Feels Like Home
Chapter 4
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When the tears you cry
Are all you can believe
Just give these loving arms a try, baby
And have a little faith in me
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Donna emerges from the bedroom around midnight. One look at her tells Harvey she is still groggy and feels like shit. He can very much relate, unfortunately.
"Did I really sleep the entire day, again?" She rubs her eyes and yawns loudly.
"Afraid so." He walks over to the kitchen, ready to make her something.
Hopping onto a barstool at the counter. "Is this normal, after—?" She trails off.
"A panic attack?" He isn't one to shy away from the truth. "Everyone deals differently but it generally wears you out, yeah."
He opens the fridge, holding out his other arm in a 'tada' kind of gesture. She smiles, so mission one accomplished.
"You got groceries?" Her eyes grow wide, her voice nothing short of amazement.
"Yes. Well, I ordered them online and Ray picked them up but yes." He wants to add more but her eyes being the size of saucers catch his attention. "What?"
"You ordered online?"
"Yes, there is this app instacart that allows you to shop at a big array of stores."
"I know instacart. I use instacart. I'm just surprised you know about instacart. In fact, you know about ordering online?"
He pokes his tongue in his cheek, shaking his head. "What is it with you thinking I'm some caveman?"
"Not caveman, just not very up to date with modern technology or household tasks." She slips off the stool, peering into the fridge. "Ooh, Stonyfield organic 0% fat chocolate underground!" Joining him at the door, her excitement grows. "And 0% fat blueberry on the bottom!" Suddenly her eyes narrow. "How do you know I eat Stonyfield yogurt?"
He feigns ignorance. "What do you mean, I always eat those." He leaves her at the fridge and opens a cupboard, pulling out a box. "Want some Swiss Miss reduced-calorie hot cocoa?"
Her glare stops his enthusiastic waving of the box. "Harvey Specter, you have never eaten anything with reduced calories in your life."
He gives in with a sigh. "You are right. How anyone would eat something low fat, no calories, no anything out of free will is beyond me."
"So," she folds her arms, tiredness forgotten, "who did you call?" A frightening look dawns on her face. "Please don't say my mum."
"Rachel," he says sheepishly.
"Hmm." She frowns. "I suppose it is better than my mum, but only slightly." She pinches her bottom lip. "What did Rachel say?"
He puts the box down, opening his arms. She hesitates for a second but steps closer, carefully circling her cast around his waist. He hugs her close, one hand rubbing her back and his other stroking her hair, she can feel his heart thumping in his chest and a relaxed sensation washes over her. She feels safe.
"This, she told me to do this," he murmurs.
She sniffs to get rid of the emotions brewing inside because right now she feels loved and it is a damn good feeling. Slowly pulling away so he lets go reluctantly. As soon as she steps out of his embrace, the unease is back. It disappearing for the thirty seconds he held her makes her realize, the rest of the time, it is always there. It's an unsettling thought so she goes for suppression by diverting her attention to the food he got her. Her stomach is still full of knots but maybe a drink wouldn't hurt.
"I'd like a hot cocoa," she tells him and his eyes light up. He squeezes her lower arm, immediately fixing the drink.
She turns around, bending down to open the lower freezer. Upon inspecting the first drawer she exclaims, "This is why you consume no fat, no calories, skim products." She holds up a tub of chunky monkey. "Ooh, Gimme s'more and Cannoli. I've been wanting to try out the new flavors." She keeps rummaging.
"Now haven't I gotten you enough Chunky Monkeys to leave the rest alone?" Harvey takes the tub and trades her a mug of cocoa. "Or did you want to mix the hot and the cold?" he asks, stuffing it back in the freezer.
She waves it off. "Maybe later. But back to you wanting to keep those flavors for yourself." She glances at him over the edge of her mug, taking small sips.
He cocks his head to the side, pouting a bit. "They reminded me of the past, Nonna's cannoli, camping trips with s'mores as dessert. I guess I wanted to see what all the fuss is about."
"You'll be stocking the freezer for yourself soon, mark my words." She makes her way to the couch. "Although, judging by the amount of food currently in there, you are expecting me to be here a long time. There is like two weeks of food in there, at least." She pulls her legs into a cross-legged position, cradling the warm mug, her smile wavering as she weighs the implications of the stocked fridge.
Harvey follows with his own mug of cocoa. Lowering himself in the opposite chair, he crosses and uncrosses his legs before replying. "We never discussed how long you'd be staying but your apartment doesn't make you feel safe right now." Choosing his words with care, he adds, "If you don't want to stay with me that's fine but consider your parents or another friend because I'm not letting you go back home to deal with panic attacks on your own."
Donna's response is immediate. "I'm sure the trigger is gone once I've been a couple of more times." She scratches at an itch underneath her cast with her index finger, not meeting his eyes.
He indulges her, not voicing his own thoughts on how quickly she'll get past this. "You can stay as long as you need."
She pulls up her knees, balancing her mug on top. "Thank you," she replies quietly.
…
Harvey is leaning over the railing, overlooking the massive open space that is Macy's department store. The place is crawling with people on a regular Friday morning. It isn't the sort of store he visits when shopping for himself but right now he's just tagging along with Donna.
