This is an AU story. Harvey and Donna witness a crime and are forced to confront a lot of unresolved things in the process. If you go to the story on AO3 then you can get a little peak at a pic for the story.

Harvey Specter is growing increasingly impatient and tired of the crowd surrounding him; he is counting down the seconds until he has been there the appropriate amount of time before can leave. He's known Joanna for most of his life and felt it only polite to make an appearance to her engagement party – it is only her second marriage, after all. However, the company she keeps is, simply put, just not his cup of tea. These are artsy people, discussing all of the humanity they inhibit and all of the ways they think they can change the world with their do-gooding, volunteer work, and charity. They discuss their favorite films (International Indie films, of course) with their glasses of wine and raccoon eyes and eyelashes too long to be anything other than fake. He just isn't destined to be here for longer than necessary. This crowd drives him crazy. He is basically a fish out of water, standing in the corner by the plant, sipping on a half-rate mixed drink that Andrew, Joanna's fiancé, handed to him nearly half an hour ago.

Harvey downs his drink with the full intent on leaving the party and leans forward to discard his glass on the nearest table when a reflection in the window catches his attention. He shifts his gaze fully to the reflection, but the flash of red sneaks away in the opposite direction as him. Harvey tightens his grasp on his glass and follows the ghost of the woman into the kitchen for a refill. It is there in the kitchen that he finds the object of his attention – no, the woman who has his intrigue. He sets his glass on the kitchen island as she fishes something out of the refrigerator and begins to silently refill his glass (his taste buds are already screaming at him for the selection), and he waits for her to say something to him. He silently pleads with her to call attention to him, to notice his presence. He always figured she was just accustomed and well in tune with his aura by now.

She hasn't noticed him yet, but then again he supposes that with her head buried in the refrigerator she just hasn't had the opportunity. His glass has more than enough cheap alcohol in it to tie him over for a week when the woman pulls back and looks at him. She jumps in her skin and shuts the appliance door, looking him dead in the eye and narrowing her gaze.

"You scared the shit out of me," she says then.

He smirks and sets the bottle of Svedka Vodka on the counter beside his glass. "You're losing your touch."

"How long have you been stalking me?" She asks, fingers pinching a few grapes before she pops one in her mouth.

"Donna," he replies simply, like she's being ridiculous. She raises her eyebrow, her gaze sharpening on his as he lifts his glass to his mouth and takes a sip. He winces when the clear liquid touches his taste buds. He swallows, relents as she takes a drink from her own glass. "I just saw your reflection in the window a few moments ago."

"How'd you know it was me?" She baits.

He sighs and says, "These are your kind of people."

"What kind of people is that?"

"Artsy, theatre type," he says as though it's completely obvious.

"Ah, right," she says. There's a long silence between them as she chomps on her grapes and he examines his glass. Her gaze suddenly narrows on him and he's aware of just how tight the knot of his tie actually is. "How do you end up at a party like this anyway?"

"I've known Joanna since I was a kid," he says, like she should already know that. He thinks that she knows everything else about him, how does she not know that. His eyebrows knit together as he lightly shakes his head. "Do you think I've been here long enough?"

"Leaving me already?" She teases.

He swallows and his saliva is thick. "Hardly. I just…" He trails off for a few moments and pauses, trying to find the words, but they never come to him. He sighs. "I don't really belong here, do I?"

"You're right," she replies decidedly, "this isn't really your scene."

"Even the alcohol isn't my taste," he replies.

She laughs at him, his muscles in his face practically frozen in a cringe from the alcohol; "I'll give you that. They are fairly cheap when it comes to alcohol," she says, "but I know where they keep the expensive stuff. Come on."

He follows her lead rather closely and he finally realizes that she's wearing something different from what she'd been wearing at work all day. The dress she's in is a light blue to contrast her fire colored hair and her perfume is fresh on her skin, overwhelming like she's trying to turn heads. He really doesn't think she needs any help in that department.

Joanna and Andrew's apartment is on the fifteenth floor and has a rustic look. They have paintings everywhere, lighting that makes him question their taste, and their appliances are a cross between brand new to them and so old they sound rickety when they're working. Harvey doesn't understand how people can live this way but he's afraid to mention it for fear that he offends the women he's already on shaky ground with. He follows her into a room where nothing else in the apartment can be heard and she grabs a bottle from a shelf before reaching for him. He feels her hand wrap around his wrist and tug on him. He silently follows her through slim hallways until they reach an iron staircase. It squeaks when she steps on it and he gasps behind her.

"How do you know your way around this place so well?" He asks, confused and grabbing the handrails in an attempt to steady himself on the worn staircase.

She glances at him over her shoulder and says, "Oh, I used to live here."

