AN: Just a collection of some rough, fun Darvey ideas, based mostly on prompts and inspiration from Twitter. I completely the stole the title from an episode of Futurama :P


Waterworks

Harvey knocks at Donna's apartment, not quite sure what to make of her frantic call asking him to come straight over. She'd said something about a flood, muttered a rude expletive at someone in the background, and then the line had cut out.

In the past, he used to be the one to call at ungodly hours, with a question about a case or quandary, if he was just plain bored…. But those days feel like a life-time ago, even though his fingers still itch to reach out when he's lying awake late at night and missing her company.

The urge has sprung up more frequently lately, since their respective best friend's left for Seattle, but when Donna's name had flashed across his screen, panic had snapped him from the realms of sleep.

They flirt, they drink, but they tow a more careful line now—one where they don't call unless there's an emergency, and he'd breathed an instant sigh of relief at hearing her voice.

The feeling grows exponentially when she appears in front of him, wet from head to toe, and sinking against the frame with an exhausted sigh.

"Thank god."

He doesn't have time to question what's going on. She latches her hand in the nook of his elbow, dragging him inside, and he follows her lead, his feet squelching across the sodden carpet, the sloshing becoming more noticeable as they move into her living area. "What the hell happened?" he asks, looking around for the source of the leak, and spotting a river flooding in from the kitchen.

"Good question." She'd like an answer as well, and scrubs a hand across her face, not even sure where to start. A loud bang had startled her awake to find her ensuite submerged, the problem extending through the entire apartment. According to the building manager, several pipes had burst on the level above hers, and now there's water leaking from any freaking orifice with a bolt. The plumber currently kneeled in her kitchen seems more interested in his hourly rate than actually fixing the problem, and when she'd told him to get out, he'd said firing him would cost her a law-suit.

"Apparently the building's insurance only covers lazy, rude and unprofessional jerks doing repairs. He threatened to sue me if I called anyone else in." She throws her hand toward the kitchen, knowing the problem is way below Harvey's pay-grade, but she's at her wits-end, and fights the sudden sting behind her gaze, trying to regain her composure.

"Hey, it's okay." He steps forward giving her arm a squeeze. Surprisingly, he handled enough of Jessica's pro bonos himself to surmise the plumber is just being an asshole with no legal grounds to sue—an easy fix, but can't stand seeing her distraught and upset. "Go pack a bag and don't worry. I'll sort this out and have a word with big-mouth Luigi over there."

She hitches a short laugh, swiping the corner of her eyes. Under normal circumstances she would have gone rounds with the Mario brother herself, but waking up to find half her belongings soaked with water damage had rattled her. She's been edging nearer to a nervous breakdown with every passing minute, and stumbles over how to thank him for helping. "I'm sorry, I wouldn't normally—"

"Donna, stop. I'm glad you called me," he says seriously, trying to reassure her. She doesn't need to apologise. If anything, he wishes she'd got him up sooner, hating the fact she'd been here alone, stressing out when from the looks of things, the damage could have been dealt with hours ago. "Just relax and let me take care of it, okay?"

She nods, surprised by the tenderness, and grateful, because she knows he's gearing up for a fight. The plumber is about to get his legal-ass handed to him, and her mouth winds around a small smirk. "Go easy."

"Not a chance." He winks, putting on his game-face. He's going to make sure the son-of-a-bitch regrets the day he ever thought deciding to become a plumber was a good goddamn idea.

Packing a bag proves difficult, most of her clothes either wet or destroyed, and she mourns the loss of so many designer dresses and shoes, throwing the little she can salvage together in her overnight case.

Not wanting to travel to Harvey's in her pyjamas, she keeps on what she's wearing, grabs a toothbrush, and leaves the rest.

She'd be devastated if she wasn't so exhausted but it's only water, and she hopes once the place is dried out, the damage won't be so bad in the morning. Her only real grievance is that she shouldn't wait that long to organize cleaners. She should do it tonight, another task to add to her never ending list, but when she surfaces, she's shocked and overwhelmed to find Harvey has sorted all the problematic details. He has a 'guy' taking care of it, and when he takes the case out of her hand, placing his other at the small of her back, she doesn't protest the chivalry as he guides them out.

She dozes off in the cab on the way to his apartment, reluctantly stirring when Harvey tells her she can sleep properly soon, and the silence and dryness inside his condo are like a secret oasis.

She makes a bee-line for the couch and Harvey chuckles to himself as she face plants onto its surface with reckless abandonment. He wants her to make herself at home, but her clothes are still wet, and after all the drama she's been through tonight, she deserves to sleep in a proper bed, not wedged into the corner of his sofa.

"Hey, come on… You've made it this far." He moves to where she's collapsed, giving her shoulder a firm but gentle nudge. "Besides, I know you're just dying to get into bed with me."

