LIKE THIS CHAPTER 5
Author's Note: Thanks again for your reviews; they are much appreciated! This is just some insight into what Harvey was feeling on losing Donna. Like most fans, this was a very upsetting time for me, so there will probably be a fair few chapters devoted to this whole travesty. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
S05E01 Denial
There were so many things that Donna's departure had ruined for him. Quite apart from thoroughly extracting all joy he had in arriving at work or hearing his schedule or needing some administrative task done or anything that made his instinct want to call out, "Donna!" … or anything that he knew she would have come to him about even though he didn't want to hear it, except he really did, like, "Congratulate Mike on getting engaged and stop being a jerk, Harvey". But that was the Big Thing, the thing that dominated the sick empty blackness now residing in his stomach, the loss of her thereness, because that thereness was always a net of warmth and smiles and friendship and safety and love, even though the thought of that word currently made him want to break things.
But then there were all the other things. Mostly small things, actually, things he would never even have considered. Things like his favourite coffee cart near his building, because the guy there had been so charmed by Donna over the years that he always asked after her. Or that teal tie that was one of his favourites, but she had given it to him as a Christmas gift once. Or that purple tie he liked that she hated, because she always mocked him about it. Almost all of his ties, actually. There was the scotch in his office, a shared favourite that he now had to change, and there was the Kenyan coffee in his kitchen cupboard that she had insisted he buy about five years ago, consequently getting him hooked on the brand.
The stupid cactus she had brought him … before she left, he had been caring for it in spite of himself, without really thinking about it. He had even looked it up online in order to find out how often it needed watering. A Fairy Castle Cactus … he liked that. Now it sat there, daring him on a daily basis to let it die. At first, after she had left, he had stopped acknowledging it altogether, but then changed his mind after three days with his continued determined conviction that she would be back. By the time he had begun to accept the fact that there was a chance she wouldn't, watering the stupid thing had become a habit. He didn't dwell on the reasons behind this, but it was enough to put him in a mood, especially if they had had a recent confrontation.
There was her mug in the kitchen at the firm that ensured he never went back in there, the sight of a billboard announcing a new show she loved, the bag of gummy bears at the convenience store, any fucking can opener, on and on and on. He couldn't believe the vast array of things that assaulted him on a daily basis, things that constantly frayed his nerves.
He was stuffed when it came to watching TV as well. He was hyper sensitive to any displays of affection in shows, even ones he didn't usually watch, so he didn't watch anything except Seinfeld and sports. Movies he managed, as long as they weren't ones she had liked (unfortunately eliminating most of his favourites) and did not involve much personal interaction – limiting him to trashy action and sci-fi movies, but that was all right, he was usually a bit drunk anyway if he had chosen to stay home alone and watch movies.
And anyway, it was nothing, nothing, when compared to the horror of being unable to listen to music.
He had been through something similar when his father had died. Movies, sports, music … he had been unable to listen to his father's own music for over a year after the funeral, and had found a fair number of his usual artists unbearable. But the difference was that most of Harvey's memories of his dad had been far away, the music only the music of his youth and anyway, there was a fair amount of even that music that had come to mean something else to him as he grew older. His father had not permeated every fucking aspect of his everyday life.
It seemed to him that every record he owned reminded him of Donna. They had had too many years of working through the night and listening to music in his office for that not to be the case. She had helped him track down a large number of his records, had ruined and then replaced a couple, and had listened to, or at least commented on, virtually all the rest. He was horrified at how many of her comments he had retained without even realising it. "Ooh, I love this one," or "Danced to this at my first school dance, my stupid date couldn't lead to save his life" or "Boring track, I'd skip it if I had a remote".
The problem, he had thought furiously one night while glowering at his collection, was that they had altogether too similar a taste in music, so there were very few records that were unsullied by her company in some manner. He wasn't even safe listening to the ones she hadn't been a fan of, because then he just remembered the times they had argued over her unacceptable (in his opinion) opinions on the matter (I mean, who the fuck doesn't like James Brown, anyway - an argument that had spanned years and yet in all that time, she had never actually told him why she didn't like him, only that she didn't, which made no sense considering her general love of the music Harvey held so dear, and so he had never been able to let that go, and then there was Nat King Cole, who, while hardly in Harvey's top tier, still deserved some respect, but who she just dismissed as "depressing as hell").
Worst of all (he had thought at first) was that he couldn't even go near his father's music. This brought brutally intense memories, because she truly loved it and had her own favourite tracks (her absolute favourite had also been his father's favourite, although he had never told her that). But there was more to it than that. She had been the one who had finally played it again in his office over a year after the funeral, somehow sensing the perfect moment to bring the music back into his life.
He still remembered the first time he had played her the music, shortly after they had come to work at Pearson Hardman. They had been working for hours and had finally taken a break to order a pizza.
"Have I ever played you some of my dad's music?" he had asked, knowing full well that he hadn't.
"Not that I can think of," she had said lightly, although he supposed she knew just as well as he did.
He had loaded the record player in the little office with one of his favourites, and as the soft music of home filled the room, she had leaned back in her seat with her eyes closed and listened. He remembered the tiny smile on her face and also remembered the rush of affection he had felt for her in the moment, one he had had to repress quite fiercely since that night had still been relatively recent.
