Archive of Our Own

When she rushes through the ER doors, she can barely breathe. She somehow ran the last few miles, managing not to twist her ankle despite her high heels. She knows that it was probably the wrong thing to do, and that it almost certainly took longer, but her heart would've given up if she had stayed in that damn cab. The traffic was so slow, even slower that the usual New York traffic, and every second she spent looking through the window was a torture, the worry eating out her heart and tightening her chest. It felt so awful that she had to escape the backseat and the trapping feeling, longing for the open air. She had never felt claustrophobic before, but at that moment, feeling boxed in was more than she could bear.

Now her feet hurt because of the stupid shoes she's wearing, she can't find a breath – she hasn't really been able to take one since the hospital called her, but after running, it feels like she's going to suffocate right here and now – and the room is spinning around her, she's unable to focus her eyes. She takes a few steps inside, the world so wobbly around her that she almost falls. She's feeling completely lost, as if the Earth was collapsing around her, and the nurses' voices are so distorted she can't figure out what they're saying. She has no problem guessing it, though.

"- I'm fine," she assures, but she's not even sure her voice goes through her lips correctly. "M-My friend, he was brought here… I need to see him."

The nurses keep telling her things, but she can't hear them. She just repeats the last sentence, over and over. She needs to see him. She needs to see that he's okay. She needs him to be okay, she needs him to smile at her and crack a joke, so she'll be sure that he's fine and it was minor and she was worried for nothing. She needs it.

She tries to keep walking, but she stumbles and her speech turns slurred. She's completely losing control and composure, but she has to make sure he's okay before regaining either. Someone grabs her arm – she can't see who, because her field view is filled with black spots.

Next thing she knows, her body's not answering her anymore and she's falling on the ground.

"- I'm fine," she assures the eldest nurse again, a few minutes later. "It wasn't anything serious, it was just…"

"- A panick attack?" the nurse chimes in, and Donna has no choice but to agree.

"- Something like that." She's staring at the glass of water someone gave her. She hates admitting that she's weak, but right now, she really feels like it. The world's not turning right.

"- It happens, miss." The nurse tries to reassure her to the best of her ability, but no words can possibly feel enough. Not from her. "Especially when a loved one is injured. Now that you're feeling better, I can help you find him. What's his name?"

"- Harvey. Harvey Specter. I'm his emergency contact, Donna Paulsen."

"- I'll see what I can find." The woman nods, then types words on a computer. "So you're friends, huh? He must be a really good one if you're that worried about him. How long have you known each other?"

"- Fourteen years," she answers mechanically. She knows that the nurse is only trying to distract her, but it doesn't work one bit. Also, she hates that word. Friends. It means everything and nothing at the same time. But what else could she use? Boss and secretary? It feels even more wrong, unfitting for them. But friends feel so empty, so meaningless. It's definitely not enough to describe their relationship, that fine dance they do every day, and it doesn't cover all the subtleties of this relationship. It doesn't explain the butterflies on her stomach when he's a little too close, the way her heart flutters whenever he does something nice to her, the "You know I love you" he told her last night. She never found the correct word to describe what they were, doubts that it even exists. They're just Donna and Harvey, with everything it implies.

"- He's in the ICU." She's slightly startled when the nurse's voice interrupts her thoughts. "I'm sure they told you he was in a car crash. His injuries are severe, and he has not woken up yet. I'll send the doctor your way, he'll explain it more precisely than I can."

She needs a few seconds for the words to dawn on her. Severe injuries. He hasn't woken up. She swallows, but her saliva struggles to go through the knot on her throat. Shivers are running down her back. She's truly scared about what she might find, but she has to see him, assess the damage with her own eyes.

"- Can I see him?" she finally asks. It's the only thing that matters right now.

"- Sure. I'll take you."

When she steps into the room for the first time, the amount of medical devices makes her shiver. It only hits her now, while seeing him with her flesh and blood eyes, how serious his condition really is.

She’s never seen him without his power, or his confidence, that little thing he has that puts him over everyone. She already saw it dimmed, but then, it only left room for vulnerability. She can tell two things about it: she can count on one hand the number of times it’s happened, and each time, it made her want to pull him into the tightest hug she could. To protect him from whoever might hurt him, whoever attacked his rough and confident exterior enough for it to crumble. It's stupid, because he doesn't need her protection in any way, or so she thinks. She can't protect him from anything, she was completely helpless to protect him against so many things. He's usually strong enough to protect himself, but here... She knows it's stupid, because it's not her fault, but it doesn't stop her mind from filling with what if's. What if he had stayed last night? What if he went to work later, like he usually does – like he probably would've done if he wasn't trying to avoid her? 

Laying in this hospital bed, he doesn't even look vulnerable, he looks… nothing. Empty. Lifeless. And it scares the shit out of her. Seeing him makes it all horrifyingly real – what if it lasts forever? What if she never hears him again, saying her name, laughing with her? What if she never sees his smile again? What if she never gets to feel the burn of his fingertips on her skin one more time? What if they never sit in his office again, what if she has no one to hand papers to, what if they never get to be them again? The memories, their memories flicker in her mind, and she's feeling like fainting again.

