if you feel like letting go; harvey/donna; pg-13; 2,788 words;

she doesn't love him, he knows that, but she wants to
sub: if you love something then set it free

She didn't tell him. She merely let things slip over time so he would notice and he wonders if it's because she was hesitant to tell him or if it's to spare him. He doesn't know, and knowing Donna like he does he'll probably never know the real reason why. He can ask but she won't give him an answer.

It's how they work, how they've always worked. He appreciates that she plays his games cheekily, can read him without gloating, that he doesn't have to tell her anything that he doesn't want to. He thinks it's those things that make it so easy to be with her. He thinks that's maybe why it pained him so much to let her walk away and get married to another guy because he knows that no matter how much he needs her, she doesn't need him.

But he'd noticed last week when there wasn't that bounce in her step or her smile wasn't easy, didn't sparkle in that way that always catches every eye in the room. He'd noticed when her eyes were watery and they looked heavy. He'd noticed that when he turned around in a quick spin there wasn't that glisten from her left hand that nearly blinded him as his blood boiled in his veins. He'd noticed, just because he doesn't say anything doesn't mean that he doesn't notice.

The toes of his brown Frank Zappa brand dress shoes scuff the cement beneath his feet, the soles finally broken in after months of having them. His fingernails tap against the glass of the wine bottle in his grasp, some chardonnay that he remembered her saying she liked once a few years ago. He isn't a big fan of chardonnay, he prefers red wine but this isn't really about him. He swallows the thick film of saliva at the base of his throat in an attempt to muster his courage.

"Are you waiting?" A woman asks from the door of Donna's apartment building.

His head snaps in her direction, eyes narrowing, "what?"

"Are you waiting to get in?" She asks again; only then does he notice her plump lips and red lipstick.

He clutches the bottle tighter, "oh, yeah, sorry."

He absently checks his watch, the sleeve of his white dress shirt and gray suit coat slipping up his arm, and his skin silently screams at the cold chill of the August air beating against it. He offers the woman a fleeting nod as the sun sets behind him, fingers pressing into the door so she can escape without wasting much more time. He lets the door gently close behind him before picking up his pace to the elevator.

He pushes the up arrow, bouncing back and forth from his tiptoes to his heels as he waits impatiently for its arrival. The doors slide open and a kid nearly bumps into him as she runs out without look where she's going but he manages to move out of her way just in time. He acknowledges the little girl's dad as he steps around Harvey, crossing as he sidesteps onto the elevator.

He hits the button for the 14th floor, waiting in silence.

Once he gets to the floor, he hovers outside of her front door for a few minutes. He taps his finger against the glass before he releases a breath and leans against her doorframe. His closed fist collides with the hollows of the door, the echo piercing his eardrums as he hears her footsteps heavy on the floor from inside.

The metal of the lock creaks as she unlocks her door. He briefly wonders if she peeked out through hole to see if it was him or if she's going to open the door and be surprised to see him. He shows her hisSpecter Smileas she pulls the door open, eyebrows furrowed at the sight of him.

"Harvey? What are you doing here?" He watches her mouth move, the way her lips curl ever so slightly - he can't tell if it's the hints of a smile.

"I just wanted to come by to see how you were," he tells her. He pushes off of the door, foot hovering over the floor untiil he flattens out, toes of his shoes slipping just over the threshold into her apartment. He tilts his head, extending the bottle in his hand in her direction. "You said you liked it."

She quirks an eyebrow, reaching out and wrapping her hand around the base of the bottle; she smirks after a moment, "when?"

"Awhile back," he replies, hand waving absently in the air, "can I come in?"

"Oh, right, sure," she says, taking a step back to clear the doorway and let him in.

He steps in, proceeding further into her apartment as he unbuttons his suit coat. He tilts his ear behind him as she shuts the door and her footsteps echo behind him. He counts her steps, 17 from the front door to the kitchen where he hears a cabinet creak when she opens it.

He tosses his coat onto the back of the loveseat and immediately busies his hands by rolling up his sleeves, idly making his way over to the window. He narrows his eyes at the view, noting that it isn't as great as he's used to but it isn't so bad either. For some reason, he's surprised.

