New one-shot! It was inspired by the cover, the screenshots of Darvey with Lucy triggering so many baby headcanons! For easiness and because it came more naturally, Donna and Harvey are still at the firm in New York!

I do think that under some circumstances, Harvey would worry a lot more, but in my head, it makes more sense that Donna would be most concerned in this scenario. Just based on the nature of it.

Hope you all like it! Do let me know, it's always so encouraging to hear your thoughts. Mahoosive thank you to Jess (Darveymylove) for being my beta yet again, absolute star.

- Jess x

"Hey," his hand met hers in front of her, finger grazing over her knuckles, gliding against her wedding ring - a sensation that never grew old. "She's okay, we're allowed to live our life."

"I know," she said with a small smile, eyes drifting from his to the floor.

"They'll call if they need to." He wanted to reassure her, comfort her enough to get her out without feeling a constant burden of guilt.

"I know, I just..." she trailed off, pursing her lips before looking up to him. "It doesn't feel right," she revealed, scanning his face in anticipation of his reaction.

His other hand found her face, thumb brushing gently against her cheek and fingers pushing her hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek.

"I know," and he did, she knew that anyway.

It had been hard for both of them, the last 9 weeks, living mostly at the hospital, dropping in and out of their apartment and the firm. Not because it was expected of them to be there - it wasn't, Louis made that very apparent - but because they couldn't stay away. It had always been them, relying on the busyness of the firm to push them through personal crises.

It had hit Donna more than Harvey, an overwhelming guilt clouding her days. It wasn't her fault, there's nothing she could've done and he kept telling her that but she was overtaken with the burden, letting it weigh heavily on her shoulders.

Harvey would be lying if he said that hadn't been the root of half his concern. He felt like he was losing her, watching her pace and worry, feeling her weight leave their bed in the dark of the night when insomnia was at its height. Sometimes he'd follow her out after a little time, even if just to sit with her, being around her making his own worries begin to dissipate too.

Donna couldn't stand it, knowing she wasn't the woman he married and feeling contemptuous towards her inability to provide him with the support she wanted to. She knew he didn't feel the same way, he understood - well, as best he could.

"Lucky for us, the place has doors. We can leave whenever we want, okay?" She smiled at his remark, him returning one. He wanted her to go and he was right to, she knew he was.

He gazed into the clear plastic box, eyes trailing the wires that were hooked onto her body. She was tiny, the smallest baby he'd ever seen, looking so delicate he was sure she'd shatter beneath his touch. He wanted to hold her, feel her hand grasp his finger, get to know her like most other fathers and their daughters.

Most other fathers didn't meet their child 10 weeks too soon, though. Of course, Harvey Specter's daughter had to arrive of her own accord at 30-weeks, doing things her own way just like her father.

It was nearly midnight and the room quiet apart from the sounds of machines beeping and whirring. She was 45 hours, 17 minutes old – if Harvey was going to be precise.

His wife was asleep, at last. She'd been given a mild sedative by the doctor, needing the sleep to help her heal having not slept for more than 60 hours. She was resistant at first, determined to stay awake, scared to miss any changes. It took some persuasion from the doctor to convince Donna that sleep was the best thing for everyone.

Harvey, though having not slept much, had managed to doze off, slipping into light slumbers throughout the night and day. Moments where the storm seemed to calm and worry quietened down, not that Donna seemed to have experienced the same.

He wished she would, wanting so badly to silence the noise but knowing he couldn't. That feeling of helplessness looming over them both. Helpless for each other, helpless for their daughter.

Their daughter who was lying in front of him, Harvey watching as her chest rose and fell, she was asleep too.

Lily Clara Paulsen-Specter, a very fine layer of hair atop her head that was a slightly off-blonde colour, Harvey convinced it would redden more in the next few weeks. Her skin was pink and she laid in a blanket, wearing only a diaper alongside her tubes and wires.

He was grateful because he knew it could've been worse, much worse. They were more fortunate than so many others and that thought alone was propelling him through the first few days.

He wanted to hold her so desperately that sometimes he thought there was a pain in his chest right where his heart lay. His mind would fall to Donna then, the pain for her ultimately worse and he'd try to dismiss his own. She'd told him not to, told him he was allowed to be hurting too, but he couldn't help compare.

It was different and he wasn't trying to gloss over that. He hadn't once blamed himself or Donna but his wife was constantly blaming herself, certain she could've done something – or perhaps not done it – to prevent Lily's premature arrival. Harvey had been wracking his brain for ways to convince her otherwise, amazed he'd managed to get even a wink of sleep among the busy thinking.

A nurse entering the room caught his attention, signalling the new hour, realising he'd been sat there longer than intended. He couldn't help it, mesmerised by the fact he created this child. She was his daughter. A daughter he shared with the woman he thought he'd lose time and time again; except he wasn't going to lose her. He wasn't going to lose either one of them.

"Lily's a lovely name," the nurse said, checking the chart by Lily's bed.

"It was my mother's," he smiled bittersweetly. The memory wasn't as painful now, filling the void in his heart that he thought was irreparable.

"That makes it even better," the nurse smiled to him, fiddling with things Harvey didn't understand. "Make sure you get some sleep too, Mr Specter."

He nodded, knowing she was right. He was exhausted but he felt like he couldn't leave Lily's side, he didn't want to even if the noises jarred him.