"What?" He says, nearly shrieking. "When did you live here? I've known you thirteen years and you've always lived in that same little apartment."

"Hey," she warns, pushing against a door as it pops open, "don't knock my little apartment. It's home and it's rent controlled."

He steps onto the concrete and suddenly finds himself outside. It's cold due to the fact that it's the beginnings of winter and he isn't wearing ample amount of layers. He's more worried about her though, arms bared to the stinging wind without any warmth in sight. He sees her shiver and he sighs.

"You never answered the question," he points out.

"Andrew and I were married fifteen years ago," she says with a shrug, like it isn't a big deal.

Her confession nearly knocks him off of his feet. He rocks on his heels and stutters with his thoughts in his head. He's met Andrew a few times and, although a theatre geek, the man just isn't cut out to go toe to toe with a woman like Donna Paulsen. He's meek, cheesy and, in Harvey's opinion, not nearly impressive enough for Donna. She deserves classy, flashy, and accomplished.

"That's…" he starts but pauses. He doesn't understand how she can keep this from him for 15 years. He stares at her long and hard, trying to process everything. He blinks a few times. He finally says, "…surprising."

"I'll have you know that many a men have wanted to marry me," she replies.

"That's not," he starts, pausing to sigh and roll his eyes, "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

He lightly shakes his head, defeated that he's held on to any hope for so long. He smiles tightly and throws his shoulders back. He says, "I just didn't realize that you've ever loved someone enough to marry them."

She laughs then, the sound boisterous in contrast with the night air. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. She shakes her head in protest. "It's not like that. I was young and it was Spring Break senior year."

"I knew you had a wild side," he replies, "I just didn't know you were such a risk taker."

"We were best friends and roommates, Harvey. We'd never even had a romantic relationship. When we got back from Spring Break, we had an annulment and I moved out," she explains.

His chest tightens. He's annoyed. He doesn't know why he's so annoyed because it isn't like she had an obligation to tell him. He expels a breath. He says, "If you had an annulment then you were never technically married."

"Fair point," she replies with a smile.

She extends the unopened bottle to him and he slowly takes it. He doesn't think it's a good idea to be here anymore. He shifts the bottle from hand to hand before stepping forward and setting it on the ledge. He smiles sadly then. Slowly dragging a hand through his hair, causing his perfectly coiffed hair to shift out of its place, he takes a step back.

"I just," he says, fingers tapping at his sides, "I guess I didn't realize you had someone you had difficulty getting over."

"Harvey, I-"

"No really, Donna, it's fine. It's not any of my business. It never really has been," he says, putting more space between them. He leans back on his heels, resting his weight on his knees, trying to figure out how he should respond. "You don't owe me an explanation."

"We didn't even sleep together, Harvey. We were slightly codependent and when it got too far I got out," she says.

It hits him then. He swallows the thick lump in his throat, narrows his gaze on her, and he balls his hands into fists. He wants to punch something. God forbid she actually sticks around to see anything to fruition. He absently licks his lips and shakes his head as his jaw tightens.

He says, "Like you got out of us."

"There was never an us," she replies.

"Yes there was," he says evenly, "Whether either of us actually acknowledged it there was an us. We were a team, an equal partnership that consisted of longevity and happiness with maybe a little too much codependency, I admit, but we kept it professional. I didn't pressure you to do anything that you didn't want to do. I respected you. I thought the world of you, I still do, but you walked away. Not me."

"It was hardly professional, Harvey," she corrects, "You told me that you love me."

"I can't do this," he says.

He feels his chest tighten and he takes off back inside, fumbling down the stairs and winding back through hallways until he finds the crowd of needy people. He bounds for the door, not bothering to glance back over his shoulder, muttering excuses as he pushes passed people to leave the tight space. He doesn't bother waiting for the elevator and opts for taking the stairs.

He's sweating by the time he gets downstairs. His head is dizzy and he can't seem to walk straight anymore. He lays his hand on the brick wall to keep himself upright, walking at a pace that somewhat resembles molasses. He hears her heels clapping against the concrete and he gives up, pressing his back against the wall and letting the cold brick soothe the heat on his neck.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" She bites. Her fingertips push into either side of his neck as her thumbs direct his chin upright, forcing him to look her directly in the eye. His throat feels like it is closing so he reaches up and loosens the knot in his tie. "Harvey, look at me."

"I can't breathe," he says, sucking in deep breaths.

Her heels make up the small gap in their height, making her nose aligned with his top lip, and he can feel the heat from her breath touch his face. He's still fiddling with the tie, finally bringing up his other hand to pull out the knot and throw his tie to the ground. He finally lifts his gaze to look at her, her thumb pressing against his lip and dragging across his mouth.

