The night air is cool on her skin and she welcomes the breeze, closing her eyes as it blows into the cab.

Tonight was hard. There's a mix of residual guilt, relief and resentment still thrumming in her veins. It feels like the past five years were wasted for nothing, but it also feels like she got a huge part of her life back, like losing a family heirloom and suddenly finding it years later in some dark corner of your closet. She feels blessed to just be near him again, at the same time as she wants to scream at him for being so obtuse.

How could he think she'd move on? How could he not know that she would think of him every single day he was away - as she did? How could he just assume she'd be able to be fully happy without him in her life, when that has never been the case in the entire time they've known each other?

On the other hand, he thought she was still with Thomas, at least for a while after everything happened. He thought she had a shoulder to cry on, someone else to build a life with. Should she have told him they broke up when they did? Would that have changed anything? Had she found the strength to get over her shame and her insecurities and called him sooner, forced him to let her back in like she's so often done before with others and even him, would they have spent the past years in each other's lives?

There are a lot of questions, a lot of what ifs that she's asked herself this whole time and that swirl around her brain with renewed vigor after their conversation, and anxiety rises in her chest as those questions make her wonder if this entire time she - and apparently he - was suffering for nothing.

She forces herself to take a deep breath, inhaling the chilly gust of wind coming from the outside. She's not a mind reader nor a time-traveler. There's no way to go back and change her decisions, no way to try it all again, and rehashing everything inside of her won't do anything but drive her mad. They were honest with each other. They apologized. They seem to have implicitly agreed not to ignore the situation. There's nothing else they can do but work hard to earn each other's trust again and warm up to each other's presence in their lives.

She loves Harvey. And she missed him like she's never missed anything else. But she grew used to not having him around, to not counting on him or telling him things beyond their periodical catching up sessions. No matter how important he is to her, she knows it'll take some time and effort until he's back to having the same role he had before he left. She wants him to, and she's willing to do what it takes to make that happen. But she's also determined to listen to her heart and respect her boundaries. And she hopes to do the same with him.

She believes that's the best way for them to get close again and make sure it lasts and it doesn't hurt anyone in the process.

She texts him the next morning, saying it was really good to see him and she's glad they went through with the dinner. She smiles to herself when he texts back agreeing because the tiramisù was the best he's ever had.

She's not new to picking herself back up after Harvey hurt her. It's happened more times than it should, it's happened both willingly and unwillingly, it's happened with or without apologies. She's used to it by now, and while it's definitely not something she regards positively about their relationship, it's something she's happy to do this time. She's aware that she's hurt Harvey before as well, and she doesn't want to do that anymore. She's hoping this will be the last time either one of them will harm the other, at least this deeply.

It's a painstaking process but there's a certain exhilaration to it this time. She's never been this deprived of him before, even when she actively tried to be, and even if him leaving broke her heart, him coming back is the best incentive she could have to mend it again. The scars are still glaringly noticeable, during moments where she thinks back to one of the countless sleepless nights she spent forcing herself not to call him, when he mentions something about the last five years that she didn't know and they have a second of awkward silence, when he seems distant or closed off, likely going through the same exercise.

Losing him and surviving was the hardest thing she's ever had to do, but getting him back isn't easy either. Some days she really wants to just snap her fingers and leave it all behind, but she knows she shouldn't and she's not even sure she could do it if she tried. So she allows herself the pain of healing. She allows herself the moments of anger and talks herself through the moments of guilt. She accepts what he gives her and accepts his limits, making sure to show hers as well.

Their first real test comes a little over two weeks after their dinner. That Monday is Harvey's first day back at the firm.

They haven't seen each other again after that, though they've texted back and forth very often and even called each other here and there, which was light years ahead of what they shared while he was away. But now he's coming back and they'll be working together again and she's sure it will make sweeping everything under the rug even more tempting, and the tender moments of her healing process even more tender.

That morning she wakes up before her alarm, feeling slightly restless. She tries hard not to obsess over what to wear again, picking a normal, daily-life dress without giving it much thought. She spends half the morning debating whether or not to get him coffee before deciding she wants to do it for herself, for old times' sake, so she stops by their usual place and gets both their orders. She couldn't resist and stopped by his new old office on Friday to make sure everything was set up the way it used to, and just stepping in there again made her stomach flutter.

Much to her chagrin, they bump into each other in the lobby. They chuckle at their timing, both probably hoping they'd have more time to prepare before meeting again in this environment. Harvey nods at her once, recomposing.

"Good morning, Donna," he says, and she wonders if he meant to sound so solemn.

"Good morning, Harvey. It's good to have you back," she says earnestly, suddenly remembering this exact conversation from years ago, when the roles were reversed and when "back" meant back from the other end of the hallway instead of back from another state and from disbarment.

"It's good to be back," he says quietly, a tiny smile in place that tells her he's remembered the same thing.

