Author's Note: This is set after 5x07 and is an imagining of what could have been; a story I started losing myself in a while ago that demanded to be written. Just to clarify — in order to explore some of the nuances at play, I've taken some creative liberties with the timeline/details and haven't included any of the other major plot points in Season 5. This is a slow burn but chapters will be released regularly.

Trigger Warning:panic attacks, suicidal ideation, drug/alcohol abuse, PTSD.

I welcome any and all feedback, constructive criticism included. Your words are always deeply appreciated and mean the world to me. I do very much hope you enjoy this story.

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It had been forty-two days since Harvey had dragged himself to therapy for the first time.

It had been four days since his last panic attack.

And it had been two days since he'd seen red and sent Louis swan diving through a glass table in his office.

It hadn't been his finest moment, that much Harvey could recognise. If you asked him whether or not he could recognise anything else in his life as of late, however, his answer would be a resounding no. The man who'd been staring back at him in the mirror for the past month and a half was a shell of his former self, and he was struggling to reconcile that. The halls of Pearson Specter Litt had begun to feel a lot like an alternate reality that he had no interest in traversing. They were bare of colour and had seen far too much of his recent collapse for his liking. Some days he felt as though at any moment they'd simply close in on him entirely, taking him and his issues with them on a one-way trip to the ground floor.

These were the days that were the most excruciating. The ones after terror-induced dreams, where it took Harvey three coffees, a morning run and a shower to loosen the grip panic had on his soul's throat. They were even worse if he didn't wake up alone; if the woman he'd buried himself in the night before, in the hopes of feeling anything other than this, wanted to talk or cuddle. He'd put a stop to this particular form of self-medication when one red-head that he couldn't possibly remember the name of, had asked about his night-sweats and laboured breathing. He had since traded sex for scotch.

Yes, these were the sunrise routines that preceded the darkest of days. Days where, even at their end, Harvey was still caught in sensations that he imagined felt not unlike those you'd experience falling off something sheer and tall. Only, the end never came.

He was scared that he was starting to wish it did.

"Harvey?" he heard Paula ask, from someplace off in the distance.

"Yes?" he spat back, not being able to stop the dagger of venom from sharpening his tone. He looked up from the random spot on the floor he'd been staring at and into the eyes of his therapist. Her face was contorted into an expression he was all too familiar with, eyebrows raised expectantly and her head tilted while she waited for him to rejoin her back in the room.

"What?" he expounded, in a poor attempt to cover his discomfort at being caught spiralling into his thoughts.

Paula simply sighed and continued her line of questioning. She'd grown used to Harvey's harsh persona and resistance to communication. She would find it endearing if it weren't the main source of his suffering. The therapist in her wanted to break through the stone walls he had built around himself, and the human in her found her heart responding empathetically to his sorrow. The woman inside of her wanted to hold him; a part she scolded and silenced.

"I asked whether the diary I instructed you to keep two sessions ago has yielded any fruit in regards to better understanding what is taking place for you," she repeated. "Have you been able to document the time, place and circumstances surrounding your panic attacks?" she finished, already seeing him clenching his jaw in what was bound to be reluctance at discussing the in and outs of his attacks.

"I don't see how that will help the situation I'm in. I've already told you that there's no pattern to them," he lied, his reason for doing so double-edged. He didn't want to admit openly that every time he'd gone to pick up the pen after an episode, his hand had shaken and his throat had threatened to close again. Which left him throwing the pen across the room and reaching for a glass of scotch instead. The other reason wasn't something he wanted to give any merit to whatsoever. He had chalked their correlation with Donna up to pure coincidence and emptied his mind of it. He'd still yet to even mention the existence of Donna to Paula, and he planned on keeping it that way. To seal the believability of his lie, he stared accusingly back at Paula.

"I understand your resistance to this, Harvey, but it could give us insight into the triggers we could work on directly," she replied with a softer tone. She genuinely cared, and desperately wanted to know the triggers for these attacks. She didn't buy that this was simply generalised anxiety or panic disorder. Although, after two sessions a week for over a month now, she was slowly coming to accept that perhaps it was just an amalgamation of the combined stressors that plagued his world.

"Look Dr, Agard —,"

"Paula," she corrected in her British accent.

Harvey raised an eyebrow at this but continued nonetheless,

"If I can find anything of the sort, I'll be sure to tell you, but for now just accept that you're going to have to adjust your strategy in this case," he finished.

"You're not a case, Harvey, and this isn't court. You're a person. And I hear you, but ask that you just keep trying, please?" she said gently. She knew pressing further would, or in the past had resulted in him walking right out of her office, so she decided to not proceed with that avenue today.

