The few hours that Donna works on Friday pass quickly, and before she knows it, she is back home with Harvey, with the weekend ahead. She isn't sure whether or not to be relieved by the two-day break or not. Part of her is exhausted and longs for days where she doesn't have to get up early and where nothing is expected of her. But another part of her, a part that's maybe bigger than the first part, is afraid of the long, empty hours at home.
Harvey is out on the balcony, making a few calls in the gentle rays of sun that are just warm enough. He left Donna inside, on the couch. She had turned the tv on, but she looked so tired he was pretty sure she would fall asleep in no time. So he had kissed her forehead and left her to wind down from the day. He would rather stay by her side – if it were up to him he would never leave her side again – but over the past few days he noticed she sometimes needs to have a little space.
After a while, Harvey hears the balcony door open behind him and he turns, phone still to his ear but a soft smile on his face knowing that Donna is close. That smile disappears quickly, however, when he sees Donna's ghostly pale skin and the panicked expression on her face. "Have to go." He manages to tell the person on the other side of the line before hanging up. "What's wrong?" He asks while closing the distance between him and Donna with long strides.
Donna shakes her head, unable to speak. She gasps for air, pressing her the heel of her right hand to her chest. Beads of sweat have formed on her forehead, pearling down her skin. Large hazel eyes try to focus on Harvey but seem to be unable to. "Hurts," she chokes out, her hand pressing harder against her chest, "can't… Breathe." She is nauseous and dizzy, the world spinning around her and her ears ringing. Her legs are shaking, and she is glad that Harvey's hands have found her hips, keeping her steady with a firm grip.
"Hey," Harvey tries to get Donna's attention, but she seems far gone, "hey," he tries again, "Donna?" He wants to reach for her face, but she is trembling so badly he is afraid her knees might buckle is he lets her go. "Fuck," he murmurs, unsure of what to do, panic seizing him up as well. "Come, you need to sit," he decides, leading her to the lounge set on the balcony. She sways on her legs, but he manages to keep her upright until she sinks down. Still trembling from head to toe, but now Harvey has his hands free and he immediately brings his right one to her face, his thumb stroking over her clammy cheek while his left hand runs up and down her right arm in a soothing motion.
"Donna?" Harvey asks again, a little louder this time, and now her eyes snap up to his. "What happened?" He asks. She shakes her head again, adding a slight shrug, eyes drifting away. "Just… couldn't," she gasps, "don't…" He looks at her, and suddenly the pieces fall into place. "You're having a panic attack," he tells her, ninety-nine percent sure of the fact. He lets his thumb brush over her cheek again, "I need you to look at me," he presses, waiting until her eyes meet his again, "and listen," he squeezes her bicep, grounding her, "I know this is terrifying. But you'll be okay. Just listen to my voice. Feel my hands. And I'm going to help you breathe. Trust me, okay?"
The words barely register in Donna's head. She can't really hear anything. She can't process anything. But Harvey is looking at her and she nods. His touch does something to release her from the panic and she focusses on that. And then on his voice, and slowly – so slowly – she also manages to listen to his words. And he is counting, and breathing. She tries to follow him, which is way too hard at first. Her chest burns and she can't get in enough air and she still feels like she is going to pass out. But then the rhythm Harvey sets starts to work and even though it takes forever, eventually she can breathe again. Still unsteady and too fast and irregular, but at least she is breathing.
When Donna's breathing has slowed down, Harvey stops counting for her. He doesn't say anything anymore, instead he just moves closer to her. He wraps one arm around her and pulls her against his chest. The hand that was still resting against her cheek now travels to the back of her head, fingers running through her hair. Hair that is a little sticky with sweat, especially at the back of her neck. He traces lines over the skin of her neck, toying with the collar of her shirt. The movements are an attempt at soothing Donna, but simultaneously a way to channel his own nervous energy. Because after what just happened he is a little off balance himself as well.
After some time – neither of them knows how long they sit there – Harvey pulls back, carefully steadies Donna and then stands up. Immediately, Donna's breathing speeds up again, "don't," she pleads, catching his forearm in a tight grip. He sits down again, his hand coming to rest over hers, "I was just going to get you a glass of water. But I won't. I'm here." He shifts closer, allowing her to bury himself into him. This time, her fingers dig into his jacket. "I'm not going anywhere," he reassures her, planting a kiss on the top of her head.
For a little while, Harvey stays silent. But then curiosity gets the better of him, "what happened, Donna?" He softly asks. She shrugs slightly, her shoulder bumping against his chest, "I just… suddenly… I-I couldn't," she stutters, "I couldn't breathe," she says, a lump in her throat, "and I… It…" She pulls back, looking at Harvey, "does it always feel like that?" She asks, her voice trembling. He lets his hand come up to her face again, rubbing his thumb over the trails of mascara that have run down, "like what?" He gently inquires. She presses her lips together, and diverts her gaze, "like-like… Like dying?" She softly answers. Because honestly, she thought that was what was happening. A heart attack. Her body failing. She truly thought it was the end for her.
