FF: Do The Collapse (3/7)
Title: Do The Collapse
Author: Leli
Rating: PG-13 to R, depending on the chapter. This one is R.
Warning: Angst. Also, spoilers up to Faith Based Initiative.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I profit from nothing. All characters are the creation and/or property of Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, NBC and/or Warner Bros. Also, I have never been to Wisconsin.
A/N: Thanks, once again, to caz963 for the beta and the encouragement.
A/N2: Link to the other chapters (I’ll update as I post) here.
Session Three
Sitting almost eerily still on the overstuffed couch, Donna goes through the details methodically, her voice completely lacking in emotion. The reason for the trip; the people accompanying her; the endless meetings in hot hotel conference rooms, flies buzzing in through the glassless windows and crawling across the carpet. She mentions a photographer, Irish, and Harry gets the impression that he was charming - not from Donna’s description but from the fact that she had a drink with him in the hotel bar. Harry knows, even after only two hours with her, that it is charm and wit - not clout - that will win you this woman’s attention.
She tells of a spontaneous tour, of men on verandas and payment for suicide bombers. She speaks for twenty minutes in a monotone; even the cadence is flat. There’s a point when she’s talking about television, about a woman who had died, had killed herself for the cause, about children left behind. But no emotion. She recites it like she’s reciting a poem she doesn’t care for. Fourth grade, again, maybe - Casey At The Bat and not a baseball fan.
When she gets to the morning, that morning, Harry can tell. She’s more detailed, tells the stories within the story. She’s stalling and he lets her. She tells him about the soldier, about the children killed, only boys, shot down at the checkpoint. And then.
And then…
“We got in the car. We started to drive…” She’s looking at her lap but isn’t fidgeting. “Fitz started to say something…” - not Admiral Fitzwallace now, but Fitz, Harry notes - “… he started to say… something about…” - her brow furrows - “about…” she trails off and he knows they’re reached the edge of her memory. There won’t be much more, not here. He’s seen the medical report, knows she would have been knocked unconscious almost instantly. He wonders if she remembers the explosion at all.
“That’s very good, Donna,” he begins. “Just concentrate. What do you remember next?”
She looks up, suddenly, and her entire demeanor changes. It’s disarming - her posture relaxes and she’s almost smiling.
“Have you ever been to the Wisconsin State Fair?” she asks and the question throws him. She’d been doing so well.
“Donna… you’re avoiding the question again,” he says softly and she just rolls her eyes.
“Yes or no, Harry.”
“No, Donna, I haven’t,” he replies slowly, dryly.
“I have,” she says, smiling enigmatically and Harry sits back in his chair. So, this is how it’s going to be.
“Oh?” he prompts, though she doesn’t need prompting. Not now, not to evade. She’s already invested in this new topic; he can see it in her eyes.
“When I was eleven,” she confirms, nodding. “My uncle had a cow that was being shown; she’d won for his district, and my whole family went even though we barely saw that uncle except for holidays. We certainly never visited his farm, which was way upstate. But we went to the fair. It was a big deal; we got to stay in a hotel and everything. Holiday Inn. The first day we got there, we had to do the support thing after dinner - tour the barns, assure Uncle Wayne that no other cows had a chance. It smelled in the barns and I remember Frank - that’s my brother - doing voices for the cows that were standing there chewing their cuds. I thought it was hilarious but my mom got fed up listening to us and gave Frank money to take me on the Ferris wheel.”
There’s a bit of a glint in her eye but it’s a hard one, one that worries Harry and he wonders just how hard she’s trying to shove those memories of the desert into the box. He wonders what about the desert reminds her of a show-barn in Wisconsin.
“We went to the midway,” Donna continues, smiling nostalgically, “and it was… huge. You could taste the popcorn and cotton candy in the air. Peanut shells everywhere. A Ferris wheel, merry-go-round, half a dozen roller coasters. And those games… you know, the ones where you try to get a ring over a jug or pop a balloon with a dart?”
“I know them,” Harry replies and her smile widens.
