empty, despite most things still being in place. One or two open doors show unoccupied cabinets and lonely hangers, but all the furniture is still in place.

That wasn't home for him, the house his father had moved to after the divorce. But it still felt like something. Like some lingering presence of a loved one in the dark woods of the floors and the comfy throw on the couch. There were a lot of pictures hanging on the walls, most from his life as a musician. His band on a stage, him on the sax, some concert posters with his name in tiny letters at the corner.

Donna stands quietly by a wall, looking at something he can't see from behind her back. He feels awkward over his silent outburst at the door and hesitates, but eventually figures there's no use and joins her.

He lingers behind her right shoulder. She's looking at an old picture of him as a young kid, probably ten or eleven years, proudly hugging his father's saxophone, little cheeks puffed full of air, no doubt about to blow on the thing, while the man laughed in the background. He loves that picture. Beside that one, there's one of him in his late teen years, an arm over an acne-covered Marcus, a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

His sight drops to the other frame beneath those too, smaller and, different from the other two, he doesn't remember it being there in any of his visits and suddenly wonders if that was on purpose. It's a family picture. The four of them. His dad's arm proudly around his mother's waist.

Donna gazes over her shoulder.

"You okay there?"

The lump he swallows grates on his throat on the way down. He nods, the briefest sentiment of guilt over being so sour around the woman who gave up her Saturday to help him crosses his mind, but it doesn't stick.

"You were really cute." She points to the picture of his younger self.

"Still am."

She smiles at the tiny smirk that forces itself over his lips.

"I don't know, Harv… You certainly went downhill from there." She shrugs matter of factly.

"Excuse me, I am like a fine wine. I only get better with age."

"Oh. That explains it then. You're still too young and… fruity."

"What the…"

She spins on her heels and wanders into the long wooden covered corridor of the house.

She stops by the first door on her left and turns to look at him, waiting. He raises his brows at her uncharacteristic respect for one's private space before reaching for the door and letting her in.

When she gazes inside the room he watches the emotion that takes over her face. It really is a sort of sanctuary to his father's music and just who he… was. And the fact that she's able to notice it immediately and appreciate everything it represents fills his chest with some nameless emotion he's not used to.

They're surrounded by dark wood. The walls covered in so many posters, records and instruments it hides almost all of the mahogany underneath and a light grey colored rug covers part of the floor. It's much lighter there than in the living room as a big glass window takes up most of the wall in front of them and it bleeds a fresh, greenish sort of light into the room. They can see a well groomed garden, full of vines that drape over the side of the window and the empty street to the side of the house, a lonely bike leaning against a lampost across the street.

Harvey's been there before, of course. But not in a while. And somehow he doesn't remember it ever being this quiet. Maybe because his father was always there, talking and playing some music, having friends over, sometimes the TV was on in the living room… But his father wasn't there anymore.

Donna wanders around the room, calmly gazing, letting the atmosphere sink in. He finds it a bit hard to stare at everything in there for a moment and focuses on Donna's hands instead. They're crossed in front of her body as she walks around but she also lets her fingers graze delicately over the wooden cabinets; lifts a piece of paper to study it; takes an extra second by a keyboard beneath the window. His vision gets blurry.

"Hey, I'm hungry. Can we go get something to eat before we start?"

He turns his back quickly at the sound of her voice, taking focused interest on a guitar in a corner trying to force the glaze over his eyes to disappear before he can look at her.

It's lunch time. She hasn't eaten anything since that coffee early in the morning. Of course she's hungry…

He's completely sure she's only trying to get him out of there.

..

They get back in the car and drive for not even fifteen minutes to a diner Harvey used to go to such a long time ago it feels like a different life. And he likes the feeling of having this jeans-clad Donna walking into his other life.

He's stealing her fries after having finished his burger and it's so natural she doesn't even seem to take notice, but he does notice when she steals a sip of his his soda, lips rounding his straw for a second or two.

"There's scotch at your dad's place, right?"

"If Marcus didn't swipe it yet…"

"Well, if he did, we're hunting him down."

"Yeah, don't count on me."

"So… are you ready to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

She tilts her head to the side. He knows what.

He stares at the waitress behind the counter like a kid who hides behind sunglasses and thinks no one can see him.

"Are you seriously mad at your brother?"

"Donna…" Not even he knows whether he's pleading or warning.

"Harvey." The way she plants his name forces him to lock his gaze on hers again. "You said I couldn't talk about… her anymore, and I won't." His gut does a little guilt ridden twist at the memory of scolding her. "But this is not about your mother. He's your little brother and he's just lost his dad. He needs his brother to be there for him. And no matter how self sufficient you think you are, you need him too. He's your family, Harvey."