He doesn't react when her hand hesitantly, almost shyly reaches for his. Any of his touches usually comforts her, but not this time. His skin is unusually cold under her fingers, and makes her shiver. She keeps holding on to him, though. She squeezes his fingers, hoping that he can feel it – but she's not quite sure he does. He looks so far gone. She hopes with all her heart he isn't, because she's wondering what in hell she'll do if he isn't by her side anymore.

She doesn't want to stay here, because she feels like freezing more and more every second, and his hand is not bringing the warmth any of his touches usually do. She wishes she could fly the scene, but where would she go? She doesn't know where to go without him. She can't go back to work if he's not here, going through his things and scheduling his meetings, throwing looks through the glass walls of the office, only to find it empty – hell, she could even borrow it, but his absence would leave such a hole that it would destroy her. She could ask Louis to take her for a day, or a week, or more – he'd be so glad to ditch Norma for her and the damn woman would be glad to have a vacation – but she knows it'd be impossible for her to focus.

She can't even call a friend – Rachel, Mike, Louis, Jessica, they're probably all busy filling in, without Harvey there. She suddenly realizes they don't even know. She rushed in here as soon as she was called, and she was so thrown off her game that she forgot to call anyone else. They're probably wondering why neither of them are at the office or answering the phone.

She looks behind her; the nurse is gone and no one seems to be around. She takes it as an encouragement to leave this unwelcoming room, not without throwing him one last look – her gaze lingers on him, until she's past the threshold of the room. She looks through her purse, finds her phone – missed calls from Rachel, Mike and Jessica. Fingers trembling, she uses the speed dial to call her best friend. Mike would probably freak out just as much as her, and she needs more comfort than Jessica can give her. The line rings as she sits on a gurney near his room, but far away enough so that she can't see him. Rachel is not picking up, though and she's afraid it'll just go to voicemail – she wasn't aware of it before, but she really needs to talk to someone right now.

Just when she's about to give up, she finally hears her best friend's voice at the end of the line.

"- Donna! Where have you been? I was starting to worry, you're not at the office and you weren't answering the phone!"

Her friend's tone is worried, but still mostly lighthearted. She has no idea. She had been going on with her day, like it was any normal day, while Donna was here, watching her universe getting ripped apart. Hearing this unaware, cheerful tone is the last straw for her, and she starts crying. She sobs uncontrollably onto the phone, because she feels so lonely right now. It's as if no one can understand – her universe is empty, the only person she allowed to get in, despite all the will she put into driving him away, isn't here anymore. She fears that no one can fill that void slowly creating inside her, or rather, that he is not here to fill that void. She doesn't want anyone but him.

"- Donna, what's going on? What happened?" Rachel is fully panicked now, but Donna's crying too much to give her a coherent answer. Even if she wanted to, no word could possibly squeeze between her sobs in a comprehensible way.

"- Donna?" Her friend calls her name once more, so she tries to get a little bit more composure, enough to make a sentence.

"- It's… It's Harvey," she starts, and then realizes that it was a bad idea to start with his name. It hurts so much that she can't breathe, and it falls out of her mouth over and over, like a broken record. She doesn't even know if she's telling Rachel or if she's calling out for him.

"- What happened with him?" Her friend asks, and she's at a loss for words again. There's no way something like 'accident' or 'hospital' can get out of her mouth. She's scared to her bones it'd make things even more real than they are. She starts shivering uncontrollably, her breathing ragged from all the tears, falling even heavier than before, and she barely notices the words Rachel is screaming at her through the phone.

She barely notices, either, when the nurse she starts to be familiar with reaches out, takes the phone from her hand, and starts explaining to Rachel what happened. She doesn't even look at her, too busy trying to wipe her tears, but it's a lost cause. No matter how much she gets rid of, more keep falling. She barely hears the conversation between the nurse and her friend through her sobs, doesn't focus enough to take it in. She feels like she's been wrapped inside cotton, everything else feels numb and diluted.

She startles slightly when the nurse breaks the thick veil separating her from reality to hand her her phone back. She lifts her eyes on the elder woman, looking slightly hopeful, or maybe it's desperate, toying with madness. Both look surprisingly alike.

"- Your friend is going to be here soon," the elder woman tells her.

It should be comforting. It isn't really.