She hadn't really said much about it, other than, "Can we listen to another one?", but she hadn't needed to. Donna, despite her constant need to talk about pretty much everything, also had an innate and accurate sense of when words were not needed. They had listened to all the records he had that night, Donna eventually dozing off around dawn. It was one of his favourite memories and now it was ruining his life.
But it got worse. Because suddenly even music he didn't care about would pop out of nowhere, and would manage to destroy his mood in one single phrase thrown out in just the right tone to pierce right into his stomach.
The first time it had happened had probably also been the thing that had sensitised him to it. It had been maybe a week after she had left, possibly more (it was a dark and fuzzy time). He had just started taking the anxiety medication and maybe it had been a bad idea to go out for a drink, especially since he had been slightly overzealous and taken two tablets instead of one. But he had felt that stupid cactus staring at him, and his breath catching in his throat, so he had gone off to a quiet little bar he didn't frequently visit. He was halfway through his second drink, his mind miles away, when a faint nagging was bringing him back to reality. Like a warning.
The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars –
He had jerked back to the present and was now staring up at the speaker above his head in a kind of furious disbelief at the universe daring to play this ridiculous song at him, now …
And then I go and spoil it all by saying –
God, make it stop, he was on his feet, hand gripping the glass, stop it.
Something stupid like I love you –
He had thrown his glass against the back wall in a strange blind range and then stalked out, feeling heady and short of breath, the words searing into his mind over and over again.
Something stupid
Spoil it all
I love you
Then I go and spoil it all
By saying something stupid like
I love you.
He had vomited behind some bins in the alley next to the bar, not sure if he was sick from mixing the pills with alcohol, or having a panic attack, or both. His head had been buzzing furiously, though, so he had gone home and collapsed onto his bed fully dressed and slept for ten hours, that song playing continuously in his mind, the soundtrack to all his dreams. After that, he had been much more careful about only taking one pill in the morning, so that it wouldn't interact too badly with a drink in the evening. He also officially decided that Frank Sinatra could suck it.
He had neglected to mention this incident to his psychiatrist and knew it was a memory that he would take to his grave.
But now he wasn't safe anywhere. Car radios, music in bars, in stores, in coffee shops and restaurants, soundtracks … he was taken aback by how much music was out there, just waiting to pounce, music he had never even paid the slightest attention to. Music he didn't even like, pop songs, crappy songs that still, somehow, had the power to change his mood like flicking a switch.
x x x
Songs that made him remember, remember from the beginning …
What were all those dreams we shared …
Those many years ago
Years, centuries ago. When they had been a team. A pang.
… I am young, I am yours …
Who had belonged to who, in the end?
I am in your heart; I was here from the start ...
Fuzzy drugged out brain, trying to remember when she hadn't been.
more than friends I always pledged
'cause friends they come and go …
Except she had gone now, too, despite everything, everything …
I wanna be, wanna be whatever else that touches you
Too much alcohol … always right before he passed out on his bed, while the world was still spinning and small pops of pain emerged from his numbness, when he felt all the intensity of how much he wanted to be a part of her, like she was of him. She was everything, everything … darkness closed in, nothing but dreams.
From the start, you were set apart
He had known, always known, that she would be important.
Then she appeared, out of nowhere … I was a little dazzled
She dazzled everyone and he hadn't been exempt.
You make me live
She did.
You're my best friend
She was.
Queen of my heart
Shut the fuck up.
x x x
But the deluge never stopped.
Nothing stays the same, everything will break
Jab to the heart, no, no, no, a scramble to change the channel.
This is the way you left me …
Around and around in his head this song went, so repetitive, refusing to be ignored, making him chew on his tongue in frustration, anger, heartache.
You run away …
Betrayal.
Promises, promises, turn to dust.
Bitterness.
All that you rely on will leave you
Terror.
Trust into distrust.
Resentment.
I need a little time …
Maybe he did. Why was that so wrong?
Tongue so sharp
He ignored the guilty twinge.
'cause you loved her too much and you dived too deep
That had earned his radio alarm a violent punch that had effectively ended its life.
I cannot get you out …
Always, she was there. Haunting his emotions.
Missing home
Yearning.
harder to feel this way.
Exhaustion.
Worth the pain …
x x x
He recognised that he was spiralling. He tried for more tablets. Sleeping tablets were what he wanted the most, something that would shut it all out. Give him silence. But always, she said no. Anti-anxiety tablets she would give him, but not the sleeping tablets.
So he tried his classic methods of working too much, being as pissed off as possible as much of the time as possible and otherwise simply barrelling his way through his life until he eventually collapsed into bed, drained of vigour, Scotch in hand.
But eventually, no matter how hard he fought to ignore it all, no matter how angry he got or how hard he worked or how many pills he took, the words would always find him again, when he was at his most vulnerable. When he had had too much to drink or when he was just drifting into sleep again or when he felt that undeniable dread that heralded the onset of a panic attack …
x x x
people change, as does everything-
it hasn't felt like home …
I miss you more
I have given less than you deserve …
digging a hole, walls are caving in around me
air's getting thin …
Come find me
x x x
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I really wanted to write this to show Harvey's perspective of dealing with what essentially felt to him like a terrible break up or a divorce, and for me music is always a huge part of that kind of thing. And also a way to show how he escalated to the point he was at six weeks after Donna left when he finally admitted the truth to Dr Agard. Because he really looked completely emotionally battered by that point. Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts!