February 2019
It took all Harvey had in him not to assume the very worst as he raced across town to Mike and Rachel's home in the suburbs. A mile before their house, he saw a tow truck, two cars smashed to smithereens and a couple of police cruisers. Can't be, he forced himself to think.
Waiting was something to which Donna had never been a stranger. Waiting for her father to have enough money to send her to summer acting camp that he had promised her for year. Waiting for the right man to come into her life. Then realizing she had been waiting on Harvey for years. And now she found herself waiting for Harvey yet again, but in a much different sense. She couldn't be by herself right now. What to do with the screaming baby, she didn't quite know. Higher functioning was shot to hell at the moment. She'd at some point found her way to the floor, next to the car seat—that was the least she could do, sit down by the poor child—and was curled in an upright ball, her drenched face pressed between her knees.
December 2016
"If anything ever happens to me and Mike—"
"Rachel, don't even talk like that. Nothing's going to happen to you guys. My job as godmother is just to spoil the living daylights out of her. Right, honey?" Donna said to one-week-old Charlotte, who was cradled in her arms.
February 2019
"I'm sorry," Donna cried to the baby, but into her knees. "I don't know what you need." Donna dragged her fingers roughly through her hair, all the way down to the ends, at which point she pulled hard. The full-on, never ending sobbing she knew was inevitable hadn't come yet. She didn't know what it was waiting for. Aidan's shrieking hurt her head physically almost as much as the knowledge that her best friend was dead drained her emotionally. Maybe that was why Donna didn't find herself completely helpless yet. She had a job to do.
So she finally picked up Aidan, laid him against her chest. "I'm no better off than you are right now," she mumbled. "Thank you, God," she said with the utmost sincerity when the baby quieted. "If you're still looking down on me, please get Harvey here soon. I need him."
Harvey didn't knock, letting himself in through the door the officers had left unlocked a minute after Donna's little flare prayer. "Donna?"
"Harvey," Donna breathed. Before she could formulate an explanation as to why she was curled up on the floor, her eyes streaming anguished tears while she held the baby close, Harvey had thrown his expensive wool jacket over a chair and was on one knee next to her in a matter of seconds.
"What's the matter?"
Donna's breathing was frighteningly shaky as she placed Aidan back in his car seat, hoping that all he needed was to be held by someone warm and comfortable. She was right; the baby issued no more tears or cries. Once her hands were free, Donna meant to tell Harvey what had happened, but all she could do was bury her face in her knees again. The ability to formulate words, let alone sentences, completely eluded her at the moment.
Without making a noise, Harvey sat down next to Donna and ran a hand slowly up her back. Upon reaching her hair, he smoothed his hand over it. "Donna, you need to talk to me. What happened?" He wasn't certain whether it was the sight of Donna in such distress, or whether it was because only one thing could have her this distraught, but he found his own eyes watering now. "Is it about Mike and Rachel?"
This elicited the tiniest nod from Donna.
"Are they all right?" he asked, hoping that he would get a nod here, too. But Donna shook her head.
No more words were necessary. "Oh, God. Come here." He pulled the crumpled mess that was once (and maybe still) his best friend up against him. "How did it happen?"
"Car accident," Donna said, her voice quavering unsurprisingly as she gladly wrapped her arms around Harvey's neck and held on as though her life depended on it. It was one of those moments where the attention of another while grieving simply made things worse. Or maybe it was better. Yes, better. Donna needed to cry. Not just sit there with her face hidden while the tears slimed her hands, but sob like a helpless little child. Or like a woman whose life had just been turned upside down and inside out with the removal of a police officer's cap.
Donna's heaving, shameless sobs into Harvey's neck just made it harder for him to hold it together. Mike was gone. Rachel was gone. Though he hadn't known Rachel very well, they recently became close friends. She was someone he could depend on, he knew that she was a strong woman and that had made Mike a happy a family man. Mike, another one of his best friends and bother of sorts. Vanished. Leaving a broken family and broken friends behind.
