For Mary and Elsa. Because you asked and because I needed to get it out, lol. Sorry, not sorry for the rudie-dudies. My brain just does that . . . ;)

More to follow.

"Good, you're still here . . . where's Louis? Because I have some news and I think . . ."

He doesn't finish his sentence. Her lips, soft, searching and eager fall against his and for a fraction of a second he thinks he's dreaming. Her arms swing around his neck and his body responds instantly. His stomach spins and his pulse started to race, his skin warming as her delicate curves press into him.

He doesn't know what to do with his arms and he doesn't know what to do with his mouth. He can feel her breasts against his chest and his heart responds to their fullness by hammering hard against his ribcage. He leans into her as currents of intense desire surge through his veins, until his gut aches with yearning and his cock begins to harden.

He wants her.

She makes him forget who he is in an instant because he wants her.

Her fingertips glide through his hair and he closes his eyes and pushes his mouth against hers . . .

But then she stops. He searches her face for answers. Why? Her dark brown eyes tremble as she meets his gaze, her fingers brushing gently against his burning cheek. "I'm sorry Harvey," she says as her eyes scan his, reading every inch of his expression in that way she always does. "I just had to know."

And then she's gone. The scent of her perfume – strawberries mixed with freshly cut daisies – washes over him as she walks out of her office, a flash of flame-red hair burning the outer reaches of his vision. He listens as her heels clack against the carpet, growing quieter the farther she moves away from him and he wonders why he's not following her. He wonders why he isn't calling her back. He wonders why the feelings that were so strong just seconds ago have already twisted into a dark pit of deep regret in the core of his stomach.

He closes his eyes as his mind takes up arms against his heart. Why now? Why did she have to do this now? And what the fucking hell did she 'just have to know'? Did she mean . . .

He falls forward against her desk, his palms wresting flat against the cool, glass surface. His breathing is shallow and his heartrate is galloping. "Why?" he mutters to himself as it hits him. *Paula*. He didn't give her a thought – not one. Not until now. She trusted him and he betrayed her. He pictures her face. Her innocent blue eyes telling him without words that she trusts him. That she cares for him.

Why? Why did she do this now?

Why did he let her and why . . . why can he still taste her? Why does he want to taste more? Why is his cock still bulging and pulsing against his clothes? . . . and why? . . . Why the fuck is his only regret the fact he didn't sweep her up in his arms and kiss her until their bodies melted into each other's.

He turns suddenly, tracing her steps, following the scent of her . . . screw her! Screw her evasiveness, her puzzles, her 'wanting more' and her 'needing to know' bullshit. Why can't she be clear? Why is everything about her so fucking infuriatingly vague?

He slams into the women's bathroom. He doesn't give a shit what he walks in on, he just has to find her. She can't have left the building – not without her coat or her bag – and everyone else will have gone home by now. He bangs every door of every cubicle open, but she's not there.

He heads for the library, then the bull-pen, he rings down to the lobby to see if she's left . . . nobody has seen her. A short pang of anxiety settles into his gut . . . where the hell is she? His anger drops a notch as his concern starts to build. He checks the copy room, the file room – he even checks her old desk which haunts the entrance to Mike's new office. "Donna, please . . ." he whispers to himself. "Please."

For a second he expects to see her as the elevator doors open, but with one last spot remaining, he suddenly find himself calmer. He presses the button and the metal box ascends the darkness, taking him to the roof, his stomach somersaulting with every *ping* that tells him he's getting closer to her.

And he sees her the second the elevator doors open. He walks out into the cold and she's standing still – too still – looking out over Manhattan. Her copper hair catches the moonlight and the hundreds of thousands of lights which twinkle through the glass windows of neighbouring skyscrapers.

She looks so fucking beautiful his breath catches in his throat and his chest aches. For a split second he thinks about turning back. His legs wobble and his pulse quickens. But – somehow – he walks into the night. Towards her.

"I'm sorry," she says, repeating her words from earlier. She doesn't turn around to face him, her gaze fixed onto moonlight and her hands clenched around her arms in an attempt to block out the chill.

He allows her to draw him in. He yearns to reach for her and hold her, but he stops himself. He mustn't touch her. He wants to, but he can't. He thinks of Paula and his anger starts to build again, but when he looks at her silent form, her head hung low and her body seemingly hunched and broken he lets it go. He opens his mouth to talk, but he chokes on air, his throat rasping against the cold.

In all their years together, he has never seen her like this – so raw – so fragile – so . . . so fucking beautiful. The wind sweeps around them, pulling him closer to her, making her shiver as her hair takes flight around her face. He slips his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. The cold air instantly cuts through his shirt and bites at his skin, but he doesn't care. His flesh is on fire, so the coolness is welcome relief.

He narrows the gap between them once more until he's inches away from her and he covers her shaking body with his jacket. She bristles at his touch and finally turns to face him. He can see she's been crying, two glistening streaks of wetness marking each side of her face.

Her eyes flick up to meet his and he thinks he'll fall to his knees. What is this power she has over him? Minutes ago he was so goddamn furious with her, but now all he wants to do is cradle her in his arms and tell her everything will be okay.

"Donna, please. You have to tell me why."

She pulls the jacket around her shoulders as he stands before her, his eyes pleading for understanding. "Mike . . . um . . . and then Louis . . . they, um . . ."

His eyebrows knit together with confusion. "Donna, you're not making any sense. What did Mike do?"

Her eyes shift to the skyline once more as she inhales a long breath of air before turning back to him. "Mike said . . ." she utters, in a gasp. "He said . . . to tell you how I feel."

He watches her bite on her bottom lip, her features strong and insistent – every inch of her fighting against breaking down. "Okay. And that . . . um . . . kiss is how you feel?"

She nods. "I'm sorry. I don't know why . . . Louis is about to lose Sheila forever and he . . . he said he wishes he could tell her that the man she should be with is . . ." she breaks off as she collects her thoughts, inhaling deeply. "Is standing right in front of her face."

The realisation takes his breath away. His Adam's apple grinds against his shirt collar as he swallows hard. He wants her. He wants her so much, but he can't: *Paula*. "Donna . . . I'm in a relationship," he says plainly. Uttering words as if he's closing a deal – words that are sound and logical but contradict everything that he's feeling in his heart.

"I know," she says, her voice breaking. "And I'm so sorry . . . I just had to know."

"What did you have to know? Why, couldn't you have just talked to me? Why, do that? How could you of all people make me do that?"

She lets out a sob and god he wishes he could forget who they are for just one minute so he could hold her. "I know I was selfish. And I know I was horrible. I just had to . . . I wanted to know how you felt and talking about your feelings? Harvey, you can't do that. We've never been able to have that conversation. We've been going around in circles and enough is enough now. I know it was stupid – but, I figured doing that would tell me how you felt."

His stomach flips as her meaning becomes clear. He's been hiding for so long – they both have. They both chose work. Her rule. His convenience. "And it told you . . .?"

"Yes. It told me."

He swallows again as he realises what he just gave her. Of course, he had no idea at the time - but she took him where she wanted him to be. To a place where he can never go back. A decade's worth of something that was always more than friendship, and yet never more, gone in a flash. Gone the second he returned her kiss. "Donna," he says in protest. She nods her head in sad acceptance.

She slides his jacket off her shoulders and passes it back to him. He takes it and she lets her thumb linger on his hand for just a moment too long. "I know, Harvey. And I'm sorry."

She walks away again and this time he lets her go.

He puts his jacket back on and leans against the barrier at the edge of the building, the white noise created by the city creating the perfect soundtrack to his muddled thoughts.

She loves him. He loves her. It has always been her. Always.

And yet it can't be.