Apparently, he had managed to only grab one bra and not the right kind of briefs in the middle of the night. Turns out that was the reason she was determined to visit her apartment yesterday, giving them both a bad case of anxiety in the end. So here he is, hanging about at the lingerie department, waiting for his COO to finish picking out underwear.
Looking over his shoulder, she is browsing through endless rows of undergarments and he's about to go back to people watching when a man approaches the same rack Donna is looking at.
He sees it in her eyes, her movements. As the man comes closer, she stumbles backward clutching her purse, eyes darting around for an escape route but there is a large group of people heading in her direction.
He runs to her, calling her name as she is frantically tucking at her scarf. She is sweating profusely, her hand clammy as he gently pulls it away and unwraps her scarf. She doesn't acknowledge the words he is saying to her, having that glazy, blurry look, breathing raggedly.
He knows it's like being held underwater with no way of coming up for air. Grabbing her hand, he steers her in the direction of a nearby ottoman. He pushes the coat from her shoulder holding the sling and tucks at the sleeve of her other arm, getting rid of that overheating, burning sensation building up underneath her woolen coat.
He crouches down in front of her, taking her shaking hands. "Keep breathing," he reminds her. "I'm right here." He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're safe, I'm not leaving you alone." Hot tears are welling up in her eyes. "This won't last long," he assures her, brushing away the wetness on her cheek with his thumb.
A saleswoman asks him if everything is okay and he requests a glass of water.
Focusing back on Donna, he squeezes her hand. "Again," she whispers, her eyes wide with fright.
He places his index finger under her chin and gently pulls it in his direction, forcing her to look at him. Which she does with a desperate appeal in her eyes. Asking him to help her, to stop this from happening.
"Whatever happens, we'll figure out a way to make it right. I've got you," he promises in husky tones.
The saleswoman comes through with that glass of water. He gently demands Donna to drink it and like he hoped, it brings her out of her panic cycle, having a calming effect.
They abort their bra shopping mission and return home, where Donna crawls into bed, again exhausted from the whole ordeal.
Harvey figures she'll probably be asleep for quite some time but he's hesitant to leave her alone. After spending a solid fifteen minutes contemplating what to do, he digs up her phone, writes a note saying he's nearby and leaves it on the nightstand.
He hurries outside, walking a few blocks until he's in front of Journelle.The lingerie chain is one of Louis' clients and he has helped them out in the past when they had hit a roadblock in a takeover of a financially troubled competitor.
They have stores all over town now but this one on the Upper East Side was their first and remains their flagship store. When he steps inside, he is recognized immediately by the owner.
"Harvey Specter," Janice Townsend greets him. "I didn't know you did unexpected client visits. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He gives her a polite smile. "I'm actually here on a personal note," he explains.
Janice rounds the counter. "Buying something for your former secretary?" Her tone is coquettish, her hands on her hips provocative. Her words always instigative, always ever so slightly over the line.
He tilts back his head, both hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "As a matter of fact, I am. Something for my COO," he booms. Strolling away, he can't hide the smug look when he notices he threw her off her game for just a few seconds.
She quickly recovers. "Very well then." She hurries after him. "I'd say you need something around a 34C," she says in a clipped voice.
"32C," he corrects her. He can vividly recall finding her bra between his clothes when getting dressed after 'the other time'. He'll be finding them in his laundry basket now too, he realizes. He quickly shakes it off, he needs to get back to Donna, not running circles in his head thinking about her bras and her bras filled with her breasts and— He takes some big strides through the store but he's obviously surrounded by bras so he is just chastising himself really.
He spots a corner with sleepwear. She's been complaining about the warmth of his bedroom. She only has flannel pajama bottoms at his place and his duvet apparently is twice as thick as hers. He points at a matching camisole top and shorts. "Is that silk? That has a cooling effect right?"
"It is silk indeed." Janice grabs both items to let him feel the fabric. "This is from our own line. It is whisper soft and feather-light. The floral lace trim is beautiful in this ice blue color, isn't it?" She points at a mannequin doll. "I also have it in bordeaux."
He looks at the delicate lace neckline and adjustable straps and the lace trim at the bottom of the shorts. The doll next to it has a short slip dress from the same line. But it is all too much. Donna would look absolutely stunning in bordeaux and the dress, but she isn't his girlfriend and the ice blue is much more neutral. Even buying this is skirting around their blurry lines.
"The ice blue set please and do you have a matching robe?" He wanders back to the bra section while Janice collects the matching ice blue items. Standing in front of the wall full of bras, he is once again reminded that he needs to stay away from the overly sexy stuff. He is just here to fill an everyday life need. It is definitely not a present with a meaning behind it.
"I need like three sets, bra and brief, that are suitable for everyday wear, no red." His instructions are very clear but raise an eyebrow from Janice which he ignores.
"Strapless, bralette, wireless?"
"Underwire," he says confidently.
She takes him to the wall near the shop front. "These all have underwires." She points to some designs. "Demi cup, half cup, plunge, balconette?" She rattles dutifully.