Harvey didn't shush Donna, didn't tell her everything was okay. She needed someone sincere and unafraid to be. He hadn't seen Donna much this week since his case went to court. Sure things were differnt and they may have drifted apart a little but he hadn't lost his ability to read her. She needed someone to mourn with her, not watch her pitiful figure do so at a distance and try to stop her. He found himself kissing her hair, leaving his lips there while he stroked her back with both hands.
Crying was always fatiguing. That was why Donna tried to limit her time spent doing it. She reserved it for crappy holidays meant to make women feel lonely and worthless, or for goodbyes to dear friends, whether their departure was willing or not, whether it was expected or not. The notion of just sitting there and crying until the end of time crossed her head, and she sent up a fleeting prayer that that could become a real possibility, that God would let her mourn endlessly instead of encouraging her to crawl her way out of the rubble and move on.
Someone really was listening. Her head ached, she could hardly hear, couldn't control her air intake worth a damn, but her body didn't shut down like it normally did after so much crying. She got to keep at it. And she had someone with her to let her know with his silence that her behavior was completely acceptable, not foolish or selfish in the least. He didn't try to quell her tears with questions, didn't try to drag her out of her little world where all that mattered was that she would never talk to her dear friends again.
The baby was asleep. Thank God, Harvey thought. Donna had found herself completely tangled up with him, nowhere near asleep herself, still weeping, and Harvey wouldn't know what to do had the baby needed attention. He couldn't imagine anyone needing it more than Donna right now.
"I'm sorry, Harvey." Those were the first words Donna had spoken in two hours. The two hours that left Harvey's behind and legs without feeling. Her voice sounded into his chest.
"What on earth do you have to be sorry for?" he asked, his chin atop her head.
"This. I should be able to handle myself. I'm a grown woman." She didn't look up at him, didn't want him to see the mess she'd become.
"You lost your best friend, Donna. Please, grieve in whatever way you need to. I'm right here. Grieving with you." He felt a minuscule nod against his chest.
"What time is it?" Donna asked.
Harvey removed one of his arms from around Donna's back and checked his watch. "Two."
"I've been sitting here blubbering for two hours?" she burst out, immediately making a motion to climb out from between Harvey's legs. But she found herself caged in.
"If you have something better to do than mourn, you let me know what it is," Harvey said, not knowing where any of this was coming from. Maybe it was because he'd never seen Donna nearly this broken before. Her pitiful, red, soaking face stared up questioningly, yet gratefully, at his, which she was selfishly relieved to find wasn't completely composed either. Tears from awhile ago stained his cheeks, though he was no longer crying now, just flushed.
The heaving sobs finally let Donna be, at least for the time being. Left her enough time to talk, finally. There were things that needed addressing.
"Did you call anyone else?" Harvey asked, sensing that Donna was prepared to talk, could handle it.
"Not yet. I didn't think it would be a good idea to have people piling in the house with the kids here. God, Harvey, what do I say to Charlotte?"
"Let's sit on that one for a minute. Did Child Protective Services come?"
"No. The cops didn't say anything about what would happen to the kids, come to think of it."
"That might not be their job. Then CPS will probably come in the morning. I'm sure the cops didn't see it necessary since you didn't exactly look like you were going to run off with the kids. I don't know."
"I almost wish they would have taken them…Does that make me a horrible person?" Donna asked with heart wrenching candidness.
"No. It makes you a normal person. And they're called Child Protective Services for a reason. They know how best to deal with these situations."
"I love the kids, I do, I just don't know what to—"
"I know you do, Donna. And so do I. And I don't know any better than you do how to handle this. Most likely they'll go to family. If we can make it until then in one piece, then things will get better. The kids will be okay."
"Age is such a curse."
"What do you mean?"
"I wish I were a toddler, Donna said. "Then I would be too young to remember."
"Oh," Harvey said softly. "I can't blame you there."
