Sweet dreams, Harvey.
He had heard it then.
And again, when his head finally hit the pillow that night. He'd expected her to tease him and call him out for lingering on the phone with the line open. But she hadn't, and he clung to the respite of listening to her breathe after serendipitously slipping into a rare moment where all the noise stopped. After asking her to come over, he'd been bracing himself for impact and was surprised when he was left unscathed. She'd said yes. Which he quickly discovered made him far more anxious than a 'no' would have.But coincidentally, he'd indeed had a dreamless sleep that night, for which he was thankful.
Because that meant now, he wasn't a walking corpse and could actually hold a conversation. Which was fortunate. As he was now on his couch, looking down at Donna, who was sitting on his lounge-room floor with her legs tucked under her. Her hair was a waterfall of red cascading down her back and across her shoulders, and she was wearing a cashmere sweater with black pants.
His acute confusion concerning why she'd yet to cut all contact with him hadn't eased. Fortunately, they'd gotten through the initial awkwardness and she was now surrounded by what Harvey thought may well be half a rainforest worth of paper. Wine glass in one hand and a highlighter in the other, she was using her secretarial skills recreationally. Or charity work, depending on your perspective. It was actually a comforting sight and reminded him of studying for mid-terms back in Harvard. Only instead of Donna studying property law, she was studying him, and that was neither familiar nor comforting. Still, he couldn't help but laugh under his breath.
"Are all the print-outs really necessary?" he commented with amusement, but there was a trace of seriousness in his question, hoping she'd have a change of heart about this whole thing.
Donna looked up at him with an exasperated look, her hair falling over one shoulder. "Yes, they are, Harvey. Because I know you, and if there isn't a physical copy, you'll purposefully forget all of this before I even leave. Besides, being environmentally friendly isn't exactly at the top of the priority list right now," Donna protested, before taking a sip of her wine.
"Mother Earth shouldn't have to suffer just because I'm failing the menial task of simply existing. Which is quite literally the bare minimum." His tone was full of self-deprecation, and Donna was less than impressed but her effort to reprimand him was lacking her usual bite.
"You have to stop that, this is serious."
"Oh, don't worry, I'm well aware…" he conceded softly, his voice now serious with only a hint of his prior sarcastic self-deprecation. He knew he couldn't laugh this all off, so there was little point in wasting energy hiding behind humour. Unlike Paula, who he could get away with deceiving on the regular, Donna could see right through it — had always been able to see right through him. Another reason the past week had been nothing but a series of unfortunate events.
His serious tone made Donna's face fleetingly contort into a pained expression before she schooled her features. She knew how uncomfortable Harvey was with being in the spotlight — no, correction — Harvey loved the spotlight. Just not when it was his unarmed self on the stand. And judging by the number of times he'd squirmed and repositioned himself on the couch, his discomfort was growing by the second. Although, admittedly they weren't the most welcoming lounge chairs. She'd made a smart-ass comment when he'd bought them after correctly deducing why that was the case. A tactical decision on his behalf; perfect at discouraging guests, specifically of the one-night-stand variety, from making themselves at home. Sort of ingenious, really, until you try to inhabit your own living room. She tried to get them back on track with her next question.
"So, do any of the things I've explained so far sound like something you might try? I know they seem simple and probably silly to you, but they're said to be really helpful…" she trailed off, scared her attempts at helping might be completely fruitless and that Harvey would think she was wasting his time. But lately, he was full of surprises, because he faintly nodded his head.
"Yeah, I think so. Splashing water on your face is something I've already found works actually," he reluctantly disclosed and saw her write something with her four-coloured pen. "As far as deep-breathing goes, that's definitely out. The 5-4-3-2-1 thing sounds doable. But I think I would probably find reciting and memory exercises the most grounding, though."
"Okay, how about something like..." Donna started, then took a moment to think. "The American Constitution? Very appropriate, if you ask me," she finished. Harvey let out a breathy laugh and started rising from the couch.
"That could work. Impressively done, Dr Paulsen. If you weren't already the greatest secretary the world of law has ever seen, I'd say you have a promising career waiting for you as a therapist," he said light-heartedly, but his insides coiled tight because she was no longer his secretary. The unwelcome reminder made him change course. He needed a drink.
