Note: I thought of this all day long on my birthday and finally had to write a version down (especially after Lamia told me she wanted one). I hope you enjoy!

Biggest love and thank you to Heather and Alyssa for betaing, you have my heart.

Harvey never imagined he'd find himself in a narrow back-alley of Hudson, New York, but here he is, at the threshold of a building that by all measures of gravity should not be standing upright.

He pushes open the screen door and comes face to face with an older gentleman, stout and whiskered and wrinkled, straightening shelves.

The man takes one look at Harvey and raises a thick eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

Harvey hands him a folded slip of paper. "I'm looking for this."

Beady eyes trace the string of numbers with curiosity. "Yeah. Yeah, I have it. The question is why do you want it?"

Harvey frowns. "What do you mean?"

The man descends deeper into the store and Harvey follows, shocked there is even anywhere else to go. "It's been sitting here, gathering dust for years and all of a sudden, a city-dweller like yourself arrives with the exact serial number?"

"Well, not that it's any of your business, but," Harvey responds jovially, shoving his hands in his pockets, "it's a long overdue present for my wife."

The old man studies him as though peering into his soul, and it's unnerving. Harvey shifts uneasily.

Eventually he must see something genuine, because he smiles, crooked teeth and all, and beckons Harvey toward the elegant grand piano standing stoic in the corner.

—

He had the idea back at the DA's office. Amidst scotch and flirting, carefree laughter and an uncharacteristic openness that was somehow the most natural thing in the world around Donna. They traded stories and secrets and chiseled away at closely-guarded pieces of themselves, molding and shaping into something entirely new.

They were well into their second round of the night when Donna confessed the details of her parents' shortcomings, her father's business failures, the loss of her most prized possession.

"I played every day for ten years. And then it was gone." He remembers the way she looked down, biting her lip as though to keep her voice in check, and something in him twisted the same way it did whenever he thought of his mother.

She shrugged into her glass, bade him goodnight and that was that.

It niggled at his brain — it was one of the first real things he found out about her, and he could tell it wasn't something she shared easily. He would know.

Harvey finally caved, contacted her father to ask him what had happened to it.

Jim was defensive at first, and Harvey had to bite his tongue several times before her father eventually agreed to give up the certificate of sale.

It arrived priority mail two days later, and by the sheer grace of god avoided passing through Donna.

A number of phone calls concluded that the instrument was no longer in Todd Ansling's possession — he'd given it as a gift to his granddaughter, who had since grown up and decided she didn't like piano and they had donated it to the local high school.

And that's where he hit a dead end.

The school had no record of the piano and the serial number didn't match up, though they promised him they'd look into it.

The call never came, cases piled up, Cameron Dennis pulled one over on him and the piano faded from his mind.

It wasn't until later — after the other time, settling in at the firm, dealing with Hardman's embezzlement and his father's death and senior partner — that Donna's father called him up to see if he'd come through.

Jim's words may have said one thing, but the I knew you wouldn't go through with it underlying his tone was unmistakable and pissed Harvey off. He was raw and worn down and had to physically refrain from shouting blame down the line — which he couldn't do, not with Donna sitting right outside. But he could slam the phone down before he said something he couldn't take back.

He wonders, from time to time — gives it real consideration, knows he could find it, but something always comes up and it's pushed to the back of his mind. He hates that a little bit, but he tells himself someday.

Years later, Donna works her magic and presents him with his mother's painting, the one he convinced himself he would never see again. He falls asleep that night curled around her as he plans to repay the favor.

—

It takes a month. After the wedding, when they're just about finished packing up boxes, he gets the call.

He knows people. Has a lot of favors in the bank, and if there was ever a time to use them, it was now. He still had the sale documents, the serial number of the piano that he's sure must have circulated through the tri-state area.

Which is how he finds himself taking the Amtrak two hours north to the dilapidated music store, where he shakes the hand of the owner and tells him to ship the instrument to a Mike Ross in Seattle.

—

"Harvey, I swear to god, this better not be something kinky."

He scoffs, glaring at her even though she can't see him from beneath the blindfold.

"Seriously? At nine in the morning?"

She grins. "You never know."

"Relax, I think I would tell you what I was planning." He guides her forward into their living room, careful to avoid the boxes they still left unpacked.

"So this is kinky to you."

"Do you want to see your gift, or not?"

"Hmmmm, yes."

Harvey gingerly unties the fabric from around her head and waits.

Donna gasps the second she takes in the giant ebony instrument in front of her. But her mind is quick and razor-sharp, one of the many, many things he loves about her, and the slight furrow of her brow and the flood of realization as her eyes well up tell him that she knows.

This isn't just a piano.

It's her piano.

"Harvey," she breathes, and then she's moving forward to brush her fingers over the keys, the scuffed bench, the tiny D.P. carved in the corner of the rim. She presses one key and the solemn note fills the room, bounces off the walls and she turns to him completely dumbstruck.

"Where did you — I, how...?"

He smirks. "So that's, what, second time this year? A new record."

She hits him. "Ass." Then she kisses him, throws her arms around his neck and he stumbles backwards, feels her smile against his lips and wet tears on her cheeks.

Donna looks up at him, hands still cradling his head. "Where?"

"Second-hand music store upstate."

"It hadn't been sold?"

"No, it got shuffled around quite a bit."

"Harvey." She stares at him point-blank. "How did you find this?"

His thumb fidgets on her hip. "I asked your dad for the certificate of sale."

She draws in a breath, eyes wet. "When?"

"Fourteen years ago."

"You —" Donna pauses to glance back at the piano. "You were looking for it all that time?"

"No. Not all that time. It got away from me... until it hit me again. And I found it."

Much like their relationship, he thinks, but he doesn't tell her that, and by the way she's looking at him he can tell she's thinking the same.

"But I wanted you to have it. All that time," he continues, squeezing her waist gently.

Donna takes his hand in hers and pulls. "Come on," she whispers, tugging him backwards.

"Bedroom?"

"Better." She sits on the bench and pats the seat next to her. "Your first lesson."

His warm smile says I love you, and her hand on his thigh and her chin on his shoulder say thank you.

—

Months later, Donna sits at that piano as he holds their baby girl in his arms, rocking her in time to the soft yet recognizable tune, and he marvels at the way her tiny fingers twitch.

Piano fingers, Donna had said.

His father's melody comes to life in Donna's capable hands, and Harvey strokes their daughter's little thumb and all its inherent musical talent.

Thank you for reading! :)