“Did you ever play?”
“Not really. They’re often rigged, you know.”
Donna nods excitedly. “That’s what my mom thought, too. She said they were a waste; that you might as well hand your money over and walk away without playing for all the chance you’d have. But Frank wanted to play. Well… there was girl running the game, the one with the baseballs and the peach baskets. And he was practically drooling. He spent… I don’t know, most of what Mom gave him.”
“How old was he?” Harry asks, drawn into the story against his will.
“Hmm? Oh, seventeen,” she answers. “So, anyway, he’s trying to impress her but he keeps bouncing the balls off the back, you know? And then, he’s down to his last two and the girl leaves. Off-duty or whatever… she goes around the side and starts smoking and this older guy comes out to run the game. So, Frank goes around to talk to her and leaves the two baseballs. And I pick them up.”
She’s grinning now and Harry smiles back as she continues, “First throw… way too hard. It bounces almost back to the front of the booth. But the second one - perfect. Right in the basket! And the guy, he’s so excited for me; we’re both jumping up and down and laughing. He says I can pick anything I want, even though it’s supposed to be three out of three for the big prizes. And I remember thinking… lucky. Lucky.”
“Maybe it was skill,” Harry suggests and Donna shakes her head.
“No, it was luck. Some kind of luck.” She looks thoughtful for a moment before picking up the thread again. “They had these shoes with pink water in the sole. The soles were maybe two inches thick, see-through plastic. I picked those. I put them on straight away and stuck my sneakers in my backpack. By then, Frank’s girl had left him and he came looking for me, annoyed; we only had enough for one ride by then and he just wanted to do the stupid Ferris wheel and take me back to Mom so he could try to meet up with her. But I didn’t want to go on the Ferris wheel; I wanted to ride the Mindbender.”
“What’s the Mindbender?”
“It was this huge, old rollercoaster. You know, one of those wooden ones that seem to reach up forever and have American flags all along the posts? It was painted white and red and it was too old to even have loops but it was the coolest thing there. And I told Frank that if he didn’t take me, I’d rat him out to Mom about the games and all our money and the girl - he caved pretty easily.” Flashing a grin, Donna tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and Harry thinks that when she really wants something, saying no to her would be pretty difficult.
She takes a deep breath before speaking again, her tone of voice becoming more subdued. “It was a pretty long line and by then, the sun had gone down. The air was cold… I remember shivering and wishing I had a sweater. And the posts - how they would shake every time the car went around. I couldn’t wait for my turn.”
She bites her lip and glances at the floor, and Harry smiles indulgingly. “Let me guess - you chickened out?”
Donna looks up at him, startled, as if she’d almost forgotten that he was there. “No. No, I went on. We were at the back because Frank said that was best, that it had a… a whip to it. The car was going up to the top really slowly; the first drop was biggest, so it took a while. I wasn’t even scared. I just laid my head back and looked at the stars. I felt so… alive. Peaceful.”
“That’s nice,” Harry says. “That’s a nice memory, Donna.”
“Yeah,” she says and that hard glint is back in her eye, sharper than ever, “until we dropped. I was too small, you know. Too short and they didn’t notice my shoes. So…” she says and takes a deep breath, letting it out shakily before continuing, “The car dropped and we just… hung there. You know that feeling? Like you’re floating? And I saw it coming; I saw how the bar was over Frank’s hips and not mine. How he was lifting up but I was lifting up and back. And I’ve never been good at Physics but at that point… I knew. I knew I’d fall.”
Harry swallows, wide eyed, and whispers, “What happened?”
Blinking, Donna looks back at him and shakes her head. “Nothing. Nothing happened. I started slipping… and then my knees hit the bar and I fell back into the seat. Knocked the wind out of me but I stayed in the car. I just clung to Frank after that. I think he thought I was just scared of the ride because he never mentioned anything about me almost slipping out. And when we got off, I couldn’t really remember the rest of the ride. My mind just kept going back to that second - it must have been only a second - when I was floating. When I was sure that I was going to fall. I didn’t think about dying - there wasn’t time - but it only takes a split-second to realize you’re about to get hurt. And I just thought… I was really lucky.” She smiles at him, her eyes haunted and then glances down.