He is pretty sure she thinks he will crumble but he's seen his fair share of bras. "One balconette, one plunge, and one full cup," he decides.
She collects some different designs with matching briefs and Harvey picks three. Floral and lace in neutral tones. Janice wraps it beautifully in tissue paper and before he can stop her, tapes it together with a heart sticker.
He arrives home with Donna still asleep. He places the paper bag next to her on the bed and sits down at his desk to go through his emails.
…
"What is this?" Donna swings the paper bag with the Journelle logo embellished on it from the doorway, startling him.
He leans back in his chair. "Did you open it?" he asks.
"Not yet."
"Maybe you should," he volleys back.
She tiptoes to the couch, barefoot. Harvey has floor heating and she secretly loves it. Sitting down she pulls out three tissue paper-wrapped packages.
He remains seated at his desk. Feeling the physical distance between them is what he needs when she unwraps the expensive lingerie he bought her.
She doesn't say anything when the three sets of underwear are unwrapped.
He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Clasping his hands together, he tells her, "After we had to abort our mission today, I wanted to help you. So that you— you don't have to face something you're not comfortable doing." He inwardly rolls his eyes at the irony of his words because doing this doesn't exactly feel comfortable either.
Her face softens. "That is very kind of you Harvey, but I was thinking some t-shirt bras to tie me over. This is La Perla, Fleur of England and Coco de Mer."
Feeling flustered, he isn't sure what to say and slumps back in his chair.
Opening the next package, she breathes a quiet sigh of relief producing the silk laced short and camisole. She fingers the cool smooth fabric, thinking it would actually be nice to wear this in bed instead of the warm bottoms she only has available right now.
"You uhm, you were saying that it is too warm." The words seem to drag themselves from his throat. She smiles, revealing a dimple in her left cheek. "I didn't want to replace my Egyptian cotton goose down duvet so— yeah." He gestures awkwardly to the bedroom, then rubs the back of his neck.
Donna uncovers the last item, the matching ice blue silk robe. She hums her approval. Glad he had the clarity of mind to buy something to conceal the short pajama set.
A faint flush tinges her cheeks. "Thank you, Harvey. Even though you spent way too much on this. But they really are beautiful." Her finger glides along the lace trim of the balconette. Suddenly she checks the label and realizes it is exactly her size. She looks up at him with slight surprise in her eyes. His dark orbs hold hers and he tilts his head ever so slightly to the right.
She draws a breathless sigh. It's the same old dance and she doesn't have the energy to twirl till the very last note this time.
"Journelle, Louis' long-standing client," she says matter of factly. "With their flagship store here on 3rd Avenue," she continues. "And Janice Townsend, that smug woman that keeps referring to me as your former secretary."
Harvey averts his eyes and it tells her everything she really doesn't want to know.
She groans. "She was there wasn't she?" Wrinkling her nose, the annoyance builds. "And she made a comment about me."
He stands up, placing his hands in his pockets. "Telling her it was for my COO left her totally flustered." The beginning of a smirk is quickly replaced with an unease beginning to stir in his stomach when she gathers all the items and stuffs them back in the bag abrasively.
"You are unbelievable, you know that?" she hisses. "What was it? Did your womanizer reputation need a lift that you told the biggest gossip on this side of Manhattan you are doing your former secretary?" Her voice now shakes with furry.
"That isn't really fair, is it?" He rounds his desk to sit down with her but she deliberately leaves the couch the other way around.
"You know what isn't fair?" She stares into his eyes, her face grim and cold. "The way the Andrew Maliks and Janice Townsends of this world get to judge me over and over again and you—" She wags her finger angrily at him. "You come out unharmed as always. Because as a woman loses her reputation, the man gains his."
He doesn't try to go after her when she leaves the room. He thinks the best defense is a good offense and that coming right out with it gives Janice much less satisfaction to gossip than bending over backward to deny it. But she is right about one thing. His reputation never took a dent over these false rumors. He has never had to defend himself. He's surprised she's making this into a thing though. There are much bigger fish to fry with a panic attack two days in a row.
But drawing in a sharp breath, he recalls the feeling of his first panic attack. Not knowing what is happening, thinking you are going to die for sure. You involuntarily relinquish control and that is a hard pill to swallow for a person that is always in control of every situation. The persistent rumors about her sleeping her way to the top are something she can't control either. She needs to depend on him to debunk the rumors but even then she doesn't hold power over people's thoughts. She needs him to guide her during her panic attacks.
And that is when he puts one and one together. Perhaps this is frying the big fish after all.
He stomps off to the kitchen to make dinner. Their fight is probably an excuse for her to refuse food but he can't let her go on like this. He needs to convince her to seek help and he wishes he could be the one to make it all better but he keeps saying the wrong things before he can even approach the subject. Or is he reading her all wrong and she just keeps finding reasons to be angry with him so that she doesn't have to acknowledge the real issue?
Dicing the bell pepper, he wonders that if Mohammed doesn't want to go to the mountain, the mountain will have to come to Mohammed. First thing tomorrow morning, he's going to make a shortlist of therapists.