They're all here, Rachel, Mike, Jessica, and even Louis. They’re rushing through the hallway, led by the same nurse that helped her many times already. Rachel’s eyes widen when she finally sees Donna. Her gaze darkens when she really sees her friend, how bad she looks – lifeless, her eyes empty and staring in space, strains of makeup smearing her face. She doesn’t look up when Rachel calls her name, because she was so lost into a mentally blank space to notice her, but she finally does realize her friend is here when she rushes to hug her. She blinks twice, too off to remember what she's supposed to do. Then, her brain kicks back in a bit and she finally hugs back as tears fall out of her eyes for the umpteenth time today. She wonder how she can still cry, and why she's still crying because she’s not feeling anything. The warm, tight hug of her best friend doesn’t feel comforting, she’s too dozed off for that. The tears streaming down her cheeks are completely passive, and she suddenly feels really tired, both mentally and physically. It’s only morning – well, more like noon now – but she barely slept that night, too busy rewinding the eventful evening – 'you know I love you, Donna' spinning on her mind like a broken record. Now, with everyone here, the weight of everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours is only sinking on her shoulders, and it is a lot. She wishes she could turn her brain off and just cry herself to sleep, but she also knows she won’t be able to find sleep. It’s almost insane, how her mind manages to be both completely empty, and full of thoughts whirling like a storm.

She lies down on the gurney she was sitting on. Louis and Mike hugged her as well – and Jessica settled for a pat on shoulder. She's certainly not one for affective demonstrations, but Donna know she cares, both about her and Harvey. They have all moved to Harvey's room now, and she’s alone again. She doesn’t really mind. She was feeling alone even when they were here. What's this quote, again? Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated.

She’s still staring into the void, because her eyes stubbornly refuse to close themselves, and she does not have the will to fight. She doesn’t react when the weight of Rachel makes the mattress shift, doesn’t answer to her friends and their comforting words. She has nothing to say, they can't do anything to comfort her. The hours are ticking away slowly, but her friends are still staying. She knows she should be glad to know that she has friends – a family, really – that will support her no matter what happens, but right now, it doesn't matter to her. She can see them talking not far away – they’re probably as worried for her as they are for Harvey. She understands it – she’s been kind of catatonic since this morning, but it’s the only way for it all to stop hurting. She’s still not saying anything when her friends leave because it’s the end of visiting hours – but the nurse doesn’t say anything to her, and she’s glad that the rule somehow doesn’t apply to her.

The ICU is dark and silent, and for the first time in hours, she moves to get off the gurney. She’s not quite sure she’s allowed to do that, but she pushes it inside his room, until it’s aligned with his bed, and she lies back on it. Looking at his side profile, he almost looks like he’s sleeping. He always looked so peaceful while sleeping, and without really knowing why, she’s reminded of that one time they fell asleep in his office. They were working really, really late, so much that they ended up falling asleep on his office’s leather couch. She had woken up in the middle of the night with the worst back ache, and while she was still groggy from sleep, her gaze had met his features. He looked so… relaxed, so innocent, so peaceful, the polar opposite from when he was awake. She loved it so much that part of her walls dropped down and the feelings she so carefully buried rose up in her chest. She had tried to ignore it back then, she also does right now. She tries to swallow all the feelings built up in her heart over the years, because she can’t allow to feel like that right now. She’s way too broken already – she can’t freefall into something that would make her even more of a mess. The apathy helps, though – the mist clouding her mind is so heavy that her feelings are getting lost inside.

She’s trying so hard not to feel anything for him.

She really hopes that this night was the worst one. She once again barely slept, staring at him lit up by a distant neon light, and she found herself praying that he gets better. A surge of hope rose up in her heart during that lonely night, and she has no idea where it came from, but she's grateful for it. It's something she can hold on to.

She doesn’t really know why, but she feels a little better when she wakes up, or rather when she decides that the night is over, because 'waking up' implies sleeping. She’s not catatonic like she was the day before – and she’s glad it was only a phase. Watching him still hurts – every time she breathes, it's an ache and a tightening in her chest, but at least, today, she feels like she can gets through the day. She doesn't feel like she's going to collapse, the floor doesn't look like it's opening under her feet – maybe she realized she had already hit rock bottom. Yeah, maybe that's it, maybe she's finally sinking everything in, maybe even starting to learn how to leave with it.

She doesn't want to. She doesn't want to live without him. But what if she has to?

She gets up, and with her now-favorite nurse's help, find a coffee cart – the best one around, the nurse promised. She realizes she should ask her her name, because she doesn't know it and they don't have name tags. Once she got herself a triple caramel whip, half sweet, skim, iced vanilla cappuccino – yes, she deserves that much comfort – she heads for food on the cafeteria. It's breakfast time, and even though she should get a full meal, because she didn't eat all day yesterday, she wants sugar. Her eyes look away from the bagels, though.

She finally picks a donut – three, to be honest, but hell, she decides she's allowed. When she comes back, she realizes that Rachel and Mike are here again. Their gazes on her are concerned, but she can see a glimpse of relief – or maybe it's hope – when they see that she was up. That's when she also realizes that she must look awful and she needs to fix that. For now, though, she just greets her friends and acts as if she was completely sane the day before. Thank god, they apparently understand that she doesn't want to talk about the other elephant in the room, and they don't say anything. She assumes that they're just relieved she's feeling better, and that it's enough for them.

