A/N: I've had this idea a while ago and it's taken some time to get my thoughts together for this but here's my new multichapter. I'm thinking this will be a little longer than my previous one, maybe around 15 chapters. We'll see! Really hope you'll enjoy this one - please let me know your thoughts!

UNINTENDED

CHAPTER ONE

She feels his breath on her neck, his lips on her shoulder. There's nothing but sweat between them, bodies moving together in a way that could be described as familiar but it's not frequent at all — it's only their second time, and the first time happened over a decade ago. She moans his name, because he's moving within her in just the right way, and she runs her fingers through his hair, then his shoulders, settling her hands low on his back, wanting to feel all of him, close. Closer.

Harvey pushes back from her neck, and they share a look full of dark eyes and emotion and lust and he grins at her, that awful grin she loves. She lets out a laugh and pulls him close, lips moving and tongues touching amid heavy breaths. He thrusts a little harder then, and she interrupts the kiss to let out a moan. He isn't grinning anymore — he supports himself in one hand while the other hand brushes over her body, almost in silent worship: first her breasts, then her nipples, her bellybutton, and then lower, lower, close to where they're joined.

His eyes are darker than she's ever seen before, and there's a look in them, a look of complete trust and surrender and she never wants to let him go. He touches her just where she wants him to, his hips relentless in their thrusting, and she feels overwhelmed and overstimulated, physically and emotionally. Before she can let go, however, he speaks.

"I should go."

She frowns, panting, not understanding the situation until it changes completely and it's not dark anymore, it's early morning. He's not inside her, he's getting dressed and she's looking at him from her spot in her bed, hair tousled and holding a sheet to her chest.

"Why?" She utters the words, not understanding how they went from one moment to this.

He hasn't buttoned all of his shirt and the vest isn't buttoned at all and it's strange to see him like this, with regret in his eyes and a shadow on his face. Regret for her. For what they've done.

It's like a wave washes over her, and she no longer feels the sexual stimulation from moments earlier. She feels a sadness overwhelm her entire being, as if a hope that had been consuming her is taken from her in an instant. She supposes this is what this moment is.

It changes again, vividly so, and they're at the firm and he's sitting there, trying to explain himself to her. It was a mistake, what they did. He doesn't pity her, he loves her because she's an amazing woman and—

"Love me how?"

He doesn't have an answer, obviously. She already knew that. And so the dialogue gets hazy, and then she's telling him she's leaving.

"This isn't working for me anymore."

It hurts to say the words, because she's not admitting something to him alone, she's admitting something to herself. She wants more. He isn't ready. She fears he'll never be.

"I love you, Harvey."

They're back in her bedroom. He's preparing to leave, the door is already open. His eyes are haunted and she knows what he'll say before he says the words. It doesn't stop them from cutting deep into her heart and her soul.

"You know I love you, Donna."

Donna's eyes open, and she realizes she's crying. Sobbing, more like. She feels a tightness in her chest as she takes in her surroundings. She isn't naked — she's wearing a blue silky pajama top and a dark pair of pants. Her breathing is fast and she wipes the tears from her face. A look on the bedside table clock tells her it's five in the morning.

It was just a dream. A dream filled with memories she wishes she could forget.

She sits up slowly, trying to control her breathing, letting out a loud sigh. It's too early for any proper daylight to shine into her bedroom, especially considering the blinds were covering the windows. They hadn't bothered with that that night.

"You know I love you, Donna."

The words keep echoing in her head as she leans against the headboard, a sudden feeling of queasiness unsettling her. It wouldn't be her first time experiencing physical symptoms along with the emotional anxiety that has been taking over her actions for the past weeks, but this is definitely a first. Without thinking, she slips from the bed, walking into her closet and then her bathroom, only to throw up as soon as she reaches the toilet.

She stays there for a while, and she can't tell if it's because she's been sick or just recurring memories from her dream, but the tears keep spilling. After a few minutes she sits down, back against the wall, taking long, deep, breaths. It's just her luck to have caught something when she's still dealing with being new to Louis' desk and not knowing how to deal with Harvey.

