Pre- 5.07 One-shot. (Kept Saying 5.07 but it was supposed to be during 5.07. Works for 5.08 kind of.
And written purely because I'm getting tired of Darvey not Darveying…hopefully they write something FAR better on the show. This is a slight deviation from the usual.
Feels Like We Only Go Backwards 1/1 One-Shot)
It feels like I only go backwards baby
Every part of me says "go ahead".
I got my hopes up again, oh no... not again.
Feels like we only go backwards darling.
I know that you think, you sound
Silly when you call my name (my name)
But I get it inside my head all day.
When I realize I'm just holding onto
The hope that maybe
Your feelings don't show...
It feels like I only go backwards baby.
Every part of me says go ahead.
I got my hopes up again, oh no... not again.
Feels like we only go backwards darling.
The seed of all this indecision isn't me, oh no,
'Cause I decided long ago.
But that's the way it seems to go when trying
So hard to get to something real,
It feels...
It feels like I only go backwards darling,
Every part of me says "go ahead".
I got my hopes up again, oh no... not again.
Feels like we only go backwards darlin'.
Feels like I only go backwards baby,
Every part of me says "go ahead".
I got my hopes up again, oh no... not again.
Feels like we only go backwards darling.
Feels like I only go backwards baby,
Every part of me says "go ahead".
I got my hopes up again, oh no... not again.
Feels like we only go backwards darling
'Feel like we only go backwards' By Tame Impala
He doesn't know why. But suddenly he's kicking himself inside.
And she's looking at him the way she did last time. Through that transparent glass.
Complete distaste.
And all at once he realises….she knows.
Of course she knows. Louis knew. And then...of course Louis ran to her to give her every fucking detail of their interchange. Either that or the other way round.
It's only right that Donna be the one to tell him.
He shakes his head, his feet still moving towards her; watching with guarded eyes at her quick glance to him, from a desk that still doesn't feel like hers.
It feels like he is the only one moving in half time.
Even though his knuckles still ache, dully, - from the second punch in a week, the first being Travis 'Still a dick' Tanner - his eyes flick to Louis's desk, the hope for a rematch hardening his shoulders at the prospect.
They fall limp, suddenly, at the empty desk and poignant grey tinged urn sat beside it.
He stops, aware that most people have gone home by now. They are cloaked in evening darkness, flooding from the outside in like a closed box in a light bulb.
"Donna," He starts, his voice heavy.
"You know, what, Harvey?" She begins, looking up at him though a cloak of auburn hair. "It's not my job anymore. Punch whoever you like," She says tiredly, sliding immediately and rather deliberately around the desk, her right hand whipping her bag to her side in the process.
He stutters, not quite prepared for her to move that quickly, as he joins her. "That's not why I,." He begins to tell her.
Her eyes narrow, before she shakes her head, a thought close to the chest that she doesn't let him fully see, until her head flicks aggressively towards him, noticing him easily matching her steps. It seems to aggravate her more than he intends. She halts then, suddenly changing whatever words threatened their way out. He watches her swallow thickly, her bag slapping against her legs as she spots the elevator, moving forward to press the silver triangle until it lights up.
He watches as she readies herself. "Let me give you a little advice, Harvey: If you're going to screw your Co-Partner's newly divorced sister, you may not want to lie about it afterwards." She says, pausing minutely for breath. "Because you can punch Louis as much as you like when he says something that you don't like, but that's not going to detract from the fact that he trusted you to do your job, and take care of one of the most important people in his life, and you betrayed that zzźtrust. Not to mention mine," She spits.
"What? Your trust? What does that have to do with anything?" He frowns, gawping at the insinuation.
"I promised him that you wouldn't... And you did. Which doesn't just mean that you violated Louis's trust, it means-"
He watches as she pauses mid-sentence, her head flicking up to rid herself of her current train of thought. "I'm done,"
"What?" He frowns.
