Her side presses against his while they lean against her headboard, and she sinks into the wholeness that he brings. He'd filled a chasm she never realized she'd been carrying with her for years. Like an element in her life she'd overlooked because it'd always been by her side. Maybe the ache she felt of needing more had been the start of realizing it was there.

Usually bingeing on old TV series on a Friday night after an exhausting week seemed enjoyable enough, but now it's a comfort. One she relaxes in like she'd never gotten to before.

ER plays in the background on her third time watching since it aired. Harvey had never seen it, being neck-deep at Harvard during its first run. Clooney had assisted her teen awakening with his deep voice and charmy grin. There's something a little familiar now about the doctor who crosses lines to care for his patients and the nurse by his side that looks out for him and does her best to just be friends to protect her heart.

Harvey takes her hand, threading his fingers in hers and rests his head against her shoulder. She tilts her head to meet against it as they watch.

Doug is flirting with Carol, the foreshadowing obvious he's going to get into trouble with his new kid in pediatrics.

Why is that familiar?

A blond mother arrives and is talking with Carter. She's complaining of chest tightness and pain.

The likeness to Lily instantly hits her. He tenses. She squeezes his hand, and he brushes a thumb against her skin. Perhaps revisiting the series rewatch was still too soon, several months out from her passing. He's still too raw, despite being the one to suggest it tonight.

"Maybe we should…," she starts, trying to read him.

"What?" he asks.

She pauses Hulu. "I just think this is—"

"Not sexy enough for a Friday night?" His head bends, a slight tease behind his eyes.

She studies him, trying to gauge whether this is one of the moments to press. If he's going for deflection she'll deflect. "Not exactly how you used to spend them."

"Oh, sometimes. Usually films though."

"Did Die Hard make them horny?" she teased.

"No, but I hard did."

"You've literally never had a worse attempt at being witty."

He chuckled. They're sharing grins now, and she breathes it in. It's still not as wide as it used to be, but it's nice to see it again.

She continues, hoping for more. "So, the TV in the bedroom, was a ploy wasn't it? Inviting them for a movie, pouring them a glass of wine and telling them it's your only television."

The corner of his mouth curls. "Like I ever needed to talk them into it."

She rolls her eyes and hits his t-shirt clad chest with the back of her hand.

His grin is soft. "I should have tried it way sooner with you though."

"Like I would have fell for that." She picks up her wine from the nightstand and has a sip, setting it down next to the cactus she'd gifted him.

"You probably would have stabbed me with that if I'd tried." He motions toward the cactus.

"When you would've been the one wanting to be doing the poking." She arches a brow.

He huffs out a laugh and then grows quiet. With the absence of a comeback or attempt, she can tell from his lack of sharpness he's still reeling.

She stares at the paused image on the TV. "You know, I'm kind of tired. Can we take a rain check on the bingeing?"

He nods and she switches it off. Instead of getting up or tossing her another eye-rolling innuendo he curls over her, laying his cheek on her chest. He loops his arm across her, brushing his thumb against some bare skin on the side of her stomach.

She'd think he was just cuddling like he often likes to do but she hears the staggered breath he pulls in and even though she can't see his face, she knows the grief has hit again.

It strikes like this, sometimes at the obvious time but often without warning. There's nothing to say that fixes his pain. For someone that prided herself on knowing how to comfort someone, especially him, her lack of intuition for this carves her out leaving only a raw ache that has to be only half of what he's feeling.

She brushes fingers through his hair and becomes his safe space; his constant. Filling the place that used to be empty for him too. She wonders if it's enough to soothe his sudden loss.

It's maternal, head on her chest, resting on her for comfort, her fingertips soothing his scalp and palm certain and secure tracing patterns on his back.

Maybe all those years estranged from Lily are the reason he seeks out her solace so often. He'd missed it too long, and now she was his only feminine source. The realization is both sinking and weighty, knowing how much of a fragile part of himself she holds.

Minutes pass. He's quiet. She's worried the sobs will come again or even worse the tears will bleed into her shirt and she won't know whether to acknowledge or pretend she doesn't know.

"Donna," he finally lets out, voice filled with vulnerability.

"I know, Harvey. I know you do." Her lip quivers. He misses her, and they both feel it.

"No. I wasn't going to say it. I do but…"

"What is it?"

"I think I want a family." His hand slips closer on her stomach, resting there.

The vulnerability in his tone takes hold of her breath. They've only briefly teased about it in the past but with everything that had happened, the topic had been tabled.

Before she can answer he starts again. "I don't want to be alone."

"You aren't, Harvey. You aren't." She wishes he would look at her. So they could make each other feel safe.

"I don't mean us." He sighs. "I don't like feeling empty anymore. And with her gone, I feel it again."

"I know." And it constricts her gut because she knows they bring everything to each other but it turns out everything doesn't fill in the memories. She takes a deep breath. "Okay."

He raises his head, finally turning to her with the widest eyes. Hope. He feels hope. It invades her, sinking in and filling her up.

He raises up enough to cup her cheek. "My own family. Our own family." His thumb brushes against her cheekbone and his lips press to hers.

She tastes the salt of his hidden tears left behind. His kiss grows deeper, mouth and tongue coaxing her lips and giving her want and relief. She gasps. A bit of him is living and it makes it okay for her to live again too.

He pulls back, his face serious. "I don't care how we get there."

She shakes her head. "I don't either."

He kisses her again and as they slip lower together under the sheets it occurs to her maybe they had room to discover another chasm to fill.

A/N: This was in response to me asking myself if I just took the current ep at face value what I might see and this came out. Grief is something I'm familiar with and the short amount of time to wrap up the show hit me hard. It's definitely not a prediction fic. Thanks so much for reading. Let me know your thoughts if you're comfortable.

Thanks to normasashes and Juliet for being my stand-in betas for the night. I'm beyond sad as the clock ticks down.