It was six in the evening, four very long days later, and Harvey was back on the couch that would supposedly be the solution to his suffering. He remained entirely unconvinced. All therapy had managed to do thus far was give a megaphone to the voices that had taken years to tune out, followed by a pep-talk to ensure they gave it their best shot. If it were any other service, he'd file a civil suit for false advertising and emotional damages.

He still hadn't seen or spoken to Donna since the office incident. The small step he'd taken towards opening up had turned into three steps backwards the moment she'd left his office. His forced 'vacation' had meant he was free to hole up in his apartment and deal with the repercussions of that day in the safety of solitude. A vulnerability hangover, if you will. Admittedly, that translated to day-drinking with Oprah, before progressing into night-drinking and reruns of Survivor. Ending it all with the alcohol/sedative ratio he'd now perfected. Not the most proactive solution, but the only one that helped.

"I don't know what to tell you. Besides extending the professional courtesy of informing you that whatever you're doing, isn't working." He had no doubt Paula would read the urgency in his tone. She'd once pointed out that she could tell his defences were activated when he started sounding like he was in a courtroom. Which she followed up by graciously sharing the observation that defence might very well be his default state now. And by might, she'd meant definitely.

"We've been over this, Harvey. Healing is not a linear process, nor is it particularly fast. In our last session, you shared that you felt you were making progress. What's changed?" she asked. He was noticeably more agitated today compared to their last session, and she was immediately concerned.

"What has happened doesn't matter," he stated, knowing he sounded frantic. He just didn't have the energy to mask today or the luxury of time. "What does matter is that we need to change approaches, or try a new medication, or whatever Plan B you have written on your little notepad." He said that last past with a dismissive wave toward the paper on her lap. Paula simply stared back with an expectant look, letting him know she was still waiting for a proper response.

"For the love of God, please tell me you have a Plan B."

She wasn't budging. There were many things about Harvey that stirred a reaction inside of her — things she vowed to not think about during their sessions — but his bullying wasn't one of them. "In order for this to work, you have to actively participate. So, I will ask again. What's changed?"

Harvey clenched his fists and willed himself to stay calm. "The attacks. They're still happening."

"And?" she prompted.

"They're getting worse." He knew she'd just continue to coax more out of him if he gave brief answers, but he couldn't bring himself to rehash it all today. He wanted an end to the torture, and he wanted it now.

"Have you been experiencing anything else?"

He didn't want to divulge more than he had to but knew if there was any hope of moving forward, he'd have to start being honest. Besides, Paula had become less of a threat over the time they'd shared. She couldn't leave him should he share the ugly parts of himself he otherwise concealed, or use them against him. Okay, she used them against him sometimes, but he'd reluctantly come to accept it was for his own good.

"Nightmares. They're becoming unbearable. Every night this week I've woken up covered in either my own sweat or tears," he admitted, none of his usual assertiveness to be found.

He didn't tell her what they were about. Usually, variants of Donna leaving. One time he'd relived the night in Louis' office, only it was her screaming those words at him instead. Other times, it was everyone in the office laughing at him during a partner's meeting while he was in the middle of a panic attack. Or it was flashbacks to the sound of his mum and dad screaming at each other in the kitchen while he locked himself in his closet until it stopped.

Sometimes it was simply him walking up to the roof of the firm's building and jumping.

Every night he got the same shit, just in a new setting. He had to admit his subconscious was getting creative with its ways of fucking with him.

"I don't know what to do with all of the rage. And if it's not rage, it's…" He didn't know how to describe his feelings. He never seemed to be good with words when he actually needed them. "I can't do this anymore, Paula. I don't understand how I got here, and I don't know how to fix it. I feel helpless. I feel—," he stopped, the admission made him nauseous, "I'm scared."

He looked up at Paula and saw her looking back at him with understanding and compassion, before letting his gaze fall again, too tired to hold his head up. "We've explored the way your childhood has shaped you, and I know that got through to you so I think we should explore that further. As for the rage, it's not the truth of what you feel — it's protecting you from whatever is behind it. And whatever that is, is what you're truly scared of."

She continued, knowing that right now Harvey just needed to listen. "I know we've not found a trigger or catalyst for your attacks, or nightmares, but obviously something has re-opened your core wounds. But fighting it won't fix it, Harvey. The only way forward is vulnerability, first with yourself. And then others, should you allow it."

