Harvey's steps echo in soft thuds around the empty firm, a slight migraine beginning to prickle at his temples now that the worst of the situation is over and he has time to feel the aftermath of another crisis, sighing inwardly at the work that is still unfinished on his latest case. He has to get those papers done before going home to sleep off another stressful week under the influence of anti-anxiety medication and Advil.
Gretchen is gone when he reaches the glass doors and steps in looking down at the carpet, a hand rubbing at the epicenter of the brewing pain in a futile attempt to soften it. He is glad it's sufficiently past work hours that the only noise in the room is the dulled sounds of the city below, cars and conversation blended into a single mass of familiarity.
He only realizes he isn't alone when she sighs to draw his attention.
"What are you doing here?" even the soft tone of his own voice results in a sharp jolt of pain and he has to close his eyes for a moment until it drowns out.
Donna is sitting on his chair, elbows on the armrests and hands crossed over her middle with legs stretched diagonally underneath the table. She has a glass of scotch on a cup holder by his case files, lipstick staining the crystal, the papers now pushed and piled to the side on the glass surface.
"I wanted to talk to you" she speaks quietly, must know of the needles dancing inside his skull in the way she has always been aware of him.
It makes Harvey feel as though gravity intensifies for a second when his mind shifts to heels taking her away from his office, from him, and the comfort of being known. He pushes the image aside when the ghost of a panic attack starts hovering beneath his chest.
"About?"
"Louis."
A tinge of frustration sparks as he mentally goes through the week's events, migraine escalating from shy prickling pain to a constant pounding, crashing waves of discomfort that turn his insides and he wishes he could've avoided this topic for at least another twenty-four hours.
"I did his transcripts yesterday;" she adds, lifting a hand to wrap her fingers around the scotch on the table before bringing it to her lips and taking a slow sip.
Harvey thought he knew where this was going - a speech about forgiveness and quelling revenge instincts - but it seems she has something else to discuss and his stomach coils at the prospect of another problem.
"He recorded your conversation, when you went to his office after Mike's vote."
Tension falls like a heavy curtain on his shoulders. He breathes in led, lungs growing heavier with the weight of each inhale wondering what that means for him in terms of proof that overturns Louis' last minute decision to let him off the hook and then trying to quickly recall how much he had said, how much she could know.
"I erased the recording, he can't change his mind;" she says while shifting to crossed legs and straightening her back against the chair.
The words soothe his concerns to some extent, but there is still her and this new way she looks at him, with uncertainty, like she's not as sure as she used to be about him.
"I listened to it;" that had been implied, he thinks she says it just to clarify the meaningful character of the content so he doesn't respond, just nods slightly, walking over to the corner and pouring himself two fingers of scotch before turning and heading for the armchair on the far end of the room closest to the couch, the path strange without the center table to walk around.
She watches, waits, before speaking again, "Why didn't you tell me?" it's not accusing, just quiet and curious.
"I didn't want to make it your problem."
Her lips press together and she nods a single time, "Harvey-"
"I didn't want you to feel an obligation to come back, it wouldn't have been..." he sighs, looks down, swaying his glass, watching the amber liquid form waves within the crystal "It was your choice and I wasn't about to take it away."
They fall quiet, he takes another sip and she watches with narrow eyes and a slight frown before doing the same. The sounds of their breathing mingle with the turmoil of the streets of New York and the tension dissolves in favor of the familiarity of this routine of alcohol and silent thoughts in empty offices.
For the first time since she left there's a feeling of entrapment, like her heart is wrapped between two hands that cradle, not suffocating but creating an unsettling feeling inside her chest at just the presence of the intimate touch. It's a kind of longing for this, for the way being together soothes her skin and makes her feel fitting. She misses it more than she'd been able to realize until now and regret comes creeping around the edges of her resolve but she pushes it aside, wouldn't do any good to dwell on repercussions.
Still, hearing that recording somewhat sours the taste of finally doing something for herself and makes her feel inadequate for not having been there for this when she was present for everything else. He still means too much and she can't help but wonder on his fear and self-loathing at having to seek help for something like this. She knows his pride, and panic attacks are a weakness (to him) of a different kind, just the one that would slice him open and make it feel as though he isn't strong enough to handle his own mind.
And he was alone.
Donna pushes herself away from the desk and the noise draws Harvey's attention, makes his focus shift from his now empty glass of scotch to her. She swings her legs to the side and stands, gently tugging her dress down and picking up her own drink before walking over and sitting on the end of the couch closer to where he's settled.
"I'm sorry."
"Donna, you don't have to-"
"I do;" she reaches for his hand but changes her mind and retrieves before her fingers can touch his skin "I'm sorry you thought me leaving the work meant I was leaving you."
"It's okay."