"Okay, I'll try," Harvey conceded, just wanting to move on.

"In the meantime, I'll write another prescription for medication that will cover you for the next week," she said as she grabbed her script pad off the table between them and filled it in. "And remember: absolutely no mixing these with alcohol." She normally didn't prescribe pro re nata medication for extended periods as she had been with Harvey. But he'd refused to take anything that was needed every day, and she was hopeful for a breakthrough.

"Now," she said after tearing it off and passing it to him while pursing her lips, "tell me about what happened with Louis. I understand you're being threatened with suspension?"

At the mention of the assault, the words that Louis had screamed at him came barrelling back through his mind like a freight train. Harvey pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose as Paula kept talking.

You piece of shit. You're nothing but a lying, cheating —

"Harvey, I know you'd rather not discuss it. But what Louis said to you obviously triggered you to lash out. And considering we've spent a lot of sessions talking about your anger spilling onto the people around you, it's relevant —,"

You're a serial womaniser who can't stand the fact when anyone has anything —

"— we can start to make a plan moving forward, some time off will let us allow you to gain some perspective in what's been a very emotional —,"

— so, he takes whatever woman he has in sight, because he's so messed up from whatever goddamn thing happened to him in his pathetic childhood!

"Alright, stop! Jesus Christ, we can talk about it!" Harvey shouted, his head feeling like it was about to explode. He opened his eyes to see Paula only slightly taken aback by his outburst, but there was a hint of something else in her eyes that he couldn't place. He took a deep breath and quickly summed up what had taken place in his office two nights ago. Paula stayed impassive as he finally finished recounting how Jessica had demanded he leave upon seeing Louis lying on a bed of glass, before arriving at his apartment. After she'd left, he'd opened a bottle of Macallan and drank until he no longer felt the impact of Louis's words; until the thought of his mom ceased to make his blood boil; until he had forgotten the sight of Donna walking away from him the month before.

Of course, he retracted the last part from his summary with Paula.

He also retracted the triple dose of medication he'd used as a chaser.

I love you, Harvey.

"I see," Paula said slowly once he had gone silent, "and how did those words make you feel?"

"How do you think they made me feel? You're the doctor, and I'm not sitting on this over-priced couch because I'm the picture of stability right now," Harvey sniped back, scoffing at the absurd and cliche nature of her question.

They ripped the world out from under me.

He knew he and Paula were referring to different things.

As far as Louis' words were concerned, the rage had taken control because every line he'd spat at him had rung unbearably true. And if he couldn't change that, at least he could throw the bearer of said message through a table.

"There's no need to attack me, Harvey. You're projecting your anger onto me, in the same way you project your anger onto the women around you — and now, Louis. But it's fine, I can take it. So have at it, Harvey, give it to me," she countered, now fed up with his insolence. Sitting back in her seat while crossing her arms across her chest, she remained impervious.

This rattled Harvey, and his eyes lit up in anger at the challenge presented to him, but before he could lose control he felt his shoulders sag in defeat. He didn't want this, he was tired of his complexes playing with his emotions like he was the protagonist in a morbid pantomime. This wasn't him.

"I'm… sorry, I don't want to do that anymore, I really don't," he pushed out. "I don't know what happened to me. Being in control is a trait I've always prided myself on, you know this. Emotion makes you weak, or in this case, dangerous. Until that night, I'd really thought I was making headway with this particular issue. Not that the panic attacks have stopped, but…"

His senses lit up as he recalled being close enough to Donna to smell her perfume again. He recalled the look on her face as she'd asked what he needed, and the feeling of utter relief, because for the first time in months, he wasn't a victim of chronic anger or acute anxiety. The floor wasn't quicksand, and he was able to breathe long enough to tell her.

Thank you for twelve years.

Yes, it was only a fraction of everything he wanted — no, needed — to say. But it was something, and that night it had been the shield he'd used to ward off the nightmares that always resulted in twisted sheets and midnight showers.

"What happened that made you feel that way?" Paula queried, trying to keep her curiosity under wraps but failing. And for the first time since she'd met Harvey, she saw the smallest suggestion of a smile gracing his lips. His eyes lit up minutely before he buried it back inside.

"It's nothing, I just stopped fighting this and had five seconds of courage. It allowed me to thank a friend I care a lot about, who I hurt," Harvey explained with as little detail as he could. He'd contemplated mentioning Donna to Paula several times over during his sessions, but something within him refused and kept her tucked safely in the back of his mind. He couldn't explain why he felt that Donna needed to be protected from the merciless scrutiny and analysis that every topic faced in this room. She didn't deserve it, and considering he still hadn't been able to come to terms with what had transpired between them, he figured that was fine. Besides, what Paula didn't know didn't hurt her, and Donna had nothing to do with his current predicament. At least, this was the rationalisation he repeated to himself whenever he omitted her very existence during his sessions.