He waits for a moment, wondering whether she has anything else to say. At this moment, he can’t read her at all, can’t see whether she’s crying or smiling or emotionless.
“Donna?” he prompts and she looks up at him, her face strained.
A short hesitation and then, “Fitz made a joke about a darkroom and then we were in the air. I know we must have been rolling but it felt like falling. I didn’t understand what...” She pauses, wiping a tear from her eye before it can spill onto her cheek. “Too much sound, I know that. I couldn’t make sense of it. And then a crack, louder than anything before. I think it was my leg. Maybe.” Her chin quivers and she takes a deep breath. “I don’t remember anything else. Just that noise and feeling like I was falling and knowing it was going to hurt. That’s it.”
She hesitates for moment, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I wasn’t avoiding the question, Harry. I just wasn’t sure how to answer it.”
“Okay,” he says, surprised at her ability to recount that without reverting to the monotone voice she had used earlier. She seems to be processing the actual incident better than he’d expected. Changing his focus slightly, Harry asks, “Do you have any dreams about what happened? About any of it?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I did for a bit when I was on morphine. Apparently, falling sensations are a side-effect of that medication” - she laughs dryly - “Good to know. But since I went off all the hard stuff, I’ve been sleeping a lot better. No more bad dreams, no more night sweats.”
“And how about when you’re awake? Do you think about it then?” he asks, patiently.
“The actual explosion? No, hardly ever. I mean, there’s really not a lot to think about since I don’t remember much.”
Harry nods his head. “They had you on some strong drugs,” he points out. “And from what you’ve told me on the phone, you weaned yourself off them very quickly. Not to mention you’re already back at work. How are you managing with the pain?”
Donna shakes her head dismissively. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s a pretty severe injury and the recovery is generally rocky at best. Most patients at your point would still be using narcotics occasionally, at least around physiotherapy sessions; you’ve been off for months.”
“Tylenol is fine for me,” she replies but she’s avoiding his eye.
Harry sighs and gestures at the crutches propped against the arm of the couch. “What about those? Did your doctor recommend switching to crutches already?”
Donna furrows her brow. “She said I could give it a try. That I should start using the crutches for short stretches of time.”
“And how’s that going?”
“I’m fine,” she responds unconvincingly.
Harry leans forward, curious. “How long, on average, would you say you’re using the crutches every day?”
She shrugs noncommittally and Harry shakes his head in disapproval, knowing she’s likely overdoing it. “Donna, are you pushing yourself to the point of serious pain?”
She sighs. “Sometimes, yes, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I want to recover quickly and getting there hurts.”
“It doesn’t have to be as painful as you’re making it,” Harry points out.
“Yes, it does!” Donna exclaims forcefully and Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise. She closes her eyes and waits a moment before continuing in a more controlled voice, “It does. Not everyone has the chance to walk again after something like this. What kind of a person would I be if I didn’t push myself? I have to be better than that! I have to be worthy of…” she trails off, looking unsure.
“You have to be worthy of what?” Harry tilts his head, regarding her curiously.
“You don’t understand,” Donna whispers. “There were five other people in that car. Two of them were Congressmen and one was a Congressional Aide. And Admiral Fitzwallace… Even the driver didn’t make it.” She looks up at him, obviously fighting back tears. “Just me.”
“That’s right, Donna. Just you,” Harry confirms. “But what does that have to do with being worthy?”
“They could have done anything,” she whimpers. “I can’t even imagine all the things they could have done. And now they don’t even have a chance. They don’t get to wake up every morning in pain, or go to bed feeling like their bones have been replaced with broken glass. They don’t have the luxury of fighting through physiotherapy because… because…” she trails off, slumping back into the couch as all the fight appears to run out of her.
“Because they’re dead,” Harry finishes and waits for her to nod before continuing. “But that doesn’t make you responsible.”