She sniffs as she thinks of him. She supposes part of her regrets that night — rather, she regrets how she read the situation. She was wrong, he hadn't been ready. But for a few hours she got to see how it could be if he was.

And that fueled and killed her hopes all at the same time.

She feels better after washing her face and brushing her teeth. By the time she reaches her kitchen, with an hour to spare before going to work and avoiding sleep in order to not dream of him anymore, she feels hungry and her coffee tastes absolutely divine. She makes herself some toast and scrambled eggs and decides it was simply a physical reaction to that dream. It's been six weeks since all of this happened. She's still adjusting.

They both are, she thinks.

She puts on a lavender, Gucci dress, a new one she bought last week (not with Harvey's credit card, thank you very much) and decides she'll use it as an armor today.

Even if it does feel a little too snug around her breasts.

Things have been tentative at best between them. Norma's death gave her a distraction, and Louis' need for a new secretary simply made sense. In working for him, she has the time to herself, and space from Harvey that she never really had since starting to work for him. It's weird, though — she misses him, and he doesn't understand that she just needs some time.

The other time, they both knew it was just for fun. It's not as if he ever gave her reason to expect anything serious. Sure, she had gotten her hopes up, but she overcame them quickly. She watched as Harvey conquered women back and forth and she actually managed to get a boyfriend that lasted more than two months during that time. Their lines, however, kept getting blurred. What was friendship, what was attraction? Not acting on it made things bearable. Not touching, not hugging. Flirting was okay as long as it didn't get serious.

That night, there were no lines between them. It wasn't just for fun. She felt something — she still feels it. She's felt it for a long time and now, at last, she understands it and can admit so to herself.

So, she misses him, an awful lot, and she can finally understand what this means for her.

She can never go back.

It shouldn't come as a surprise to her when he comes to her new desk and asks for her help after telling her he won't need her anymore.

"Do you know how hard it is for me to swallow my pride and come over here?"

He says the words in anger, and she knows how Harvey has this ability of not seeing someone he cares for like a real person. That might be useful in cases, but she feels as if he's been treating her like a stranger, and it breaks her heart. It breaks her heart so suddenly that the actress in her has no time to swallow the tears and she doesn't even care if he sees them in her eyes.

"Do you know how hard it is for me to say no to you?"

They stare at each other. She has nothing else to say to him, and he doesn't know what to say to her — nothing new there.

She's the first one to break the eye contact, rolling her chair slightly and focusing on the tasks at hand rather than him. She feels more than she hears him walk away, and it takes a few seconds for her to look up again and see him walking away from her in hurried steps, as if he couldn't be far enough from her. Donna lets out a shallow breath, quickly wiping the tears from her face before anyone sees them.

She will not cry for Harvey Specter.

Well, not in public anyway.

"Donna?"

She raises her head to meet Rachel's concerned eyes. Donna loves her friend, she really does, but she's not in the mood for this right now. She just… wants this all over and done with.

"Rachel, hi," she says, faking a smile that won't fool her friend, but she tries anyway. "What can I do for you?"

Rachel looks down the corridor, but Donna doesn't need to look to know Harvey isn't there anymore. Probably in his office, wallowing in anger or frustration. She doesn't care.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks tentatively.

Part of her wants to tell Rachel everything — right from the night she spent with Harvey to their argument when she decided to leave him. For some reason, she doesn't. Maybe she's ashamed — not of what she's done, not really, but for how she gave into the vain hope that this could be it for them, and it wasn't. She read all the signs wrong, and she doesn't think she's ready to admit that out loud. She's… Donna. She's never wrong.

Except when Harvey is concerned, that is.

"Yes, Rachel," Donna says quickly. "I just have a lot of work, really."

"You wanna have a girls' night later, maybe?" Rachel asks, tilting her head. "It's been a while."

Donna purses her lips. Fakes another smile. Today is going to be difficult, and it's not even noon yet. "Maybe tomorrow."

Rachel leaves with a soft smile and Donna knows she has to try and get things right with her friend, but she can't deal with this today. It's been weeks and it feels as raw as it did the following day, and she isn't ready yet. She simply isn't.

