HAPPY SUITS MONTH! I came up with this idea and then just couldn't let go of it. I'm honestly surprised no one else thought of it before, so here's hoping I do it justice :) Thanks, as always, to the lovely friend who listened to countless brainstorming sessions and helped me piece this together from scratch. I love you endlessly (you know who you are).

Our story opens here, at New York-Presbyterian Lower Manhattan Hospital, at approximately 10:52 PM on February 23, 2006.

The city remains wild as ever outside: taxi cabs ushering patrons across miles of crowded streets, tourists fluttering from building to building with urgency, street performers taking money from young adults in awe, the lights shining bright as ever so that any glimpse of the heavens is impossible. It isn't snowing, but there's evidence of a past storm still in piles on street corners, clumps of beautiful white ice turned brown. It's chilly out, not surprisingly cold for late February in New York, judging by the way passersby bustle along with scarves drawn around their noses or faces buried in their coat collars.

In contrast, the inside of the hospital is incredibly warm. Maybe it's this room in particular, but there's definitely a very homey feeling about the place. The muted yellow lighting surrounds the bed where the patient is lying, casting a soft glow around those that come inside. Just outside the room, nurses and doctors are mulling about, attending to business as usual, but with a calmer presence than those outside the hospital doors. This urgency speaks of confidence and certainty, knowing exactly where one is to be at any given moment and just exactly what one should do.

The sole occupant of this room is a woman (early thirties, red hair, pale skin, maybe a bit taller than average height, though this can't be judged properly as she's currently laying in bed). The woman is fading in and out of consciousness, having had a particularly grueling evening and nothing exactly to keep her awake at present, though she is patiently awaiting the arrival of several of the room's previous occupants. She's just feeling herself start to drift off to sleep again when the sound of a soft knock on the door reaches her ears and in comes another woman. This one is probably in her late fifties, dark skin, shorter than average, wearing scrubs, and wheeling in a cart.

"We're back," the nurse calls, voice dripping with southern hospitality and more enthusiasm than the patient can find within her at the moment. "How we doin' in here?"

"Alright," the patient responds with a small smile, lifting herself into a straighter sitting position. "I'll be better when I've got some food in me."

"I'm sure," the nurse replies, coming to take a look at the monitors on the sides of the bed, just for the sake of being careful. "You get any sleep?"

"Not really," the redhead sighs with a telltale yawn.

The nurse shakes her head disapprovingly, "It's only gonna get worse from here, ya know."

The patient chuckles softly, "I assumed as much."

"I suppose telling you to sleep until the food gets here is a waste of my time?"

The redhead nods sheepishly, looking eagerly towards the cart the nurse rolled in, but can't really see much from this angle.

With a huff of resignation, the nurse approaches the cart again, reaching down and lifting out a little bundle wrapped in a pink blanket, "Maybe you wanna try nursing now, instead?"

"I can do that," the redhead nods as the nurse passes the baby into her arms. "Just don't let him in before I'm finished."

"Gotcha," the nurse winks.

Very soon the child has latched on eagerly, and the redhead woman is watching with awe (and a bit of jealousy) as she watches her child consume her first meal.

"So," the nurse prods, "you finally settle on a name while we were gone?"

They hadn't, not really. They narrowed it down a good bit but hadn't decided officially, wanting to see the girl once more before sticking her with a name. Though, for whatever reason, looking down at this little masterpiece of a child they'd created, one that is entirely her own, she knows exactly which name fits her best.

"Rosalind," she whispers, smiling to herself. "Rosalind Jane."

The nurse smiles brightly at her in return, "A gorgeous name for a gorgeous baby."

"Thank you."

"I mean it too. Been workin' this job half my life, and I don't say something like that lightly. She's an angel, honey. Truly."

The mother admires her daughter, taking in the surrealness of it all in a moment of peace where they are completely connected like this. There's another knock on the door, but, as promised, the nurse refuses to let him in until the baby is done feeding, which happens to be in only a few short minutes.

"Want me to give you two another minute before I send Dad in?" the nurse offers when the patient's all covered up once more.

The woman shakes her head, gaze still fixed on the child, "We've got a whole lifetime of that ahead of us. Don't we, Rosie?"

And she swears, even though she knows it's impossible, that her daughter gives her a little smile. The nurse responds with a look full of all the sympathy she needs just now before ducking out of the room to retrieve the child's father.

Seconds later, a man enters the room. He's around the woman's age, average build, dirty blonde hair, wearing a suit but missing a jacket and tie, shirt rolled up at his elbows and unbuttoned at the top. He's also carrying a pizza and a bottle of water.

"How are my girls?" he asks, smile wide on his face as he approaches the bed.

"Great, wonderful, now that you're here."

"I was gone for all of about forty-five minutes," the man replies, setting his things down on the tray beside the bed and pulling it in front of the woman. "Didn't think you'd miss me that much."

"I didn't," the redhead replies immediately. "I was talking to the pizza."

The man purses his lips and rolls his eyes at her, but opens the box for her nonetheless.

"Pepperoni, extra cheese, no garlic. Just like you asked."

"And that is why you are my favorite man."

He smiles, "Want me to take her so you can eat?"

"Yes, please," she sighs, and though she's dying to put away this entire pizza, giving up the child in her arms upsets her more than she realized it might.

"Just pace yourself there, Shaggy. Don't want you to overload on the pizza."

She sticks her tongue out at him and immediately dives in. As focused as she is on getting as much food into her stomach in as little time as possible, she can't help but notice the soft interaction between father and daughter beside her.

"Hi," he says, beginning to walk to child towards the window. "I know you're too young to understand right now, but I'm your dad. I can't be a real dad for you, not the way I should be. Your mom deserves better, and one day she'll find it. But no matter what, I'm always going to be your dad, and I'm always going to make sure you and your mother are taken care of, so don't you worry your tiny little head about that, got it?"

Maybe it's the hormones making her more emotional than normal, but she can feel the tears streaming out of her eyes before his speech is over. When he turns back to face her, though, she can tell he's crying too, so she doesn't think it has much to do with the hormones at all. He comes to rest at the edge of the bed, still holding the baby tightly to his chest before leaning down to place a soft kiss on her tiny forehead.

"I love you," he whispers. "So much. And don't you ever forget it."

He hums softly for a while so she can finish her dinner without interruption, and eventually, the child falls asleep right there in his arms.

"I told the nurse we named her Rosalind."

"Hm?" he lifts his head, not having heard her.

"I said that I told the nurse her name was Rosalind. It fits, don't you think?"

He looks down at his daughter once again, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, "Yeah, I think it does. So, Rosie, it is, then?"

She nods, and he scoots a bit closer to her so they can both observe their child together.

"She's incredible," he murmurs, voice soft. "How'd we manage to create something this perfect?"

"I dunno. We do make a pretty good team."

"That we do," he lifts his eyes, and this time his smile is all for her. "I know we're making the right choice for her, I do, it's just..."

"Just that it feels like your heart's been broken right in half?" she finishes.

He nods, tight-lipped, eyes red again.

"Harvey," she finally whispers, his name light on her lips and full of all the adoration she's ever felt for him, "you know I love you, don't you?"

He swallows, "I know. I love you too. You'll always be my best friend, Donna."

"And that's how she'll always know you. My best friend."