"Hey," she softly says from behind him, the back of her hand tapping against his forearm.

He turns, careful to avoid the extended glass before taking it from her, "your view isn't all bad."

"Yeah, you like that?" She asks rhetorically.

He watches her sit on the couch, in the middle cushion like she's avoiding the corners and the closed in feeling, and she takes a mouthful of wine. He takes a sip, letting the taste ease over his pallet before he swallows. It tastes bitter but if she likes it then he'll endure.

"I didn't know I paid you so well," he quips.

She laughs, "I am apalled that you would think my management skills are limited to just you."

"Yeah, well," he says with a shrug and a smirk. He swallows, neck straining as his eyes flit around her apartment and he lets his mind attempt to find the right questions to ask. His eyes trace the lines of shadows cast on the floor before he lifts his chin to look at her. "Where's-"

"Harvey," she interjects softly, "don't play stupid. It doesn't suit you."

"When?"

She takes another drink, her glass already nearly empty; "don't. Not now."

"Why didn't you tell me? You tell me everything," he counters.

He takes a half step towards her but the rest of his body doesn't follow, unable to read her face for the first time in years. He can't tell what she's thinking, if she wants him within arms reach or if she just wants him to stay where he is. He's beginning to think that he shouldn't have come.

She sighs, "what was I supposed to say?"

"The truth," he replies with a tilt of the head.

"You called me," she says sharply, "you said you needed me and so I came back. Nate wasn't happy. Just let it go."

"I never wanted this to happen," he tells her, "if I had known."

"What difference would it have made, Harvey? I'm a big girl, I make my own choices."

"Because I would have found a way to do it without you," he replies with a light shake of his head.

She laughs, "please, Harvey, you can't even answer the phone without me."

"I am capable of doing many things without you," he counters.

"Do you ever stop?" She asks. His eyebrows furrow because he can't figure out if it's something she really wants to know or if it's just a rhetorical question. Instead of saying anything, he takes a drink. "I don't know how any woman in this city could find you charming."

"I'll tell you my secret if you tell me yours," he teases.

"Don't quit your day job," she replies sarcastically.

He watches carefully as she pushes hersef to her feet and goes back into the kitchen for a refill. She locks eyes with him from her spot in the kitchen and silently motions to the bottle. He lightly shakes his head and takes a sip from the glass.

"Why did you marry him?" He asks; her eyes narrow at him daringly.

She walks back into the living room, "you really aren't going to let this go, are you?"

"I'm just curious," he counters with a half-hearted shrug, "you don't have to tell me."

"I married him for the same reason any woman marries a man," she replies, her eyes narrowing as her gaze flees from his.

Harvey smirks, "money?"

"We've already established that you pay me quite well. Pretty sure I didn't need his money," she says.

Harvey snaps his fingers and points at her, "then you married him for protection."

"Love, Harvey," she clarifies.

He thinks she has the slightest hints of a smile at the corner of her mouth but he can't really be sure. He steps closer to the couch, leaning his hip against the arm. His fingertips trace the material of her couch, the crisp, new feeling scratching the pads of his fingers. He clears his throat, setting the glass down on the end table beside the couch.

"Women like you don't fall in love," he finally says with a small smile.

She shakes her head, "that's where you're wrong, Harvey. Women like me fall in love, it just takes the right guy."

"Was he the right guy?" Harvey pries.

He watches her swallow, fingertips toying with her glass, "I thought he was."

"Thought?"

"Look, when Nate and I were on our honeymoon you called and you needed my help. He told me that if I left, if I came home to help you, that it was over. I looked him in the eye and asked him if he was being serious."

"Why did you come back for me?"

She looks at him, serious and pointed; his fingertips tingle beneath her gaze - "you know why."

"I don't," he challenges, "I know it isn't because you were afraid I would fire you if you didn't. I would never fire you and you know that."

"THe actual job had nothing to do with it, Harvey," she says breathily. The way she says his name echoes in his ears like she's tired, less amused by his presence than she once was. He slides over the arm of the couch and sits in the corner, his thigh brushing over hers. "I don't think you want to get into this. It's just a can of worms that we'll never be able to close back again."

"Why wouldn't I want to get into this, Donna? You're important to me, the most important person to me, and nothing that's said will change that," he replies gently.