Deciding to focus on work instead, she opens a drawer to get a paper only to see the can opener in there. Their can opener, their ritual. Before she knows it, the same nausea that had taken over her this morning settles in; she takes a deep breath and closes the drawer with unnecessary force before standing up and marching her way to the restrooms, certain that it won't hurt to wash her hands and have a few minutes to herself.

By the time she reaches the women's restrooms the nausea is clawing at her throat and she's trying to force down the bile; luckily for her there's no one around when she makes her way to the toilet, closing the door a little shakily behind her, and she barely has time before she's coughing and her stomach is contracting violently. By the time she's done, or feel like she's done anyway, she's lost her breakfast and the coffee she drank about half an hour ago. She heaves once more, tears staining her face — this time it's not due to emotion. She stands up shakily and flushes down the toilet.

A panic attack, maybe? Plain anxiety? She's never had one of those as badly as this anyway. She feels a little dizzy as she leans against the toilet partition, and spends a few seconds just like that — wiping the tears and around her mouth and taking deep breaths. Unlike this morning, she still feels nauseous; perhaps a quick stop by the pharmacy during lunch would be useful. Or perhaps she should just start looking for a therapist.

Perhaps she should have started therapy when she started working for Harvey. She thinks many things wouldn't have been as difficult as they were, and still are.

It takes her a few minutes to get back to her usual self, but she's an actress and it's hardly her first time being sick at work (that hangover after that one gala a couple years ago was epic) so she has all the necessary items to give her cheeks some color and retouch her makeup. Although, in this case, she thinks the toothbrush and toothpaste end up being the most important.

She's fine. She's gonna be just fine.

It's probably just a flu anyway.

Harvey passes by her desk — her new desk — at around seven and is surprised to find it empty, considering Louis is still at the firm. She almost always kept working while he was still working.

It's in the past now.

The first thing he does when he gets to his office is pour himself a drink. He's pretty sure he's not supposed to mix alcohol with the anxiety meds he's been taking, but there's only one pill left anyway. Plus, he's sure as hell not coming back to see Dr. Agard. He isn't too fond of her aggressive therapy. It's just not helping.

Of course, the first step is to admit things out loud. To him, that's simply not happening anytime soon.

He wonders where Donna is. Probably at home. Maybe at a date. She wore a beautiful dress today, new dress. He's definitely never seen it before. It hugged her figure just right while still being flowy. She just… she just moves so flawlessly. She always have, but he's never allowed himself to think of her that way. Since the night in her apartment, however, it's all he can think about. He can't lose her — he can't risk losing her. He still has faith she'll come back. Surely this whole Louis thing is just something to put him in his place.

"This isn't how two adults who care about each other move on."

"As far as I'm concerned, two adults who care about each other don't move on at all."

"No. They just pretend whatever happened between them never happened at all, right?"

Her voice still echoes in his brain. He's never been good at relationships, she's always known that. He was never willing to risk losing her over something as trivial as sex, but apparently it's what's happening. It's more than that — he lost himself that night, to her. He lost himself in giving in to what they've both felt for over a decade because he almost lost her, he almost couldn't save her, and he can't even blame it on the bottle of wine they shared because he's sure they were both just barely tipsy at best.

That's what haunts him the most, the memories. The way she felt around him, the way she smelled. The way her skin got rosy after just a few kisses because she's that sensitive. The way he counted the freckles on her back after they were done, the way she initiated a second round that night because they couldn't break apart. They just couldn't.

And the way he just gave in to her — the way he couldn't focus or think of anything or anyone else but her, to get lost in her red curls and her hazel eyes, to nuzzle the valley between her breasts and bury himself in her once more. It's bigger than himself, it's bigger than them — it scared him to death. It still does.

He still remembers how it was after the other time, the way he left her bedroom in the early hours of morning while she was still asleep, the way he eyed the empty can of whipped cream in the corner with a grin on his lips. It had nothing to do with how he felt a couple weeks ago; it had nothing to do with her waking to see him getting dressed while the sun was rising. Now that he thinks about it, he's pretty sure that was the beginning of his panic attack. He felt crowded, his chest felt tight, his heartbeat rang in his ears. He couldn't risk her. He couldn't risk them.

