Rated M for sensitive content.

AN: This chapter is a little angsty (even for me :P) but the next one won't be far away :) xx As always, thank you to Southsidesister (darvey_love), and to Beth (NAhavenbb). You girls are amazing! xx And to everyone dropping a review. The style/direction is a bit different compared to the other chapters, but I'd love to hear your thoughts :)

Chapter 8

"Let's hope you've learned your goddamn lesson."

Ryan's eyes detach with indifference, and Donna struggles to draw in air, the blood pooling around her faster than she can comprehend what's happening. His hollow footsteps disappear behind a slamming door, and she chokes on a sound raw with emotion, her voice foreign and distorted as she cries out.

"No!" Donna snaps awake, drenched in sweat and struggling to breathe as she reaches for Harvey—only to find the space beside her empty. Her chest constricts tighter at the jarring reality he isn't there, and she draws her knees up, closing her eyes and shutting out the unfamiliar surroundings.

Every night she's managed to sleep has been the same, her mind cruelly taunting her with the memory of what happened—Ryan's last words as he'd left her kneeling, slumped of Harvey's prone body, frantically trying to keep him alive. She'd been ready to take the bullet, prepared to face the consequences of her actions, and a humourless laugh suffocates the sob curled in her throat. He couldn't goddamn help himself. He dove under the bus first and now she's here, alone, in Rachel and Mike's guest bedroom, fighting a bone-tired exhaustion that sleep can't fix.

"I'm deeply sorry, Mrs. Paulsen."

She swallows hard, breathing fast as the surgeon's words echo in the heavy darkness.

"Your husband passed away during the surgery."

Just like that, her world had caved in on itself, soul crushing waves of guilt and grief tearing her apart. Harvey had promised her he wouldn't leave. He'd sworn they were going to be okay, and her tears had been washed with anger when they'd buried his body. After the funeral, Rachel sensed her frustration, the anguish coiled around her emotions, and the woman had gently told her that Harvey wouldn't have been able to live with himself if the outcome had turned out differently, but that she needed to.

Rachel had been right—she owes it to Harvey to keep going, to get up each day, and act like there's a point until there is one again. Even though she knows nothing can replace the hollowed out emptiness rattling through her. Nearly a decade spent fighting her feelings has road mapped what her life looks like without him. She'd fought to move on from him a thousand times, until her heart finally accepted the truth—she couldn't, and now she can't go back. They had their chance… wasted more time taking the opportunity for granted than really ever appreciating it, even after they exchanged their vowels.

She was the one who'd wanted to try something different, who couldn't just be happy spending more time with her husband.

"Wait…" Harvey stops her, realizing she isn't teasing him. "You're saying you don't want to come work at the firm?"

She shakes her head, eyeing him over the rim of her coffee. "I'm saying I want to try something new."

"New," he mills over the word, not sure he likes the sound of it.

"Harvey, I'm not leaving you." She flashes her wedding band at him with a smirk. "We're in this together, remember?"

She stares down at the piece of jewelry wrapped around her finger, her heart aching to feel the same weight where it had rested on his hand. He'd loved wearing his ring, the symbolic gesture surprising her. She'd never pegged him as the marrying type, had teased him about getting engaged, but the day he'd proposed had been one of the happiest moments of her life. They'd declared their love for each other in front of a crowd full of strangers, but neither had registered the nameless faces. It was just the two of them, like it always had been—his words the only ones she could hear, and his eyes all she could see as they'd promised each other forever.

A rush of anguish stabs at the memory, and she pulls off the ring, letting it clatter onto the nightstand.

If she had the strength, she would blame Harvey—or herself—for buying into the illusion they had so much time. She'd told him a hundred years wouldn't be enough, not expecting him to be ripped away after only one, and if she had the strength, maybe she'd hate him for that too, but right now she doesn't.

All she can do is breathe, and lie to herself, hoping tomorrow will be easier.

Even though she knows it won't be.

…

…

"Donna, you need to eat something."

She stares at the bowl of cereal in front of her, more focused on where she is, rather than Rachel's concerned voice playing through her mind.

It's her third day back in their apartment, the new carpets not a deterrent to her memories. One of the last images she has of Harvey is of him standing a few feet away, swearing on his life to Ryan that he'll bury the people responsible if she were harmed any way.

Mike had told her to lie to the police, that he would do everything in his power to avenge Harvey's death, but that they needed to let the dust settle first. Part of her had wanted to lash out, warn him off completely, but the other half had submitted willingly. Nothing they do will bring her husband back, and the closest thing she has to being with Harvey are the moments they shared together in the space they'd bought as husband and wife.

"You know, that's the first time we haven't used the kitchen just for cooking." He hikes up an eyebrow and latches his hands around her waist with a grin.

She smiles as she runs her palms over his naked, glistening chest. "That's not becoming a thing."

"You're right, now it'll be the second first time."

He leans in to kiss her neck, and she swallows a laugh as she tugs him closer. "You're an idiot."

If she closes her eyes, she can still feel his lips on her skin, the way he'd pinned her against the counter, smothering her amusement with desire, and maybe she's punishing herself by staying, surrounding herself with the ghosts of memories, but she isn't ready to let him go, and she abandons the bowl, reaching for her phone.

She needs to come home to Harvey at night, but she doesn't have to keep torturing herself through the day, and she dials the number for her production's director to tell him she's ready to start work again.

…

…

Marcus's stories are the first to make her laugh. Not a sound she passes off to stop people worrying, but a genuine, heartfelt burst that catches her off guard when it happens.

Harvey's brother gives her tiny snippets into her husband's past, painting a picture of a boy not so different from the man who had grown up to steal her heart. She takes snapshots of the moments and stores them safely away, building the collection of memories because she can't make new ones.