"Are you kidding? I already am a therapist. Just underappreciated and overworked on a not-for-profit basis. Maybe I'll pull a Mike; fake a degree from Harvard and open a practice," she fired back with a scheming smile. Their battle of wits still was, and always would be, their favourite game to play. But when Donna saw Harvey reaching toward the whiskey decanter on his liquor trolley, she quickly rose from the floor.
"And what do you think you're doing?" she asked, walking over to him and taking the bottle from his hands. "You can't have alcohol with your meds, Harvey. That's like, 'Prescription Narcotics 101.'" Her tone wasn't scolding but subdued and concerned. She'd seen the type of medication he was taking and knew the dangers of mixing downers with alcohol; it was potentially fatal. When she looked up at him though, it was clear that side effect obviously wasn't news to him. More troubling was when upon meeting his eyes, she saw the ghosts of guilt haunting the dark shadows behind them. Her eyebrows pinched together and her expression pleaded.
Please don't tell me you've been doing what I think you have, Harvey.
Harvey knew she'd caught him, despite doing his best to not react. Trying to play it off now would just be insulting to them both, and he saw the question confined in her eyes. Sighing, he knew he'd have to bite the bullet. The irony of that wasn't lost on him.
"I haven't taken them today, Donna. It's perfectly safe, and I really need a drink."
"And last night? And the nights before that? What about then?" she implored softly. They weren't standing very far apart, and she realised she was still clutching the glass bottle which she then placed down.
He nervously scratched the back of his head, scrambling for a response that would save him from the anxious dread clawing at his chest. But he had nothing, so he said nothing. Which appeared to worry her even more, likely expecting his M.O of defence and denial. The silence stretched a while longer before Donna let out a shuddered breath and spoke after finding some resolve.
"I'm going to tell you what I think you're not saying and you're going to tell me if I'm right, okay?" She waited, and Harvey simply nodded affirmation. He prepared himself, knowing this would be salt in an already festering wound, as nothing escaped Donna's observational intuition. Still, he was grateful for the reprieve she was offering him by doing the talking.
"You've been abusing your medication while also abusing alcohol. And that's one of the reasons behind all the little things I've noticed at work — like the wrinkled suits, and the permanent dark bags under your eyes, even after six coffees. Coffees that you need because the immense amounts of caffeine, I imagine, are the only thing that can counteract the coma this combination would put you into." She stopped, not needing to say more.
Sometimes knowing I survived the last storm is no longer all I need to be able to fall asleep.
She wasn't just expecting denial, he realised. Because she instead begged outright for it.
"Please tell me I'm wrong, Harvey."
It happens so quickly, the shallows disappear without struggle and you're in too deep.
Her voice broke a little around the request, and Harvey felt the suffocating embrace of shame and self-loathing close around him, compressing his chest. He wanted to be able to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to be the man she'd once told him was good. But now, the tattered image of his former self was shining straight through him, like a shredded projector screen. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than for the ground beneath him to swallow him whole. He was looking down, eyes closed, sure that if he wanted it enough — gravity would do him a favour and just let him go.
That's when he felt her fingers under his chin, gently pushing it up. Her fingers didn't fall, and she looked directly into his eyes. None of his own judgement was reflected back at him, just a sad, sombre stare.
"Why? What are you trying to escape? What are you running from?"
It was heart-wrenchingly compassionate. And he was reminded of her seemingly limitless capacity for empathy and understanding. He only wished he was someone who deserved it. Especially when it was coming from Donna. He'd done nothing but hurt and hinder her in the immediate past. Yet, something about her inexplicable sensitivity made his next words tumble forth before he could stop them.
"Me, Donna..." he surrendered, his voice scarcely more than a whisper wavering in the air between them.
"— Me."
His breath came out in a rush and Harvey couldn't believe that after saying it out loud, the pressure in his chest eased minutely. But it was enough to allow him to finish. He looked her dead in the eye so she'd truly hear and see his sincerity. And the severity.
"And you should run too."
He saw her almost imperceivable flinch, and inwardly berated himself. But he meant what he said, and he needed her to know that she was free; that he was sorry for unknowingly holding her hostage.
"You shouldn't have ever stopped."
Donna didn't say anything, instead, her head gently shook in response. Her hand moved from its place under his chin and gently cradled the side of his face. Harvey refused to let himself lean into her touch like his body instinctively asked to. Instead, he shut his eyes tightly and let his head fall forward in an attempt to detach from the raw emotion in the atmosphere.