The doctors walk in then, and they update the three of them. If "nothing has changed" can be considered as an update, though. It's both reassuring – his condition is not deteriorating, at least, and the longer it lasts, the better his chances for a full recovery are – and infuriating. They apparently have no idea why he's not waking up, and that might be the worst of it all. If at least, they had a clue what was going on, and if only they could tell her what the hell is going on, giving her hope – or not – and odds, giving her an estimated timeline, but... she's got nothing and she hates it. She hates it, when things feel like slipping right through her hands, when sh's not controlling whatever's happening. And here, she has no control over anything.

She really wishes the doctors could say anything that might help her breathe again.

"- Did you contact his family?"

This unexpected question from his doctors kind of throws her a bit off. She suddenly feels somehow stupid for not thinking about it sooner. Maybe because when she thinks about who is family is, the first people coming to her mind are Jessica, Mike, Rachel, even Louis. And her. She realizes this is what she should say, instead of friends, when someone asks her who Harvey is for her. We're like family. It describes it better than 'friends', even though something still feels missing.

She remembers that the question was bound to be answered and shakes her head. His family... She's absolutely sure he doesn't want to see his mother, and, well, he'd like to see his father, but it's not like he can. She's not quite sure whether he'd want to worry Marcus or not, though. They haven't really been that close for the past years – thanks to his mother – but they're still family. She's probably the one person Harvey talked to the most about Marcus, and yet, she's a loss about what to do. She thinks she should probably call him, even if he'll want to come despite being so far away, because it's the thing to do. They're actual family, and Marcus deserves to know. She sighs. She always takes so much pride in knowing Harvey better than anyone else, and it might be true, but it's not like she knows everything. Not that she'll ever admit it to anyone, though. She thinks she will call and let Marcus know what happened, and then insist for him not to come, because Harvey wouldn't want to bother him, and also because she's almost sure he doesn't want his brother to see him like that. She at least knows he'd want to protect his brother. It's what he always did.

She sighs once more when she realizes she'll have to do it herself, because no one else is even remotely close to talking to Marcus. He's just a name Harvey mentioned once or twice for anyone else. The nurse – whose name is Lydia – gives her a pat on the shoulder. She's really nice, and Donna wonders if she's that nice with everyone or if she's especially nice to her. Well, it's probably part of the job description. No reason for her to be special.

She braces herself and decides to do it now, before she can find something to avoid it. She reaches for the purse she threw somewhere, finds her phone – and then wonders how the hell she was going to be able to say it, remembers how the pain hit her when she tried to tell Rachel, fears that saying the words will destroy whatever hope she found. She leaves her purse there, taking only her phone as she makes her way to the bathroom. She looks at the mirror above the sinks, her awful reflection staring back at her. She doesn't look like herself anymore – she looks like a ghost. She never removed yesterday's makeup, and it left smudges everywhere – consequences of too much crying and wiping tears away. She removes it the best she can with a paper towel, fixes her hair and clothing a bit, but no, it doesn't help. She still barely looks like a human being. It's probably the eyes, her expression – she looks like she's a thousand miles away, her gaze not even looking straight to her image.

She makes up a speech in her mind. Harvey was in a car accident. He's unconscious. The doctors don't know when he will wake up. Three sentences, three simple yet cruel sentences. She holds onto the sink and forces the words through her throat. It's as if their sharp edges bite into her skin, leaving a thousand cuts behind, shredding her existence – but she continues. She closes her eyes and let the tears take a bit of her pain away as she keeps uttering the words, over and over. It hurts, it doesn't stop hurting, but she knows she has to keep going. If she can't go through this, how is she supposed to handle everything else that will surely be thrown her way until he wakes up?

She has to pull through.

It has only been two whole days, and yet, she feels empty, and insanely tired, but sleep is still running away. The doctors crammed her with paperwork, all day, and it feels surprisingly comforting, reminding her of her work. Signing things for Harvey and making his life easier, it's what she does. Rachel was nice enough to stop by both their condos, to pick up insurance papers at Harvey's and fresh clothes at hers. She took the time to change and wash her face correctly, which made her feel slightly better – for a couple seconds.

At the end of the day, though, nothing has changed. Things are still exactly like they were the day before. Breathing still hurts – she had ignored it the whole day by focusing on anything else, like her conversations with Rachel and Mike, the doctors, Lydia, the food she was eating, even though it tasted like absolute shit, the paperwork she was signing, she busied herself with a million little things to forgot that it hurts every second. But now, at night, when everything is quiet and almost feels like dead, she's remembered that another day went by without him, and there could be so many more to come.

She found herself on the exact same spot as yesterday, staring almost religiously at his features. She's not sure it's something she can get used to. She's not sure she can get used to any of this. For a second, she tries to imagine what her life could be like, if he never came back. She imagines herself at the office, working for...

Her breath violently hitches when the most powerful wave of pain yet hits her chest, and she muffles a scream. She rolls in a ball, her arms tightened as much as she can around her chest. She pants in the dark as tears dwell up in her eyes for the thousandth time since yesterday. She can't even think about him not being here. The idea is just... too horrible. She realizes that he became her centerfold, her everything, over the past few years.