"And did he respond well?" she quizzed. Paula's intentional use of the pronoun 'he' was completely lost on Harvey. Instead, his heart fell through the cavity in his chest as though it were merely a guest.

He hadn't allowed himself to think about how Donna would feel about his recent fuck up. He couldn't face her and see his own monstrosities reflected in her eyes. He'd go as far as to venture, that if he saw even an ounce of fear, he'd never recover. He was already only barely managing to hold his demons at bay. Gone were the days of her telling him he was a good man. He was now scared that those words were only ever a projection of her own goodness that had infected him via proximity. Good, that had drained from his veins now that she was gone. The same way the blood had drained from his face after she'd told him she was leaving.

"He did, at least, I think he did," Harvey replied, not correcting her assumption. "But, after the recent events, I doubt he'll be interested in having any sort of friendship again," he finished with sadness seeping into his words.

Paula furrowed her brow at this. She felt as though a key piece in the puzzle that was Harvey Specter was missing, but she trusted him. It was possible she was simply reading into something that wasn't there. She knew he was close to the people he worked with, and with most of his identity hedging on the work he did, she wasn't surprised he cared immensely about his social image.

"Well, I'll take a moment to remind you that just because you've lapsed into some old behaviours, all is not lost, Harvey. You've made some huge steps throughout our work together, and this doesn't cancel those out. Just because you struggle with extending forgiveness to yourself, and consequently, others — doesn't mean that whoever it is won't recognise your humanity in this," Paula said.

Harvey was a little shocked to hear this, and even more shocked when Paula continued.

"Besides, I think you deserve forgiveness. Life hasn't been kind to you, Harvey. And everyone loses control at times. I won't crucify you for that. Just try not to make aggravated assault a habit."

Harvey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. In all honesty, he'd prefer if she'd return back to her usual practice of emotionlessly dissecting him like a lab rat on her table. They were the first gentle words he'd received in some time, and it was confronting. But, he found, not entirely unwelcome. It was definitely a contrast against the constant self-loathing he endured as of late.

"I'll… keep that in mind. Is there anything else? Because I have to get to the office to collect a few things. A forced vacation wasn't on my cards and I'll need work to do at home," Harvey said. His stomach was churning viciously with anxiety at the thought, but he knew he had to rip the bandaid off.

"That's all for today, if you want it to be. Perhaps we take it slow unpacking all of this, we don't want to create any more unnecessary stress," Paula responded, rising to her feet, signalling the end of the session.

Harvey did the same and followed her to the door.

"Thank you for coming today, and you know where I am if you need me, otherwise I'll see you at the normal time at the end of the week," Paula said, a small smile on her lips.

"Thanks, Dr. Aga— Paula," Harvey corrected. He figured it couldn't hurt to be on a first-name basis considering the woman was on the receiving end of his aired grievances.

"It's no issue, Harvey," she smiled, putting her hand on his shoulder gently. Looking down at her hand, she quickly removed it and wrapped her arms around herself before turning to go to her desk. "It's my job, take care of yourself."

"Bet you'd wish you'd chosen a different profession, right? See you next week," Harvey joked, closing the door behind him on the way out.

The weather affronted him upon leaving. Chilled air nipped at his skin as he pulled his coat tighter. As much as he hated his therapy sessions, they had grown to become somewhat of a refuge from the world, and the relentless wind wasted no time ripping him from that comfort and back into reality. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the deck of cigarettes and matches he'd taken to keeping there. Slipping one between his lips, he struck a match and lit it. He closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply, letting his head roll back as the calming effect washed over him, before slowly blowing the smoke out above him. He hated that he'd taken it up again. He hadn't smoked since law school, but he figured it was basically a therapeutic measure at this point. His well-being clearly disagreed, as he promptly started coughing. Well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions, he mused morbidly while pounding his chest a few times for good measure.

Pulling his keys out of his pocket, he unlocked his Mustang and settled into the driver's seat. He had been dreading going to the office for two days now, but couldn't prolong it any longer. He'd have to walk by the cubicle that was empty of her. He'd have to get in and out without running into anyone, especially Louis. He only hoped that he didn't fuck that up, like he had everything else. He asked the universe for an ounce of mercy as he took one last drag of his cigarette, before flicking it out the window and starting the engine.