"Marcus doesn't need me."

He's rebuff is stubborn and child-like and they both know it, so she doesn't even make the effort to respond to that directly and just moves on with her speech.

"He's his own person, Harvey. He doesn't have to feel the same as you do about everything that's happened in your family and I'm sure he has his reasons…"

"Don't go there." He warns.

"The point is, you two are family and family should know they can count on each other, especially in times like this."

"He knows he can count on me."

"Does he? Because from what I saw he looked more like he was afraid you were going to bite his head off if he even breathed in the wrong direction."

He's silent then. She scrunches her brows at him, making an effort to find out if he's not saying anything because she's got to him or because he shut down. But then he pouts and she knows she can relax.

"Are you done?" he asks, gruffly.

"Yep." She pops her 'p'. "I've made my point."

"I mean the food."

"I know."

..

When he enters the room after getting them some scotch, which luckily is still in his father's living room, she's sitting on the rug, folded legs to the side, a small pile of records in front of her, studying the back of one of them.

He grins to himself as he hands her the glass and is grateful she doesn't notice. He drags a low stool nearer to where she is and sits himself in front of his father's record collection.

As they seemed to do with everything else they did together, they soon find an easy rhythm. He takes a record out of the low shelf in front of him, studies it for a second and hands it to her, telling her if it should go into the 'keep' or the 'leave' box. Their rhythm is easy, but not necessarily quick as they talk too much over the records. She also spends a lot of time trying to convince him the disks won't fit in the 'keep' box anymore and he'll need a new office back in New York and a new apartment because the records will take over his life. He rolls his eyes at her drama.

Granted, most of the records on the much smaller 'leave' pile are only there because he already owns a copy, one more argument she doesn't fail to make in her incessant nagging. At one point he blurts out an annoyed "I'm not apologizing for who I am", which makes Donna bend over with laughter until tears roll out of her eyes. Somehow he finds he's joined her in the outburst of honest happiness. The last thing he expected to do today.

One very large and heavy box later, they're done with the records.

Somewhere along the way they've taken their sweaters off and Donna put her hair up on a loose knot, bangs slightly pushed to the side.

Harvey takes the heavy box to the car while Donna carries his father's sax in a leather case hanging over her shoulder. The box goes into the trunk and she tries really hard not to laugh as Harvey places the instrument in the backseat of the car, securing it with a seatbelt. When he notices her expression he threatens to trade her for the instrument as his travel companion and put it on the front seat.

They go back inside and Harvey chooses a couple of posters and pictures off the walls, goes over some of his fathers documents and books. She watches as he takes a little box with some master tapes to the car as if they were made of crystal. The afternoon passes peacefully by as they organize and reminisce.

He wants some more scotch, starting to feel a little drowsy, but Donna decides it's not a good idea, since he still needs to drive them back. She ventures into his father's kitchen to make them some coffee while Harvey looks over his father's desk drawers.

"Found any treasures?" She hands him a mug of steamy liquid and he notes the absence of vanilla in his dad's pantry.

"Nope. Just boring papers."

"What about the music sheets you wanted?"

"That box." He points.

She leaves her mug on the table in front of him and comes back with the box. She places a chair beside Harvey's and they start to go through the papers while sipping at their coffees.

There's a lot of music in there. Most of them are printed out papers from music his father had learned over the years or just liked having around. The important ones, to Harvey, were in a separate folder. It was music his father had written himself. He leaves those for last.

It's not clear if it's a 'save the best for last' kind of thing or if he's merely not ready to go through his dad's life's work just yet, but eventually it's all they've got left to go through.

Those papers there were way messier than the other ones. For some, his father had scribbled on the margins, crossed out some notes and added new ones. Others were in pristine state.

"This is that one you like." Harvey shows Donna one of the perfect looking music sheets. It was one of his father's earlier works and one of her favorites.

She takes her time reading the notes on the paper, playing the music in her head. When she gazes back at Harvey she realizes he's been frowning over a sheet of paper for a long time.

"What is it?"

"I don't know this one." He shows Donna the paper.

Differently from all the other ones in there, this one is entirely handwritten. His father had drawn the musical notes with a blue pen, one by one. They take only a little over half of the sheet.

"He was composing this…" Harvey's voice is so hoarse she expected to see him crying when she gazed back at him, but his eyes are dry.

"Do you really not know this one? Maybe it's an old one he was working on."

"I don't know. It doesn't have a title." He looks like a lost little boy as he gazes sadly at the paper in her hands.

