Step 1

The realization of how he feels about her doesn't come from a session with Paula Agard. It doesn't come from something Jessica says. It doesn't come from some underlying disagreement with Louis. And it doesn't come from a push thanks to Mike or Rachel. The realization comes from her. It's her, her, it's always her. It's always been her.

It's the Tuesday before their dinner at Del Posto when he looks at her with so much clarity of courage that the days of the past are a distant memory and all he can see is a clear yet undefined future. The uncertainty annoys him because there isn't an end in sight. The way he sees it, Donna may have left him but she never really did. He's an idiot regarding the manner, he understands that, but his mother left and never looked back. It isn't his fault.

His entire adult life he has been hearing an echo in his head, in his own voice to grow up, be a man, take control and he's always thought the only way to do so is to keep everyone at a distance. He'd almost succeeded too, until that fiery redhead weaseled her way into his system and he couldn't get her out. It had been a long time coming and he had actively loved her for so long that he had come to terms with accepting what he had of her was what he was going to get.

Until suddenly she wasn't within arm's reach anymore and he had to reevaluate his entire life's structure. The one person he didn't want to live without had left him and he couldn't do anything to grasp onto her. After months of seeing a therapist, he came to the conclusion (on his own, pats on the back to him) that what he has always felt for Donna is nothing short of love.

He realized on that Tuesday that he should have told her when she had asked how he loved her, but he had simply been too scared because he thought he would lose her. He spends three days loathing himself and by the time Monday comes around and he is informed with the reminder of their yearly anniversary of when she came to work for him, he decides to bite the bullet. Metal doesn't taste good between his teeth, but she accepts.

Let the record show that he hates the name Mitchell. He hated the name Mitchell before and by god he will burn every Mitchell he meets from this point forward to the ground – of course figuratively, but also maybe literally. It depends on how he feels that day and chances for future Mitchells everywhere aren't looking good. Odds are 10:1.

But Donna has told him once, she's told him many times, to fight for what is in his heart and god damn it she had worked her way in much smoother than anyone else ever could. He should really take her brush off as a hint, her ability to dismiss his invite to indefinitely go out for food and leave their worries behind – that should really be his hint there, but they all make their decisions and for once he is going to ignore hers.

He's a little tired of her putting all of these defining lines on whatever future they may have, tired of always abiding by her rules. That's why he decided last night before falling asleep that he was going to make a bold move. He is going to make a bold move that redefines their entire relationship forever. He has to because he just wants to be with her.

Now that all of the shit with Louis has died down and she has been thoroughly supportive to both of them throughout, never once blaming either of them, he feels like he has the leeway to make that leap. His efforts will know no bounds. He will be persistent until she gives in.

He decides to get tickets to a show. Not for him and her – for her and Bitchell, for her and the current bane of his existence. It's amazing how Hardman is trying to currently weasel his way back into the firm but this faceless Mitchell guy is causing him the most grief. Figures that right when he is ready to put it all on the line for what he wants, who he wants, she's packing up her heart and moving on.

He deserves it with all of his confusion and reluctance to give everything, but he's not going to give up that easily. He wants to at least give it a chance, to explore how she feels about him. He doesn't want to be the fool who let the love of his life walk out of the door without a single word spoken on the matter. Maybe that's going too far, calling her the love of his life, but she is his one great love.

So he swings by the theatre box office on his way to work to grab two front row tickets to the off-Broadway play It Shoulda Been You that he thinks will serve as a double meaning. He thinks it will serve a purpose that many of the other plays wouldn't, that it will convey exactly what he's trying to tell her. He stores the tickets in his pocket for later on in the day, when he will present them to his lost partner in crime.

He takes his time meandering into the office, acquiring a coffee and a bagel before heading upstairs. If there's anything he will do, it is give the perfect delivery of his gift so she can give this Mitchell guy a proper send off. Harvey doesn't need to meet him to know that he is irrelevant.

He saunters into work, coffee in one hand and bagel in the other, giving flippant compliments to anyone who can get in his way. He sees Gretchen at her desk, peering at him over the rims of her glasses with a tilted eyebrow. She looks fierce, challenging. It's hard for him to picture her as a grandmother. Does she bake cookies for them? Or is she the grandmother you hear war stories about?

"Gretchen, my my, aren't you striking?" He practically sings with a grin on his face.

Her eyebrow pops up further on her forehead than he has ever seen, and he has seen Donna's eyebrow dangerously close to her hair line on more than one occasion. She whips her head around gently, not buying his compliment. She absently taps her fingers on her desk before staring at him harder.

He shifts on his feet under her gaze. She says, "What flavor of crack did you smoke this morning?"

"How dare you insinuate such a thing?" He leans heavily on the wall of her cubicle and sets the cup of coffee in front of her on the desk. Her gaze slides to the cup and back to him. She tilts her chin down and peers at him over the rims even more. He cranes his neck back just a bite, putting some distance between him and the older woman. She's got sass for days. "Can't I just do something nice for my wonderful executive assistant?"

"I've already had two cups this morning, Mister Specter, and I don't think you want to see me with a third one," she replies.

His eyebrows knit together as he counters her look. He says, "Don't be such a Debbie Downer, Gretchen. It's a beautiful day and I think that if you just have the right attitude then the whole day will do a complete one-eighty."