He has to pull through.

He's been in the hospital for a week when the doctors are talking to her about taking him of the vent. It's a good thing, apparently, that he doesn't need it anymore, but they still don't know when – or if – he will wake up. 

She avoids the inquiring gazes from the nurses and the doctors, waiting for her answer. She watches him, instead. Nothing has changed since the first time she stepped into his room, seven days ago, and suddenly, she chuckles – even though it's superficial. She feels so stupid, because she hoped something would have happened. Like in the stupid romantic comedies she likes to watch. She'd get here, and magically, he would get better and open his eyes and reassure her that he was here. Even confess his undying love for her. She could laugh about it if she wasn't so unbearably sad – it's completely ridiculous.

Real life doesn't work that way.

"- Sure, if you think that's the thing to do," she complies.

Soon enough, they're ready, and they tell her that she can stay and hold his hand, but she shakes her head and decide to step outside. She already had this unrealistic hope that he would wake up once, there's no reason she should go through all the raising hopes then falling down once again. She's just staring from the other side of the glass wall as they extubate him. She stubbornly fights the tears dwelling up in her eyes, but it's a fight she cannot win. She digs her nails into her palm, leaving crescent-shaped marks and a brief, meaningless pain that barely distracts her from everything else. She thought it would hurt less, from the other side of the door, but it doesn't. He's breathing on his own, his life is not at risk anymore, his wounds even started healing, and yet, she wants to scream at him why aren't you waking up yet!? What do you freaking need? Are you still going to make me wait? As if, if she starts screaming at him, he'll wake up and apologize. 

Now she feels stupid for thinking the same unrealistic, childish thing twice. There's nothing she can do about it and it makes her completely crazy. She wishes she had a way to fix this, but she freaking doesn't, so she storms in and does the only thing she fucking can: she takes his hand into hers and squeeze it, to make sure he knows he's not alone.

Please wake up, Harvey. I need you.

Now that his injuries are not life-threatening anymore, and he doesn't need a vent anymore, he's moved onto a regular room instead of the ICU. The room can't be decently called nice, but it's better than that goddamn ICU cage. There's less intimidating devices here, mint-colored walls, and even a window, even though the only view it gives is on the parking lot. And, thank goodness, there's a comfortable-looking chair on the bedside.

She quickly realizes, though, that it doesn't change anything to anything. He's still unreactive, unresponsive, un-everything. There's no positive sign that he will wake up, but nothing's deteriorating, either. It's like a limbo they're stuck in. She hates it. She wished so hard that the fact that he was able to breathe on his own was a sign or something, and she hates herself for hoping again. Despite all logic. She's supposed to be rational, but it seems that she's just a meaningless dreamer. Always hoping for the impossible, wasting her time in fantasies.

The first night here is the worse since the very first, though. She sits there, lonely on her chair inside the cold and empty room. The moonlight is brighter than she wishes, showing his features too clearly, a constant reminder that she is on her own right now. Shuffling her hopes and fantasies, going through memories. It's only been a week, but it feels like much longer. She doesn't know how long she can still take the constant pain, the impaired breathing, the paused life. She suddenly realizes she never left the hospital in the past week. Not even for a second. She used the hospital's showers, ate at the cafeteria, asked Rachel to get her personal belongings. He's not working, so they don't need her for the moment – or maybe they do, but they didn't tell her anything. She never left his side. She's not sure she's able to.

Time goes by, days pass slowly, and nothing about his condition changes. He's still lying there, not answering, not living. The room switch doesn't mean anything, except that she doesn't get to see Lydia anymore, because Lydia is an ICU nurse. He's in the "long-term stay" unit, now. But there's this nice intern who explained her how the odds of a patient waking up evolve. The only thing she remembers is that after two weeks off the vent, they drastically decrease, getting closer to zero each passing day. The intern is nice and sympathetic, but it doesn't make her feel better at all. She appreciates the honesty, though.

"- I'm sorry for your... uh, your..." The intern stops, and looks at her, confused.

"- Uh... we're friends," Donna answers. "More like... we're almost family to each other." A single tear falls down her cheek, because saying 'we' still spells out pain. It reminds her of how they always used to be a team.

"- I see," the intern nods with a soft smile, and Donna realizes that the girl thinks she loves Harvey. She's right – no friend, no family stays by someone's bedside for two whole weeks. Only someone who loves him would stay. And just like that, she realizes that it really is that simple. 

She can't deny it anymore. She's in love with him.

The two weeks deadline gets closer with every breath, every second, but she pushes it out of her mind. She decides to allow herself to keep her hopes up until then. She'll deal with it if – when – it happens. She hopes like hell it won't, but it eventually does. And that faithful day is today. It's officially been three weeks since he's been brought to the hospital, two off the vent. It's also, apparently, the moment where she's supposed to give up and move on. Start living again. The doctors all tell her that, even Rachel tried – but she stubbornly refused. She won't walk out of here without him.

