Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

Harvey considered those words as his feet struggled to find themselves in front of one another. Some steps must have deemed his plight a lost cause, because every few strides, the toe of his shoe clipped the pavement or his foot landed wildly off course. Which left Harvey summoning every sober bone in his body to keep him upright. Bones that may as well have been Jell-O, for all the support they gave him.

He briefly stopped walking — if you could call it that — to evaluate the rate at which the world was spinning. The verdict:

Fast.

Which elicited a laugh. His typical flair for articulation must have stayed at the bar alongside his dignity, judging from the one-word assessment that left a lot to be desired. And upon discovering that his double-vision had devolved into a disturbing panorama, Harvey decided that the cons of his alcohol consumption tonight, vastly outnumbered the pros.

Nothing was worth being this vertically challenged.

And even though he no longer felt like he was attached to the earth, the laws of physics prevailed; proving his earlier ruminations to be true, as this was the response said consumption demanded. He'd drunk so much alcohol that his body was now a bathtub his organs now swam in, yet he was drowning despite the water only being chest-deep. His current state, however, was merely the aftermath of the chain reaction that led to him stumbling down a street he couldn't name.

There was a propelling force behind his inebriation, and he vaguely wondered if his reaction constituted equal or opposite, or if he was losing it completely. If the past two months were fabricated, failure fashioned by the worst of him — or if what had once seemed so strong, had been and gone.

He didn't want to think about it and the half-empty bottle of scotch swinging listlessly at his side was a testament to how far he'd go to avoid doing just that. Unfortunately, his sorrows had learnt how to swim and he was painfully aware that his war with intrusive thoughts waged on, so he braced himself for what was coming.

• • •

"I have to say, I'm surprised, Harvey."

He was now halfway through into his two-week suspension, authorised by Jessica and Louis, after which he could return to work. He hadn't had the energy to fight for a lesser sentence, nor did he feel he deserved or wanted to be forgiven, knowing that meant he'd have to share what was going on rather than pretend. Besides, the vacation served as somewhat of a vacant motivation to stop avoiding the means it would take to reach any real end.

"Why?"

Because all his waking moments the month prior had reflected the moment that he broke. And he'd accept not knowing why if it were not for the fact that he sure as hell had watched it all break. And despite trying to glue the pieces back together, its shape refused to form the one he'd wanted to make. So naturally, he had planned to throw away the shards, discard every fragment of the past, and in the process, drunkenly destroy what was left to ensure the demons got to him last.

But in the reflection of Donna's sanguine eyes, refracted through her unshed tears, he saw himself sleeping through the static; finding vices to take the place of all the things he wanted to be. In which it occurred to him—

I've lost sight of me.

To the point he'd been unaware of his own motives, only realising halfway through the night that it was his maladaptive side who'd invited Donna over. An attempt to weaponize Paula's advice and use it to disprove her observations after his fears were confirmed. When they surprisingly weren't, it became an attempt to preserve the version Donna held of him in her mind's eye, one that was reminiscent of the man she once kept a part of close by.

However, his defence mechanisms hadn't anticipated her out-manoeuvring them with laughable ease. Nothing left for him to do but admit what, or rather who he was running from. In the same breath, she'd forgiven him and became a personification of perspective. Living proof that his protections were, indeed, no longer helping him — just hurting. In the end, she had unknowingly offered him a sense of salvation tinged with bitter hope; something to cope with rope hanging around his neck. Somehow she'd ignited a spark within his godforsaken heart, and although he was tired—

tired of striving to become something he'd never be,

tired of fighting for something he couldn't see,

her faith in him made him want to try.

"Why?"

"Because while we've spoken about your childhood, you've not wanted to talk directly about your mother's infidelity," Paula replied.

"I thought it may be time to stop running."

• • •

And, sweet baby Jesus, did they talk.

During which, Harvey quickly determined that his courage had been completely unfounded because their session had spiralled into harsh truths and uncomfortable realities he hadn't prepared himself for.

The revelations he'd experienced after Donna left a few nights before had led him to believe bringing up the topic of his mother in therapy was a logical path forward. Of course, he'd known his mom's cheating had some impact on him. But he figured Paula could enlighten him to the full extent and tell him if it was behind his breakdown since he had no other leads. The topic was, until this morning, unexplored territory in their sessions and now he couldn't help but wish it had stayed that way. Because enlighten him she did, so much so she was inspiring carnage in her wake.

As was his mother, apparently.