He looked back up at her at that last part. Gone was the hard-ass therapist he'd grown accustomed to, but instead a warm, soft voice of reason and care wearing an affectionate expression. And if he hadn't completely lost his mind yet, which the jury was still deliberating on — he recognised that look. It was the same look he'd seen before on dozens, if not hundreds of women. The Good Doctor fancied him. Vaguely inappropriate considering the circumstances, he thought, but he was flattered nonetheless. However, he was in no position to have any other feelings about it at this point. So he stowed it away in the back of his mind.

Paula then realised she'd been silently staring back for far too long, so she cleared her throat and adjusted her posture before speaking. "It sounds counter-productive, I know. But you have to trust me. You won't want to let go of the defence mechanisms that have protected you since you were young. But you have to recognise they're not helping you anymore. They're hurting you."

Harvey considered this and didn't like the fear that ran rampant at the prospect of following her advice.

"But what if I don't like what, or who, I find behind them?"

What if they're the only thing stopping me from falling over the edge once and for all?

"Well, there's only one way to find out."

•

On the other side of town, the bitter tang of wine hit Donna's throat, and the warmth of the alcohol spread through her chest. She'd planned on a night of self-care, which was much needed after everything that had happened. She was currently curled up on her couch, with candles lit and the soft notes of jazz filtering through the air. She'd planned to later fill the bathtub, bubbles and all, and let it wash away the week.

In every quiet moment since walking out of Harvey's office, like the one right now, she'd re-lived having the man who'd always been the picture of confidence and steadfast strength, collapsed in a lifeless heap in her lap. The worry hadn't once wavered, but she'd been fighting it off spending hours researching panic disorders and finding options he might not know were available to him. Research she wanted to share and discuss with him in the hopes of finding some solutions. Surely knowing someone for twelve years had its advantages when it came to situations like this, especially when that someone was as observant as Donna was. And if that failed to be of any help, she just wanted to assure him he wasn't alone. That he would never be alone.

She'd managed to forgive herself and let go of the guilt of not having been there. She wouldn't let anything, not even Harvey, make her regret choosing herself ever again. Which was progress in Donna's eyes. But she knew she was playing a dangerous game by letting him back into her life. Though after learning what she now knew, she couldn't consider any other alternative. Her need to support him outweighed the million and one ways in which he could potentially hurt her again. So, she promised herself that she would let him back into her life, but not into her heart. He couldn't hurt her if she didn't let him. She knew it wasn't a foolproof plan, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The only issue was that she hadn't heard from him since. Perhaps the universe sensed her trepidation and was dealing her a 'get out of jail free' card. And it was at that very moment, that her phone vibrated on the table in front of her, and after leaning forward she saw the Caller ID.

Harvey Specter

Well, the universe might not be omniscient, but it certainly had comedic timing.

She took a deep breath and had another sip of wine before reaching for her phone. For two people that had worked so closely together for so long, the times she and Harvey had spoken on the phone were notably few and far between. She answered on the fourth ring.

"Hi," she said simply, knowing the standard follow-up question of 'how are you?' probably wouldn't be the most appropriate, all things considered. His deep voice replied from the other end. He sounded weary and slightly out of breath, but it still managed to make her shiver, even through the phone.

"Hey… I'm sorry if you're busy. I know it's getting late, I just wanted to—" His words came out in a rush, and she could feel his tangible anxiety through the phone. She'd hoped things wouldn't be tense and awkward, but wasn't surprised that it was.

"It's okay, you're not interrupting anything, I was just settling in for the night. What is it?" she assured him. There was silence on the other end, followed by the sound of him loudly inhaling (and some sort of faint crackling?) before forcefully blowing out his breath. That gave pause to Donna. Surely she was imagining things. It couldn't possibly be — was that...

"Harvey, are you smoking a cigarette?" she asked with obvious amusement colouring her voice, free of any judgement. Never would she have imagined a reality existed where the best closer in New York City would take up smoking unless it was the occasional celebratory cigar after a major win at work. She heard him nervously laugh before replying.

"Yeah actually, I am. Would you believe it? Turns out they do wonders for calming nerves. I don't imagine they're good for much else though," he quipped in a self-deprecating manner.