"- You should go out, you know," that week's intern says one day. It's not the nice one anymore, it's another one, and she doesn't like him. "I've never seen you moving from here. I know it hurts, but you have to keep living."

Donna wants to scream and yell at him. Just to let out some steam, the tension quenching her stomach from day one. She's sure than screaming and hitting something would do her some good, because she swallowed so many emotions she might explode at some point. But smashing an idiotic intern's face isn't the greatest choice, and she's way too tired to do it. Oh, sure, you know it hurts. Have you ever watched the corpse of the man you love non-stop for three weeks, hoping that he'd wake up? Please, I'd love to hear your experience. The witty answer never even leaves her lips. It's a pointless fight. That boy has no idea what he's talking about.

'Get out' is the only thing she answers. He complies politely, but the damage is already done. What she does is unhealthy, insane – she's aware of it. She can see how badly she treats herself.

She feels it – she's tired and worn out and lifeless herself, and she cries every night, when she holds his hand and he doesn't react, doesn't squeeze it back, doesn't give her that concerned look when she cries. She completely gave herself up, for him – like she did so many times, but this time, it's even worse. She completely neglected herself, her polish is chipped, she doesn't do anything resembling skincare or hair care anymore, and the only three outfits she wears are shapeless and extended, because she can't stop pulling on the sleeves, a futile attempt to bring back heat in her perpetually frozen body.

It helps that two of the shirts are his, an old Harvard t-shirt and a shirt she stole a while back – he forgot it at her place that one time and she never gave it back. The t-shirt, he gave it to her one time when they were at his place and she spilled something on hers, and she kept it, too. She wears it sometimes – when she feels bad and needs some comfort. The shirt, on the other hand, had remained untouched in her closet for more than a decade – until two weeks ago.

It had started to hurt a bit less, or maybe she was just getting used to it. She had started to think she could breathe again, a little, but she realizes it now – she was hoping. She wasn't thinking that she could get through it, she was thinking that he would wake up before the time hit the deadline. But it did, and she's faced with the most terrifying odds, and now, all the hopes holding her collapsed, and she's falling even lower than the ground, straight into the abysses of despair. It hurts more and more each day. It doesn't help that she spends too much time thinking, remembering, and it brings out a whole new layer of pain each time. Their conversations pop up randomly in her head. Their usual banter, the Louis bullying, their pre-trial ritual, their late night conversations, even their arguments. All these things who could be left as nothing more to memories, ghosts from the past hovering over her. Things she thought were forever, composing her future, but who could be belonging to her past, and only her past.

She can't take it. Every single memory coming back just seems to remind her how important and precious he is to her. 

That's why she can't leave.

It's been a whole month now, a month of pain and limbo, of 'nothing has changed' and 'I'm sorry'.

She feels like she's losing faith. The doctors did, first, switching from 'when' to 'if'. For them, him waking up is barely a possibility anymore, and they don't come around as much as they used to. Then Jessica, Mike, they all did at some point. Maybe not completely, but when they look at him, she can see that the hope their eyes used to hold have completely faded away now, even though they don't want to admit it. They barely come around anymore – she can't blame them, they have a lot more work without Harvey – and when they do, it's mostly to see and support her. She wishes she could sometimes, when it's 3 am and she's still on that chair, who isn't really as comfortable as it seems, and she's desperate, and it still hurts, and she feels like crying for the millionth time. Giving up would feel... so much easier. She should move on with her life and not stay completely hooked on the past, she knows it. She should. But his voice keeps coming back when she starts thinking she's lost him. Anyone else ever loses faith in me, it doesn't matter. But with you, it's different. It's like a shadow hovering over her, every time she can't keep going.

The movie's playing back on her mind, like a broken player. His jacket discarded somewhere, their laughter, the the sudden mood shift, and before she knew it, he was looking at her and opening his heart. He almost never voiced his feelings, and that one time had felt... like seeing a hidden jewel no one else had ever laid eyes on. That's what she compares his feelings for her to, probably. A jewel. Shining in the dark, lighting up her world, and probably not even existing. Probably just a mirage, a hallucination, a sweet dream she was rocking herself with. But that night... It almost felt real. It felt like what she was imagining was real, not just a chimera. He even told her that. I love you. Was it real, or just a fantasy of her mind? Did he really mean it that way? Or was he referring to it like she had lied months ago, 'I love you like a brother, or a cousin'. What if that was the way he was seeing her? 

He opened his heart, though. He left her see his vulnerable side, willingly. He offered her a piece of him. And he also asked her for her complete and utter faith, forever. She would've given it to him. She had to, right now, she had to believe in him, in the impossible – because it was feeling like it recently, with everything the doctors said. He wasn't likely to wake up. It was even almost impossible. But she had to believe, she had to. If she loses faith in him... It's over. It's the end. It'd destroy him.