The last thing he needed was another round in the ring with Paula's voice but the bell signalled 'gloves off' regardless. Having become somewhat more experienced with his brain's endeavours to dismantle him from the inside out, he laughed to himself and concluded that this match called for a drinking game. He was too far gone to create coherent rules but figured a shot after every jab Paula landed would do the trick, surely the punches would hurt less tha—

— when a child learns of a parent's infidelity, they usually find it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to trust that someone they love will not lie to them, reject, or abandon them—

Harvey grunted as the very first swing made his chest contract painfully. At the time he'd sat in silence, neither confirming nor denying her statements, but the sadness in her eyes had told him he didn't need to anyway. He lifted the bottle and took a swig of the scotch. In his defence, no one had shown him otherwise.

—they very often learn not to put their faith in love, and may also develop the belief that they are not worthy of receiving monogamous love—

Ouch. He was grateful that fights fought merely in his head wouldn't leave bruises. None that were visible to others, anyway. Images of his past relationships flashed behind his eyes; faith and love didn't belong in the same sentence, nor did he and monogamy. The admission was akin to punching himself in the face, so he took a second sip.

—when parents stay married even while one or both continue having an affair, children are profoundly confused about the meaning of both love and marriage—

He let out a laugh after that one and punched the air victoriously. To anyone walking by, he looked like he was in urgent need of a stay in either rehab or a mental health facility. Blissfully unaware, Harvey cheered aloud because he'd known that already — of course, it was fucking confusing. He'd said as much to Paula in their session, and she'd lectured him about knowledge versus acceptance. He still counted it as a win.

— rather than confronting sad, angry, or confusing feelings directly, children may go on to exhibit intimacy problems or sexual addiction during adult years—

His victory was short-lived when reminded of the notches in his bedpost, and the ultimately isolated existence he led. He took a large gulp, thinking of Louis' animosity toward him, quickly concluding a drinking game hadn't been the wisest decision.

— issues of promiscuity may arise in an attempt to play out what a child perceived from their parents about the casualness of sex and the impermanence of love—

Fuck me, Harvey exclaimed internally. That fun little fact did more damage the second time around and was beyond denial. It was remarkably less appealing and not at all brag-worthy when laid out in front of him like that, and he felt bile beginning to rise in his throat.

— their warped perception of love means in order to protect themselves, they may perceive potential partners as "wanting too much" when they express a desire to be more emotionally close—

His body folded like a lawn chair under the weight of that blow, and the contents of his stomach introduced themselves to the pavement; his ears ringing with one name only.

— when infidelity defines a parent's character, a child feels torn between feelings of anger and yearning for their love, especially when asked to keep their behaviour a secret, culminating in fear—

"Okay, you can stop now," he stated aloud, wiping his mouth while desperately trying to tap out. He regretted having made a game out of it, as the demon exacting its pound of flesh clearly didn't possess the same sense of humour.

— that's why your mother's love felt like being held at gunpoint, isn't it, Harvey?—

"I said stop," his tone dangerously low as his body tremored.

— on that note, have you ever been in lov—

"Fuck. Off!" he shouted, throwing the now nearly empty bottle down the alley he was passing by. The sound of shattering glass sobered him, having been so tied up in his mind that he'd lost his senses. He had no idea where he was but couldn't bring himself to care, and he accepted the defeat. Funnily enough, that hurt less than the fight itself. Yet, something had changed.

Now, there was only one voice he needed to hear.

He knew that calling anyone in this state was a bad idea, let alone this one, but the potential consequences were cast aside in his drunken urgency. He stumbled towards the street, and after missing the curb, ended up sprawled out next to it. After fumbling around in his suit jacket and grabbing his phone, he hit 1 on his speed-dial. While awaiting connection, he mused that the gutter might become his unmarked grave — here lies a hopeless soul that no one managed to save.

He found solace in the fact that he was still trying.

• • •

Donna was jolted awake by the sound of her phone ringing on her bedside table. She rubbed her eyes to fight the disorientation and blindly reached for the light switch on the lamp. Light flooded her room and once the sleep had been scrubbed from her vision, she was able to make out the Caller ID.

Harvey Specter

They had only exchanged a few texts since the night at his apartment, just brief check-ins to assuage her constant anxiety about his well-being, which was also now acutely awake. She scrambled to reach for the device and immediately answered while sitting straight in her bed. She caught a glimpse of the time as she did so and it only heightened her panic.

Why is he calling me at 2:06 a.m?

"Harvey?" she answered in a panicked rush.

"Donna," he gasped, as though he wasn't expecting her to pick up, and she heard the slight slur in his speech. In light of his newfound habits, her mind jumped to the worst conclusions and she was already sliding to sit on the edge of her bed. Unable to compartmentalise at the asscrack of dawn, her fear informed her response.

"Harvey, are you okay? What's happening?"

