swimming in the ocean; harvey/donna; pg-13; 1,071 words;

a/n: this takes place in the same universe as casual conversations at night

She squeezes his arm for warmth, the cool night air of the New York streets beating against her neck and face, and her fingers press against the bare skin of his wrist. Her thumb brushes over his pulse point, his heart beat calm but thick against her fingertips, and he slightly angles his body towards hers just a little bit more noticeably as he glances at her. She doesn't smile, doesn't offer him that sense of acknowledgment even though she knows he's looking, doesn't change her demeanor, and her movement is subtle - unnoticeable to anyone else - as she slides her fingers into the center of his palm.

"It's chilly tonight," she comments.

Her fingers dig into his forearm, squeezing his muscle just so. He smirks, "should have brought a jacket."

"It wouldn't have matched my dress," she counters.

He rolls his eyes, "sometimes I think you only went out with me for my jacket when it's cold out. You're just lucky it looks good on you."

"Please," she counters with a laugh, "people don't say no to me. The last person who said no to me was-"

"Me," he interjects. He smirks, each of their steps in unison as she elegantly steps one foot in front of the other. She genuinely shivers and he slows to a stop, prying his arm out of her grasp so he can shrug his coat off. "Now you'll have to keep me warm."

"If I gave off any bit of heat I wouldn't need your coat," she counters. He quirks an eyebrow and shrugs, draping his coat over her shoulders. She slides her arms around his arm again, grabbing the lapels of the jacket on the opposite sides to keep it on. She manages to squeeze her hand around his wrist, tugging on his arm until he leans towards her. She presses her lips against his jaw, "thank you."

"Yeah yeah," he mutters teasingly, "if I haven't made it obvious by now that I would do anything for you then I'm not doing something right."

She smiles and presses her cheek against his bicep, "have I told you that I love you?"

"Maybe once or twice," he answers, "if anyone knew that I could be like this, I'd lose my reputation."

"I've always known you had it in you," she admits.

He slides his gaze over to her, "oh yeah? Maybe you've always just gotten to see a side of me that not everyone else gets to."

"I never expected you to get tickets to a Broadway show without being asked," she admits.

He shrugs, "I asked Louis. I figured he'd know what you wanted to see."

"You even went as far as to ask Louis? That's a lot of humility for Harvey Specter," she teases.

The corners of his mouth tug upward, his shoulder leaning into hers just a little bit, "I just wanted tonight to be perfect. I wanted you to be happy, to remember this."

"Honey, we have the night to ourselves for the first time in nine months. Trust me, I'm going to remember this," she points out. A silence wraps around them, the coldness beginning to hug his neck and her fingers shift to his palm again. His palms are sweaty despite the coldness of the air. "Should we call Mike and Rachel to check on Lyn?"

"They'd call," he replies, "if they needed anything they would call. Stop worrying. Want to get dinner?"

She hesitates, firm calves flexing as they come to a stop at a street corner and wait to cross, "I miss her."

"You just like to ruin everything, don't you?" He accuses with a grin.

"What did you have planned?" She counters, eyebrows furrowing as her gaze narrows on him equally as accusatory.

"I know how hard headed you are so you're going to ruin the surprise either way," he finally says with a sigh, "I was going to ask you to marry me, that's why I wanted everything to be perfect. But I know that you won't drop going home to see our daughter since you've started on it so we can skip the late dinner and go home if you want."

She smirks, "did you really think that you were capable of having a secret as huge as this that I wouldn't know about?"

"You knew?" He practically screeches.

"Please, I know I'm attractive but you've had a bulge in your pants all night," she concedes, "plus, I overheard you talking about it last week."

"What? How? I was very careful not to mention it when you were in earshot," he scoffs.

She smiles and tilts her head, angling her body towards his a little, "unfortunately, you don't practice the same policy at home with speaking to our daughter."

"Damn it," he mutters.

She releases the lapel of the jacket, the hand not pressed against his wrist, and slips her hand into his pocket. She fingers the ring box before retracting her hand, taking the box with it. She lifts it in the space between them and he promptly takes it from her. He rolls his eyes at her.

"So, are you gonna ask or are we calling that the proposal?"

"You ruined it," he replies decidedly.

She widens her eyes, "did you have some big speech planned out? Were you going to cry? Do we need to stop and get some tissues?"

"Maybe. You might cry," he says.

"Let's go, big guy. Lay it on me."

"Oh, baby, when you put it like that," he counters sarcastically. She smiles and he sighs in defeat. She's going to win; she wins a lot more than he imagined she would. "You've made me happy, you've always made me happy, even when I didn't have anything to be happy about you've always been that little sliver of light - you're the silver lining. Now we have this really cute little girl and she looks just like her mother. It's not anything like I'd imagined it would be. It's better. It's better because it's with you. So, Donna Paulsen, will you marry me?"

She lifts her eyes to his and he sees the glaze over them. Her reaction offers him a bit of vulnerability that he finds far more endearing than she should with tears in her eyes. He finally pops open the box once she nods her head, satisfied that he's left her speechless.