“I know that,” she replies quietly. “I didn’t bury that bomb.”
Harry shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. Of course you’re not responsible for their deaths; but you’re also not responsible for their lives.”
Donna furrows her brow and tilts her head quizzically. “What?”
“You can’t measure the success of your recovery against the potential of those people,” he says and Donna gazes back at him with a confused expression. Her cheeks are wet with tears and he reaches over to take her hand. “It does not work that way. Hurting yourself to make the guilt go away, letting yourself believe that you have to make up for the things that those five people don’t have a chance to do? That’s not recovery, Donna. That’s purgatory. And you’ve done nothing to deserve that.”
Donna lets out a shaky breath and wipes the tears from her face. “I know that. I do know that, it’s just… I’m just an assistant, you know? They were Congressmen and Fitz was Head of the Joint Chiefs…”
Harry shakes his head and offers her a tissue from the box on the table. “No,” he says as she takes it from him. “They were men. They were people just like you’re a person. And there is no measuring stick in situations like these. You are no less worthy than anyone else.”
She smiles a little, through her tears, and sniffles. “It’s weird how much it helps to hear someone say that out loud.”
Harry smiles back. “I know. But it’s a pesky thought and one that won’t go away easily. You’re going to have to be careful not to give it credibility. And it will help to keep talking about it.”
Donna nods and sits back against the couch cushions, releasing his hand.
Harry smiles reassuringly. “Donna, you did a great job today. None of that was easy to tell me and I’m really pleased that you got through it.”
“We’re done?” she asks, looking surprised.
“Ten minutes past time, actually… but I want to leave it there for today regardless. Go home. Relax. Call me if you need anything,” he says and rises to see her to the door.
“Okay,” she replies as she gathers her belongings and awkwardly maneuvers her crutches around the coffee table. As she reaches the waiting room, she glances back at him, seeming slightly adrift. “See you in two weeks?”
“See you in two weeks,” he confirms reassuringly and holds her gaze until she nods and fumbles her way through the exit, closing the door behind her.
Author: Leli
Rating: PG-13 to R, depending on the chapter. This one is R.
Warning: Angst. Also, spoilers up to Faith Based Initiative.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I profit from nothing. All characters are the creation and/or property of Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, NBC and/or Warner Bros. Also, I have never been to Wisconsin.
A/N: Thanks, once again, to caz963 for the beta and the encouragement.
A/N2: Link to the other chapters (I’ll update as I post) here.
Session Three
Sitting almost eerily still on the overstuffed couch, Donna goes through the details methodically, her voice completely lacking in emotion. The reason for the trip; the people accompanying her; the endless meetings in hot hotel conference rooms, flies buzzing in through the glassless windows and crawling across the carpet. She mentions a photographer, Irish, and Harry gets the impression that he was charming - not from Donna’s description but from the fact that she had a drink with him in the hotel bar. Harry knows, even after only two hours with her, that it is charm and wit - not clout - that will win you this woman’s attention.
She tells of a spontaneous tour, of men on verandas and payment for suicide bombers. She speaks for twenty minutes in a monotone; even the cadence is flat. There’s a point when she’s talking about television, about a woman who had died, had killed herself for the cause, about children left behind. But no emotion. She recites it like she’s reciting a poem she doesn’t care for. Fourth grade, again, maybe - Casey At The Bat and not a baseball fan.
When she gets to the morning, that morning, Harry can tell. She’s more detailed, tells the stories within the story. She’s stalling and he lets her. She tells him about the soldier, about the children killed, only boys, shot down at the checkpoint. And then.
And then…
“We got in the car. We started to drive…” She’s looking at her lap but isn’t fidgeting. “Fitz started to say something…” - not Admiral Fitzwallace now, but Fitz, Harry notes - “… he started to say… something about…” - her brow furrows - “about…” she trails off and he knows they’re reached the edge of her memory. There won’t be much more, not here. He’s seen the medical report, knows she would have been knocked unconscious almost instantly. He wonders if she remembers the explosion at all.