"You should have seen him Donna, paint all over him, staring at this girl like he was about to cry. I swear, it's the only time I ever got the girl and we were eight."

It's like she's learning Harvey all over again, until the past catches up to a time Marcus can't fill in, when his brother became estranged due to his mother's infidelity.

Donna holds the missing pieces, knows the effect the affair had on Harvey as an adult, but that's not how she wants Marcus to remember him.

Harvey was a young boy filled with aspiration. He was a good man. And those missing years are better left in the past.

So when Marcus asks, she lies when she promises to fill him in one day.

…

…

Jessica's words hit home the hardest, because there's a catch to them Donna's seldom heard in the woman's voice. Harvey was like an adopted son to her, and then later, an annoying kid brother. And even though they've never been particularly close, Jessica is probably the only person who can really empathise with her. They were the two people Harvey trusted above anyone else, and their bonds with him—while different—had been carved out of the same cloth; loyalty.

"You know, he refused to come work for me unless I agreed to hire you."

She's always respected Jessica because Harvey did, and Jessica has respected her for the same reason. The woman even goes so far as to apologise for firing her way back when, admitting it was the wrong decision—that Harvey had been entirely lost without her.

She knows the feeling.

"I need you."

"Need?"

"Need."

But hearing the perspective from Jessica, the only other person Harvey dared to let in before Mike, comes with a new burden of guilt she isn't strong enough to carry.

She's alive as a guarantee no one else gets hurt, including Jessica, but they never mention the case.

Not once.

She doesn't ask if the former lawyer is still investigating. She doesn't try to warn Jessica off or beg her to go after the people who murdered her husband in cold blood.

She goes to work each day, living a life where the biggest drama is under prepared actors and budget cuts; the job she'd so desperately craved a bitter slap each time she walks through doors.

She wanted to try something new.

Looks like she got her wish.

…

…

She loses count of the missed calls that flash up on her phone from Rachel and Mike, always answering them with a text claiming she's busy. During six weeks of gruelling rehearsals, she distances herself, and her hectic schedule isn't a lie. But the real truth is ugly and disfigured, poisoning her from the inside out, because deep down she knows she's jealous—bitter and angry that her husband is gone, while their two best friends still have everything.

It isn't fair, and the couple doesn't deserve to be punished for being happy, but every time she looks at them, all she can see is the possible future that was robbed from her—kids, the damn white picket fence, maybe even a dog.

She doesn't know if that's how her life with Harvey would have turned out, but she can see the bleak nothingness without him stretching as far as her mind will reach.

So, she ignores Rachel and Mike's calls.

Because it's better to hate herself than the two people she and Harvey gave up everything to be near.

…

…

When Louis insists he's coming to see her, she shuts down the idea, the same way she did when her parents offered.

She doesn't need people fussing over her.

But he reminds her they'd always planned for him to be there on her opening night and shit. He loves the theatre—doesn't treat it like something that wedged a way into his marriage because he still has a family with all the bells and whistles attached.

She gives in, not because he's persistent like a giant drooling dog over a bone, but because her god-daughter isn't old enough to understand that life is bitter and jaded.

Harvey loved Lucy, as much as his own niece and nephew.

So, after the show, she goes back to the hotel Louis and Sheila are staying at. She finds a quiet moment alone with the little girl and whispers to the toddler that she should never be afraid to love—that the world needs her strength and kindness, and her uncle Harvey will always be watching out for her. She lets herself believe for a few seconds that it's possible to still have hope, but when she leaves, the illusion doesn't follow.

Instead of joining the cast at the after-party, she picks up a box on the way home, and she starts in the bedroom, packing away the memories from a life she hopes Lucy is lucky enough to have someday.

Before the girl learns that nothing lasts forever.

…

…

Maybe it's ironic that the person she clings to the most is the person Harvey disliked the least. Or maybe she's secretly trying to punish him by knocking back shots of tequila and dancing to Beyonce with Ethan.

But she does it anyway, more than she should.

Somewhere between working too much and ignoring everything else, she finds comfort in drinking herself into oblivion—forgetting for one night she doesn't have a husband to go home to.

They flirt, they drink, but always part ways at six in the morning.

And sometimes they even find time to talk.

"You know, he told me to watch out for you."

Ethan never goes so far as to say he liked Harvey, and that helps. She tells him all the things she can't voice to anyone else. How her husband had an ego the size of Manhattan, that he'd sulk for days on end, or couldn't stand mess—to the point she'd wondered if he'd suffered a mild form of OCD.

She admits her flaws as well as Harvey's, shares with Ethan how working for Louis had been a decision she made for herself, but that a small part of her also did it out of spite, and spills too many other stories that have never breached her lips before. All her grievances are aired without guilt, except one; that she's still angry at Harvey for leaving her. No matter how many times she hears his death wasn't her fault, she put him in that room, and the person she really hates is herself… but she can't move forward with the dregs of blame dragging her backwards.

So, whenever Ethan forces her out, she goes, letting the alcohol absolve her guilt, and allowing herself to feel something other than self-loathing, knowing that come the morning, she'll wear the punishment, slumped on the bathroom floor, hurling out her poor choices.

Because that's what she deserves.

…

…

Eight weeks to the day—when her life got turned upside down—she sits listening to Mike's voicemail, her hand shaking, and stomach rolling with nausea as the unexpected message plays on a loop.

"Donna, it's Mike… We got Stampler, call me."

She hadn't realized he was still investigating the case, and isn't sure how she feels being on the outside, whether she's angry he kept fighting despite the danger, or relieved he did. A conviction won't bring Harvey back or give his death purpose. He died protecting her, and she's serving him justice by living, but he would have wanted this—and ending, and she hits the button to return Mike's call, waiting for the click on the other end of the line, and taking a deep breath.

"When is the hearing?"