He offers her a slight smile, lifts his hand and tucks a loose strand of red hair behind her ear like it's natural for them. She flinches a little at the feel of his fingertips sliding over her skin. The reaction makes his heart ache a little.

"Please don't," she says, "before I left, I asked you for a reason not to marry Nate and you didn't give me one."

"How's that saying? If you love something then you should set it free."

She huffs deep into the bellows of her throat, "that really wasn't what I asked you, was it?"

"No," he replies carefully, a slightly apologetic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "you said that if anyone could give you a reason that I could. I wasn't - I'm not really worthy of that right, Donna, and we both know that."

His fingertips fall from her skin, tap against the back of the couch. He can still feel the ends of her hair against his skin, soft and smooth like he's never felt anything better. He wishes it were simplified, that he believed in happily ever after.

"You are," she starts, cuts herself off with her laughter.

He knows what would follow. Self-centered. Self-absorbed. Self-obssessed.He's heard it all before.

He leans back, slightly frustrated with her, "for once, I wasn't thinking about me. I was thinking about how you deserve more than I could give you. I didn't want you to hate me, to resent me in the end. Is that so bad?"

"Maybe it is, Harvey," she snaps.

His eyes widen in response because he doesn't know what she wants, doesn't know what to say to make everything between them okay. She doesn't love him, he knows that, but she wants to and she's been grasping at it for years. He's let her have the opportunity, if he's let anyone love him then it's her.

"Donna," he says. He's silenced when she stands up, separating herself from him. His mouth hangs open for a moment. He thinks the problem of it all along has been that he loves her but she doesn't love him. His eyebrows furrow, her name sharp off of his tongue, "Donna, don't be angry with me. I'm just as far in as you are."

"Since when have you ever thought with anything other than your dick?" She counters sarcastically.

He sighs, "don't do that. Don't make it seem like I'm incapable of caring about you."

"You don't care about anyone but yourself," she corrects.

"I care about you," he says, "I care about you, Donna, and if you can't see that then you're the one who needs to open their damn eyes."

"Is this," she laughs and he can't tell what's so fucking funny, "is this because Zoe left?"

He looks taken aback, eyebrows furrowed and nose contorted, "Zoe? What does she have to do with anything? That was months ago. This is about you, Donna. It's never been about anything else."

"You're shitting me right now," she replies with a light shake of her head. Her hand shakes and he can't tell if it's anger or annoyance or something else. He purses his lips together, lets his tongue dart out to wet them. He wonders where she's going with this. "You cannot actually be serious, Harvey. You show up at my apartment for what?"

"Because I care about you," he repeats, "because I wanted to be sure you were okay. Because I wanted to know if there was a reason that you weren't telling me."

She softens and it's only then that he sees the tears welling in her eyes; he can't help it when the tears gather in his too. He pushes himself to his feet, lets the toes of his shoes tease the carpet as he moves across the room. He swallows, silently willing her to say something.

She tilts her head slightly as he takes her glass from her and sets it on the end table beside his, "Harvey, don't.

"I'm not going to kiss you. I want to, but I won't," he admits, "just know that one day, a guy's going to kiss you and you're going to know that you're in love. I can only imagine what that's going to feel like for you."

"Please stop, Harvey. If you keep talking, I'm going to kiss you and I'm afraid of how that's going to make me feel."

She takes a half step back. In his moment of desperation, he catches her by the wrist because he can't let her get away. He isn't going to kiss her even if he wants to. He knows she's vulnerable, knows that if he does it will only break in the end of it all. He couldn't handle losing her in every way. As much as she's worth the risk, he won't risk not having her.

His fingers absently dig into her wrist while his eyes connect with hers. He circles his arms around her, the smell of her hair lingering around him as he feels her hands slide around his torso. There's something about the way she feels in his arms, how she seems to fit right there. He knows it will be years before they're both ready, before she's ready to love him and he'll be deserving of her.

He can't let go, not yet, "you're okay?"

"Just a little bit longer," she replies, squeezing him tighter.

He doesn't let go of her, not for awhile. He doesn't kiss her either, doesn't say much else that could make her kiss him. He sees her at work and they don't talk about it again.