"I should go," he had said, because he needs to get out before he does something crazy like make love to her again or tell her it was a mistake.

"Why?" she had asked, and he doesn't know if he's ever heard her sound so vulnerable in all of their years together.

So he looked at her, and he wanted her to be happy, he didn't want to hurt, and he just…

"You know I love you, Donna."

He didn't stay long enough to get a reaction from her, but he thought he heard a sniff when he closed the door of her apartment. He walked home that morning, despite her apartment being more than just a few blocks from his, but the morning air did him well. By the time he got home, his chest didn't feel as tight and his head wasn't as fuzzy. It was only when he showered and he realized he couldn't smell her perfume on him anymore that he felt dizzy again, that his heart beat faster than usual and that he realized he didn't know how they'd deal with this.

It just wasn't like the other time.

"I was just about to offer you one of those," Jessica's voice shakes him out of reverie.

Harvey sighs. "Jessica, if you're here to yell at me again—"

"I'm not here to yell at you," she says quietly. "I'm here to apologize to you."

"Then you can have a drink," Harvey says. There's little fight left in him today. Donna has left him, refused to help him on a case, he's had a panic attack within the walls of the firm, and he's pretty sure he needs to find a new therapist.

"The truth is, there's a time for yelling and there is a time for understanding, and a good partner knows the difference," Jessica says as she pours herself a drink.

On a different day, Donna would be with him. Sharing scotch from his own tumbler, maybe.

They always worked better between those blurred lines.

"You mean a good managing partner," he speaks.

"No, I mean a good partner," Jessica replies. "The night you found out Donna was in trouble, the first thing you did was take the time to have a drink with me about Jeff. So the least I could do is take the time and understand your situation."

"You mean the fact that I don't have a secretary," the words taste bitter in his mouth. He'll never get used to it.

"I mean that after twelve years, the woman you wouldn't come work here without is now working for someone else."

"And you want to know why," he concludes.

"I don't need to know why. I need to know if you want me to undo it."

He looks up at her. "What?"

Jessica frowns slightly. "I know you and Donna aren't me and Jeff, but you are as close as two people can be without being that," she says. "Shit, Harvey, Scottie leaving didn't throw you off your game this much."

Harvey takes a sip of his drink.

"We were that. Briefly."

Jessica narrows her eyes. "What happened?"

He shakes his head; he can't say it. The day has taken more of himself than he's willing to admit.

"I appreciate the offer, Jessica," he says quietly. "But as long as Donna wants to work for Louis, I am not gonna force her to work for me."

"Okay," Jessica nods, then stands up. She puts the glass on the table and walks towards the door. "Harvey, have you thought about what's going to happen if she doesn't come back?"

"She will," he says, and he doesn't need to look at her to know that she's concerned about him.

All he knows is that everything can be better if Donna comes back to him and they can be the same they've always been.

He's just afraid that what they've done has changed them forever.

He doesn't know what it is about psychologists' offices that are decorated to seem like a home. Dr. Agard's had been the same. This one is less minimalist and more homey, he thinks. He likes the leather brown couch, anyway. It's Brooklyn, and he wouldn't normally have come so far, but being far from Manhattan makes it better somehow. He needs the distance.

The woman before him is older, he imagines she's pushing fifty, and she's American. He has the feeling she's been watching him closely since he got him. It bothers him a little. Perhaps therapy just isn't for him.

"So, Harvey," Dr. Reisman starts. They've covered the basics. He's a lawyer, born and raised in Riverside, New York. He's partner of a big law firm. Blah, blah, blah. "Is there an specific reason why you're here today?"

Harvey laces his fingers together, then unlaces them, makes a fist with one hand. Donna has the habit of moving her fingers like this when she's nervous. He holds his hands together to keep the thought at bay.