Harvey swallows, his thumb still mindlessly brushing over Donna's skin. He never liked talking about his own panic attacks. And he understands Donna's need for reassurance, but he can't give that to her. "A little," he admits reluctantly, "but… I learned to recognize it as a panic attack. And that didn't make it any less horrible, but at least I knew it would pass." Donna nods at him, her bottom lip trembling, "I'm sorry," she whispers, "that I never helped you-" "-No," Harvey shakes his head, "don't, Donna. Don't do that. I'm okay. We're okay."
A few seconds of silence pass, and then Harvey realizes that Donna managed to change the subject with her last remark. He isn't sure whether it's intentional or not, but he does think they should talk about it a little more. But when he looks at her, he decides that now might not be the time. She looks exhausted, almost translucently pale with mascara stains around her bloodshot eyes. "Is there anything you want?" He softly asks. She looks at him and shrugs again. He leans in, pressing his lips against hers in a gentle kiss, "maybe take a shower and go to bed?" He suggests.
Donna lets Harvey lead her to the bathroom, where she mechanically strips down, and then just stares at the shower. He undresses as well, and takes her hand, carefully pulling her under the stream of hot water. Her body relaxes as Harvey's hands run over her bare skin, stopping at her tense shoulders, his strong hands working her knotted muscles. It's a literally palpable reminder of her anxiety, and it makes emotion rise within her, tears suddenly flowing down her cheeks again. When Harvey notices, he opens his mouth, worry written on his face, but she shakes her head, "I'm just so tired."
Minutes later, Donna slips under the covers, warm and dry but at the same time aching all over and more tired than she has ever been before. She forces her eyes to stay open until Harvey gets in bed too, and he wraps a strong arm around her. It feels safe, especially when she nestles closer against his chest. He traces light patterns over her bare arm and plants a kiss on her forehead. Finally, she allows her eyes to fall closed, and with a soft exhale she quickly falls asleep.
Donna sleeps until Harvey wakes her. The sun is starting to set, and he has bags of takeout with him, which he places on the bed, telling her she needs to eat a little. At first she is reluctant, but then she realizes that she is hungry and she scarfs down a large portion of the Thai food he ordered. After that, exhaustion settles back into her bones, and while Harvey clears the bags away she falls right back asleep. Only this time it's not as peaceful. Throughout the night she is awakened by nightmares more than once and she wakes up before dawn, unable to stay in bed any longer.
Saturday is spent in a weird mix of restlessness and exhaustion. After the panic attack and bad night, Donna is so tired she drifts off on the couch a few times. But most of the time she is too restless and she can't sit still. She and Harvey go for a walk, which helps a little to settle her anxiety. While they are out, she notices Harvey lost in thought, and she looks at him, "what's on your mind?" She softly asks. He looks at her, clearly unsure whether or not to tell her.
"Harvey," Donna presses, the cold air giving her a sense of clarity and lifting the exhaustion. He looks at her, visibly surprised by her sudden moment of outward attention instead of the way she seemed imprisoned in her own mind lately. He squeezes her hand, "I'm worried about you," he admits, "and I'm worried you might be asking too much of yourself. With the way you went back to work and deciding to go into therapy. And it's just…" He stops himself, as hard as it is. In any other circumstance, she would be the one he would entrust his doubts to, but in this case that's hard. He sighs, "your panic attack… I'm scared it's a sign you're pushing too far. And I think maybe you should take it easy. Don't go to work Monday. Give yourself some time."
Donna stays quiet for a while. Uncertainty rips her apart. It's a feeling she was not used to, but has been plaguing her lately. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as Harvey's words repeat themselves in her head. "Do you really think it's my own fault? The panic attack?" She eventually asks. "No," Harvey stops walking, and makes her stop too, "not your fault. Just… You are being so strong and so…" He shrugs, momentarily unable to find the right words, "I can see that you are not ignoring what happened. That you are confronting what you're feeling. But at the same time, I feel like you are… pushing so hard. Pushing yourself to be strong and to get on with your life. And just… If you want to do everything that's okay. But you don't have to do anything."
Harvey runs his hands up Donna's arms, softly squeezing her shoulders. She looks at him, pressing her lips together, eyes moving from him to their surroundings and back again. "If you think all that… Maybe you're right," she tells him, biting down on her bottom lip. She sighs, still unsure how to tell him about the anxiety that builds when she stays home too long. She can barely untangle the web of feelings herself, let alone articulate it properly. His eyebrows knit together in a frown, surprised – and concerned – by how easily she gives in. That's not at all like the headstrong Donna he knows. He leans towards her, kissing her softly, "maybe sleep on it another night. Decide tomorrow. You don't have to do or know anything right now. We'll take it at your pace."