"I could… Maybe I could try and play it? If you want me to…? To see if you recognize it."

He looks at her astounded. Somehow it had slipped his mind over the years that she could do that. That among all of Donna Paulsen's wonderful talents, music is one of them.

He gapes at her and she mistakens his silence for confusion.

"Well, obviously not on the sax, but there's a keyboard there. I could… try."

He swallows the emotion thick on his throat and nods slowly. She smiles sweetly at him before she stands and walks to take a seat at the cushiony stool beneath the window. He follows hesitantly and stands by her, leaning his side against the window sill beside the keyboard.

"Now… this is no piano," Donna quirks an eyebrow in his direction. "And if you tell anyone I've said this I will sue you, but I'm not exactly great at this. It's been a long time. But uhn… let's just try this."

He's able to grin at her over the tightness in his chest before he watches her hands raise to the keyboard. She fixes the piece of paper on the support in front of her, turns the instrument on and presses what to him sounds like a few random keys.

She breathes deeply before hovering both hands over the instrument and then she starts to actually… play.

The song's a little melancholic - or maybe that's just his spirit - but in a sweet way, rather than sad. The tempo is quite slow.

He's not used to listening to one of his father's songs on a piano. It sounds more delicate somehow. He watches Donna's long pale fingers and maroon covered nails dance over the keys to the melody. He's sure it's the most graceful thing he's ever seen in his life and he wonders how much of her has seeped into his father's composition.

It must have only lasted a little over a minute. And then it's suddenly over and ten times more quiet than it was before she started to play. He feels a streak of emotion travel inside each bone of his body and it takes everything in him to just… stand still.

Donna looks up at him. He looks like he might crumble before her eyes.

His right hand grasps the window sill as if it were the only thing holding him on this Earth. His knuckles are white. The other one hangs limply at the side of his body. Right beside her.

She didn't do it when she broke the news to him. But for some reason she does it now.

It's not so much of a decision as it is an impulse.

As if he was falling and she reached to catch him.

Her fingers graze the back of his hand slowly until they fold, reaching his palm. She holds his hand in hers and squeezes it lightly. She's looking up to him but he's looking to his right side, out the window and into the sunset.

A second later she thinks of letting go. She's sure her fingers didn't have time to act on the thought so he probably read her mind because his hand immediately tightens around hers, holding her almost too strongly.

She stands in front of him. Slowly, she closes the tiny gap between them, left arm folding around his neck. She leans her body lightly against his and jerks the slightest at the sudden sharp breath he draws in, chest expanding abruptly against her own. But just as swiftly she relaxes back into him. Her head lays on his left shoulder, staring at his neck.

He's a statue carved in stone. His head is still turned outside the window. His fingers still grasp the window sill with everything he has. She would think hugging him was the most horrendous thing she's ever done if not for the fact that he's still holding on the her hand so strongly her fingers hurt.

He then releases the air he's been keeping captive in his lungs and by doing so his whole body trembles.

Both his hands let go - of the window sill and of hers - and his arms desperately fold around her waist holding her close. She can feel the way his body trembles against her chest and stomach at each short breath he takes.

Her right hand, now free from his grasp, joins her other one over his shoulders.

He doesn't turn his face in her direction. If he did, he would stare right into her eyes. But he knows exactly how they look in that moment. Completely green in front of the warm light of the sunset and probably wet as her head rests on his shoulder.

But he doesn't turn.

He does close his eyes. And lowers his head until his face is pressed against her arm. He feels his tears wet the freckles on her shoulder, but strangely doesn't care. Instead he lets his lips linger against her skin until he places a kiss there, somewhere on her arm his closed eyes can't see, below her shoulder.

He feels the little tremble of her body battle his for just a second or two, and then she settles again.

When they part the room around them is suddenly dark. Donna turns on her back to switch the light on and Harvey quickly runs his fingers over his face to rid any traces of wetness.

"Of course it'll sound much better on the sax," She mentions quietly coming back to retrieve the music sheet and place it back in the folder with the others. "But it's really beautiful, right?"

She looks at him for the first time. His lips tug in the smallest of smiles, an honest one nonetheless, reddened and moistened eyes staring back at each other.

"It was really beautiful."

She grins back before snapping back into her efficient self.

"I'm guessing you want this entire folder?"

She doesn't really need an answer as she's already organizing the papers and pulling on the elastic to secure them inside.

"I think… that's it, huh?" She brings their attention to the now much emptier room. "Ready to hit the road?"

..

With one last look, Harvey locks the door to his father's house. Donna observes quietly as he places the key inside his pocket and marches to the car. She doesn't have to ask if they're stopping at Marcus's.