He could do what he did with the first therapist. Make up a story about not being able to sleep and get the pills. He does see this whole situation as temporary, but he needs the meds to keep working. He can't afford panic attacks like the ones he's had — work is all he has, and he won't give it away. He figures it's better to be more honest this time around, without the aggressivity of the last sessions he had. Donna would tell him honesty is the best choice in this case.

This isn't why he's doing it, though. It's simply for the medicine. He needs it, and he figures it's best to come clean than pretend it's something else. Who knows how long it'll take for this one to figure out he's lying? He won't risk that again. He's approaching this as if he was a client and she was his lawyer; she better know all the facts before working on something. It just so happens that what he needs is anti-anxiety medicine.

"I have panic attacks," he tells her. It's the first time he admits so easily. Anything is easier than the previous therapy session when he had been sort of forced to do so. "I've been having them for a while."

"How long?" the doctor asks in a quiet voice.

"Six weeks," he blinks. "Since my… Since Donna left me."

Dr. Reisman narrows her eyes. "And who's Donna?"

"She was my secretary. We were together for twelve years," he sits back on the couch, tries to relax. "She told me she'd work for Louis instead. He's a partner at the firm."

"Did that decision surprise you?"

"Louis has wanted her as his secretary for years, so no," Harvey rolls his eyes.

"No, I mean the decision that Donna left you," Dr. Reisman continues. "It seems to me like she was more than just a secretary."

He arches his eyebrows. "If she was here she'd tell you the correct term for it is executive legal assistant," he puts his elbows on his knees, leans forward and laces his fingers together. "She's more than just a secretary. She's… Donna," he shrugs. "She knows me better than anyone else."

"Did anything happen for her to decide not to work for you anymore?" Dr. Reisman asks.

Harvey lets out a sigh. "She tried to help me on a case, it put her in a bad position and they wanted to prosecute her for intent to commit fraud," he summarized it. It feels like it happened so long ago. "It was tricky, but I got her out of it."

"That's why she decided to leave?" the doctor frowns.

Harvey purses his lips. "No, we— I— I told her I loved her," he reveals. It hurts to even say it, to remember his words. "Then I left her. She wanted to know how, and I just… couldn't say it."

He doesn't even know why he chose this to explain the situation to the doctor; surely he could have used a better choice of words (though clearly that isn't his strongest trait) or maybe even made up something else. It's the truth, though. He keeps that in mind. Lying earlier didn't do him any good. It got him an aggressive therapist and an unwillingness to see what was right in front of him. He knows what he has. He knows what the trigger is, or better yet, who the trigger is. He just needs proper treatment.

"Why did you tell her you loved her?"

The doctor's voice is gentle. Harvey wonders what she's thinking judging from that statement about him loving Donna. It's not as simple as that. It's never as simple as that. There isn't simple love between them, or at least there isn't just love between them. It's something bigger than that. He can't even word it, really.

Bigger than love — even if saying the words really put a strain in their relationship. Not just that, of course, but he knows it didn't help, judging by her reaction afterwards.

"Because— I thought it wouldn't hurt as much," he confesses, running a hand through his hair. "It hurts more. I realize this now. She wants more, but she means too much for me."

"So you don't want more?" Dr. Reisman asks softly.

Harvey bristles. "That's not the point, I can't… I can't risk it. She's… Donna. We've known each other almost since we were kids. She knows me. I can't risk losing her."

"But you've lost her," Dr. Reisman states. "Sometimes doing nothing is enough of a decision in its own. You wanted the status quo and she didn't. Why won't you risk it, Harvey?"

"She's the one person who's never left," he closes his eyes, wipes the lone tear that has escaped his eye. "She'll come back. I know she will. Me risking it is beside the point."

"Are the panic attacks triggered by her?" she asks, making some notes on a notebook.

Harvey nods. "Mostly. Every time I see her empty desk, I feel like my chest will explode," he reveals. "When I try to talk to her, I— it goes out of control quickly. Yesterday I tried to ask for her help, and when she denied it, I just… I felt like I was having a heart attack."

The doctor nods.

"My dad died of a heart attack," Harvey says, trying to sound light. "I guess I should have a check-up done or something."