She's tired of watching him lifeless, but she can't bring herself to leave. If she loses faith in him… then what's left?

Life goes on, but she's still here. She can't remember the last time she left the hospital. She forgot what sunlight looks like, watches life through neon lights and a window showing a parking view. She's tired of seeing the pale green walls, a color that feels sickening. Her eyes scanned the room so many times that she could draw it from her memory, and she goes through phases of restraining herself from looking at his unconscious figure – because it still hurts, even though it's been weeks – and phases when she can't stop looking at him – because it's the only thing that keeps her fighting. His features, his body are so familiar that she notices every little thing that's different about him. His face is unshaven, his hair unkept and slightly longer, and he’s lost weight. His wounds are turning into scars already.

She's tired and angry and literally on the edge of breaking down. She can hear Rachel, Mike and Jessica talking on the other side of the door. Maybe they think she can't hear them, or she doesn't pay attention, or she doesn't care. They're wrong. They're talking with a doctor about getting her a psychiatrist, like she's alienated or straight-up crazy. 'It's not normal for someone to hold on for so long', apparently, and 'she has to keep on living'. 

She storms out of the room and yells at them. She yells her heart out. She tells them they can't force her to leave if she doesn't want to. She tells them that it's fine if they've given up on him, but she won't ever do the same. She even screams that sh's in love with him, and hell, saying it out loud is freeing. She screams all the words, all the feelings her heart isn't strong enough to hold, and it's like a thousand knives in her chest trying to get out, slicing their way through her flesh, and it hurts, and she's barely able to breathe anymore, but when she's out of words and gets back to his room, the door slam resonating behind her, she – finally – feels better.

It doesn't last, though, because her eyes met his silhouette, and she's remembered that she loves him more than her own life, and suddenly she feels like drowning again. Drowning into the despair that has been hers for a while now. The feelings she ignored and repressed for so long are like acid on her heart, burning her harder now that she gave them life by mentioning them out loud. She was conscious that they never really did disappear during the decade she spend pretending they didn't exist – she realized it a while back, and without her noticing, it just made this whole thing harder to let go. These feelings are venom in her heart, torturing her all day long and making her sleepless at night. Feelings she always denied, feelings she never truly admitted she had, even to herself. Feelings that came back full strength when she least needed them. Feelings that he never got to hear and probably never will.

She refuses to contemplate all the opportunities she missed with him. She just can't. Thinking about it might kill her. Thinking about all the things she could have done, could have said, could have changed. The things she refused to say because she was afraid, the tings she refused to do because she thought it wasn't the right time for them. The opportunities she let slip, that might never come back again. She was so sure that she still had time, that they would have many moments together and that maybe, one day… he'd finally be ready for everything awaiting on her wildest dreams.

That day might never come, now.

She remembers that he ran away, though, their last day together. She wanted him to stay, and he fled the scene. After saying that he loved her. It completely confuses her. It's questions she'll never get to ask him. How does he love her? Does he regrets how things played between them? Does he know she loves him with all her heart? Does he really think staying was a bad idea, or was he just as scared as she was? It's questions she'll never get the answers to.

She stays right next to him, holding his hand, all day. She realizes, in hindsight, that she definitely is acting crazy and that her friends were just worried about her. She decides to send a text of apology first thing in the morning. For now, she decides to stare at all her missed opportunities a bit longer. Contemplating the body laying down in front of her, pale and unresponsive. Silent tears fall from her eyes and land on their joined hands.

"Please, wake up, Harvey," she whispers. It gets lost in the silent room, though, without anyone to hear it.

She does her best not to remember his words that night, but they come back anyway, rewinding again and again.

You don't ever have to feel scared like that again.

Anyone else ever loses faith in me, it doesn't matter. But with you, it's different.

I should go.

You know I love you, Donna.

She remembers falling for him even harder, feelings beating against her chest desperately, wanting for him to stay, to be hers. The longing, the wanting, everything culminating, and then… he just left. She never got to tell him. She never got to storm into his office and get mad at him, because for fuck's sake he couldn't just say something like that and then leave like it was nothing! He found a way to, though. He always does find a way to get out of the most difficult situations. It's his fucking job, after all.

well, she's fucking scared and he's not here.

She wants to lose faith in him and move on with her life, but she fucking cannot because if she does, there is no chance he'll ever wake up again, he said it himself. Maybe it's twisting his words, but she feels like it's true. If she loses faith in him, it's different. It almost destroyed him, left him vulnerable, so if she does lose faith in him right now... she might as well kill him.