"S'kay, Don, I just wanted to hear your voice," he responded. Her heart skipped a beat when he affectionately shortened her name, and then again when he'd told her why he'd called. His voice was noticeably unguarded, holding a certain naivety she'd never been privy to before. But she couldn't share his vulnerability without knowing if he was safe.

"Okay, I'm here, I'm here. Just, please tell me how much you've had to drink?" She tried to force some semblance of calm into her tone without any success. She heard him laugh lightly down the line and figured his responsiveness was a good sign, albeit a small one.

"Enough, I guess, but listen—" She heard him take a steadying breath to gather his thoughts, or he was trying not to throw up, she couldn't say for certain.

"I've been thinking and I think— I think I know why I'm so messed up," he finished with a drunken hiccup. She was speechless; she'd never heard Harvey so drunk, or so open. But seeing as he'd been very straightforward about his reason for calling, she forced herself to speak.

"You're not messed up. You're hurting, and there's nothing wrong with that," she gently assured him, sleep no longer shrouding her speech.

"No, I am, Donna. You don't need to lie to me anymore," he urged with the most profound sense of sadness lacing his declaration. It was enough to make her uneasy about being separated by a phone. She needed to make sure he was okay, and the sound of cars passing entirely too close by suggested otherwise.

"Where are you, Harvey? I'm coming to get you."

"No, no—" he began to protest, but she cut him off knowing the virtue of patience meant fuck all if he was in danger.

"Please tell me, that way you can hear my voice in person, rather than through the phone. You can share whatever it is that you were saying." This seemed to be the only thing that persuaded him because he hummed rather happily at that proposal.

God, he was wasted.

"Do me a favour, and share your location with me. Can you do that?" she asked, slipping her camisole off already as she needed to change. She knew the chances of him knowing where he was were slim to none and hoped that he could pull himself together long enough to hit a few buttons.

"Anything for you, Don," she heard him mumble and she cursed silently. This man and his small moments of heart-shattering sweetness would be the end of her. The sound of him tapping a few times on his phone filtered through the speaker then the sound of his breath rejoined hers. A notification pinged her phone, letting her know he'd done what she'd asked.

"Don't move, okay? I'm coming, I'll see you soon."

Only after she heard his affirmation had Donna proceeded to throw on the first set of comfortable clothes she could and gather her bag and phone. She took the stairs after the split second spent waiting for an elevator tested her limits, before hailing a cab and absentmindedly relaying the driver the location he'd sent.

The sudden silence in the cab gave her — according to Google Maps — approximately six and a half minutes to find her bearings. The night in his apartment had left Donna free-falling through various emotional states for days, and she'd only just managed to find solid ground. As much as she hated it, his noticeable absence from the firm hadn't helped. The intimacy of that night had been undeniable, which only served to create more questions than they'd managed to answer. Even so, she didn't regret shutting down talk about them. Her resolve was unwavering since Harvey was not even remotely in the position to discuss it nor did she want to hear whatever horrific placation came after 'just because I don't.' No woman did. Yet, the what-if's surrounding his reasons for acting the way he had persisted.

You know I love you, Donna.

Oh for fuck's sake, she sighed, not now.

Enacting her well-practised motion of pushing that aside, she noticed she was about to arrive. She'd love him the way she knew how to, accepting that he'd do the same, even if that looked different — even if he didn't know how. Although, she still couldn't say with clarity what was happening to Harvey; there was no real way of knowing when all he was doing is coping. Whatever it was had obviously decided his foundations were overdue for a renovation, cruelly deeming it necessary to first demolish them entirely. So much for ignoring the holes in the floorboards.

The cab slowed to a stop and Donna got out before the driver could give her change. She saw Harvey sitting just ten feet away, and her heart skipped its third beat that evening. He was in his three-piece suit, with the addition of leather gloves, a trench coat and scarf. His face wore a layer of stubble, illuminated in the streetlight as he took a draw of his cigarette. The juxtaposition of seeing an expensively-clad Harvey lying in a drain was so absurd that she almost found it endearing. Almost, had it not prompted echoes of her own words.

No, Harvey, you have everything!

The memory made her want to cry, and scream at whatever was listening, anything to drown out the sound of her shouting something she now deeply regretted amidst seeing him stripped of everything she'd accused him of having. But she didn't, because his eyes widened once he saw her, as though deciding whether this was fiction and she was just another fabrication of a half-dream. The man driving the taxi called out in an accent she'd become familiar with on her brief soirées to Britain.

"Oi, love. Do ya' want me to 'ang five?"

Her plans to throw Harvey immediately into the cab she came in were laid to the wayside.

"No need, thank you."

"If ya' say so."