She murmurs something that would make a sailor blush, a distinct threat to his manhood, and he rolls his eyes, but the amusement slips from his features when she doesn't move. He's not about to let her catch pneumonia, no matter how determined she is to ignore him. "You really want to do this the hard way?" The next sound out of her mouth is a groggy snore, signaling she has no intention of helping, and he crouches down with a sigh. "Okay, sleeping beauty, hard way it is."

He slides his hands under her body, rolling and lifting her with one fluid motion that she protests—calling him an ass, but her arms wind around his neck anyway, and he smirks at the outcome. She really must be tired if she's letting exhaustion overrule her stubbornness, and he carries into the bedroom, setting her down gently on the edge of the mattress. "Change first. Then sleep."

She forces her eyes open, finding enough strength to grumble at him. "Slave driver."

"I think you mean… Thank you, Harvey," he teases, making sure she's propped up on her own before letting go.

She sways slightly, but keeps herself upright, expecting him to retrieve her bag, but instead he heads to the dresser and pulls out an old sweatshirt. When he hands over the faded Harvard slogan, her mouth twitches around a smile. "Thank you, Harvey."

"You're welcome, Donna." He grins back, about to disappear so she can have some privacy, but she doesn't wait to change—either too tired or too Donna to worry about being shy.

Not that she has any reason to hide.

She has an amazing figure, and his blood rushes south as she flings off her damp sweater and pants, leaving her clad in bold red underwear that's swallowed all too quickly by his sweatshirt.

He tries to wash the image from his mind but she slides out of the bra and panties next, her body covered but completely naked under his top, and he swallows thickly as she thrusts the bundle of damp clothes into his arms.

"Satisfied?" she asks with a smirk, leaning back on her elbows.

"Not nearly," he quips, trailing his gaze over her dangling legs, and teasing himself with the notion he's going to be sleeping next to the state of undress all night.

"Hey, mister..." She kicks his shin with a snort. "Eyes up here."

He meets her coy smile, and is suddenly overcome with the urge to drop everything and join her on the bed—answer the warm, primal feeling tugging inside his chest.

It dawns on him then, that he doesn't want her to leave.

The repairs at her place could take weeks, and she fits perfectly here, like it's where she's supposed to be.

"You can't keep me." She challenges his dopey expression, hiking up an eyebrow when he throws her a look that says, why not? The unguarded reaction surprises her, and amusement hums in her throat. "I'm not a lost puppy, Harvey, and you don't have a guest-room."

Technically, she has a point. Sharing a bed for a few hours due to an emergency is one thing—not even worth batting an eyelid over, but sleeping together on a regular basis, wanting to feel her body next to him each night doesn't exactly fall under the definition of a platonic friendship, and he swallows a stab of disappointment, forcing a smile. "Get comfy. I'll be in soon."

He leaves her to follow the instruction, ducking into the ensuite to hang up her damp clothes and strip down to his t-shirt and boxers.

He steals a moment once he's done, leaning against the sink with a deep breath, not sure if he wants to find her still awake or asleep already, but when he trudges out, her eyes lift open his heart flutters at the sight of her curled up in his bed.

She lifts the covers, inviting him in, and he slides under them, wriggling down next to her. An adorable twitch crinkles her nose, and he reaches out, pushing away the loose strands of hair tickling her face. "Better?"

She nods, her eyes drifting shut again, and he doesn't think—just says the first thing that pops into his mind. "You could stay... If you wanted to."

The suggestion lifts her gaze back up, and she scrutinizes him with a curious look. He seems completely serious, and she isn't sure what to make of the offer. "Why?"

He shrugs. "I like having the company."

"So you're lonely," she scoffs, prepared to let the conversation drop and give into the thrall of sleep when he interrupts the silence again.

"That's not it."

A sigh pulls from her lips, too tired to play games with him. Harmless flirting is something she's always happy to engage, but he's getting dangerously close to skirting across a line, and she's ready with a gentle warning when he leans forward, teasing her mouth with a soft kiss.

His palm lifts to cup her cheek, and she claps his fingers, breaking away to search for a sign this is really what he wants.

"Why, Harvey?" she asks again, waiting patiently for his answer.

"Because this is where you belong," he says matter-of-factly, letting go of everything that's been holding him back. He's tired too—of constantly pretending he doesn't want more when she's all he wants.

She bites her lips, trying to contain the happiness spreading through her as she studies his gaze. "You don't think we should go on at least one date before you ask me to move in?"

"I wasn't… I mean, that's not—"

She grins, stopping his stutter, and he smiles broadly, letting out a throaty laugh as he leans in to kiss her, knowing this time, she's not going anywhere.

The repairs to her apartment take just over two months to finish. The new paint job, plus bringing in furniture, and restoring her artwork adds an extra couple of weeks—the time passing in a blissful blur, until one Wednesday afternoon she casually mentions the place is going to be ready soon.

That evening he almost asks her to move in with him, officially, but he doesn't.

He waits until the weekend, when Louis and Sheila's wedding is cut short, and he asks her to marry him, instead.