Time stops for a while as they contemplate the enormity of yet another moment between them. They're used to those, having shared many of them over the years, but the abyss between them makes every interaction feel new and every new first time feel deeply significant.

He's the first to break, taking a step back and gesturing for her to lead the way. She smiles shyly and does, waiting at a respectable distance as he gets his key card registered again and as they make their way past the turnstiles. It's only when they're inside the elevators that she remembers his coffee.

"Oh," she blinks and extends her right hand towards him, "I got this for you."

He stares at the cup for a second, almost as if he doesn't know what it is, before taking it.

"Thank you. You didn't have to," he says reverently.

"I know," she replies, not looking at him, and shrugs one shoulder, "I just wanted to."

He takes a sip quietly and she sees, out of the corner of her eye, his own eyes closing as he swallows.

"Everything okay? You didn't suddenly start hating this, did you?" she tries joking for levity, made nervous by his unusual reaction.

He exhales a soft puff of laughter. "No. I just hadn't had coffee like this since I left New York."

He could mean that coffee in Chicago wasn't as good. Or that he decided to try something else instead, in keeping with his new life. Or even that he was too lazy to add the vanilla in the mornings and just took it without it. But somehow she knows, is sure of it, deep in her gut.

He hadn't had coffee like this in the past five years because it reminded him of her.

Her throat clogs up and she presses her lips together, overwhelmed with emotion. She doesn't know what to say to that, to this little insight into his pain. She may have felt his absence deeply but he's been making it clear in his own way - always as an effort to be open, never as a way to hurt or shame her - that he has felt hers just as deeply. It makes her chest burn with the certainty that they'll find their way back to each other fully, sooner rather than later, and they'll never know each other's absence again.

They spend the rest of the elevator ride in silence and part ways with small, yet sincere smiles before each heading to their offices to start their day.

.

.

After their dinner, he allows himself one day. One day to fully wallow in self-pity, to drink himself to oblivion, to break things if he wants to.

Part of him wants to hate her, because the pesky, nagging - and false - feeling that this is all her fault rears its ugly head again after her revelations and he doesn't feel like fighting it. The other part of him hates himself, for being so stupid and such a fucking coward. He knows, rationally, that not that much would have been different if they'd stayed in touch, but during this entire day he gives in to the rose-colored illusion that they would have confessed their mutual love for each other and she'd have moved there or he'd have moved back here and they wouldn't have spent even one second hurting anymore, if it weren't for his childish, weak, pathetic inability to express his feelings.

He knows it's destructive and pointless to wonder because there's nothing he can do about it but remedy the past with the present, and that's what he plans on doing. He spends his allotted day chasing the bottom of a bottle, sullenly cursing himself and everyone he's ever met, and stumbles into bed for a night of mismatched nightmares. And then he gets to work.

He never thought this would be easy - being back home, facing Donna, going back to the firm after all this time. And now it's staring him in the face and it's every bit as hard as it seemed and he can feel the dark clouds of panic lurking so he tries his best to stay in control. He thinks of something his mother told him many times back in Boston - "Baby steps and deep breaths, Harvey. Baby steps and deep breaths." - and focuses on that.

He starts with finishing refurbishing his apartment. When he arrived he considered restoring everything back to how it was, but it didn't feel right. He's not the same anymore, and neither is his life; it wouldn't make sense for his apartment to pretend like nothing ever happened. The only thing he makes sure to leave exactly where it used to be is his cactus, the cactus Donna gave him and he nurtured, took to Chicago with him and now back home to where it belongs.

He enrolls into his old boxing gym, finds himself a new driver - Ray's cousin, recommended by Ray himself - cleans out his home office drawers and files. He's nervous about going back to the firm - officially, he'll be back as senior partner, no name on the wall yet while they gauge the market reaction and wait for his six-month probational period to end, but internally everyone agreed he'd have as much influence as he used to have - and he decides to try to get everything in order as much as he can in advance. He's always been quick on his feet and good at bluffing but he had to hit reset on his whole life once before and this, while familiar, feels just as big. He doesn't want to wing it, he wants to go into this with planning and dialogue.

Truth is, he's unsure. The firm he worked for in Chicago was big and is one of the best firms in the country for corporate restructuring. They had huge clients and worked on restructuring plans that were widely reported on. But Chicago isn't New York. That firm isn't this one. And he knows he's a good lawyer, but part of him can't help but wonder if he can still hack it here, especially after having been essentially sent back to square one. He can feel himself hesitant, more interested in being careful than he'd ever been before because one bad move with catastrophic consequences and five years of keeping his head down and constantly looking over his shoulder made a mark on him. He doesn't know if he'll ever be the same again, doesn't know if he should be.