Dr. Reisman smiles. "Well, it won't hurt to check. You have a stressful job," she closes the notebook and purses her lips. "The panic attacks won't stop until you control the triggers."

"They'll stop when Donna comes back," Harvey tells her.

"That's beyond your control," Dr. Reisman says. "You must understand and accept that."

He closes his eyes and makes a fist in both hands. He knows all of them. He knows it. He just can't accept it. The doctor asks how they met — more like, she makes her way around questions and soon he's telling her how they met. He only realizes so in the middle of the story, of how Donna knew him and didn't want sex when he first propositioned it to her. That's when he realizes this doctor is sneaky — quiet questions that are barely curious soon make him open up about things he hasn't thought about in a while.

He guesses he hasn't let himself think about their history in a while.

"Have you tried looking for a new secretary?" Dr. Reisman suggests after he mentions how he got Jessica to agree with hiring him and Donna together.

Harvey opens his eyes and shakes his head. "She's irreplaceable."

"It can be temporary. You must get your life back to normal," the doctor says. "I'm guessing your relationship with Donna hasn't been the best lately."

He shakes his head again. "We barely talk."

"Try and find a replacement. Extend an olive branch towards Donna, maybe," the doctor suggests. "It's a start. I won't give you a prescription just yet. The first step is acceptance. Then we'll talk about you taking some medicine."

Fuck. How hard is it to find a doctor that will prescribe you medicine? At least he had been able to fool Dr. Agard for a while.

"I need the pills," he tells her firmly. "I need to work. I've only been able to work because of those pills."

"You don't need them, Harvey," Dr. Reisman says, leaning forward slightly. "You've taken the first step. You came here and you admitted the problem to yourself. We'll work on this and then, if necessary, you'll get your prescription. In the meantime, we'll keep the sessions regular."

"Look, I just want to control it for a while," Harvey starts. "When Donna comes back—"

"She may not come back, Harvey," Dr. Reisman interrupts him. "She may never come back. She might keep working for Louis, or she might go on another job altogether. You must accept that she may never come back to you."

The tightness in his chest comes back. It's difficult to swallow all of a sudden. He controls his breathing.

"I never thought she'd leave," he admits after a moment. The doctor is looking at him very closely. "She was… She was always there."

"You could see it that way, but maybe it's simpler than that and she just needs some space," Dr. Reisman says. "She's still working near you. She's just not working directly for you anymore."

"The thought of working with someone else just kills me," he admits. "That's what she's doing. She's replaced me, and I… I don't know how to be me without her."

"She hasn't replaced you," Dr. Reisman says. "You say she's irreplaceable. I think she must feel the same towards you. The fact that she's still around but not working for you makes it clear she's trying something new, not replacing you in her life."

"We've always had work in common. I don't know how to keep her in my life without work," Harvey says, breathing a little more easily.

"Work through that. She must want to make things right between the two of you," the doctor gives him a smile. "Perhaps this separation will do you both some good, then."

Harvey swallows drily. "That's what Donna said. That she needed to do this for herself."

"She sounds like a remarkable woman," Dr. Reisman notes. "You share something with her, Harvey, but perhaps it hasn't been healthy for either of you. You'll be amazed at what some time and space can do to a relationship."

He lets out a breath, trying to understand it all.

"You say you've been together for twelve years," Dr. Reisman continues. "You say you can't be you without her. It's time you found out, maybe this is your chance to prove you can do right by her."

"She's always been my compass," Harvey says. "I'm not sure I want to know what I'll do without her there."

The doctor smiles. "Twelve years is a lifetime, Harvey. For you and for her."

He nods — he's never thought of it that way. It was always a number. A number that adds up every year. He barely remembers the lawyer he was without her — he doesn't know who she was without him. They've been entangled together since the moment they met, through high and low moments. He realizes they've both been there for each other through so much — breakups, deaths, trials and regular firm drama. She's been there for him, through it all.

He can't let her go like this. And he must respect that she wants this now even if he doesn't agree with it.

"Our time is up, but I'd like to see you next week," Dr. Reisman states. "Same time?"

He nods a little mechanically. "Yeah. Sure."

