Chapter Text
The air is bitter this time of year.
Not the taste of it, as such. Not a burst of dandelion greens getting stuck between his teeth, not slivers of citrus peel stinging inside his nose. The air is bitter in that way it gets when the temperature says one thing and reality says another, when a light jacket is too heavy but the cold wind burns his bare hands, when a light fog settles on the streets that makes everything look impenetrable from both above and below and it's impossible to tell if it's going to rain later in the day, if he should've brought an umbrella even though the forecast was for clear skies until Thursday.
The wind roars by outside the half-barred window, beating against the unmoving skyscrapers, the brick and mottled concrete. A chill runs down Harvey's arms at the sound, beads of sweat sticking the back of his shirt to the divot of his spine.
“You're encouraged to bring along a family member, or, a close friend for support.”
But you can keep it to yourself if you want. I notice you didn't bring anyone with you today, for instance.
How about you shut the fuck up?
“You can make the appointment at the reception desk down the hall, if you go out this door and take your first right. You'll see it on your left.”
We'll squeeze you in at our earliest convenience. You're not the only man in the world, you know. Time won't stop for you, you know. No matter how much you might think you deserve it.
What have I ever said to make you think that?
“Okay?”
It's not, of course. Of course it's not okay. We're just actors here, this is all just pretend. Quick, someone give me a premise. Put me in a scenario.
“Yeah.”
Yeah, yeah. You read your lines and I'll read mine, and we'll get by just fine.
“All right.”
Sure it is.
The dimly lit corridor is so vacant that it makes him feel like he doesn't belong, like the first person to spot him will raise their eyebrows and purse their lips and apologize like they don't really mean it but you're not allowed to be back here, sir, I'm sure they meant to direct you back to the front desk out that door over there. No, no, don't worry, this happens all the time. Oh, sure, have a nice day.
The receptionist doesn't shoo him away. She doesn't smile at him, either, so maybe it's not so bad.
The next available appointment for a PET/CT scan is in two weeks, she tells him. Wednesday at 9:00 AM, or 1:30 PM, does that work for him? He should receive a text message with confirmation. They'll call if something earlier opens up.
It won't, of course. But if it does.
Out on the street, Harvey stands under a long stretch of scaffold, raising his phone to his ear and turning his back to the street as though the simulated privacy might become real if he can just add enough layers.
“Harvey.”
He clears his throat. Yes, I'm here. Hang on a second, I'll be fine.
“Donna.”
He presses his palm to his eye. No, it's okay. Just give me a moment.
“Clear my schedule for the rest of the day.”
“Harvey?”
He takes a deep breath. Slowly, carefully; maybe she'll let him off the hook this time. Give him this one on the house.
“We need to talk.”
---
Clouds paint the sky from end to end, just dark enough to blot out the sun and make it hard to tell what time of day it is. Just dim enough to confuse the season. Joggers run through the park in shorts and windbreakers as tourists roam in overcoats and down parkas; anything goes, in other words. Too much and not enough.
Donna looks down at her hands in her lap, pressed against her thighs. She should've worn gloves, probably.
“You're sure?” she asks, looking up when he doesn't answer right away. “They're sure?”
He sighs, leaning against the low stone wall at his back and setting his hands on his knees.
“Yeah.”
She looks at him with sorrow in her eyes, fear of saying the wrong thing keeping her from saying anything at all, and he isn't sure if that's better or worse.
Better, probably. He doesn't particularly want to hear it, at the moment. Whatever it is.
“Are.” She stops herself, averts her eyes; she hopes he'll fill in the rest without her having to say it.
He could. Maybe if he was feeling a little kinder. He won't, but he could.
“When are you going to tell Mike?”
It's a better question that the one she was going to ask. He might've taken the out, after all, if she'd offered.
“Tonight.”
It's better not to put it off too long. Keeping it all to himself won't change anything, after all; never has before.
Not for lack of trying.
“I.” She stops herself again, stares ahead at the wet pavement until her eyes go out of focus. “I'm here for you. Whatever you need.”
He looks over at her as she blinks, not looking back.
“I know.” He sets his hand on his stomach, undoing one of the buttons of his overcoat and refastening it again. “Thank you.”
She nods.
“Just...promise you'll let me know.”
He nods. The air is bitter, stinging the inside of his nose.
Smells like rain.