"What's going on?" She asks, calmer this time.

"Nothing," he answers, unconvincingly, "I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

Her lips roll, the grasp on his jaw loosening as her hands trail to his shoulders. He watches her throat bob as she swallows. She says, "Are you mad at me?"

"No," he says, "I just…" He pauses for a moment, mustering his breath and shaking his head. He says, "You can't keep bringing up what I said if you don't want to give whatever I say a chance. Yes, I told you I love you. But you told me you love me too before you walked away. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"I don't know," she admits.

He stands a little straighter, his breathing finally regulating. He says, "You made a choice, Donna. Obviously it's not working for me, but it's what you wanted."

"I wanted you to be happy," she replies. She looks appalled, like she can't believe he would think such a thing of her. He still holds her in the highest regard.

The wind picks up for a moment, the beads of sweat on his forehead becoming cold droplets of water, and he notices a figure run by. He shakes it off, forces his attention back on her again. He says, "I'm not happy, Donna. I'm struggling here and I don't even know what you want from me anymore."

He lifts his gaze over her shoulder and watches the red tail lights of a vehicle brighten in the distance. Out of his peripheral vision he sees her glare at him before she follows his gaze. The vehicle slows to a stop and he looks around to see if there is anyone else lurking nearby.

It happens in a flash. They hear a burst of noise, a harsh pop echoing down the empty street, like firecrackers going off relentlessly. He barely has a moment to digest what he's hearing before he shields her, capturing her between himself of the brick of the building. He can't breathe without her but he sure as fuck can protect her at all costs. His elbows slam against the masonry, the wind being knocked out of her as she inhales sharply against his neck where he's created a refuge for her.

Vehicle tires squeal and take off. As he glances at the spot the vehicle was at over his shoulder all he can see is one red light disappearing around the corner, the other one already gone. He shifts his gaze back to her, looking at her carefully as he runs his hands through her hair and over her neck.

She looks up at him and he thinks she looks so small, so inhibited. He swallows, breathing heavily as he finally allows himself to release the breath he's been holding. He absently licks his lips as their eyes finally connect, speaking without words.

"You okay?" He asks. His voice sounds shaky, his terror overflowing at the seams as he searches her watery gaze for answers. She nods slowly but she seems to be at a loss for words. He pushes her hair back from her face and quickly looks around. When he looks at her again, she has slightly widened eyes and pursed lips. "I'm okay."

As he says this, sirens can be heard in the distance. He slides his hand behind her neck, her hands coming up to grasp the lapels of his suit. He looks at her, traces the outlines of her features and tries to gauge just how shell shocked he is. He hopes to god she doesn't cry because that's his sweetest fucking downfall.

He hears another noise and lunges forward, pulling her head into his chest again as he hunches over to protect his face. He takes in a deep breath, the mixture of her perfume and hair products taking over his senses and relaxing him. She smells a mixture of coconut and ocean water. He hasn't been to the beach in far too long. He definitely needs a vacation after this.

It takes a few moments for him to register that the noise is actually a squeak that belongs to the hinges of the door for Andrew and Joanna's apartment building. Her fingers slip beneath his collar as she clings to him. He lifts his head and follows the noise, his gaze landing on Andrew as he rushes over.

"Is everything alright?" He asks, "What's going on here?"

"Did you call nine-one-one?" Harvey immediately replies, "We heard gun shots."

"Yeah, Joanna was calling when I came down to see what was going on," Andrew says, "Donna, are you okay?"

"She's fine," Harvey barks.

His hands settle on her waist as he pulls her into a standing position as he straightens. Andrew reaches for Donna, but Harvey holds her closer. Her hands slide down his arms then and she promptly pulls back from him. Harvey and Andrew both look at her quizzically as she lifts her hand in front of her face. Her fingertips shake for a few moments before her gaze shifts towards Harvey.

"Oh my god," she mutters, "Harvey, you're bleeding."

"What?" He asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The sirens sound closer now. She lifts her hand in front of his face and he pulls back to get a better look at her hand. There's red blood smeared across her palm. "Shit."

She tugs on his lapels, pulling him beneath the street lamp, and pushes his jacket off of his shoulders. He hisses as he begins to feel a sting in his arm, his jacket hitting the ground with a resonating thud. Red and blue lights bounce off of the shadows as various vehicles appear on the street. She's already unbuttoning his shirt when two cop cars screech to a halt and pop their doors open.

"Everybody freeze," a man's voice bellows.

"He's bleeding," Donna yells, continuing to unbutton his shirt, "I think he was shot."

He looks at Donna then and he realizes she's intensely focused on her task, tears sliding down her cheeks. His lips part, wanting to reassure her, but he doesn't know what to say not with a bunch of men pointing their guns at him. So instead, he turns slightly to position himself between them and her. He must protect her.