He wonders if he'll be able to keep up with the rest of them. If his old and new clients will trust him. If he is really needed at the firm or if he's being allowed back for pity or purely out of friendship. He wonders if he should have stayed in Chicago, settled for the comfortable structure he set up there.

He wonders if he can fix things with Donna, and if that will be enough.

On the morning of his first day back at work, he wakes up with his mother's mantra in mind - baby steps and deep breaths. He can't know yet how things will go, so he needs to take it one day at a time and deal with what comes his way. He's strong, and he has a support system, and he's done this before.

He skirts the early beginnings of a panic attack while he's in the shower, and another one as he ties his shoes. Baby steps and deep breaths. He gets his phone, wallet and keys and gives his apartment one last look and then it's time to go. His hands shake a little the whole way to the office and his new driver tries to make some small talk he works hard to reciprocate but it's short-lived and the ride is spent mostly in silence. Traffic is a little better than he remembers and he reaches the building a little earlier than intended, so he decides to check if his bagel guy is still there. The man remembers him and his order and even gives him a coffee on the house, saying it's good to see him again. There's unexpected significance in the gesture, which Harvey welcomes and appreciates. After he finishes his breakfast, right on time, he throws away the wrapper and the paper cup and strolls into the building.

And almost walks headfirst into Donna.

His heart hammers in his chest, both from surprise and just her proximity. He clears his throat and nods a greeting, sneaking an inhale. Baby steps and deep breaths.

"Good morning, Donna," he says, and it's filled with wonder, probably stemming from the realization that from today on they work together again.

"Good morning, Harvey. It's good to have you back," she smiles a little and he's instantly transported to a day, too long ago, where they had the reversed version of this. He was getting her back then. He's getting her back again now.

"It's good to be back," he grins, feeling his chest expand.

She watches him in silence and he wonders if she'll say something. They've been talking more lately, and so seeing her is starting to lose the shock factor, but today he's not just seeing her, he's taking arguably the most relevant step towards them reclaiming their old relationship. They've always been friends and partners and she has long surpassed the confines of their professional bond but there is no denying that their connection was born at work and for many years was defined by it. Being here again is not nothing.

Someone walks past them and shoots them a funny look and it occurs to him they're planted in front of the double doors, staring silently at each other, which is not usual corporate behavior. So he takes a step back for some clarity and gestures for her to take the lead. She makes her way to the elevators and his stomach drops a little, thinking their encounter is going to be short-lived, but then she notices he's heading to the security counter to get his key card made and stops, waiting. The drop explodes into butterflies and he has to bite back a smile as he gives out his information.

They head to the elevators and once they're inside she turns to him, distracted, "Oh, I got this for you."

Truthfully, he hadn't even noticed she'd been holding a coffee cup, let alone two. He was too busy staring at her face, but this is a welcome surprise and he breathes in the familiarity of this before reaching for it.

"Thank you. You didn't have to," he says as he holds the cup in front of him, bracing himself.

"I know," she replies almost casually, shrugging, "I just wanted to."

Her reply throws him off again, because thinking about Donna wanting to do anything for him, especially after their conversation the other week, especially something that used to be so simple and effortless before and is probably not anymore, is almost too much for him.

He brings the cup to his lips and takes a sip, and the second the perfect proportion of coffee, vanilla and sugar meets his tongue his eyes well up embarrassingly and he shuts them tightly, concentrating on not making a fool of himself on his first day back over coffee, of all things.

But this tastes like her. Not like her lips, though he also remembers the taste of those, but like her presence, her support, her jokes and antics, her smiles. This tastes like every single year they spent being inseparable, like every other coffee she's ever made or bought him, like every shared look or inside joke or tidbit of their lives traded after hours. This is more than he can ever explain, and the warmth coats his skin like an embrace, and if he can't have her arms around him he'll gladly take this.

"Everything okay? You didn't suddenly start hating this, did you?" she quips, though he detects a tremble in her voice, maybe nervousness.

He exhales a soft puff of laughter at the irony of her question. "No. I just hadn't had coffee like this since I left New York."

He'd denied himself as many souvenirs from her as he could, out of self-penitence or self-preservation he doesn't know. Anything he could avoid to prevent the hole inside of him from opening back up he did, and part of it was that coffee, the exact way she made it on their first ever day working together back at the DA's office. That coffee and the memories it carries could single-handedly destroy him back then and he couldn't take that chance. It's not like she can't still single-handedly destroy him with just one look or one word, but at least now he has her to help patch him back up again. He doesn't have to do it alone anymore.

She doesn't reply and he thinks she looks a little shaken. Maybe she understood the underlying meaning behind his simple admission. He doesn't mind if she catches it - he doesn't want her to feel guilty, but he does want her to know what she means to him. Maybe someday he'll get a chance to lay it all out in the open, but he's happy to start with this.

When they reach their floor they trade smiles and part ways, but he's left thinking of that coffee and her gleaming eyes all day.