Harvey half expects to see a smug grin on her face for a second - there's no denying this had been her doing - but just as soon as it came, he shakes off that thought. That's not who Donna is.

I don't need your thanks, Harvey. I'm just really happy you're there.

She'd said that to him a month ago, about him going to the funeral and about staying to make peace with his mother. And though things didn't work out the way she wanted to, she's still here, glad to see him making an effort towards another member of his family, and humbly ignoring her role in all that.

"I'm gonna wait here, okay?" she says when he parks in front of the house.

He nods, thankful.

She makes a conscious effort not to stare as Harvey talks to his brother by the front door, but there's no use because she has front row seats to the scene. They talk for a few minutes, longer than she'd expected, actually. Harvey hands him the key, and they share a brief hug before Harvey gets back to the car, presumably refusing his offer to go inside for coffee, as Donna assumed he would. Marcus waves goodbye to her in the distance and she smiles and waves back as Harvey gets behind the wheel.

"We should stop somewhere to eat before we hit the road."

"Yes, please! I am weak." She emphasizes with a flare of drama.

"Where's your tireless energy, Miss?" he mocks.

"Back in the trunk, along with your five hundred thousand records."

..

"So… You've been talking to your brother about your awesome assistant, huh?"

"What?"

"This morning. Marcus said it was nice to finally meet me."

"You two have talked on the phone before." He tries to shrug it off.

"And you've been telling him about your awesome assistant."

"I haven't, actually."

"Uh-hm, sure."

Humbleness is gone. Here's flippant, way too confident for his own good, Donna. How the hell did she pick up on that?

"No, I haven't," he emphasizes a little grumpy, "but... my father might have mentioned you once or twice…"

He sees her neck snap in his direction as she fixes him with widened eyes. She's so surprised by his words she has trouble keeping her cool and unabashed demeanor. He looks at her from the corner of his eyes and she frowns slightly. If he wasn't so lost himself on how to explain this, he would laugh at her face.

"What? My old man liked you. You know that."

"But did he talk about me?"

"Maybe…"

"Harvey!"

"I don't know what you want me to say, Don…" A lie. "He just mentioned your name sometimes…" Another lie. "Asked about you and stuff." Finally something is truth.

The truth of the matter is that his father was convinced Harvey was wasting time being an idiot when he should just marry the woman already and he was not subtle about it.

She hums and accepts his vague answer, looking out the window at the passing trees in the darkness at the side of the road.

"Well, I liked him too."

"I know." Harvey's lips pull at the corners, gazing at her with a tenderness in his eyes.

Something warm passes in the quiet air between them, as they take a moment to just breathe in the gale of feelings and memories.

"What do you feel like eating?" Harvey asks eventually.

"I don't feel particularly picky."

She shrugs and almost immediately Harvey takes a turn and stops at a place just outside of Boston.

"Pizza it is."

..

To her defense, she did talk to him for most of the drive, but after the day they've had and after managing to find a smooth jazz station on the radio Donna fell asleep for the last hour or so of their way home. He drove in the darkness, listening to quiet music, every once in a while chancing a gaze at Donna comfortably sleeping in the seat beside him, cuddling his sweater which covered her like a blanket.

When he parks in front of her building it's past 11 pm and she's still sound asleep. He places a hand on her jean covered knee to wake her up and grins as he watches her eyes flutter open beneath copper bangs.

"We're here?" She straightens up, a little disoriented.

"Yeah. Delivered to your doorstep, safe and and sound." He smiles and opens his own door so she waits until he comes around the car to open the door for her.

He lets her out and they stand by the still open door. Harvey's holding on to it and his arm blocks her way.

"I… Thank you, Donna." There's such a firm sincerity in his tone and his eyes lock her with such a strong intent, it disconcerts her. Makes her uncharacteristically shy and makes it impossible for her to act like this was just a casual 'bye, see you Monday'.

"It was nothing, Harvey."

"You know it wasn't."

There's something in the air between them as they stand, looking into each other's eyes.

She wants to comfort him.

He wants her comfort.

Somehow they miss the bridge that's able to connect their wants into a reality.

So she just smiles sweetly, hoping he knows how much she wishes she could make him feel better.

And he smiles back, hoping she knows she already did.

..

AN: I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into what happened all those years ago between these two idiots in love who are always there for each other.

If we're being honest, I might have one or two more chapters of this still in me (if you're interested, please let me know), BUT I have no intention of writing it yet and this really is intended to be taken as a oneshot.

Thank you to AlternateShadesofBlue for being the best beta and supporter a girl could dream of.

And thank you for the lovely reviews!