She wanted to move on. That's what she wanted, right from the get go. Right from the moment she realized he didn't want this. Right from the moment he said he did love her but couldn't explain how.

Why does it hurt so much to know he's interviewing people for her position, then?

The coffee she's bought for her feels bitter and she throws it out after taking two sips; the smell of Louis' coffee nauseates her (the perfect coffee-cream ratio, he says; she thinks it smells too strongly) and she has to take a moment for herself in the restroom when she notices the line of women outside Harvey's office. Near her old cubicle.

She isn't sick, though; the nausea persists but she doesn't feel like she'll lose the contents of her stomach, anyway. Instead, she washes her hands, fixes her hair, and tries hard not to cry.

That's how Rachel finds her.

"Oh, Donna," she says at once.

Of course she gets it. They haven't had their girls' night yet, but they've talked things through. And Donna is so happy about her friend's engagement, and she didn't want to spoil Rachel's joy by telling her all the drama with Harvey. It's been six weeks. She's supposed to have moved on already.

"I'm fine," she says shakily. "He's just… He's interviewing people today."

It feels even worse when she says it out loud.

"I know," Rachel says softly.

"He's moving on. That's what I wanted," Donna says. "I don't understand why it still hurts."

"It hurts because you have something special," her friend tells her. "It's not going away that easily. You know that."

Donna turns to the sink and takes a paper towel to fix her eye makeup. "I do know that. I don't know why I keep crying."

Rachel smiles. "Maybe you're just in one of those days. I know I am," her friend widens her eyes comically, then brushes her palm against her arm in a soothing manner. "You're gonna be okay, Donna. You're the strongest woman I know."

Donna sighs, then gives her friend an honest smile. "Thanks, Rach," she takes a deep breath. "Better get back to work."

"I'm here if you need me," Rachel adds.

They share one last smile before Donna walks away. It's only when she reaches her cubicle — and she's thankful that Louis has arrived and taken his coffee from her desk — that she realizes she isn't in one of those days and she hasn't been in a while.

She checks her calendar, the old one, the one that was attached to Harvey's. Ignoring his commitments and his own schedule, she quickly reaches the date she's been looking for, only to realize she didn't get her period then, and hasn't gotten it in almost two months. She looks ahead and sees Harvey's silhouette ushering another woman into his office, and she feels light-headed all of a sudden. She barely has time to reach the trashcan in the corner before she heaves and bile reaches her throat.

It's quick and painful; she's pretty sure she's managed to keep anyone from seeing her, until she raises her head and looks straight into Louis' eyes.

"You're going home," he states.

It's not a surprise to her. He's always concerned about her well-being. But this isn't what she wants, she's… she's sure it's nothing. Her period is just late, she's almost sure of it. It's been late before. Sure, that was years ago, but it happened, on occasion. Maybe once or twice, really. She usually takes good care of herself in that sense.

"Louis, I can stay," she protests.

"Nope. You're going home. Or to a hospital. I don't care as long as you're fully healthy tomorrow," Louis says forcefully. "Nathan is downstairs, he'll drive you. Your health is very important to me, Donna."

She knows better than to argue, even if work is the best distraction there is to her. Before she knows he's accompanying her out himself; in all her years with Harvey, she's never taken a day off like this.

Donna doesn't want to think about Harvey now.

She accepts the ride from Louis' driver — unlike Ray, Nathan keeps to himself; she suspects that's how Louis wants him. Today, she doesn't complain. She'd rather not talk to anyone, not really.

She asks him to pull over a block from her apartment, where the nearest CVS is. Her hands are trembling and she's sweating a little as she picks up what she needs. At the line, a man smiles at her — executive type, probably Wall Street judging by the attire. She's seen him around before, and she doesn't think she's wrong in assuming he's wanted to talk to her for some time.

She catches him eyeing the pregnancy test in her hand and he doesn't say a word.

Harvey would be happy about that, she thinks as she pays for the test. He was never very good at hearing news of her being involved with anyone before, anyway.

She declines a plastic bag and puts the box with the pregnancy test in her bag.

It never felt so heavy before.