FOR THE FULL EFFECT OF THIS AND THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER, PLEASE LISTEN TO "MEDICINE" BY DAUGHTER WHILE READING.

At the end, the doctor told them they had a few days left, and she spent them in the hospital, on Harvey's insistence. He was sure they were going to find something extraordinary in her last few hours- that they would decide to operate after all, or that they could turn back the clock and save them for a few more months. But Natsuki was no fool. She knew there was nothing they could do for her. And she also knew there were a few things she had to say.

They sat in the dimly lit room, visiting hours over, the nurses bribed to keep quiet, and Natsuki spoke to the man sitting broken next to her with his head bowed.

"Harvey," her breathing was labored, her smile even more so. "Harvey. I love you."

"I need you to prove that you love me. I need you to live."

"There are no courts here, Harvey. There is no reasonable doubt. There's just you and me, and I'm telling you that I love you."

"I can't-"

"Say the words. I know. It's okay." She gave his hand a little squeeze and then laughed. It was a sweet sound, out of place in such a horrible, sanitized room without hope. "You don't even know how much you'll miss me," she said, a tear falling from her eyes. She didn't notice his eyes were tearing.

"Don't try to be so damn strong, Harvey," she said. Her voice was an echo of what it had been. "Let Gordon see you cry. It will show him how powerful you are. You can move mountains Harvey. I only wish God wasn't so cruel… but I've made my peace with God. I'm ready to go."

"I'm not ready for you to go."

"I know… but we're out of time, Harvey."

"We're not…"

"Harvey." She looked up at him and smiled. "It's okay. It's okay." She touched his face. "You know it was worth it to live through all those horrible years… I just wish I would have known that I would someday meet you. It would have made the bad days more bearable. You made everything more bearable. Oh, Harvey… we were such children…" she let out a long breath.

"Is it the pain? I'll get the nurse."

"No. No, don't leave, Harvey. Harvey… make sure you tell Gordon… I love him… every day…" Her face screwed up in pain and then relaxed, and suddenly she lay very still.

"Natsuki? Natsuki?" he saw that she was gone. "Nurse? Nurse! Somebody!" he screamed. The doctor came running in, took her vitals.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Specter," the doctor said quietly. "She's gone."

Harvey stood up, unfeeling. The chair was knocked over behind him. He didn't hear anything, not the beeping of her monitor, not the doctors declaring the time of death, not the sounds of the cars outside. He stared at the face of his lover, not even a tear in his eye. He swallowed hard.

He walked quietly out and down the steps, straightening his tie. Gordon was still at the babysitter's. Mike was out with Rachel. The apartment was empty. The apartment was empty – and it would remain empty. No more rice balls, no more chocolate chip pancakes, no more sour gummy worms. No more Natsuki.

He went to the office and put on one of his records. He sat down and let himself cry, taking a long drink of whiskey.

"Harvey?" He jerked his head up to see Donna standing in the half-light of his office.

"Donna," he said weakly, and she realized what had happened.

"I'm so sorry," Donna said, her eyes tearing up. He let out a long breath. His throat tightened. He wiped his eyes and looked away from her.

"It's okay." His voice was strong, didn't crack. He frowned suddenly and looked up at her. "Why are you here?"

"I forgot my purse," she said. He nodded shortly and then, slowly, he held up the drink of whiskey to her.

"Bottoms up," he said. She sat down next to him and took a small sip. She grimaced at the taste, but swallowed gulp after gulp. She wiped the flood of tears from her eyes.

"Does Gordon know yet?" she asked.

"No. I don't know how I'm going to tell him. She was always so much better with him than I was."

"Don't sell yourself short, Harvey. You're a great father."

"Don't, Donna. Just… don't. Can we please just sit here? Not saying anything?"

"Sure, Harvey. Sure."

And that's what they did. Just sat there on the couch, drinking whiskey and watching the lights of the city, listening to Harvey's records. Donna fell asleep on the couch and Harvey set her up with a blanket and then slipped out.

When she woke up in the morning he showed no sign of grief. He chastised her for falling asleep on his couch and ordered her out of the office so he could work. He called Mike in and began the day. He didn't show how exhausted he was, how grief stricken he was, how every breath was like a laborious marathon. He didn't show any of it, because he couldn't. Donna was the only one that knew, and she wasn't about to show anyone. He was a little harder on Louis than he should have been, he was a little shorter with Jessica than he should have been, he was a little kinder to Mike than he usually was. But that was all. No one knew he had suffered the loss of a loved one. No one knew, because he refused to tell them.

Mike never found out, just supposed that the woman had passed through his life like every other. Everyone just assumed that Harvey had forgot the girl and moved on. But they couldn't have been more wrong, as evidenced by the boy with big black eyes waiting for his father in front of his first day of kindergarten, when his mother hadn't been there to pick him up.