“That’s very good, Donna,” he begins. “Just concentrate. What do you remember next?”
She looks up, suddenly, and her entire demeanor changes. It’s disarming - her posture relaxes and she’s almost smiling.
“Have you ever been to the Wisconsin State Fair?” she asks and the question throws him. She’d been doing so well.
“Donna… you’re avoiding the question again,” he says softly and she just rolls her eyes.
“Yes or no, Harry.”
“No, Donna, I haven’t,” he replies slowly, dryly.
“I have,” she says, smiling enigmatically and Harry sits back in his chair. So, this is how it’s going to be.
“Oh?” he prompts, though she doesn’t need prompting. Not now, not to evade. She’s already invested in this new topic; he can see it in her eyes.
“When I was eleven,” she confirms, nodding. “My uncle had a cow that was being shown; she’d won for his district, and my whole family went even though we barely saw that uncle except for holidays. We certainly never visited his farm, which was way upstate. But we went to the fair. It was a big deal; we got to stay in a hotel and everything. Holiday Inn. The first day we got there, we had to do the support thing after dinner - tour the barns, assure Uncle Wayne that no other cows had a chance. It smelled in the barns and I remember Frank - that’s my brother - doing voices for the cows that were standing there chewing their cuds. I thought it was hilarious but my mom got fed up listening to us and gave Frank money to take me on the Ferris wheel.”
There’s a bit of a glint in her eye but it’s a hard one, one that worries Harry and he wonders just how hard she’s trying to shove those memories of the desert into the box. He wonders what about the desert reminds her of a show-barn in Wisconsin.
“We went to the midway,” Donna continues, smiling nostalgically, “and it was… huge. You could taste the popcorn and cotton candy in the air. Peanut shells everywhere. A Ferris wheel, merry-go-round, half a dozen roller coasters. And those games… you know, the ones where you try to get a ring over a jug or pop a balloon with a dart?”
“I know them,” Harry replies and her smile widens.
“Did you ever play?”
“Not really. They’re often rigged, you know.”
Donna nods excitedly. “That’s what my mom thought, too. She said they were a waste; that you might as well hand your money over and walk away without playing for all the chance you’d have. But Frank wanted to play. Well… there was girl running the game, the one with the baseballs and the peach baskets. And he was practically drooling. He spent… I don’t know, most of what Mom gave him.”
“How old was he?” Harry asks, drawn into the story against his will.
“Hmm? Oh, seventeen,” she answers. “So, anyway, he’s trying to impress her but he keeps bouncing the balls off the back, you know? And then, he’s down to his last two and the girl leaves. Off-duty or whatever… she goes around the side and starts smoking and this older guy comes out to run the game. So, Frank goes around to talk to her and leaves the two baseballs. And I pick them up.”
She’s grinning now and Harry smiles back as she continues, “First throw… way too hard. It bounces almost back to the front of the booth. But the second one - perfect. Right in the basket! And the guy, he’s so excited for me; we’re both jumping up and down and laughing. He says I can pick anything I want, even though it’s supposed to be three out of three for the big prizes. And I remember thinking… lucky. Lucky.”
“Maybe it was skill,” Harry suggests and Donna shakes her head.
“No, it was luck. Some kind of luck.” She looks thoughtful for a moment before picking up the thread again. “They had these shoes with pink water in the sole. The soles were maybe two inches thick, see-through plastic. I picked those. I put them on straight away and stuck my sneakers in my backpack. By then, Frank’s girl had left him and he came looking for me, annoyed; we only had enough for one ride by then and he just wanted to do the stupid Ferris wheel and take me back to Mom so he could try to meet up with her. But I didn’t want to go on the Ferris wheel; I wanted to ride the Mindbender.”
“What’s the Mindbender?”
“It was this huge, old rollercoaster. You know, one of those wooden ones that seem to reach up forever and have American flags all along the posts? It was painted white and red and it was too old to even have loops but it was the coolest thing there. And I told Frank that if he didn’t take me, I’d rat him out to Mom about the games and all our money and the girl - he caved pretty easily.” Flashing a grin, Donna tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and Harry thinks that when she really wants something, saying no to her would be pretty difficult.
