Push and Pull 6: Safety
Harvey finds himself engulfed by menacing sounds as he squeals to a halt up outside their holiday home, instinct driving him to abandon the car.
The threating roar of the fire, devouring the house from the inside out.
The wail of sirens in the distance.
The clatter of his footfall as he surges in the direction of the flames.
The shouts of neighbours on the street as they plead with him to stay back.
The hammer of his heart in his chest.
But most of all, a sound he's not quite sure is real seems to ring the loudest.
A high-pitched scream.
Donna.
He takes the door out in a matter of seconds, each thrust of his shoulder against the singed, weakened wood urging him to hit harder.
It's a mass of blinding orange and red that he's met with when he stumbles into the burning home, parts of the ceiling collapsed, creating a treacherous obstacle course for him to navigate as he scans the through the smoky curtain for any trace of her.
With a catch of his breath his eyes land on her, slumped against the sliding glass door at the back of the room. He doesn't think twice before lurching in her direction, trying to weave his way through the blaze to get her, his lungs burning as he suppresses the urge to cough.
"Donna!" He calls over the rumble of the fire, watching her for a response as he gets nearer, "Hey!" he shouts again.
She doesn't move, her body still as she half sits, half lies like a rag doll in that defeated position. He hisses a flame licks at his bare forearm, but it doesn't deter him from his mission. Finally reaching her and thanking whatever God would listen that the worst of the blaze had somehow avoided her until now.
Her skin is hot to the touch, sweat and ash layered over every inch of her body, he listens for breath, weak pathetic gasps of air the only thing keep her alive. "Donna." He prompts again, already beginning to hoist her up so he can lift her, his own body beginning to lose strength under the heat and the smoke.
It almost frightens him when she splutters and coughs, her eyes barely opening as she tries to force herself into consciousness, her attempt to speak comes out as a strained wheeze, followed by another harsh coughing fit, and he suddenly lands back in reality, not wasting another second in hoisting her over his shoulder and navigating his way back to the front door as quickly as possible. The promise of blue lights flashing in the distance giving him a new burst of motivation to surge forward.
The crisp night air is a shock to both their systems as they fall out into the freshness of the night, gasping as they learn to breathe again. He reaches the grass before his legs give way, the smoke inhalation finally rendering him too weak to walk, as they both tumble slowly to the ground. He's heaving in a few laboured breaths, the cool dew of the grass soaking through the back of his shirt and relieving the heat that flushed his skin. She's lying next to him, and in the dim moonlight he sees her more clearly, small burns where sparks made contact with flesh scatter across her bare arms like freckles, a thick layer of ash and grime tainting her complexion from head to toe, and dying her usually striking hair, a dull greyish brown.
He drags himself toward her, ignoring the flashing of blue and red in the background, taking on a state of tunnel vision that could only be triggered by her. Carefully, he turns her to lie on her back, his fingers fumbling for a pulse as he tilts her chin back, listening and feeling for breath, trying to cast his mind back to those mandatory first aid classes Jessica had made all the staff take years ago, and cursing himself for how he grumbled and complained the whole way through instead of paying more attention.
"30:2." He mumbles under his breath as the life-saving ratio comes back to him, shaking with the anticipation of having to actually perform it.
When he can't feel her breath against his ear, he feels his heart hammer so fast he fears he might be needing first aid himself before long. But with as much composure as he can muster he begins a steady pump to her chest, keeping count breathlessly as he wills her back to life, feeling as though with every passing compression she's slipping farther from him when she should be coming closer, her face so pale beneath the sheet of grey.
"Twenty-nine, thirty –" he's tilting her head back again, opening her airways and breathing air into her lungs as though it's second nature, the instinct to protect her never so dominant.
Repeating the process, he begins to hear urgent voices approaching, "Come on," he pleads with her lifeless form as he bends to her mouth again, watching her chest rise under his control, and before he can begin compressions again, she's retching loudly, head lolling to the side as she comes into a state of semi-consciousness.
"Thank God, Donna…" he gasps out the cry, assisting her onto her side as she coughs and heaves up a blackish substance that had been blocking her airways, before flopping down into his lap defeatedly, her eyes glazed over as she fights to keep them open, barely aware of her surroundings, or who is there holding her until she hears his voice again.
"You're okay, you're safe… you're okay…" he repeats the sentiment over and over, cradling her and rocking back and forth, as much as a comfort to himself as to her, feeling her body move as she wheezes in weak breaths seems to ground him in the reality that she's alive and here with him – because of him.
It's only a few short moments before they're surrounded by emergency services, though it feels like a lifetime, stuck in a never ending cycle of gratitude that she's okay. He doesn't fight the paramedics when they arrive, allowing them access to her, only protesting when they try to assist him, begging them to focus on her only.
He doesn't remember much about the ride in the ambulance, suffering something akin to a panic attack once they arrived at the hospital which the staff put down to shock as the cause, as the adrenaline is flushed from his veins.
A gentle, male nurse coaxes him through it, sitting him down in one of the armchairs and placing a ventilator over his mouth, but what really calms him is the sight of Donna lying in a bed across the room, and while she looks frighteningly ill, the steady beep of her monitor and the shallow rise and fall of her chest assures him that she's alright, and the tempo lulls him into a deep sleep at last.
The next week passes so slowly it's almost unbearable. Donna having been placed in an induced temporary coma, the hospital staff deeming it the best route to recovery for her. And while he understands the logic in their method, their reassurances don't prevent him from growing complacent as he awaits her return to consciousness.
A lot had happened in that everlasting week, Harvey had promptly declined the offer to work with Gwen Striker, knowing it was the root and stem of why he had walked out in the first place, leaving her alone to almost suffer a terrible fate. The comments Donna had made about her associate also played heavily on his mind as the hours bled into days. He had also spent some amount of time mulling over the verdict from the fire department, which stated the fire had been caused by a flawed setting in the smart home control panel, one which caused the fire place to release gas into the open.
Both Donna's family, his own mother and their colleagues had been to visit at intervals since that night, taking turns to sit by her side, keeping her company, assured by some fairy tale that she knew they were there.
They all came and went, except Harvey, who rarely saw the light of day for the sake of staying near to her.
He'd walked away from her once, and he wasn't about to do so again.
It was late on a Sunday evening in the hospital room, almost a week since the incident, when Harvey sat at the windowsill turned makeshift desk at the far corner of her room, combing through the reports and tests carried out by the police and fire department. Something had been nagging at him since he'd first received the conclusion of the cause of the fire, a mechanical trip just not seeming necessary, knowing all he does about Gwen and her partner, their reputation untarnished – until now.
Harvey searched through the manila pages, desperately grasping at straws for answers, for something that made sense, but he was drawing a blank every time. Beginning to feel as though, he was missing the centre piece of the puzzle, the one that would make it all clear.
"I don't know where to look next Donna," he spoke aloud to her unconscious form as she lay peacefully among the crisp white hospital bedsheets, he'd found himself speaking to her more regularly as the days dragged past, the gesture acting as a small comfort to him, wondering often if she ever heard him, "Maybe it was just an accident, it just doesn't sit right with me, you know?"
He smiles softly to himself imagining how she might respond, knowing she'd understand his innate urge to find a reason, something or someone he could take action against.
'You've always had a dramatic flare for revenge.'
She'd once said, with not a trace of judgement, just a faint sort of amusement and admiration for his protective instinct.
"I know you'd probably find the answer in a split second." He chuckles solemnly, suddenly overcome with a heavy sadness as reality washed over him in a harsh wave, burying his head back in the paperwork to drown out the pain.
When something catches his attention.
A sound.
So small he might have missed it were it not for the silence of the room, save for the beeping monitors.
His head snaps up as he hears it again – a whisper of sorts.
Slowly, he turns to face her, holding his breath, afraid if he makes a sound he might miss it again.
"H – r – ve"
It's her.
There's no mistaking it.
Her lips parting ever so slightly as she forms the sounds of his name.
He's at her side in a heartbeat, clutching her hand to let her know he's there, not daring to speak, willing her to say more.
"Ah – d - m, sis – tem, fy – er." She sounds, her voice rasping, her eyelashes fluttering as she attempts to open her heavy eyes, failing miserably.
"What?" he breathes, trying desperately to make sense of her broken words.
"H-he, w – sss, th – er." Donna whispers again, "It w- hmm." She can feel herself falling again, that barely there wisp of consciousness slipping away from her too quickly.
"Who was there?" he pleads with her, "Can you open your eyes Donna?"
"Ah – dm," she tries again, using her last ounce of energy to lightly hold his hand, before she's dropping into darkness again.
He feels her hand go limp after the slight squeeze, immediately pressing the call button, his mind racing with what she'd just said.
Reaching for a pen and paper he begins to scribble out the sounds she'd managed to form, trying to piece together meaning, to decode the message.
He was there. It was him.
Two phrases he's certain she mouthed.
System, Fire.
Two words which affirm to him that she'd heard him talking aloud, asking her questions.
That last word leaving him stumped, wracking his brain for the answer, when just as the door opens, a nurse hurrying forward, the name she'd tried so desperately to spell out to him falls from his lips as realisation strikes.
"Adam."
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A/n: hi everyone! I'm so so sorry for the long wait on their update, University has completely take over my life and I barely get a spare second for writing unfortunately.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter! More too come as soon as possible x