A/N: Inspired by this tweet /lovemehowx/status/1758289213576110334?s=20 I guess this is a collaboration of some sort, 'cause I stole Gabby's brainchild and now we're throwing ideas around in DMs :D I'm rating this M for the smut that will certainly find its way in here.
Harvey gasps awake to a loud ringing. He looks around for the source and sees his phone almost vibrating off the nightstand next to his bed. He mumbles a string of curse words as he squints at the screen, his eyes struggling to focus on the unfamiliar number glaring back at him.
Donna stirs beside him, her brow furrowing as she reluctantly peels herself from the warmth of the blankets. Her tousled hair falls in waves around her face as she props herself up on one elbow, her eyes blinking away the remnants of sleep.
"What time is it?" she murmurs, her voice thick with drowsiness.
"Too early," he mutters, his annoyance growing with each passing second.
With a resigned sigh, Harvey swipes his finger across the screen, accepting the call with a mixture of apprehension and irritation. Bringing the phone to his ear, he braces himself for whatever unwelcome news awaits on the other end of the line.
"H-Hello…" His voice cracks with sleep, and he hastily clears his throat, attempting to sound more alert.
Donna groans softly beside him, burying her face in a pillow to stifle the noise of frustration. He shoots her an apologetic glance when she comes up for air a few seconds later, his hand instinctively reaching out to rub soothing circles on her bare back.
"Hello. Is this Harvey Specter?" a voice asks.
"It's Paulsen-Spec—" He shakes his head to himself. Now's not the time for technicalities. "Yes, this is he."
"Mr. Specter, this is Mount Sinai Hospital calling," the voice on the other end responds urgently. "You're listed as the emergency contact for Mr. Louis Litt. We have a situation here involving him and his wife."
The mention of their friends' names sends a jolt of adrenaline coursing through Harvey's veins, banishing the last traces of sleep from his system.
He sits up quickly and he goes lightheaded for a quick second before he swings his legs over the edge of the bed to straighten himself.
"What happened?" he demands, his voice trembling slightly despite his efforts to remain composed. He knows he's not mentally prepared to hear the answer.
His mind races with a thousand questions, each more urgent than the last, but the voice on the phone provides scant details, leaving him grasping at straws for information.
"Just give it to me straight, for God's sake," Harvey hisses into the phone. "Are Louis and Sheila okay?"
As he shouts the last words through grinding teeth, Donna's eyes widen, her own sleepiness evaporating in an instant. She scoots over to him, her gaze fixed on Harvey as she waits anxiously for his response.
Her own fears are mirrored in his expression, and then his grip tightens on the phone, his knuckles turning white with tension. She grabs his arm in concern, digs her nails deeper into his flesh when she sees tears rise to his eyes.
"Harvey," she whispers, "what's wrong?"
"W-W about their baby? Lucy… I–Is she… Did she–" Donna hears him say, and her heart sinks like a stone in her chest, her blood running cold.
Harvey's next words blur together in a haze of disbelief and dread, but the tears flowing down his cheeks speak volumes. When he ends the call, dropping his phone next to him on the bed, his silence is more than Donna can bear, hanging in the air like a suppressed scream.
"Donna," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "There's been an accident."
Harvey can feel her eyes on him, filled with concern and unspoken questions, but he can't bring himself to meet her gaze as he absorbs the shock of the news. His body feels so tense and painful he almost expects it to snap.
He hears shuffling, and then he sees her naked form wander through the darkness of their bedroom into the en-suite bathroom. The heaviness of her grief is instantly palpable. Harvey can sense it as if a powerful current of sorrow flows between them.
Donna feels the impact of the phone call deep in the pit of her stomach. It is as if an icy gust of wind has swept through the room, knocking the breath out of her lungs. As if the ground was abruptly yanked from beneath her feet and she's suspended in a disorienting free fall.
The world appears to tilt on its axis, a disconcerting feeling that sends shockwaves through her senses as Harvey's words echo in her mind. Each one seems to chisel away at her sense of reality, leaving her teetering on the precipice of a deep and unsettling void.
She clasps her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream that rises to her trembling lips and swallows hard, her throat parched and tight. Her heart pounds so loudly in her ears that it drowns out all other sounds.
Confusion clouds her thoughts like a thick fog, making it difficult to process the gravity of what she just heard. Then there's the sadness. And at last, the disbelief. It gnaws at her core. An almost physical sensation of resistance to accept this grim reality.
It can't be true.
Louis and Sheila can't be gone.
She just talked to Louis yesterday.