"We're unarmed," Harvey calls over his shoulder, "We were out here talking when someone ran passed us. There might be someone hurt up ahead."

The government officials move to their positions, working away as Donna yanks his button up off of him and pushes the sleeve of his t-shirt up his arm to get a look at his skin. He takes in a deep breath as police run over to check with them before they lead him over to the ambulance for medical support. Donna isn't far behind as the police separates them to ask them a few questions.

He sits quietly in the back of the ambulance as the paramedic patches him up and he watches Donna carefully to make sure she's okay. So much has happened in just the span of a few minutes and now the party from upstairs is starting to file onto the street. His wound stings as the paramedic determines that he was luckily only grazed by a ricocheted bullet, but unluckily there was a man a few yards ahead on the sidewalk who had been killed.

Donna makes her way over after a few minutes and smiles sadly. He swallows and he keeps his mouth shut, not really sure what he should say. She blindly reaches for his left hand which he allows her to take, feeling comforted that she is at least okay. He looks up at her as the paramedic covers his wound with gauze and tapes it to his skin.

Donna hands him his clothes that were tossed to the ground. He takes it from her with his wounded arm. He says, "Thanks. You sure you're okay?"

She nods slowly before looking directly at the young woman in a white shirt with blue gloves on who is currently tending to his wound. Donna asks, "Is he going to be okay?"

"The bullet grazed him. He'll be fine. The wound just needs to be cleaned every other day but other than that he's a trooper," she replies.

Donna nods and the woman leaves them alone. He shivers as he looks up at her again, pushing himself into a standing position as he clutches his white button up shirt, suit jacket and tie to his torso. She pries his white shirt from his fingers and helps him put it back on.

"You'll have some trouble with your tie for awhile," she says as she buttons his shirt.

He smiles softly and nods in acknowledgement. He's sure he'll be able to take care of the tie. He'd opted not to go to the hospital to get stitches despite the recommendation of the paramedic because he doesn't see the need to baby the wound. In his defense, he didn't even know he'd been hurt until Donna had pointed it out.

Just as he opens his mouth to say something, a man in a light gray suit makes his way over. The suit is too tight and doesn't fit the man properly and Harvey considers suggesting his tailor to the man, but instead he bounces his gaze back to Donna who has acquired his tie and is currently playing with it in her hands.

"I'm sorry, Mister and Misses Specter," the man says.

"Oh, we're not married," Harvey replies quietly.

The man smiles tightly and tucks his hands into his pocket. Harvey watches him shrug half-heartedly like the man couldn't care either way. His arm is starting to feel heavier now. "My apologies. Would you two mind coming down to the station to answer a few more questions?"

"Aren't you going to read us our rights first?" Donna asks. Her voice sounds teasing but he can hear the shake in it.

The man offers her a sleazy smile. "You aren't under arrest," he reassures, "We just wanted to sit down with you and get a little more clarification."

"Donna," Harvey says, reaching out with his left hand to lightly touch her shoulder; she twists his tie in her hands, "It's fine. Lucky for you, you've got your lawyer right here."

She nods slowly. He pushes a hand into her back to direct her towards the unfamiliar yet put together man. She begrudgingly takes the hint and follows the man, but Harvey stays close behind. She glances at him over her shoulder and he impulsively offers her a reassuring smile, his fingertips hovering over the small of her back.

"I have a bad feeling about this," she admits.

The man leads them to a black vehicle. Harvey thinks the vehicle reminds him of the Knight Rider vehicle, a little, round, button shaped siren sitting on the dashboard and orbiting with a red and blue glow. He wonders how a detective could afford a knock off version of this vehicle but he thinks it's better not to poke the bear. They are a few steps behind the man with a cheap suit and she's behaving quite timid.

"We didn't do anything wrong," he says. He notices she left her purse inside. He reaches into his pocket for his phone as the man opens the door to the backseat of his vehicle. She climbs into the vehicle before he can make a move to do so. He slips her his phone and says, "Text Jessica and tell her to meet us at the police station."

"You can sit up front," the man says as Harvey begins to slide into the backseat beside her. Harvey looks at Donna and gives her a solid nod. He thinks he can see the light flicker in her eyes, the reds and blues bouncing off of her glazed over eyes. He lightly touches her shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly. "You're not under arrest."

Harvey's fingers linger on her shoulder for just a second longer as the detective moves to the driver's side of the vehicle. He smiles tightly and steps back, putting some space between them. She clutches his phone in her hand and paints on a smile. He can tell she's trying to be brave. He shuts the door then and moves to the front seat, his right arm becoming stiffer now that the adrenaline has subsided.