"I don't know you anymore. So don't expect me to have your back where Louis is concerned." She tells him. "We...are done." She says finally.
It locks him to the ground as she glides into the elevator.
Her eyes paint an Andy Warhol that even he'd be proud of.
He watches her press that button that he can't see but knows is there, the doors closing with a hesitation as polished steel drenches his devastated reflection.
He cracks his knuckles to stop his stomach from lurching quite so.
It's the second time he has an apiphany without Paula Agard.
She would tell him later that it was a step in the right direction. A beginning of something.
I don't even like it
I don't even know which side is worse,
Just because you own it
It doesn't make you feel safe!
I don't like to call up
I don't like the way it makes you thirst
Just because you own it
It doesn't make you feel safe, feel safe!
I want you,
Can't get you out of my head
I just wanna do it again
I just wanna do it again
I just wanna do it again
I just wanna do it, I want you,
Can't get you out of my head
I just wanna do it again
I just wanna do it again
I just wanna do it
~ 'Feel Safe' By All We Are
He raps hard on the black, slightly shiny wood.
He's still ready for a fight, until she swings the door open, a phoenix-ridden fury in her slightly messed up hair and vibrant crimson pyjamas. His eyes flick to the silky fabric, and all at once the image of her naked rages in his mind.
"I told you never to come here again." She tells him.
"M' Sorry." He mumbles, his hand sliding up to the door frame to solidify his being here.
He has the faintest feeling that she's going to shut the door in his face.
She does that now. Shuts him out. He'd be a liar if he didn't admit that it was beginning to grate.
She blinks, before the words register against her still less than savoury attitude. "Harvey...this has gone so far past the point of sorry, I...don't even know where to start." She says, shaking her head.
She's shutting down again. In seven weeks she's gone from giving him everything he wanted to giving him so little that he wonders, far in the back of his head if she hates him.
"I'm sorry I slept with Esther." He tells her.
"Why?" She shrugs heavily. "It's what you do." She tells him. "You like a woman. You go after her. You always have. Regardless of anybody else,"
His jaw twitches at the sharp angles in her words as they trail off.
"You mean...regardless of you?" He enquires then.
"No. I mean regardless of Louis." She corrects.
He can see the divide in her words. They span a mile wide and he can see the cracks for miles.
"Cut the crap Donna;" He jibes.
"Excuse me?" Her face contorts, her face twisting and those eyes of hers taking on a steeliness.
"Admit it, you're pissed that I slept with her." He tells her, suddenly finding the right words. "And not for Louis, you're pissed for you." He says, his voice taking on a hard quality.
She laughs to herself, dryly and with a bitter edge before she looks back at him with an adequate answer. "Let's get two things straight." She tells him. "One: Louis is my Boss now. I care about him, and an attack on him is an attack on me. And Two," She reams off before he can interrupt against the wave of vivid objections forming in his head. "Anything I ever said about us is now….off the table, from this moment on. Because, it is clear to me, now, that you only care about yourself, and what makes you happy. And Screw anybody else in your life unless you're screwing them first, Right?" She inhales, her eyes tearing. "I'm done, Harvey."
His eyes close with the slam of the door in his face.
Time literally halves before a second passes around him.
He feels his vision cloud first, his throat tighten and the room begin to spin violently as the pressure in his head begins to build triple-fold. He pulls at his collar, as the constriction of his shirt and windsor knot against the sudden sheen of sweat begin building against his back. He turns around, his balance unsteady as he attempts to make for the exit, the flashes of gold and black in his vision pale against the worms of acid lighting that confuse his direction. He huffs, seeing the stairwell in front of him, the rapid wave of nausea hitting him then, as he swings back around, finding enough strength in him to plant the few steps forward; his hand slapping against the door. He swallows, his heart almost leaping out of his chest in an irregular rhythm as it echos in his ears. His mouth feels dry and yet so close to being full of bile. He only half registers the fact as he cranes his neck, half slumped against the door.