The room was loud, a large crowd of lawyers, business people, CEOs and other important faces swanning around to mingle with one another. Donna was trying to enjoy it, not often leaving Harvey's side, feigning a confidence and ease. She didn't want to be there but she felt it was a must, a requirement that she stay. It was the least she could do.

The night was seemingly dragging on forever, probably not helped by her constantly checking the time, eagerly wanting enough time to pass and others to start to leave so she could say her goodbyes too.

It was understandable for Harvey and her to be among first to leave. Those who didn't know their situation would've been filled in, if they hadn't already. She'd heard whisperings. It wasn't spiteful but it felt unnecessary. It didn't sit right with her that the sickness of a child should be the centre of gossip, people talking about the COO and name partner whose premature child had an operation or a setback. It made the whole thing feel even longer, the minutes going by even more slowly.

She'd left his side, temporarily, after getting pulled over by Samantha who didn't want to face a familiar face alone. A stocky, balding man called Bill who could talk for hours and was difficult to get away from, seemingly blind to any social cues.

It was during that – not so – riveting conversation that she got the call, phone flashing up with 'hospital'. She apologised, hurrying to the exit so she stood half a chance at hearing the call.

The night air was cool, goose bumps gracing her skin when she met it, desperately pushing the phone against her ear. She said a few urgent 'hello's but couldn't hear a word from the other end, nausea rising because of the increasing anxiety. The last time they'd called the couple in, Lily had deteriorated and become unstable, the memory plaguing the COO's mind.

She rushed back inside, eyes scanning the room for her husband as she navigated her way through the people. Her breathing had become shallower, heartbeat faster, eyes beginning to glisten.

He was by the bar, spotting Donna as she rushed towards him, face plastered with worry that unsettled him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He asked quickly upon her approach.

"The hospital called," she said, the words rolling almost entirely into one. He looked at her awaiting an announcement. "I couldn't hear them, there was no signal outside, but last time they called she ended up-"

"Hey," he grasped her arms, fingers firmly and reassuringly holding her, eyes finding hers as he tried to calm her down. "We can go," he told her and she nodded, chewing her lip as he retrieved his phone to call Ray, a hand slipping to her shaking ones in an attempt to steady them.

The car ride was silent, hands meeting in the space between them as both tapped and shook out their nervous energies. Hairs were standing on end and lips quivering, eyes twitching, tears welling.

"It could be good news," Harvey said half-heartedly. He was trying.

"Or it could be bad," Donna whispered, staring out at the city lights. Her own blurry vision added to the blur of the colours as they sped by outside her window.

"It's not fair," she continued, voice breaking and tears threatening to fall. She bit down on her lip, desperate not to tempt fate, urgently wanting to hold onto hope.

"I know," he replied, brushing his thumb against the hand he held.

"What if it's her heart again?" Donna looked his way now, trying so hard to stay composed.

"Then we'll deal with it," he said softly, giving her hand a slight squeeze. He watched her swallow hard, feeling the car come to a halt. "We don't know anything yet, let's try not to scare ourselves." He was trying to comfort not only her but himself too, telling himself that everything was okay in spite of the pit in his stomach, feeling like his world was about to cave in.

They frantically headed through the corridor, to the lift, up three floors and immediately were searching for a sign of life. The ward's reception desk was empty, the whole place sitting in an unfamiliar stillness when they saw someone leave a room, not too far down the hall.

"Excuse me," Harvey said to a passing nurse on the way to the corridor. He didn't recognise him, figured him to be new. "We got a call but we couldn't hear a word of it, we got here as soon as we could."

"Are you baby Paulsen-Specter's parents?" He asked, the question causing their panic to increase. The expectation made Donna's heart sink, fearing the worst and dreading his next words. They nodded, eagerly. "Come with me."

They followed him, being led to a new room, the third their daughter had inhabited. They recognised one of Lily's doctors and one of her nurses upon entering. A potion of confusion, anxiety and hope stirred in their minds, seeping into their bodies and creating a sensation of both calm and tense simultaneously, their legs feeling sturdy while their arms felt shaky. It felt absurd, completely nonsensical, like something they'd never believe.

"Is she okay?" Donna asked, flustered and nearly breathless. The doctor nodded, a smile growing on her face.

"We tried telling you over the phone but it gave out and, afterwards, we couldn't get through to you," the doctor began. "She's come completely off oxygen, her breathing stabilised. As long as she keeps this up, she should be home within a week."

Relieved and ecstatic grins came from them both, elation fuelled tears pricking their eyes.

"Are you sure?" Harvey asked, stood in disbelief after persistent worry.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" The doctor smiled, lifting Lily from her crib, Donna rushing forward. The relief that washed over her upon seeing her daughter look the healthiest she ever had. No oxygen tube or feeding tube in site, the only wire left slipping out of her baby grow as it measured her heart rate.

She looked left to her husband and was met by the biggest grin she was sure he'd ever worn. He stepped closer, one hand gliding around her shoulder to rest there, the other gently falling onto Lily's hat-covered head, hiding her strawberry blonde locks. Brown eyes were gazing up to his wife, long eyelashes batting as Lily settled into her mother's arms, adjusting to fit comfortably. A yawn escaped, her small mouth opening wide, eyes squeezing shut, Harvey as mesmerised by his daughter as he was every day, if not more so.

"I told you she'd be okay," he whispered, head leaning against his wife's head, eyes fixed on the bundle of joy in her arms.