She takes a deep breath before speaking again, her tone of voice becoming more subdued. “It was a pretty long line and by then, the sun had gone down. The air was cold… I remember shivering and wishing I had a sweater. And the posts - how they would shake every time the car went around. I couldn’t wait for my turn.”
She bites her lip and glances at the floor, and Harry smiles indulgingly. “Let me guess - you chickened out?”
Donna looks up at him, startled, as if she’d almost forgotten that he was there. “No. No, I went on. We were at the back because Frank said that was best, that it had a… a whip to it. The car was going up to the top really slowly; the first drop was biggest, so it took a while. I wasn’t even scared. I just laid my head back and looked at the stars. I felt so… alive. Peaceful.”
“That’s nice,” Harry says. “That’s a nice memory, Donna.”
“Yeah,” she says and that hard glint is back in her eye, sharper than ever, “until we dropped. I was too small, you know. Too short and they didn’t notice my shoes. So…” she says and takes a deep breath, letting it out shakily before continuing, “The car dropped and we just… hung there. You know that feeling? Like you’re floating? And I saw it coming; I saw how the bar was over Frank’s hips and not mine. How he was lifting up but I was lifting up and back. And I’ve never been good at Physics but at that point… I knew. I knew I’d fall.”
Harry swallows, wide eyed, and whispers, “What happened?”
Blinking, Donna looks back at him and shakes her head. “Nothing. Nothing happened. I started slipping… and then my knees hit the bar and I fell back into the seat. Knocked the wind out of me but I stayed in the car. I just clung to Frank after that. I think he thought I was just scared of the ride because he never mentioned anything about me almost slipping out. And when we got off, I couldn’t really remember the rest of the ride. My mind just kept going back to that second - it must have been only a second - when I was floating. When I was sure that I was going to fall. I didn’t think about dying - there wasn’t time - but it only takes a split-second to realize you’re about to get hurt. And I just thought… I was really lucky.” She smiles at him, her eyes haunted and then glances down.
He waits for a moment, wondering whether she has anything else to say. At this moment, he can’t read her at all, can’t see whether she’s crying or smiling or emotionless.
“Donna?” he prompts and she looks up at him, her face strained.
A short hesitation and then, “Fitz made a joke about a darkroom and then we were in the air. I know we must have been rolling but it felt like falling. I didn’t understand what...” She pauses, wiping a tear from her eye before it can spill onto her cheek. “Too much sound, I know that. I couldn’t make sense of it. And then a crack, louder than anything before. I think it was my leg. Maybe.” Her chin quivers and she takes a deep breath. “I don’t remember anything else. Just that noise and feeling like I was falling and knowing it was going to hurt. That’s it.”
She hesitates for moment, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I wasn’t avoiding the question, Harry. I just wasn’t sure how to answer it.”
“Okay,” he says, surprised at her ability to recount that without reverting to the monotone voice she had used earlier. She seems to be processing the actual incident better than he’d expected. Changing his focus slightly, Harry asks, “Do you have any dreams about what happened? About any of it?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I did for a bit when I was on morphine. Apparently, falling sensations are a side-effect of that medication” - she laughs dryly - “Good to know. But since I went off all the hard stuff, I’ve been sleeping a lot better. No more bad dreams, no more night sweats.”
“And how about when you’re awake? Do you think about it then?” he asks, patiently.
“The actual explosion? No, hardly ever. I mean, there’s really not a lot to think about since I don’t remember much.”
Harry nods his head. “They had you on some strong drugs,” he points out. “And from what you’ve told me on the phone, you weaned yourself off them very quickly. Not to mention you’re already back at work. How are you managing with the pain?”
Donna shakes her head dismissively. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s a pretty severe injury and the recovery is generally rocky at best. Most patients at your point would still be using narcotics occasionally, at least around physiotherapy sessions; you’ve been off for months.”