He should have stayed. They wouldn't be in that position if he did. They would be together. She has no doubt about it. That softer side of him she saw that night, it was so sweet, and somehow charming, and she fell in love all over again. She hates that, with him. Sometimes, she feels like she can get over him, and then... something happens, he does something, he says something – and he makes her fall again, he reminds her she loves him. He makes her fall harder than the day before, he traps her deeper when she thought she was about to break free. He makes the flame slowly but surely destroying her heart burn brighter. She hates that, but she can't even be mad at him about that. And she let him do all of that to her, because she knew, deep down, that she was destroying him in a similar way. Because, deep down, she still had the hope that something would happen between them, one day. Everything she needed was there, the sparks, the laughter, the trust, the feelings, the love, burning brighter than the sun, their dance, denying the obvious, the parts of him that existed just for her, all the said and unsaid secrets they shared, the secret touches in the darkness – everything was at arm's reach – and she was too scared to take it.

You should have known I love you too, Harvey.

She doesn't know why, because she thought she had shredded the memory, burned it to embers, but she remembers the other time. It was so long ago, but she remembers it crystal clear, despite all the years of ignoring the memory. All of him, all of her, intertwined, tangled in bedsheets until dawn. His lips on her skin, still hitching her breath after a decade. And especially, the afterwards, when she was laying in his arms, and he was holding her, and she could feel his happiness, their happiness filling the room. She remembers how warm, safe she felt. She even remembers thinking she wouldn't mind falling asleep like that every day of her life. 

It's what she's missing the most right now. This feeling of knowing that everything was fine, and would be no matter what happened. Her mornings, now, are still made of certainty, but it's tainted with gloominess and unbearable sadness. She fell asleep so easily, that night. Here, alone and freezing on a chair that's too small, she struggles to find sleep. It's close to 2 am, the clock on the wall reads, and she can't find sleep at all. She's lost track of how many days he – they – have been here, the only thing she knows is that he's not getting any better. The doctors don't say anything, but she's Donna. She knows how to decipher the subtext. She can see that they think hope's long gone. Maybe it's about time she gave up, too. Because she's not sure she can take another night like that. 

She drags the chair closer to his bed, close enough that she can hold his hand while laying back, but it doesn't feel enough. She leans forward then, resting her head on the bed near their hands. The position is awful, and cracks her already broken back – the consequences of sleeping in a chair for so long – but she likes it. She crawls the chair even closer so it's more comfortable. It's not a position anyone should be sleeping in, but she can take it. She's close to him. Hell, maybe she'll wake up to a hand softly stroking her hair.

A girl can dream.

This night is nothing different from the others. Her back hurts. She's sad. Her heart's broken. She's woken up in the middle of the night because her sleep is ridden with nightmares. She feels so tired she just wants to go back to sleep, but the flatline of her last nightmare still echoes in her mind, so she gives up and open her eyes.

Her hazel eyes met a pair of brown ones.

She smiles.

He smiles back.

It's so usual, so familiar that she doesn't realize at first, in her sleep-dozed state. He looks at her like she's the most beautiful thing in the world. She notices his hand on the side of the bed, and she takes it absentmindedly. Her fingers lace with his, he squeezes her hand.

Then she realizes.

"- Harvey," she whispers, her breath hitching. "Harvey!" she repeats, almost screaming this time. She throws herself at him and nudges her head on the crook of his neck. His breath is warm against her head, his heart is beating under his hospital gown, and after a little while, his hands circle the small of her back.

"- I'm here, Donna," he says, and she cries. He's here. He's finally here. She drowns into him, his warmth, his touch, his smell. All the things she thought she had lost. Once the storm in her heart is calmed down, she pushes herself up, taking him in, his features, his smile, the shine in his eyes.

She feels his hand slowly running up her side, all the way from her hip to her neck, until he finally cups her head and strokes her cheek with his thumb. It's so sweet that she thinks she's going to melt right into his touch, and she cups his head between her hands, her fingers shaking. She can't believe it's real, he's here, he's back with her.

She doesn't know who moves first – probably her, because he's having trouble lifting himself up to join her – but soon their lips meet for one, two, three, four ephemeral kisses. It's fast and feels irreal, until his hand slides behind her head, his other hand still firmly pressed on her back, and he kisses her properly. It's still soft, though, and her tears are melting with their lips. It feels perfect, and even if it's not enough to replace all the unsaid words, it still speaks volumes. She wishes it would never end, that she could always have him on her lips.

It ends at some point, though, but when it does, he looks at her like she's the most precious thing in the world, and she has to wipe her tears away. She's in heaven right now, and his eyes are the answer to all her prayers, all her wishes, all her hopes, all her dreams. 

"- I thought I would never see you again," she cries, and he moves his hand again to wipe her tears softly.

"- You should know I'd never leave you, Donna," he says, his voice hoarse and rough, which makes her heart flutter, especially combined with his thumb slowly stroking her cheekbone. She still barely can believe that it's real, that it's that simple. He's by her side again.

"- I had faith in you... I had faith that you'd be back, I never stopped believing that you would..."

"- Donna," he whispers against her ear. "I'd do anything for you."

"- Don't you ever leave me again," she answers.

"- I promise," he says, smiling at her. "I love you, Donna."

"- I love you too, Harvey."

The second the words leave her lips, she realizes that it really was that simple. Since the very first day. It was written, it was fated – it was meant to be.