She couldn't help but softly laugh, thankful they'd broken the ice and fallen back into their usual banter. She imagined how hilarious it would be if Louis found out, and the 'your body is a temple' speech that he would have to endure. She stopped herself from sharing that though, not wanting to ruin the moment with talk of Louis.

She also tried to shut down the part of her that found the image of Harvey smoking a cigarette a massive fucking turn-on. Try as she may, she couldn't.

"Well, whatever works, right? Although, as your friend, I feel obligated to tell you that there's the very real risk of cancer, even if all the cool kids are doing it."

"Oh yeah, cool is definitely what I'm going for. Luckily, I can make anything look good. I'll take my chances with cancer though — it's running neck and neck with heart failure in the race for my cause of death. We know which one won gold with Dad." He was clearly getting a kick out of this, but that last part left her speechless and her laugh was louder this time.

"Oh my god, Harvey, you did not just say that."

"Hey, he would appreciate the joke if he were here to hear it. Besides, he smoked a pack a day so would be in no position to tell me off. Hard to lecture someone through six feet of dirt anyway." They were now both chuckling whole-heartedly. Hearing Harvey laughing was the highlight of her week; it had been too long since she'd been privy to it. It was probably the first time he had in a while too, she realised sadly and fell silent at the thought.

"Uh oh, that one fell flat. Consider my career in stand-up retired," he continued.

She didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't his joke that had made her quiet and felt bad for ruining the moment.

"You still there, Donna?"

"Yeah, I'm here. I told you I would be, didn't I?" she replied warmly.

"Yes. Yes, you did…" Harvey trailed off, and if she wasn't deceiving herself, it sounded like that small statement had some sort of impact on him. "I actually wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot," she fired back.

"I was just in my therapy appointment, and we discussed, well…" He trailed off yet again, and Donna could hear his internal battle. "You know what, the details aren't relevant."

She was somewhat nervous to hear what he was getting at, but her curiosity got the better of her. "Whatever it is, I promise it's okay to ask. Five seconds of courage, that's all it takes, Harvey."

"Funny, that's what I always say," he replied softly.

"I know, you idiot. We worked together for twelve years. I hope you don't mind me stealing it. You can keep all the gun metaphors, though. I already know the one-hundred and forty-six ways to use them." Which earnt another laugh and something mumbled along the lines of 'it's all yours.'

"So, come on, spit it out."

She needed him to get it over with because their short call had her feeling overwhelmed. What started as warm laughter was starting to turn ice cold in her chest by reminding her of what she'd been missing.

"I wanted to ask if you'd like to come over for dinner tomorrow night. I can order from the shitty thai place and grab that Cab Sav you like. There's no pressure though, I completely understand if you were just being nice the other day because of what happened and didn't actually wa—"

Donna was caught off guard but responded quickly, saving him from his own rambling. She knew how hard this was for him. "I'd like that, Harvey. I actually have some stuff to show you and talk about, so dinner sounds good."

"Oh, okay. Great." His surprise was obvious, and if you'd told her a week ago she'd be making dinner plans with him, she wouldn't have believed it.

"How does seven work for you?" he asked.

"Seven is good. I suppose I'll see you then," she answered.

"You will. Goodnight, Donna."

"Goodnight."

The line stayed open though, she couldn't say how long for, and it sounded like he'd yet to move the phone away from his ear. She settled deeper into the couch and listened to him taking long drags of his cigarette, not sure if he realised she'd yet to hang up. But then again, neither had he. At that moment, she was happy to just exist in his silences.

"Sweet dreams, Harvey."

She finally ended the call before he was able to reply and let her head fall back to rest on the back of the lounge, staring up at the ceiling. She just hoped her decision was the right one.

In the time they'd known each other, Donna had fallen apart a handful of times, as had Harvey. It was one of the only certainties when together you'd shared so many firsts, lasts, and everything in between. Because with life, came the inevitable; the grief of losing loved ones, the soul-crushing disappointments, the life-changing heartbreaks — and all the other parts that made up the human condition. Yet now, he'd broken her, and in turn, she'd broken him. And here they were, with nothing left to do except pick up the pieces. But, oh —

What a beautiful mess they made.