“Tylenol is fine for me,” she replies but she’s avoiding his eye.
Harry sighs and gestures at the crutches propped against the arm of the couch. “What about those? Did your doctor recommend switching to crutches already?”
Donna furrows her brow. “She said I could give it a try. That I should start using the crutches for short stretches of time.”
“And how’s that going?”
“I’m fine,” she responds unconvincingly.
Harry leans forward, curious. “How long, on average, would you say you’re using the crutches every day?”
She shrugs noncommittally and Harry shakes his head in disapproval, knowing she’s likely overdoing it. “Donna, are you pushing yourself to the point of serious pain?”
She sighs. “Sometimes, yes, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I want to recover quickly and getting there hurts.”
“It doesn’t have to be as painful as you’re making it,” Harry points out.
“Yes, it does!” Donna exclaims forcefully and Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise. She closes her eyes and waits a moment before continuing in a more controlled voice, “It does. Not everyone has the chance to walk again after something like this. What kind of a person would I be if I didn’t push myself? I have to be better than that! I have to be worthy of…” she trails off, looking unsure.
“You have to be worthy of what?” Harry tilts his head, regarding her curiously.
“You don’t understand,” Donna whispers. “There were five other people in that car. Two of them were Congressmen and one was a Congressional Aide. And Admiral Fitzwallace… Even the driver didn’t make it.” She looks up at him, obviously fighting back tears. “Just me.”
“That’s right, Donna. Just you,” Harry confirms. “But what does that have to do with being worthy?”
“They could have done anything,” she whimpers. “I can’t even imagine all the things they could have done. And now they don’t even have a chance. They don’t get to wake up every morning in pain, or go to bed feeling like their bones have been replaced with broken glass. They don’t have the luxury of fighting through physiotherapy because… because…” she trails off, slumping back into the couch as all the fight appears to run out of her.
“Because they’re dead,” Harry finishes and waits for her to nod before continuing. “But that doesn’t make you responsible.”
“I know that,” she replies quietly. “I didn’t bury that bomb.”
Harry shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. Of course you’re not responsible for their deaths; but you’re also not responsible for their lives.”
Donna furrows her brow and tilts her head quizzically. “What?”
“You can’t measure the success of your recovery against the potential of those people,” he says and Donna gazes back at him with a confused expression. Her cheeks are wet with tears and he reaches over to take her hand. “It does not work that way. Hurting yourself to make the guilt go away, letting yourself believe that you have to make up for the things that those five people don’t have a chance to do? That’s not recovery, Donna. That’s purgatory. And you’ve done nothing to deserve that.”
Donna lets out a shaky breath and wipes the tears from her face. “I know that. I do know that, it’s just… I’m just an assistant, you know? They were Congressmen and Fitz was Head of the Joint Chiefs…”
Harry shakes his head and offers her a tissue from the box on the table. “No,” he says as she takes it from him. “They were men. They were people just like you’re a person. And there is no measuring stick in situations like these. You are no less worthy than anyone else.”
She smiles a little, through her tears, and sniffles. “It’s weird how much it helps to hear someone say that out loud.”
Harry smiles back. “I know. But it’s a pesky thought and one that won’t go away easily. You’re going to have to be careful not to give it credibility. And it will help to keep talking about it.”
Donna nods and sits back against the couch cushions, releasing his hand.
Harry smiles reassuringly. “Donna, you did a great job today. None of that was easy to tell me and I’m really pleased that you got through it.”
“We’re done?” she asks, looking surprised.
“Ten minutes past time, actually… but I want to leave it there for today regardless. Go home. Relax. Call me if you need anything,” he says and rises to see her to the door.
“Okay,” she replies as she gathers her belongings and awkwardly maneuvers her crutches around the coffee table. As she reaches the waiting room, she glances back at him, seeming slightly adrift. “See you in two weeks?”
“See you in two weeks,” he confirms reassuringly and holds her gaze until she nods and fumbles her way through the exit, closing the door behind her.