"Donna," He calls out limply, weakly, as he slaps, hard against the door once more. "I...Donna, please, I," He manages, before he slumps his shoulders fully against it.
His thoughts are muddled and full of complete panic as his stomach lurches.
He feels the weight of the door buckle under him, correcting himself to a half-standing as he is met with two very red and angry hazel eyes, that turn to confused and worried in a millisecond.
"Harvey...Oh my god." She says, reaching for his shoulders to bring him over the threshold. in a moment he's pushed towards her couch.
He fights another wave of nausea, noticing her disappear, with the words 'Ambulance and Heart attack' ringing in his ears like anti-sirens.
"S'a Panic…" He manages as his eyes squeeze shut. "Attack. Just,"
It's enough to stop her in her tracks, as she slams the phone back down, rushing to his side. "You're...having a panic attack?" She fires at him, her brows knitting together.
He's never seen her look so lost. If he hadn't been the one having it, he would have told her that Mike had handled it far better.
It would have been a joke.
She would have bust his balls about it and he would have contained a smile at the fact.
He blinks, another lurch and the sting in his throat forcing him off the couch. He rushes to the bathroom, grabbing every doorframe and counter he can on the way.
The little room in her apartment is a minor release.
The room smells like his office used to; and it's enough to release the pressure as his stomach lurches a handful of times. He hears water running before he's even pulled the chain, his eyes feel bloodshot and are stinging wildy. As he heaves against the end of it, there is a second worth of a flash of red hair beside him, and a white flannel. He grabs it roughly - more for the swoon of dread starting to replace itself than the need to be aggressive - and quietly thanks her in his head for it being cool and wet to the touch, as he wipes his face and then his mouth before finally growing to a stand.
For a moment he stays there, looking at white tiling and an assortment of tropical shells in a row behind the offending bowl.
He notices water in a mug appear by his side like it's some divine intervention, the dainty fingers he knows so well, holding it out with a defiance.
He ignores the feeling of her presence, so very near, as he silently takes the cup. In his head he supposes that she'll fold her arms and be irritated at his presence, confused by his actions. He doesn't turn his head to check on the assumption.
"Harvey," He hears her ask him, like his name is a question.
"What?" He sighs, swallowing against the last gulp of water, his head still dizzy.
"This isn't the first...is it?" She enquires.
His head tilts then. He's suddenly completely against being here.
In her bathroom. In this mess.
He looks back at her for a second, a disbelief in his eyes that paints like betrayal and misses the pout of her lips and her tired slightly calmly face. "I'm surprised that Rachel didn't rush to tell you?" He counters bitterly.
He was right about the folded arms…
"Maybe she thought that I had enough going on." He hears her shrug. "Or maybe she thought that it was your job to tell me...and not hers." She reasons.
He turns, feeling like a dick stood there, in his former Assistant's bathroom, with a bile-stained throat and an empty mug with the words 'Litt Up' in his hand...
It makes way for the kind of irony that he only finds entertaining in other less fortunate people…
He starts to make for the door, but pauses when she doesn't seem to move.
He finds his head tilting then, a soft smile flowing like a challenge onto his otherwise tense face.
Her face twists with a feline sharpness to counter it. He waits for her to decide something - again, something he can't work out even if he wanted to - before she glides out into the hall.
His hand slides against the nape of his neck. feeling inadequate and so very exposed. When he wanders into her lounge she is sat down on her couch.
Waiting. For him.
He rolls his eyes as they land on the front door.
The idea of getting the hell out there looks so appealing...considering the last fifteen minutes...
"So," She starts, gaining his attention. "You have two choices here," She starts.
There is something so formal, so directive about the way that she sits there, optioning his future. Goddess like, with all the cards.
"You can either leave now, and we leave it like this, which I think we both know that you're considering pretty heavily... Or...you can just...sit down, and tell me what's going on."