"It's selfish of me to be worrying about how I'm going to handle this when Charlotte and Aidan are going to grow up without their parents," Donna said in self-loathing.
Harvey gently rocked Donna to and fro, the first major movement he'd made in a long while besides checking his watch. Oh, how he ached inside and out. "It's not selfish. Don't be so hard on yourself. You comprehend the loss far more than Charlotte will when she finds out. And Aidan won't know until he finds out that everyone else has mommies and daddies." Harvey felt like he was talking to a young child all of a sudden. Then again, what more was Donna right now than a helpless, semi-irrational child who needed comforting words? "And by that time, he'll have parents of some kind, whoever they are. Parents that love him and Charlotte. It's our responsibility to make sure that happens, remember? We'll make sure they're taken care of."
Donna nodded again, stretching her lungs with as much air as she could take in. "You know what terrifies me right now?"
"What?" Harvey didn't want to encourage this, but it wasn't about what he was comfortable with, what he could handle. Donna needed this.
"If and when I ever sleep again, I'm going to wake up, and for a few seconds it'll just be another day, but then I'm going to remember. Have you ever had that happen to you?"
"Unfortunately, I know exactly what you're talking about," Harvey said.
"You know, I've never really lost anyone close to me before..well, besides Norma. I'm in my forty's and the only funerals I've been to have been for distant relatives and your Dad's," she said meekly, he could barley hear.
"You don't need to know," Donna said. "There's no guide book out there anywhere. You just deal with it however you can," he said, speaking from unfortunate first-hand experience.
"I want to do the funeral arrangements," Donna said after some silence. "I just don't know what I'm doing, really. I know that we haven't really been as good of friends as we used to be, so I have no right to ask you this, but I'm going to ask anyway -"
"I'll help." Harvey didn't have an excuse for why he and Donna had been distant.
"Thank you. I think we should start making calls. Or do you think it's too late?" Donna asked.
"No, people need to know. But are you going to be okay, though? I mean, enough to get up?"
Donna nodded and swiped carelessly at her messy face. "Yeah," she whispered, moving to get up. Upon standing, she knew she'd done so too quickly, felt an overwhelming dizziness. She grabbed onto an arm that Harvey immediately held out for her. "Thanks."
Harvey tried to think of an easy job for Donna to do. He dug through the kitchen drawers once he sat Donna safely at the dining room table. He found an address book.
"Can you find her parents in there?" Harvey asked, setting the book down in front of Donna, trying to give her something to do. He already had Robert Zane's number in his cell phone.
"I'll call them," Donna said, really hoping Harvey would insist to do it anyway.
"I don't doubt that you can, but you don't have to. Do you want to go try and get some rest?" Harvey asked.
Donna shook her head. "I feel like I could pass out any second, but at the same time, I know the second I lie down I won't be able to sleep a wink. I'll call Jessica; maybe she can let the rest of the team know."
"I can call her after I call Rachel's parents," Harvey offered. "You don't need to do any of this."
Donna nodded. "I do." She rose carefully from her seat, still disoriented, her head swimming, and walked over to Harvey. She gave him a gentle but lingering hug. He embraced her as well, with a little more commitment. "Thank you," Donna said.
"No 'thank you's. Let's just get this over with."
"It's never going to be over," Donna murmured. "We're going to need to call the police and find out what the hell the deal is with CPS, too."
"I can do that."
Donna stared in wonderment at Harvey. The broody man she once thought she knew so well baffled her. She was one of the few privy to the fact that, indeed, Harvey was capable of showing compassion. But this much? "These next few days are going to be the most difficult of my life," she said insightfully. "But they could be worse. Thank you."
"I said, no th—"
Donna glared at Harvey through puffy eyes. "Thank you, Harvey."
No matter the circumstance, this woman, as broken as she is right now, as broken as they both are, she would always have the last word. Harvey thinks to himself as more things change, the more they stay the same.