She doesn't look amused but she takes the discarded coffee anyway. He nods then, satisfied with her relinquishment of the standoff, and heads into his office. He pretends not see her minuscule smile as she takes a sip of the coffee.

Gretchen has already placed the appropriate files on his desk in order of importance. Gretchen is a good secretary. She does her job and keeps everything in order for him. She's not Donna, but no woman ever will be. He offers her a smile as he sits behind his desk, which only prompts an eye roll from the woman.

Not much later, he finds himself sitting in a boring meeting with Rusty Alder, waiting for the man to shut up, with a makeshift scowl on his face. He isn't even really sure what the man is even saying as he is distracted with thoughts elsewhere. He keeps replaying the dinner from last week over and over in his head – the way he felt as they were together, that he didn't think about anyone other than her or stress about anything else in his life than the woman in front of him. With other women, he easily is distracted by work.

As soon as Rusty is out of sight, he makes his way to the break room for a cup of half-hearted sludge that can barely pass for coffee. Well, unless Donna is making the coffee. Hers always has a certain kick that is better than anywhere else. He's greeted with a rather pleasant sight as he steps over the threshold of the break room and Donna is standing at the counter.

"What a pleasure running in to you here," he says, excusing the typical greeting.

"Harvey," she says evenly, voice hinting at a quiver as she turns to look at him and she rests her hip against the counter, "Are you stalking me?"

"Hardly," he counters, advancing further into the room, "I just came to get a cup of coffee."

"Great timing," she replies, "I just started a fresh pot. Give it two or three minutes and you'll get the Donna Special."

"Lucky me," he says with a smile spreading across his mouth.

He bounces on his heels, absently chastising himself for his word choice, wondering if she thinks he is an idiot. He doesn't want to seem too eager. She returns to her task and he doesn't know what to say. He feels suddenly nervous. His hands feel sweaty, clammy. He's never been scared to talk to her before.

She smirks as she turns and leans back against the counter. "Since when did you start getting your own coffee?"

He shrugs half-heartedly and says, "Since I realized I can't expect my secretary to do everything for me. I even dial my own phone calls now."

"You're kidding," she mocks. She smirks then, tapping her fingers against her arms and she folds them over her chest. She is protecting herself from him and he has never seen this side of her. "Ironic, seeing as how I've never gotten a phone call."

"That's because I know where you live," he says cheekily.

Just then, the coffee maker kicks into action and the liquid spills into the pot. It cuts through the tension growing between them. She looks at him with a soft gaze, her blinking so slow that he almost thinks she is trying to ask him why he never stops by. Given when he had suggested more outings just the two of them, he had tried and tried to give her the space and respect he thinks she wants. The coffee machine puffs out a block of air that indicates it has completed and she turns before he can follow up. He frowns immediately, feeling he should have approached her differently than that.

"You know," she starts, her back turned towards him as she reaches into the cabinet and gets down two mugs. There is an unprecedented space between them that feels heavy and he longs to close the gap. Maybe he should start with an apology. She glances at him over her shoulder as she reaches for the coffee pot. "That could almost constitute as stalking."

"It's not like I've stopped by," he argues gently.

"Not since the last time," she comments. She pours coffee into both mugs and steam rises just above her head. He allows his eyes to follow the trail as it dissolves into the air.

He says, " Exactly. You get me."

"Years of practice," she replies with a shrug.

She turns then and hands him the mug in her left hand. She blows on it for him, the gentle wisp of air directing the heat into his face. A shiver skates down his spine as his fingers press against hers for a moment. The spark definitely still exists between them. In that moment, he feels reassured in his decision.

"Thank you, M'lady," he says with a small head nod. He immediately kicks himself at the level of idiocrocy that has slipped out. She tries not to laugh by tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. He shakes his head at himself and takes a sip from the mug, the hot liquid burning his tongue. He wants to abort the mission all together at this point. He swallows the scalding coffee. "So…about this guy you've been seeing-"

"We don't have to do this," she quickly replies. He's obviously ruined the moment as her whole demeanor changes. She pushes off of the counter and heads towards the door. He follows her at a warp speed. "You don't have to take an interest in guys I'm seeing."

"Don't get me wrong," he starts, "He's of none of my concern. I was just trying to see if he was still around."

"He is," she answers slowly.

The walk to her desk is too short. He nods in acknowledgement but decides that if he's ever going to do anything then it has to be now. They are down to now or never. He slides into the space beside her, becoming dangerously close to nudging her with his hip. She sets her mug down on the coaster on her desk, her fingers lingering on the desktop as she looks over at him. He reaches into his jacket pocket for the tickets he safely placed there early this morning.

"Enjoy them," he says, pressing the tickets hard against the desk in front of her, "Because this is your last date with him."

Her mouth drops open immediately, not sure how to respond. He smirks then, pulling his hand back to his frame and lightly touching her elbow as he does. His index finger slides over her forearm muscle for just a brief moment. He nods his departure, her gaze following him as he takes a step backward and moves around her cubicle to head back to his office.

He can't help himself. He twists his body around and turns fully to look at her. She's still watching him with the same expression. Boy is he glad he's getting under her skin.