The taillights bled into the distance and she walked towards Harvey with her hands in her coat pockets. Her walls fell in response to his lack thereof, at her own volition this time; the first hours of morning had a way of making you do that. A small smile found itself on her lips, equal parts relief and affection. To which Harvey's face adopted a drunken Cheshire-grin, his earlier innocence permeating through the sombre circumstances.

"Donna," he said in boyish delight.

"Harvey," she softly laughed.

Without a second thought, she joined him on the ground after placing her bag down, sitting right by his side. The smell of alcohol on him potently filled the air, and he was swaying slightly on the spot while looking at her through hooded lids. She shivered from the unexpected cold of the early morning and watched as Harvey frowned and placed the cigarette between his lips, holding it there, before reaching for his scarf.

"No, you keep it—"

Her protest got caught in her throat when he wrapped it around her, as gracefully as one could when completely smashed. His eyes were preoccupied with concentration as he made sure it covered every inch of her exposed skin. And sure enough, she'd never wanted to be a stick of cancer-inducing nicotine but here she was, looking at the dart between his lips. On the side of the road. In a gutter. Her previous feelings of regret were replaced by relief that at least she was here; what a pair they made.

When he was satisfied, he tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. Donna nibbled her lower lip, taking a deep breath as his trembling hands hovered around her neck. But he was staring straight through her.

"Hey," she whispered gently, seeking out his brown orbs, the concern now returning.

Snapping out of it, he looked at her momentarily with a fierce intensity, before turning away and taking another drag of his smoke.

"That's better," he looked back up at her through the cloud escaping his self-satisfied half-smile, the intensity replaced by adoration again. But now, the same sadness she'd heard earlier was evident in his eyes. She shook away the intimacy of his gesture, chalking it up to his drunkenness. It would have disarmed her regardless, had she not chosen to do so herself.

Reaching up like she had many times before, just never in a personal context, she soothed the stubborn hair at his temple into place. The carefree aura that used to comfort her was now compounding her worry, and her need to touch him made a reprise appearance. Harvey definitely saw the concern in her eyes because she watched the light within his blow like an old bulb. Her arrival seemed to have made him forget about reality for a moment because her touch did just the opposite by confirming she was not a mirage in the deserted streets of New York. But she had, in fact, awoken in the middle of the night to find him. The shadows of whatever had him on the side of the road licked at the edges of his hooded gaze. The severe and sudden shift made Donna's heart ache in its cavity, and she knew she needed to get him home. His home.

"What do you say I get you home, Harvey?"

She slid her hand into his, hoping to be an anchor for him should he get lost at sea. He was also probably too hammered to stand on his own, it also just — felt right. He appeared to think so as well, taking it without hesitation.

"I think I fucked up, Donna," he said, struggling to put words together, stubbing out his cigarette butt with the other hand.

"I don't think now is a good time to be thinking about those things," she breathed, having experienced enough drunken spirals herself, along with their penchant for dangerous lies.

"No, now— now is the perfect time," he stressed. "You won't get it, but, but the pieces— they were ac- accidentally punched into place."

He was right, she didn't get it. She merely hoped whatever monumental conclusion he'd apparently come to tonight would still be there in the morning — that the pieces were still in place. She doubted it though, as she silently watched him stumble through his own intoxication, an explanation eluding him and his mouth emitting nothing but suffocated stutters. The sight threatened her with tears again, but she blamed her fragile state on the absurd hour. Upon squeezing his hand, he ceased straining himself and looked at her, pale and at breaking point.

"You have time, there's always tomorrow," Donna whispered, tracing soothing circles with her thumb. If there was one thing she always knew; it was knowing what he needed to hear.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She scrunched her nose, which she knew he loved and mimicked the way he had crossed his heart in the hallway with her other hand. It was met with a blank stare and a harsh exhalation of breath, but he was no longer dancing on the edge of destruction. She slid her hand out of his after seeing his mind start to slow, needing her phone to order an Uber, craving comfort for them both on their trip. While she had it open, she texted Louis to inform him she'd be coming in late to the office this morning. Shutting it, she glanced at Harvey, taking in his thousand-yard stare and before following it to constellations of the city's light.

Their shoulders rubbed together, sharing in each other's warmth. Two souls starving for remembrance — some sort of legacy other than an occupation, not aware that eternity lay within the other if only they'd face it.

Minutes must have passed, and she heard Harvey contend with his tightened throat.

"You know, Donna, now that I know who I used to be — it's hard to be happy with who I am."

His gentle words ripped through her chest, and tears finally began to silently fall while she held his scarf to her nose, reminding herself he had time.

There was no evidence that she'd been crying by the time the awaited headlights cast light across their forms. Standing, she offered her hand.

"Let's get you home."