"It was never like that to begin with... But I told you, I'm not going anywhere."
The first part's meaning was lost on him, but he didn't have the mental fortitude to focus enough to find it. Instead, he continued in search of something to appease the screeching demons in his head; he needed to know why.
"Why not?"
He wished he was capable of saying more than two syllables, but the crux of his confusion was there. She seemed to consider his question for a few long moments and the answer that wrapped gently around her lips sounded deliberate, and almost as though it were spoken in riddle.
"You know, Harvey, I've never usually been one to take second chances on times that I've been broken. But, sometimes forgiveness needs to be put in place for someone to actually grow from these negative emotions," her voice low while her other hand came to rest in the middle of his chest, to which he opened his eyes as he felt it crack open. "Sometimes a constructive use for the pain is thrown at you, and it's the only way to find refuge."
She cleared her throat and shook her head, pulling herself out of the reflective place that sent her spiralling into. "It was never a question of if I'd forgive you, Harvey. It's a question of whether you'll let me, and then hopefully in time, forgive yourself."
Without conscious thought, he gingerly brought his hand up and covered hers, while her other hand was still seeping warmth into the skin of his cheek. They stood in silence for a few moments. The gentle thrum of his heartbeat penetrated her hand and the vibrations reached his palm. He wondered for a moment if her heart would be beating in the same rhythm; singing their songs in unison. To which he found himself thrown completely off-balance and when he looked up at her, the air shifted dramatically. Donna removed her hands from him and he took a few steps back.
By the time he'd gotten his bearings, Donna was already lifting her glass of wine to her lips. After a large gulp, she sat back on the floor and started speaking after grabbing a page. Nothing about her tone suggested that anything was askew, and none of her words acknowledged that anything out of the ordinary had happened. It gave Harvey whiplash.
And she left no time to recover. Because upon hearing the topic she'd jumped to, he resigned himself to the line of inquiryand fell back on the couch defeatedly. Whatever had just taken place was cast aside by his frustration at having to go over this again.
"The other part of my research I wanted to share was that it encourages you to find the triggers and root causes of the attacks. That way you can either avoid or work on healing them, depending on the situation."
Donna was losing hold of her composure and tried desperately to create distance from the onslaught of emotions waging war within her. His whispered words had hurt beyond measure, simply by extension. As she'd yet to sever the heart-stings that screamed when stretched with every move they made toward, and away from each other. She was growing tired of his uncanny ability to send emotionally charged wrecking balls slamming straight through the walls she'd managed all night to maintain. So much for not allowing him into her heart, she scolded herself. She promised to later bring up his drinking and drug habits, just probably not tonight. Because right now, it was too much and she wasn't the one living it. The implications of that suggested to her that he'd been downplaying the severity of his struggles, just when she thought it couldn't get any worse.
"I'll tell you what I've had to tell my therapist a hundred times, there's no pattern. They just happen. I never see them coming until it's too late, and then I may as well be in a chokehold I can't tap out of, after getting tackled from the top rope. Fucker doesn't fight fair," Harvey grumbled, leant back with his arms behind his head as he stared at the roof.
In an ironic twist of fate, Donna was grateful for his denial, since he had effortlessly followed her lead in changing subjects without question. However, his discomfort was clear and she sensed the contention surrounding that particular line of conversation. There was one thing pressing on her mind though.
"So, if the techniques we spoke about tonight aren't something your therapist has explored with you—," she paused, finding a tactful way to phrase her question, "what exactly is it that you do in your sessions?"
At that, a deep, full laugh escaped Harvey from his seat on the couch. Obviously, she wasn't completely off-base in her thinking that these should probably be some of the first things you learn in therapy, all things considered.
"You know, that's a very good question. I've not been the most compliant client and she's taking a more unconventionalstrategy, I suppose," Harvey replied.
"You? Non-compliant? Well, I'll never," Donna snorted sarcastically, though noted the therapist who'd up until now been an unspecified gender — was a 'she.' For some reason, she'd assumed it was some old, dusty man like Louis' therapist, Dr Lipschitz.
"Hey, I resent that statement," he said in fake admonishment, and Donna rolled her eyes.