They look at each other, eyes locking into a stare that says everything and nothing, hearts picking up their pace, trying to convey meaning to every breath. It seems as though everything becomes even more still in the already deserted space to match their minds in the quietude of (not so) secretly loving each other.
"You'll always have me" she whispers.
He didn't think he'd needed the declaration but it's obvious from the way relief breaks in tides through every muscle that it had been a point of issue. The alcohol soothed his headache and loosened his boundaries just slightly, enough to allow his hand to slowly move forward and wrap around hers while he stares at their intertwining fingers.
"Everything that I promised you… is still true" he says, letting his gaze drop to the floor while he awaits her response, still unable to speak truths if he can see into her eyes but her line doesn't come and he feels the need to fill the silence "If you need me, for anything..." he drifts, words stuck in his throat while the weight of their distance presses down on the atmosphere "Just, know I'm here."
He feels her hold on his hand tighten and release and when he looks up he finds her skin marked in tearful trails. He doesn't understand the sadness, watches her bite her lip and wipe away the wetness with the back of the hand not clasped in his.
"I've missed you." she says, swallowing hard, pressing her lips together trying to drown out the urge to cry and it dawns on him suddenly that he hadn't thought about how this separation could've wounded her. He feels as selfish as ever for not sparing her consideration when that was all she'd ever done for him.
"I'm sorry, I didn't-"
"I know you didn't;" she interrupts, eyes closing as she takes a deeper breath "I should've known you would react like you did."
"No, you didn't." he strokes his thumb over her skin, the only way he can think to offer comfort "It was never fair of me to make you responsible for handling my feelings in the first place" he sees it now, how much he'd let her carry on his behalf and how she'd done it quietly.
"I'm surprised you know that;" the corner of her mouth pulls up slightly, tone more joking, it lightens up the situation and he's glad, doesn't think he'd be ready to share more than he already has. Maybe she'd known that, and shifted the course of the moment to preserve his feelings even though he's just told her that's not her function anymore and it never should've been.
"Well, for how much I'm paying I'm expecting to reach enlightenment soon."
She snorts a laugh at that, "Where did you even find a therapist anyway?"
Harvey shrugs, "I know a guy;" he says nonchalantly and she smiles raising an eyebrow in disbelief
"You definitely don't have a therapy guy."
That has his mouth hanging open in fake outrage, "How would you know?"
"Because I know all your guys;" it's meant mockingly and his lips tighten, she has a point.
"I looked her up on my own for prescriptions;" he admits a bit defeated.
"I'm guessing you didn't willingly stay for the talking part;" he doesn't have to answer, Donna knows him, it goes unsaid "Has it helped?" she asks softly to which he nods in confirmation and she mirrors the movement seemingly pleased "I'm glad, Harvey."
"It's not fun though;" he adds for good measure.
"Of course it isn't" she scoffs, thinking of how those sessions must've gone considering the emotionally stunted wreck that he is, "But it's necessary. I might suggest it to Louis actually."
He looks at her suspiciously. "Suggest?" Harvey asks sarcastically.
"Persuade;" she rectifies.
"Thank you, by the way" he says, momentarily tightening his grasp on her hand, making her frown.
"For what?" she asks while he untangles their hands and stands, heading for the corner of the office towards the bottle of scotch, the effects of the first glass fading, migraine threatening to return.
"I don't believe for a second that Louis decided to let that go on his own;" he looks back at her to find a small smile, the proof he needs, "Did you guilt him into it?"
She looks up, pondering the question, "Something like that."
He doesn't want to press, just nods at the vague answer and lets it go.
Harvey's about to pour himself another shot when her voice stops him "That's not gonna cure your headache, just give you a new one in the morning"
That catches his attention and he turns with eyebrows arched "You do know I have a headache."
Donna rolls her eyes "When do I not know?" she asks rhetorically before pushing herself off the couch and straightening her dress, "I'm leaving, you still need to finish that" she gestures toward the papers piled on his desk "And I have a Louis to babysit."
He nods, slightly disappointed, but resigned. "Thank you" he says when she's about to step out the glass doors and Donna doesn't verbalize her question this time, just shoots him a look of confusion, "I don't know, I just feel like I have to say that to you all the time now" that earns him a laugh.
"You're getting soft" she points out and he rolls his eyes.
"Will my behavior ever satisfy you all?" he asks with joking exasperation.
"Probably not".
They look at each other quietly for a few more seconds, and the sounds of the city fill the office again while they reflect on this new ground they've build to stand on. She considers saying something else, reassuring him again, but decides against it, they've had enough emotional confrontation for one day.
"Goodnight, Harvey" her voice breaks the stillness and he nods once, acknowledging the end of their moment.
"Goodnight, Donna" he replies and she smiles before walking away and leaving him to his work.
Harvey watches her go still feeling the ghostly warmth of her hand on his palm even after she turns into a different corridor and out of his field of vision.