She turns on the water, cups her hands under the faucet to catch some, and splashes it on her face. She exhales deeply, peering at herself in the mirror, her hands grabbing the sink so tight it makes her veins pop out.
Then she splashes even more water on her face, over and over again, as if the cold water can alleviate the pain that is twisting itself in her. Splashes it until it is in her throat, nose, and eyes.
She jolts back, gasping for air, and wipes her face with her hands. Her breathing is still erratic, each breath a struggle against the torrent of emotions, with her mind reeling from the news about their friends' deaths.
Despite her best efforts, Donna's legs eventually betray her, giving way beneath the unbearable weight of grief and shock. She sinks down to the floor, her body trembling as she finds herself sitting in stunned silence.
She wraps her arms tightly around her knees, huddling in on herself, and immerses her face deep into the space between her legs. Her movements are deliberate yet fragile as if every gesture required a monumental effort.
As Harvey straightens up, trying to calm himself enough to breathe evenly, he closes his eyes for a moment, struggling for composure. It doesn't help.
The tears just keep coming, and he feels his entire body shaking as he tries to stay afloat in the flood of emotions threatening to drown him. All he can hear is his heart pounding in his chest and his heavy, guttural breathing.
Eventually, he manages to stand. He slips into his boxer briefs and then follows Donna into the bathroom. His feet are heavy as though weighed down, and each step feels like smudging through wet cement, taking an eternity to complete the cycle.
The sight of his wife crouched down naked on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor tears at Harvey's heart like a couple of vultures. He wishes he could erase the pain, take it upon himself, and carry the burden so she wouldn't have to.
"Hey," he murmurs, the sadness gripping his soul nearly crippling him.
Donna doesn't look at him as she speaks, her voice muffled against her skin. "Tell me," she demands softly.
Harvey takes a deep breath before he answers, wanting his voice to sound loud and clear. "Their car was hit by a drunk driver. They didn't stand a chance."
As he feels hot tears sear down his cheeks again, he chokes back a sob and bites his lips to keep it from escaping. He wants to be strong for her, but a part of him knows that he has to let the pain do its work, has to let it destroy him so that he can be rebuilt.
Donna's head resurfaces from the protective cocoon of her knees as she turns her gaze to him, her face wet with tears. "She was just a few months old, Harvey," she whimpers.
"God, Donna!" He inhales shakily as he falls to his knees and gathers her into his arms, rocking her gently as sobs rack her body. "Lucy's fine," he mutters, then corrects himself. "She's in critical condition, but she's stable. They got her out. She's gonna be okay."
She will never be okay, Harvey thinks to himself. Because that little girl had her beautiful parents ripped away from her before she even reached her first birthday.
Knowing what she lost makes the sob that sits in Harvey's throat grow bigger until he feels as though he can't breathe. So he does what he has to do. He lets it erupt in a loud gasp.
At that, Donna shudders out a breath and embraces him fully, hugging him with so much care and devotion, as if she is trying to retain the warmth in his soul before the coldness reaches every pore.
In moments like this, when Harvey is at his most vulnerable, she finds herself loving him even more. There is something profoundly moving about seeing him in his raw, unfiltered state, stripped of pretense and defenses.
"We have to go," Donna says after a long silence, her voice coming to him through a haze. "Lucy, she… She needs us."
Harvey sniffs, drawing a long breath, and wipes the tears away with the back of his hand. "I'll call the pilot and tell him to have the private jet ready for immediate takeoff."
"What if we can't go right now?"
"Then we leave first thing in the morning," he says quietly, his arms surrounding her body as if to protect her from the world. "I won't rest until we're up in the air, I promise."
He hears her take a shaky breath. "Thank you, Harvey."
"You don't have to thank me," he murmurs as he kisses her temple, over and over again. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry." He sighs against her hair, inhaling her scent, and Donna can well imagine his funereal expression. "We'll get through this."
"I know," she croaks.
As he cradles her gently in his arms, Harvey notices her body still shivering, so he reaches for one of the big bath towels on the rack and drapes it around her torso.
He cups his hand around her beautiful, broken face, and stares at her, and now his eyes with their sandy lashes seem to bore into her.
"Do you want me to help you pack?"
"No, I'm okay. It'll be a good distraction," she says, her lips twitching with a smile.
Every soft part Harvey has inside melts at the sight of that smile. He kisses her tenderly on the head and her forehead. With his hand, he pushes her hair away from her face and wipes her tears away.
Donna rests her head against his chest and sighs. "Don't ever leave me," she whispers.
He buries his face against her neck, squeezing her with every emotion inside of him. "Donna," he whispers back, "You're stuck with me forever."