"How is she, anyway? Your therapist. She must be superwoman if she's managed to make you a regular." She knew he wouldn't go into any more detail about the content of his appointments but, much to Donna's dismay, her insecurity cared more about this answer. Whoever she was, the woman had beaten the odds and become a statistical anomaly by getting Harvey to open up. She hated that part of her felt the sharp bite of envy and displacement. Knowing that in her absence, another woman had filled the role she'd once had in Harvey's life. But she was a professional, Donna reminded herself, and he needed all the support he could get.
"She is—," Harvey stopped to find an apt description. "She's been an unexpected opponent. It took me a week or so to stop treating our sessions like they were a Mexican stand-off. But I think she's actually been helping, even though what supposedly heals mostly just fucking hurts. But Paula says it has to get worse before it gets better." His tone was a little distant as he shared this, and then he laughed after looking like he'd recalled something.
"Finally take your hand off your gun, hey? You always have been trigger-happy. But truly, I'm glad it's helping," she replied, but again, her curiosity prevailed.
"What were you laughing about?"
Harvey waved dismissively before answering. "Oh, it's nothing important, it's just become clear in our last few sessions that she might be into me. You know, as more than a client."
Donna felt her blood go cold and her stomach drop. She'd never been a jealous woman and was repulsed when the previously sharp bite of jealousy escalated to a body slam that winded her. But judging by Harvey's reaction, she had no reason to be feeling such things. She saw the same indifference he always emanated at the unwanted attention of women. Still, it took every ounce of Donna's acting prowess to match Harvey's energy and mask her own, replying with a joke that wasn't far from the truth.
"Sounds like the beginning of some bad pornography."
An Oscar-worthy performance if you asked her, because Harvey didn't think twice about her response, nor did he hear the insincerity in the laughter she forced to join his genuine reaction to her commentary.
After the laughter stopped though, they both fell into another silence. Donna felt the emotional fatigue from the night's turbulence setting in after forcing the bitter taste of envy out of her mouth. Harvey looked like he was on the verge of saying something but hesitating. She was too tired to gently pry him open this time, so she sighed.
"What is it?"
He looked at her intently, his eyes clouded with emotion she couldn't name. This cut through Donna's weary state, who was not now alert. Something had shifted in his disposition, and his timbre was deep and rich when he spoke. She hated how his voice dropped a register after nine p.m. Gritty and raw in the back of his throat. She hated it because she couldn't help but recall how its vibrations felt along her throat; how it sounded when his mouth had pressed to her ear and moaned her name. Her impure thoughts contrasted heavily against his innocent sentiment.
"I just want to say thank you—," he started.
Harvey willed himself to continue. Now was not the time to lose his way with words. Or for his brain to wipe itself clean before he'd held onto his emotions long enough to put words to them. In therapy, he'd admitted that the majority of the time, he was forced to stand by and watch as one part of him hid behind denial or indifference, and another spat out bitter retaliation, mockery or some false sense of bravado. Right now though, his walls were down and he was overcome with immense gratitude which he needed Donna to know.
"I don't think my words could ever express the magnitude of what it means to me, that you're still here. And for your help. Especially after—"
"It's okay, Harvey. Thank you for letting me," Donna interrupted, appreciative of his gratefulness, but not wanting to reopen the wound that had only barely stopped bleeding.
Harvey didn't know exactly what he wanted or was trying to say, but the impulse made him keep pushing ahead, into the unknown.
"No, Donna, you need to know that. I haven't shown you as much as I should have, and I know it's too little, too late now. But—"
Donna's gaze had fallen to the floor and a shadow cast itself across her silken features. Her eyes were glassy yet she said nothing.
"That night you told me you were leaving—" Harvey's heart rate elevated as the agony of that night returned tenfold. But he pushed through, taking a deep breath. "Before you told me, I was in the middle of saying 'Just because I don't—'"
But for the second time, Donna ensured it remained unknown.
Maybe it was destined to stay that way. Added to the list of words they meant but didn't say; ones they'd thought and should've spoken; an accumulation of letters they could have written that would never be read. Her voice was small and unsure yet it still silenced him.
"I really don't want to revisit that, Harvey, if that's okay. Can we—" A hitch cut into her vocal cords, but she cleared it and was eerily void of feeling when she continued.
"Can we put all of it behind us, please?"
Harvey didn't know whether to be upset or grateful at her request. He was well and truly on his way to crying, and he didn't even know the fuck why. He never cried. And he was so angry at the indecipherable emotions making it impossible to understand his own intentions behind bringing it up, or even what he needed to say.
Even more devastating, was that Donna's face still wore the visceral scars from the pain he unintentionally inflicted. In her posture, he saw the baggage he'd left her, so deeply resigned due to his overcompensating lies. And as he gazed into her empty eyes, all he felt was regret for that manipulation. She was the one person he'd ever vowed to protect; the woman he promised never had to feel scared again. He swore that he'd never let anything happen to her.
Then he'd happened to her.
"Yeah, of course. I'm sorry."
None of his inner turmoil was evident in his speech.
"Don't apologise," Donna replied gently, "I think it's best to just focus on your mental health right now. There's a lot going on for you, and it's fine, really."
"Yeah, you're probably right."
They managed to strike up a conversation again despite the tension that lingered long after he'd brought up what she'd now made clear was to stay buried. It wasn't long after though, that they realised how late it was, and Donna collected her things to leave. She left the pile of paper deliberately on the kitchen island, and he walked her to the door. Turning back toward him just as she'd passed the entry, he met her eyes. There was a certain intensity present for both of them.
"No drinking tonight. Promise me?" Her voice wasn't critical, just caring. If it were anyone asking, he'd tell them to take a long walk off a short pier while he poured a double. But this was Donna, and he couldn't deny her that peace. It was the least he could do. Besides, it was only the promises he made to himself that seemed to be the hardest ones to keep.
"Promise."
He slashed an 'X' with his fingers over his heart to seal it, to which she looked noticeably lighter. She went to say something but didn't, just stared at someplace on his shoulder while nibbling her lip. She was exhausted and he managed somewhat of a bashful grin. It was her turn to struggle with the perils of language.
"Now you understand my pain," he chuckled.
"It must have rubbed off."
The words never came. Rather, she just reached toward him and wrapped her hand around his bicep to give it a long, firm squeeze before rubbing it with her thumb. The simple touch managed to say so much, a merciful saviour when they'd said so little. He let himself briefly brush his fingertips over the soft skin of her wrist before she let go.
"G'night, Donna."
"Goodnight."
He watched her disappear down the hall, the image not unlike the one that haunted his dreams every night. And in what was probably an attempt to prove to himself he wasn't stuck in another flashback — he called her name, which echoed down the hall. The sound stopped her in her tracks and she slowly turned around, to which he let go of the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. This is real, he thought, which means...
"Thank you."
"For what?" Her voice floated back to him.
"For not losing faith in me."
He could make out the glimpse of a smile.
Silence stretched over the next several seconds as he awaited her reply.
"Anyone else, I would have. But with you, it's different."
A shudder ran through his body, and he felt like he was back in her apartment. Her mirrored and mutual confession was overwhelming and he felt fear begin to furiously fight back against the surge of emotion. Which ended in Harvey unwillingly being stuck in stasis while everything inside — simply froze. Rendering it all inaccessible, and leaving him hollow.
"Sweet dreams, Harvey."
The warmth of her words, though, managed to thaw part of his heart. And he suspected he'd have another dreamless sleep that night.
It wasn't until he was lying in bed that it occurred to Harvey, that not even he knew the end of 'just because I don't.' But once relieved of the pressure that came with being perceived as well as the crushing weight of expectation — he found the words that would likely never leave the safety of the confines of his mind, where they were rendered inconsequential. He also concluded there were too many ways it could end.
Just because I don't think I'll survive losing the one good thing to have ever happened to me — that doesn't change how I feel.
Just because I don't think I'll ever be the man you deserve — it doesn't mean I lied.
Love me, how?
Just because I don't know how I love you;
the fact that I do is the only thing I've ever truly been certain of in life.
Upon finding the end, he was hit sideways and then held hostage by the same fear as earlier. And Harvey immediately felt his finger find the trigger; his familiarity made finding the kill-switch effortless. But before he pulled it, something occurred to him —
There was a reason Harvey had learnt and mastered the one-hundred forty-six other things you could do when someone pointed a gun to your head, and he now recalled why.
The first time he ever felt the cold, cruel, metallic kiss of a gun barrel pressed to his skull; he had only been a child.
The person holding it — told him that it was love.
Well, maybe there's a God above.
But, all I've ever learned from love
is how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.
He'd never learnt how to tell the two apart,
—so they became one.