His eyes narrow then. The idea of having another Paula Agard seems...excrutiating. "Donna, I already have a shrink." He points outs gruffly.
She blinks, the new information washing over her with a miniscule amount of affliction. "Good," She huffs, nodding robotically. "Because I'm done counselling you." She tells him.
He sighs, as it occurs to him that...she's not going to let it come easy.
But then he realises that….neither is he.
They are both difficult. And coming from very different places now.
He gives her a look, as he wanders over to the couch, noticing her stiffen, before she slides over to one side to give him some space.
He sits forward then. "Okay...what do you want to know?" He offers, aware of the difference.
"How long have you been having these...panic attacks?"
"Since…" He swallows against the need to lie. "You left."
"Why?" She asks, automatically.
"I...don't like change." He divulges.
"Right." She nods.
It doesn't take a shrink to know that she's unhappy with the answer...
"It's...to do with my Mother. Mostly." He huffs.
She narrows her eyes then, as if a thought occurs and then she dashes it in half the time. It's the third time she's not spoken her mind that night and it's starting to annoy him three-fold.
She nods eventually, though, her shoulders softening with compliance. "How long have you been in therapy?" She asks.
"Since the first one." He answers
She nods again, taking in the information. "Who else knows?"
"Rachel. Mike. And that's it." she assures her.
"Not Jessica?" She enquires, her eyebrow arching.
"Donna," He protests to her digging.
"I'm just...asking." She placates slowly. "Do you know why you had an….attack...tonight?"
"You really expect me to answer that?" His head lolls then, an exasperated look flashing across his face.
Her eyes flash with a retaliation and in an instant, it doesn't matter how annoyed he's getting because she has fire and fury in her and it's all for him as she stands up in a huff. "You know what...if you can't even be bothered to be open with me, and explain why you were stood outside my apartment, after we had a fight, fighting for breath and struggling not to throw up on my matt then…"
She huffs.
But it's her eyes that break him, finally.
They are beautiful.
"Because I thought I was going to lose you….okay?" He blurts out above her voice.
When she looks at him in that way that makes him feel like he is nothing, he looks away, shaking his head at the result.
There is the kind of silence that spans the breach.
"When are you going to understand, Harvey? You already lost me." Her eyebrows dent with the pressure of it being the truth.
He feels his chest lurch again, bringing him to standing. "Don't say that." He orders, his voice cracking below the quiet pressure.
"It's the truth. You don't get to... keep me...anymore, Harvey." She tells him, swallowing thickly.
"Donna," He whispers. It's all he can manage above the strangled feeling in his throat.
She shakes her head then. A finality above all.
He watches one solitary tear trickle down her cheek.
And it claims him more than any panic attack ever could.
He strides towards her, his hands clenched against the battle to reign himself in.
She steps back slightly when he pauses, no more than two foot away.
"Donna...I…" He huffs, his shoulders rising and falling against the dryness in his throat. "I….I miss you." He manages. "And I know that I hurt you, and I'm….sorry. But...if you give up on me...on what we had...I," He pauses, feeling his own voice crack, as he tries to reign in all the words forming in his head. "I need you. I need us...to be good again. And I just…" He skips on a breath as he gathers himself. "Don't give up on me,"
His eyes search hers, the panic drifting from his dark eyes to her darker, suddenly wider pupils.
"What does that even mean?" She asks him, her brows knitting together
"It means that...I'm going to fix this...all of it." He tells her.
It's the first clear thought he's had in a while.
Later, he'll tell Paula Agard that he took control of them. That he took ownership of the situation. To fix himself. And by extension, them.
She nods eventually, and evenly.
And it's enough to give him back the courage he so desperately needs.
"Goodnight Donna." He nods, looking at her for a fraction longer than he thinks he should be able to.
That night,
He dreams about her again,
But it's altogether….a different dream.
Just something in case tonight is below par. If not then…. this is a lesser moment. ;-)